The Van Renwyck Room
When Kid opened the suite door with the hot pot full of water to make tea, they walked into a wall of unmistakable aroma, like old leather and molasses. The Pall Malls down the hallway could only dream of containing such richness. Sunlight flooded out the doorway.
They wandered into the ‘Storage’ room, dazed, hot pot full of water still in hand.
“Welcome to the Van Renwyck Room.” Jerk said, sprawled in a large chair with a leg swung over a leather arm. The room was large, the heavy curtains pulled back and light flooding the room. It looked out on the same corner The News did.
Kid considered him. “I’ve never seen you this relaxed. You look at home in here.”
“I’ve had access since I was 12.” He gestured around the room. “What did you think was in here?” He ran his knuckles over the wood paneling absent-mindedly.
“I had no idea.” Kid said, awestruck. There was a small bar and a floor to ceiling humidor, housing columns of numbered drawers behind glass. A small cedar box sat on the table next to it. “Is this Tiny’s idea of heaven?”
“Something like that.” Jerk said, gesturing at the hot pot in Kid’s hands. “Still want tea?”
Kid looked down at the hot pot, suddenly remembered. “Not really.” They put it down on the bar and looked around again. “You showing off or there a hidden safe in here?”
“Safe? Maybe.” Jerk gestured at the humidor. “We’re here for some cigars.”
Kid looked at the humidor. “Is that where he keeps the good ones? Like the evening on the roof?”
“That’s Bin 23.” He got up and walked over to the humidor. Kid joined him as he opened the doors and the aroma’s force trebled. “Get two cigar tubes, they’re under the bar.” He found Bin 23 at waist height and pulled it out. “There’s only two left in the open packet, perfect.”
He took the tubes from kid. They smelled like cedar and oil. “Get two foil packs from Bin 17 and one from Bin 5.” He slid the cigars into the cases and screwed them shut while Kid grabbed the three packets. Each was only marked with the number of the bin they came out of.
“Do these come from–?” Kid let the question hang.
“Most come from places south of Florida.” Jerk shrugged. “Bin 11’s from the Philippines right now, I think.”
“Put them in the cedar box.” He checked the gauges inside the humidor before he closed the doors. “Can’t leave this open too long or Tiny will bitch at me about the humidity.”
“I took the last packet out of Bin 5.” Kid said, closing the top of the cedar case. “Should we tell Tiny?”
“Tiny already knows.” Jerk tapped his temple. “He tracks the stock in his head.” He offered Kid the cigar tubes. “Payment. Tiny’s Number 23s.”
Kid took them. “Two of these for a delivery?” The tubes quickly disappeared into a pocket. “No complaints.”
“It’s one, but I normally trade mine for books or cassettes, and I know you enjoy them.” He picked up the cedar box. “Take this, there’s a backpack out in the drawer of the desk, I’m going to close the room up.”
After placing the cedar box in the backpack and slinging it over their shoulder, Kid got curious enough to check the other two doors in the reception area. One said “Private” which was a small storage closet with empty shelves except for some instant coffee and powered creamer. In the other–
“That’s quite the desk.” Kid said, peeking in the door. A massive oak desk and high backed leather chair dominated the room, along with two chairs that matched the ones in the Van Renwyck room for guests. The whole office was wood paneled and dim from the closed curtains.
“Custom built for Tiny’s great-grandfather.” Jerk caught himself chewing the side of his thumb and stopped himself. “You satisfied with the tour so far?”
Kid adjusted the backpack. “I’m not even sure what I’m touring.”
Jerk shrugged. “Ilium.”