having left edward to his test, omar khayyam wandered down the hall.
he passed the elevator and pushed open the door to the stairwell.
he walked down six flights of stairs, taking his time, and pausing at each landing, as if listening for something.
the sixth landing down had two doors, one leading back into the building where edward was taking his test, and a second one leading into the adjacent building.
omar khayyam pushed open the second door. he entered a narrow corridor with an elevator at the end of it.
entering this elevator, he pushed the button for the first floor.
the elevator stopped at the ninth floor, and a woman named joan gray got on it. joan worked as a predictions analyst, at the asian and pacific prognostication company, and she was taking a break, and planning to buy a couple of lottery tickets and a bag of potato chips at the news stand on the ground floor.
she and omar had noticed each other a few times before but had never seen any reason to speak to each other.
omar got off at the mezzanine level, just above the ground floor. the mezzanine contained a number of small shops.
including joe’s shoe repair shop.
joe steel was the proprietor of joe’s shoe repair shop. he did not sleep much, and he could usually be found in the shoe repair shop, although he also owned joe’s diner, and joe’s news stand, and joe’s old fashioned ice cream parlor, in different parts of town.
joe was also a dedicated revolutionary, and aspired to conquer the world, or at least a good chunk of it.
joe was a great talker, always ready to expound on anything and everything with total confidence and conviction, especially on subjects he knew nothing about, and ideally, had never even heard of.
omar khayyam often sought joe out, when he had some spare time from his duties as a test administrator. he enjoyed palavering with joe, as joe reminded him of the men and boys he had grown up with, in the bazaars and open air markets in the old country, back in the day.
the shoe repair shop, though joe kept it open as much as eighteen hours a day, did not do much walk in business. joe’s specialty was weaponry grade steel tips for all sorts of footwear, and this business was mostly done by mail.
on this particular morning, however, omar did not find joe alone. he found him talking to pete, one the several hangers on or errand runners he kept around his various establishments. pete was a dreamy young man who was more often found at the diner or the ice cream parlor, usually plucking dolefully on an ever present twelve string guitar.
pete was trying to explain something to joe. joe did not seem very interested in what pete was saying, but omar had known joe - and many other joes back in the old country - long enough to know that that meant nothing, and joe might well be very interested.
“start over,” joe was saying. “it does not sound like much to me, but i want to make sure.”
“but i didn’t even see the guy,” pete protested. “andrea saw him, and i am just telling you what she said.”
“i know that. just tell me exactly what she said, and we can go from there.”
without bothering to say hello to either joe or pete, omar sat down in one of the comfortable old chairs joe kept for visitors.
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