The Common Man | Page 6

uncomfortable walking about in mixed pedestrian traffic. But that
phase passed. Early in the game he found that there was small
percentage in getting into crowds. It led to all sorts of complications,
including the starting of minor rows, one person thinking another was
pushing when it was simply a matter of Crowley trying to get out from
underfoot.
Then he went through a period of the wonder of it all. Being able to
walk anywhere and observe people who had no suspicion that they
were being observed. It was during that phase that he had sought out

the hotel in which he had read the chesty French movie actress Brigette
Loren was in residence. Evidently, he'd hit the nail right on the head.
Brigette was at her toilette when he arrived on scene. In telling about
this, Crowley leered amusedly at Patricia from the side of his eyes. She
ignored him.
Then he'd gone through a period when the full realization of his
immunity had hit him.
At this point he turned to Braun, "Hey, Doc, you ever eaten any caviar?
You know, that Russian stuff. Supposed to be the most expensive food
in the world."
The doctor cleared his throat. "Small amounts in hors d'oeuvres at
cocktail parties."
"Well, maybe I'm just a country boy but the stuff tastes like fish eggs to
me. Anyway, to get back to the story...."
He'd gone into Tiffany's and into some of the other swank shops. And
then into a bank or two, and stared at the treasures of Manhattan.
At this point he looked at Ross. "You know, just being invisible don't
mean all that. How you going to pick up a wad of thousand dollar bills
and just walk out the front door with them? Everybody'd see the dough
just kind of floating through the air."
"I came to the same conclusion myself, when I experimented," Ross
said wryly.
He had ridden on the subways ... free. He had eaten various food in
various swank restaurants. He had even had drinks in name bars,
sampling everything from Metaxa to vintage champagne. He was of the
opinion that even though he remained invisible for the rest of his years,
he'd still stick to bourbon and beer.
[Illustration]

He had gone down to Wall Street and into the offices of the top
brokerage firms and into the sanctum sanctorums of the wealthiest of
mucky-mucks but had been too impatient to stick around long enough
to possibly hear something that might be profitable. He admitted,
grudgingly, that he wouldn't have known what to listen for anyway.
Frustrated there, he had gone back uptown and finally located the
hangout of one of the more renown sports promoters who was rumored
to have gangster connections and was currently under bail due to a
boxing scandal. He had stayed about that worthy's office for an hour,
gleaning nothing more than several dirty jokes he'd never heard before.
All this activity had wearied him so he went to the Waldorf, located an
empty suite in the tower and climbed into bed for a nap after coolly
phoning room service to give him a call in two hours. That had almost
led to disaster. Evidently, someone on room service had found the suite
to be supposedly empty and had sent a boy up to investigate. However,
when he had heard the door open, Crowley had merely rolled out of the
bed and left, leaving a startled bellhop behind staring at rumpled
bedclothes which had seemed to stir of their own accord.
* * *
The rest of the day was little different from the first hours. He had gone
about gawking in places he couldn't have had he been visible. Into the
dressing room of the Roxie, into the bars of swank private clubs, into
the offices of the F.B.I. He would have liked to have walked in on a
poker game with some real high rollers playing, such as Nick the Greek,
but he didn't have the time nor know-how to go about finding one.
Crowley wound it all up with a gesture of both hands, palms upward. "I
gotta admit, it was fun, but what the devil good is it?"
They looked at him questioningly.
Crowley said, "I mean, how's it practical? How can you make a buck
out of it, if you turn it over to the public, like? Everybody'd go around
robbing everybody else and you'd all wind up equal."

Dr. Braun chuckled in deprecation. "There would be various profitable
uses, Don. One priceless one would be scientific observation of wild
life. For that matter there would be valid usage in everyday life. There
are often personal reasons for not wishing to be observed. Celebrities,
for instance, wishing to avoid crowds."
"Yeah," Crowley laughed, "or a