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At his hotel Jalbert stops at the front desk and asks if they have folding chairs.

The clerk says he believes they do, in the hotel’s business center.

Jalbert asks the clerk to send three up to 521.

“On second thought, I’ll get them myself,” Jalbert says, and does just that.

There’s a dozen or more leaning against the wall, so he takes four.

Four is a good number, better than three.

Hard to say why, but even always beats the dickens out of odd.

He takes two in each hand and carries them to the elevator, ignoring the clerk’s questioning look.

He unfolds two in the small sitting room and two in the bedroom.

He now has eight chairs (the bed and the toilet seat count).

One to eight inclusive makes thirty-six, one to twenty-four inclusive makes three hundred, one to forty inclusive makes eight hundred twenty.

People wouldn’t understand (most people), but it’s really a beautiful thing, a kind of from-the-top-down pyramid scheme that pays dividends not in money but in clarity.

As he nears the end of his fifth round of chairs, he knows what his next step must be.

He folds up the chairs he’s brought from the conference room and stacks them next to the little desk.

They may come in handy.

He takes his suitcase out from under the bed and opens it.

From the elastic pouch he takes a pair of thin rubber gloves and puts them on.

Time to grind.

Then he calls Trooper Calten.

Time to turn the screws a little more.