IN THE CLUTCHES OF HUMBERTO, PART ONE

Setting: Jackson Heights, Queens. June 2001.

Humberto cornered Tiffany in the kitchen, away from the prying ears of the workmen. "Is custom," he said in his thick Peruvian accent, "to give the superintendent little something when you move into building. I help you find apartment, I get a little something. Is custom."

"What?" said Tiffany, who had never heard of such a thing. We had found the apartment without a broker, and Humberto had done little more than show it to us.

"Custom. Custom." He pronounced it coostum. "One man move in, he says, 'Humberto, I like to give you little gift, yes?' He give me envelope. I go through: five, six hundred dollars. So much, I have to stop counting. You see?" He giggles at the memory of it.

Tiffany felt a lump rising in her throat. It took everything we had to move into this apartment, and here was this villain demanding more still, for doing nothing at all. "Wait," she said, fighting for calm. "The office didn't mention anything about a fee."

"Fee? No fee! Is custom! Don't tell the office. This is between you and me and David, understand?"

"I think I'm starting to."

"Is custom," Humberto insisted. "One man move in with wife. He no give little something. You know, custom. In a few weeks, he in the hospital. Almost die, you see? The wife, she so depressed, she have to move out. You see?"

She did see, although she was unsure by what means our new super was implying this cheapskate was hospitalized. Humberto's henchmen in the other room? Voodoo? Bad karma? "I'll have to discuss this with David," she said slowly.

Humberto nodded and scuttled away.

***

I was horrified. Humberto was a grandfatherly little man, full of smiles. I had thought to bake him a batch of cookies to show our appreciation for the little help he had provided.

Clearly, he had more lofty requirements.

Tiffany and I asked around. Our friends in other areas of the country were scandalized, but those living in New York's outer boroughs knew better. Fail to bribe your building superintendent when you move in, they said, and get ready for the worst year of your life.

Welcome to the Third World, we thought as we considered our options. Even if we wanted to pay even a fraction of the considerable sum Humberto had hinted at, we could not. We were penniless.

But not, we decided, helpless.

(Tune in tomorrow for Part Two of In the Clutches of Humberto!)