Day - 1

'Get out of the way you bloody dickhead!'

I jumped in the back seat of the taxi, the cursing of the driver breaking into the pleasant doze that I had found myself in.

The large bearded man was yelling at the driver of the car in front of him, his language going from English to Arabic and back again at an amazing rate.

The driver of the other vehicle just sat there impassively, a newspaper propped on his knees.

My irate driver swore some more, a mixture of the two tongues and then the whole car shot through a small gap that presented itself over in the next lane with a screeching of tyre rubber.

The left corner of the car brushed past the fender of an expensive looking sports car and surged into the space.

The car moved…

Ten yards.

Then we stopped again.

The heat was getting unbearable on the inside of the cab and I reached across to wind down the barrier that separated me from the fresh air of the outside world.

The handle came off in my hand on the first turn.

I tried to make the most of it and sat back in my seat. I closed my eyes and tried to recapture the dream that I had been having before I had been so rudely awakened.

Not a damn chance.

Over the honking of horns I could hear the tirade of insults start up from the front once again.

Between that and the heat…and the eighteen hour flight I had had more than enough.

The door opened and I stepped out into the road pulling my suitcase out with me. The driver stopped insulting the people around him long enough to accept the money that I handed over and then promptly turned the sign back on that rested on his roof.

I took a chance that the traffic would not move around me and took a look around.

The cars were bumper to bumper, wall to wall metal, every exposed inch would be hot to the touch after just sitting here baking in the July heat.

I managed to find my way through the maze of steel to the pavement with a minimum of stress and looked once more to get my bearings.

I looked left and right to see more motor misery and came to one inescapable fact…

I was lost.

People were passing by so close that it seemed almost like swimming through a sea of bodies. I was bumped and spun a couple of times and almost lost the grip on my suitcase but, somehow, I managed to hold on to it. It had been a present from my wife and I was damned if I was going to let it go without a fight.

There came the sound of a siren in the distance; a police siren. If you have been in any major city in the US then you can guarantee you will hear a siren of some description at most times of the day.

At night it seemed to be worse for some reason.

Maybe that was when all the crazies came out.

It took me almost two hours of aimless wondering to find the hotel, only to discover that I had walked past it twice and had gone around in a big circle.

The door opened as I approached and I stepped into a large lobby that smelled of freshly cut flowers and the satisfying hum of air conditioning.

Although the noise from outside had not been cut off entirely it had abated a lot. The change was a very welcome change.

I spotted the centre desk and made my way towards it, waiting patiently behind another guest that was checking out.

My turn came quickly and I shuffled my case along the floor to the foot of the desk with my foot.

'Can I help you…sir?'

The 'boy' behind the counter couldn't have been more than nineteen at the outside but, like most New Yorkers, held himself with a haughty indifference when it came to others. I let it slide. It was too warm and I was just too damn tired to start an argument with someone that I had just met.

Maybe later.

'I'm here for the seminar…the names Richards.'

'Ah yes…the Englishman.'

I looked at him and he looked straight back. It may have just been my imagination but I was sure that he had made the word seem almost…dirty. Something that you stepped in.

At least, that was the way that it seemed to me at the time.

He passed the paperwork across the counter top and I signed without another word. The sooner that I was in my room the better. He took the papers and the pen and handed me my room card.

After pressing a button on the wooden top he addressed the even-younger bell-boy that appeared.

'Take Mr. Richards to 217.'

No 'welcome to the hotel', no 'please enjoy your stay', nothing.

I threw him my best, most polite of smiles, the one that I had especially reserved for idiots and assholes and moved off towards the bank of elevators.

It didn't take that long to get to the room and for that at least I was glad. I tipped the kid a ten, telling him that I was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day, and closed the door as soon as he had left. Throwing the locks and the dead bolt too I dropped onto the large comfortable looking bed that dominated the fair-size room.

I was asleep in the next five minutes.

So tired was both my mind and body I failed to hear the sirens, both police and emergency, as they sped below my window.