Forty-TwoMichael turns the key to his room at the Plantation Hotel. Old fashioned keys are another part of the ambience of this hotel, suspended in a time warp of more gentile times. The bright neon signs and street lamps outside the hotel illuminate his room slightly, and he walks about in the shadows. He opens the doors to the terrace to let in some air, then a noise in his room causes him to turn sharply: the sound of the toilet flushing and water running in the bathroom. Michael yanks the door open, and there stands Paulie Dupree drying his hands. He greets Michael with a Cheshire-cat grin.
“Hey, man. I hope you don't mind. I couldn't wait.”
“What the hell are you doing here? How'd you get in?”
“s**t, you can open those old door locks with a feather. I knocked, but no one was home.”
