Simon left the hotel early and took breakfast later at a cafe with clean windows, before he again entered the outside world of city streets.
He caught a taxi and gave the driver an address he read from the list written the previous night. Then sat back in the rear seat and watched the traffic.
The taxi pulled up outside the suit hire place and Simon went inside the glass fronted shop. After enquiring as to his obligations, a large girthed man who smelled of baby powder measured him up. The tailor then showed him a sample of colours and materials available. It didn’t matter much to Simon as he reminded himself that he was hiring only and might only wear the suit once. The tall thin man who stood at the counter told Simon he could pick the suit up at three o’clock the following afternoon, and asked Simon for a deposit.
Simon paid from his wallet in cash, having seen enough movies in his time to know not to leave a paper trail by using his credit card.
He left the tailors shop and walked to the nearest Post Office, which he reckoned would house the quietest public phones. At least the building itself offered shelter from the noise of the city street.
The list of telephone answering services he’d gleaned from the phone book provided him with four names. He’d chosen the ones which carried the smallest advertisements, as he felt they might be easier to deal with.
He tried the first one on the list.
It was answered and Simon explained what it was he wanted.
“Yes sir, we can provide that service. Now, if we can just get some of your details.”
“What do you need?” Simon asked.
“We just need to know your name and address for accounting purposes.”
Simon thought a moment. This is no good. He nearly hung up on the voice, but instead he thought on his feet.
“Sorry mate, can I get back to you? Something’s just come up here that needs my attention.”
“Of course sir, please feel free to call us at any time,” said the voice unconcernedly.
Simon put the telephone hand piece down, wondering at the same time if the person on the other end of the phone had found him to be somewhat suspicious. His hands were trembling as he rolled a cigarette, and he again looked over his shoulder before closing his eyes and inhaling the cigarette smoke deeply. As he opened them again he told himself quietly he would have to try to keep calm.
Stay on top of things. Take it slower; remember that unexpected questions will come out of the blue over the next week or so. Until this thing is over.
He finished his cigarette and punched in the numbers of the second service. The voice that answered was one of an older woman. It sounded as if it had spent a lifetime soaked in cigarette smoke and he explained what he wanted.
“Yes I can do that,” the older voice said.
Simon wished he’d called this one first.
“How do I make payment to you?”
She replied that a postal note in the mail would do.
“Does that mean I can use this phone number in my communications as of now?” He asked, not believing it could be so easy
“I will take calls for you as of now, but I will expect payment from you before I will make any messages available to you,” she replied.
Simon doubted she would get any calls for him. He only wanted a phone number to put on the business letterheads. Although it would come in handy, as it was one way of knowing if anyone was following up on his activities. He asked of the cost of the service and then listened as she explained.
“I will put a postal note in the mail to you today and pay you for a month in advance. Will the address in the phone advertisement get you O.K?” He asked.
“Yes, that address will get me. What is your name?”
Simon paused a moment.
“Munroe. James Munroe.”
Jimmy Munroe owed him $100 so he wouldn’t forget the name.
He walked into the Post Office and purchased a postal note, printed her address on the envelope and dropped it into the post box. She’d have it tomorrow he thought as he walked towards the street in search of another taxi.
The car took him to the first of the printers on his list of addresses. An impressive building of sandblasted concrete whose heavy tinted glass doors, shielded him from the warmth of the day outside.
He approached the front desk and derailed the receptionist’s train of thought. She stopped writing and looked up at him with a smile of white even teeth. Simon immediately thought of the dentist he should have visited some time ago.
“Can I help you?” She asked.
“I’d like some business cards printed please.”
She asked him if he’d mind waiting a moment, while she, at the same time pointed to chairs which lined the wall on the far side of the room. Simon stood for a few minutes while she spoke to someone on her phone and as she hung up, she said.
“Mr. Curtis will be with you in a moment.”
At that moment, Mr. Curtis stepped out of an office which led off from the reception area. Almost as if he’d been listening at his door and heard his cue.
He was a retiring man who showed the effects Simon thought, of a life spent in an office where he lived out his days without sunshine.
The pale man ushered Simon into the small office where he seated himself behind a desk and produced a large catalogue of business cards. He slid it across the desk to Simon as he flicked over some pages, revealing a card which Simon thought would do the job. Simon pointed to the particular card.
“This one will do.” He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the pale man. “This is what I’d like printed on it.” The pale man looked at the paper and read that Simon was an engineering consultant. It also held the name of an engineering firm which Simon had found in the telephone directory the night before, along with a Sydney phone number.
Simon handed the pale man a second piece of paper which stated that Simon was also a company director for the same firm.
“I’d like a second lot of cards, to be printed with the information on this paper please,” Simon said.
The pale man wrote something on his order form, then changed his mind and wrote a fresh form, so as to, ‘Not have any confusion downstairs.’
Simon then passed the pale man a third piece of paper and asked him if he could have letter heads printed also. Simon pointed out that the letterheads were to be as he had drawn them.
“Would you use the best quality paper?” He said to the pale man.
The pale man ran his eye over the third sheet and agreed he would have it printed as Simon asked and that the whole would be ready the following day. Simon smiled, glad that he had all the printing under control and at one place.
He thanked him for his help, left the building and searched for another taxi.
After a short ride across a suburb, Simon was again side stepping people as he moved through a shopping centre. He found the address of the business equipment hire shop and instead bought a second hand typewriter.
“Reconditioned,” the bloke behind the counter pointed out. It seemed to be in good order and Simon suggested that the seller fit a new ribbon. The bloke behind the counter agreed with that.
Simon asked the typewriter salesman if he could direct him to a place where he might have a rubber stamp made, and the typewriter salesman pointed to a shop across the road. The typewriter was a light weight electric, and Simon hoped it would prove to be user friendly. It nestled under his arm as he crossed the street to the rubber stamp shop, where he ordered a company seal.
The rubber stamp man told Simon the seal could be picked up the next day, and mentioned in the course of conversation that he could also provide a stamp pad for a small additional cost. Simon had not even thought about a stamp pad and was glad the rubber stamp man had mentioned it.
He told the man so.
“All part of our service, sir,” the man replied,
/> Simon bought an office manual/dictionary, liquid paper and a few other items of stationery. Then after a short walk he found an arcade coffee shop where he ordered a late lunch.
He rested his feet and took aspirin for the slight headache which had been nagging him all morning. Almost certainly due to the amount of exhaust gases trapped in the city streets. The hurry, noise and vibration, along with the blank defensive faces in crowds and the flashing of traffic lights were all alien to him.
Somewhere further away a siren demanded attention.
Here in this place the bushman and the sailor were out of tune with their environment.
He watched it for a while.
Each sound made in the city, both the quiet and the loud seemed to him to blend, to become a steady hum.
Like that of a giant machine of transport, communications and services. All generated by power and money and seemingly governed by law.
He felt tired and his legs ached a little. It had only been a few days since his first knowledge of the African, but somehow it seemed longer. Time was in ‘swift’ mode and he felt a little disorientated by it all.
He paid for his lunch and easily found another taxi.
Twenty minutes later he was asleep in his hotel room.