"Terry Dowling - Clownette" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dowling Terry)

The result was instantaneous and surprising, even reassuring in a way. The fall of artificial light in the room
was such that the main features were evident almost immediately, first as the eyes and brow line, then, bit
by smudgy bit, the grin, which always surprised me by how wide it actually was, how completely it had
been there all along, waiting to be stitched up by just one more blotch resolving. Slowly, finally, the nose
and cheeks emerged, coheredтАФthere were no other words for it. It probably had more to do with an
observer's brain providing whatever "nosing" and "cheeking" was needed, a few key bits of recognition
cuing the rest.

Again I had to smile at what a good job we did when it came to haunting ourselves.

On other visits, I'd switched off the bedside lights, gone out to a movie or a restaurant, taken my time,
then returned close on bedtime and slept through. I was still deciding how to fill this particular evening,
but first there was work to do.

I set about moving the television cabinet out from the wall, disconnected the antenna cable and power
lead, and dragged the unit across the carpet until it was in front of the stain. During my last stay in 516,
I'd worked out that the cabinet with the black Akai television itself wasn't large enough to hide the
Motley. But replacing the television with the large square painting above the bed would do the job
nicely.

Unlike many of the more modern hotels and motels, Macklin's didn't bolt their prints to the walls. The
copy of Van Gogh's Sunflowers hung by wire on a wall stud in the traditional manner, so it took
surprisingly little time. I set the television on the floor, then placed the framed print on top of the cabinet
so it was facing the wall. It covered the Motley completely.

Operation Happy Trails had begun. On the one hand I knew that nothing could come of it in the time
available. I could hardly expect it. But on the other, there was a strange feeling that anything could
happen. At least I was giving it a try, taking my relationship with Bozo to a new level.

I took the reports for the next day's sales meeting from my briefcase, called "Lazarus, come forth!" to my
hidden roommate, then set off for Saffron's. No movie tonight. I'd read the Deane and the Warnock
proposals again over dinner, have a few drinks, and turn in early.

I bid Gordon goodnight as I crossed the lobby. He flashed his smile, waved, and called, "Have a pleasant
evening, Mr. Jackson!"

I smiled back. We were doing well. We were fellow conspirators now. Maybe we'd get a chance to
laugh about it over a drink someday.



┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖


I was relieved to find Carmen at the front desk when I returned around ten. It had always been "Mr.
Jackson" with her, so when she wished me a pleasant evening the world felt back on track again. I was
surprised at how much I needed it right then.

My room was as I'd left it, of course, which suddenly made me wonder what other guests got up to in