It was a clear, cool, dry day, rare for the last week in August in New York. But I was in no frame of mind to enjoy it as I walked up the 8 steps of the old brownstone on West 35th street. I had taken an assortment down to Malden’s apartment on Arbor street, but after half an hour couldn’t get in. He had a Yale lock. Worse, as I was kicking and banging on the door a woman down the hall opened the door a crack, and from the expression on on her face clearly made me as Archie Goodwin.
Posts Tagged With: Patrick C. Baker