CHAPTER 36 -SAFECRACKER

Freddy and I noticed a tall, 70-something man hanging around the Mohican lobby. He might have been smart and attractive once, with his full head of blond/grey hair and Beethoven forehead, but some ailment made him smile with a half-scooched-up mouth. He wore men's clothing from the 40s, quality but threadbare --like he hadn't bought anything since then.  

His name was Eugene and he loomed. He'd position his forehead near a wall where he had a good sightline, then dart looks at me. Then he'd move to another spot and cheat little peeks. 

Freddy was gracious with Eugene. I was not. 

"Eugene, you have a little crush on me, don't you?" I'd ask, jarring him. Whoever was sitting around the lobby laughed. 

He'd wag his head low from side to side, like 'Aw shucks,' and try to say something, his mouth opening and closing several times before sound started. "Aw, geez, Vanda, can't ya tell by the way I look 'atcha? It sounded like a line from an old movie.

Whenever Eugene needed money, he'd turn to a wall and look into his wallet, shooting furtive looks over his shoulder making sure no one was coming. His big covert operation attracted more attention than if he just spilled his wallet on the floor. 

"Eugene, are you protecting your gazillions?" I'd joke. I was too self-involved to be sensitive to his mental health struggles. 

Here's my biggest shame: When I was between apartments, Eugene let me stay in his place at the Mohican. Then he suddenly left town on business. I laid around on his bed and wondered about the safe in the hotel wall.