"Elrod, P N - Vampire Files 05 - Fire In The Blood E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

The room's pretty stark, but during the day I don't notice much of anything. It
has an air shaft to the outside, electricity for the work light and radio, and a
photo of my girlfriend Bobbi for decoration. My typewriter rests on a wide shelf
attached to the wall. I enjoy the privacy when writing, but do my real living in
my rooms on the second floor. There I keep my clothes and a comfortable scatter
of magazines and books, and succeed in pretending that I'm no different from any
other human. But the bed in the corner was for show only, and no mirror hangs
over the dresser.
Tonight I picked out a plain dark silk tie to go with my second-best midnight
blue suit. It was conservative without overdoing it. though next to Escott, I
always look a little flashy. He feels the same way about double-breasted suits
as I do about coffins and wouldn't be caught dead in one.
Escott and Griffin were in the parlor. Griffin was sitting on the edge of the
big leather chair, his visored hat on one massive knee. He stood up smoothly as
I came down. I couldn't figure his age, he had one of those thirty-to-fifty
faces. Escott got up from the sofa and led the way out, locking up behind us. A
minute later we were driving away in a shiny new Packard with Griffin at the
wheel.
"Any idea where we're going?" I murmured to Escott, though there was a glass
divider between the front and back.
He opened his mouth, shut it, and shook his head once, looking slightly
embarrassed. "I asked all the usual questions, but Mr. Griffin deigned to answer
only the most basic: the name of his employer and the time of the appointment."
"Nothing else, huh?"
"If his purpose was to inflict bodily harm upon my person, I think it would have
happened by now. At least he had no objections to my request to have you along."
"If you feel so trusting, then why bring me at all?"
"I'm merely applying your own philosophy of not taking chances. Mr. Griffin did
give me the impression that he wouldn't have been at all pleased had I refused
his request to come."
He had a definite point there. I was much stronger than I looked because of my
changed condition, but Griffin was not someone I'd cheerfully go up against just
to see what happened.
"My belated apologies for dragging you from your work. How is it progressing?"
"Just peachy." I had a fanciful mental picture of the editor of Spicy Terror
Tales breathlessly awaiting my latest contribution to the slush pile. Several
years of background in journalism notwithstanding, my literary career at this
point had been anything but lucrative, so my partnership with Escott was a
financial necessity. Vampires spend money like everyone else.
Griffin drove to a quiet street with only one open business at this hour, a bar
called the Stumble Inn. He parked in front, got out, and opened the car door for
us.
"You'll find Mr. Pierce at the last table on the left," he told us.
"On the left," repeated Escott, as though such meetings were normal for him.
Griffin gently shut the door, folded his arms, and leaned against the Packard,
causing it to tilt a little. It was a freezing night, but he seemed to be as
indifferent to the cold as I. He was breathing regularly, though, which meant he
was human, after all. That was a relief.
We went inside. The bar lined one long wall and the man behind it had his ear
pressed to a radio that was giving out with more static than program. The place