W. 31st street and 7th avenue, Hotel Tamora, New York City, New York, U.S. Saturday May 14th, 8:30 P.M.

"Okay," announced Balin to Mr. Baggins, "remember this is a three day stay. You head out to Time Magazine once Gandalf gives the green light, which should be in a couple of days. But meanwhile," and here he gestured to the rest of the brightly-lit hobby, "this is where we're staying."

"Not a bad place at all," responded Bilbo. "Only, was it really necessary that check in so late? We didn't have to spend so much time at the airport. I thought you people had handled the accommodations earlier." The man sat down by one of the couches, as he observed Bofur make their reservations at the front desk. "Besides, isn't this going to look curious to someone? Fourteen people, that look like no relation—"

"No, don't worry, lad. We've got that. Soccer team, remember?" Balin looked amiable enough, but he didn't seem to remember Bilbo's flight hadn't been very pleasant, what with pasty Gandalf sitting by him and barely saying a word, since they couldn't say much in the flight about the job. He'd just mentioned the general schedule of things.

"All I got out of Gandalf was this: we leave this place in three days, then New Zealand. Hopefully with no detours. Now, what detours can you take in this kind of job?" but Balin was already lifting his eyebrows at Bilbo to motion him to be silent. So the journalist rolled his eyes and reached for his carry-on knapsack for the tourist guide he'd picked up at the airport. Every once in a while he'd peek up and catch different looks from the rest of the company that had been left at the airport for hours while the rest scouted for the best place to stay: Nori, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Kíli…and for some reason, he felt like outside this job, he would not have been pleased sharing a lobby with them.

It was fifteen minutes later that Bofur walked back to the group lounging on the couches, and gave the good news. "Well, good news. Bombur didn't screw up the rooming arrangements, we're all divided by families, to avoid any conflict," Nori visibly scoffed, "and for some of us, here are the keys. So step up and claim your prize, Balin and Dwalin, at room 211," he gestured to the front desk, "and I think the rest of us can just go up. Room 212 for Nori—don't be like that!" Bofur's business partner had already taken his bags and rushed past his business partner like he was offended. With a roll of his eyes, he returned to listing rooms. "Kíli, you and your brother are in Room 214; Bifur, Bombur's already got Room 215 for us; and that's about it."

Bilbo cleared his throat audibly. Bofur did not pay much attention to that, as another guest had crossed his way, and he stepped aside to let her walk up to the counter. "Sorry 'bout that, ma'am," he apologized. Only then did he register the only figure on the beige couches that was not moving—Bilbo, while all the rest had already left with their luggage. "Oh! Mr. Baggins, of course, how could I forget. Room 216. Thorin would kill me if I forgot about you." And he inclined his head as a farewell, and left the journalist alone when he followed Bifur away to the staircase.

"Trust me to trust this bunch of crooks," muttered Bilbo to himself, as he hoisted his suitcase up to the slightly upper level floor of the front desk, to ask for his key. He was left looking all over the place waiting for the woman in front of him to finish with her reservation, and he was left alone with the concierge, who could not hang up the phone!

"Trust me, Tom, he's a reliable source, don't question me on this, and just wait until we get paid." The concierge finally put down the desk phone and turned to Bilbo with a sunny smile. "I'm sorry for the wait, dir. Welcome to the Hotel Tamora. Do you have a reservation?"

"Already paid by this bloke who showed up a few hours ago. Room 16, please?"

The concierge's expression changed to one of recognition. "Oh. The one with the soccer team and all. Okay. That—wait a minute." He reached down to below the desk, and pulled out Bilbo's card to enter to room. "This is the room. I'd be glad to personally show you to your room, since it's one of our best." Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Since when do these thieves give me the best room? He wondered to himself.

"My name is William Dunn. You can call me Will if you want to," and the man gestured to left left, to the exit of the desk set. "I'll be right with you." And he walked to meet Bilbo and lead him up the stairs—"Only three floors. This isn't a really big place, mostly a 'drop in for a day' hotel," Will explained. And when it was a bother for Bilbo gather his suitcase up the stairs, the concierge very kindly did it for him.

"Well, um, thank you," said Bilbo, once they were up the stairs, and he took back his suitcase. "And from here I can keep going on my own?"

The two walked past the hall and reached the end of it. While Bilbo was impressed at the silence that reigned in the aisle, as the thirteen men he had met at his apartment in Glasgow would not have been so quiet, even after a seven hour flight! Will tapped his shoulder to get his client's attention. "Card?"

"Oh, yes, of course." But before Bilbo could resort to swiping it, the concierge snatched it out of his hand, and Bilbo protested meekly. Yet the door was open. He couldn't really complain. Will waved him to observe.

His great mistake was that he remained looking around the unimpressive room. "Well, I don't see what the fuss is about much—" and left the card at the concierge's will, because as soon as he turned around, the door was closed on him, and the only way out was with it.