Leo decided to go to number 111 on 145th, hoping it would be a hardwarestore, only to find it wasn’t a store, it was an apartment block. After managing to sneak into the communal areas, Leo knocked on door 111. He and Nara spoke to the owner, an elderly man who’d lived in the apartment most of his life, had never owned a hardware store and couldn’t understand why he was being asked he if had. Taking a chance, Leo asked whether he knew Jesse Austin anyway. The old man looked at Leo with a peculiar gaze. It was obvious that he knew him, perhaps even knew him well, but he shook his head and shut the door. Glancing at Nara, Leo said, exasperated:

—This is what I’m up against. No one wants to talk. They haven’t forgotten him, but they don’t want to talk about him.

She merely replied:

—There might be a reason for that.

Leo was not in the mood for compromise.

—There’s also a good reason for wanting them to talk.

Walking down the street, Leo raised his hand, gesturing at a run-down hardware store, a ramshackle, old-fashioned affair. The store window was cluttered and dark. Nara looked at him.

—How do you know this is the store?

—I don’t.

Leo pointed to a hand-painted sign. A family business for thirty years!

Opening the door, a small bronze bell rang overhead. There was a musty smell. The shop counter was dusty. The contents were disorganized. On the wall behind the cash register there was a row of plastic drawers, filled with odds and ends, nails and bolts, screws and hinges, drawers stacked as high as the ceiling.

The proprietor was young, a man in his early thirties, emerging from a back room with reading glasses on the end of his nose, regarding his unusual customers. His glance concentrated on Leo and turned unfriendly.

—You’ve been in here before?

Nara stepped forward, speaking in fluent English, having already gone over the question with Leo at home.

—We’re looking for information on a famous singer who used to live near here. His name is Jesse Austin.

Upon hearing the name the man took off his glasses, placing them on the counter.

—That’s right, you’re the Jesse Austin man. What is it with you, anyway?

—My name is Leo Demidov.

Embarrassed by his English, he turned to Nara. She added:

—My name is Nara Mir. This is my friend. Leo knew Mr Jesse Austin a long time ago. We’re trying to find information.

The man studied Leo, saying:

—You knew Jesse Austin? I don’t believe it.

—It’s true.

—You’re not from New York, are you?

—I’m from Russia.

—Russia? And you knew Jesse?

—We met in Moscow.

—You met in Moscow?