"Elrod, P N - Vampire Files 09 - Lady Crymsyn E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

The lieutenant and I did not exactly get along. The man was sharp and knew
something was off that made me different from anyone he'd ever dealt with. It
amused me and annoyed him that he couldn't figure it out. If he ever did, it'd
probably annoy him even more.
We waited for Blair. It took him about a quarter hour to see what was in the
wall and talk with the other cops, then he sent a uniform out. For Escott, not
me. Blair must have decided to save the best for last. I lighted a cigarette and
waited some more in the cool, damp evening air and chatted with one of the
officers about the moderate summer we were having. He observed that we'd
probably have a bad winter to compensate, then cast a watchful eye back toward
the street as more cars pulled up and stopped, spewing forth a number of noisy
people moving with great purpose. I didn't know their faces, but sure as hell
recognized their occupations, having been in it once myself.
I gave an inward groan and hightailed it into the club, but not before one of
the photographers managed to blind me with a flashbulb explosion from his Speed
Graphic. Hands groping for the door handle, I made it inside just as their first
babbling wave of questions struck, and hoped that the cop would keep them out.
Reporters. I'd wanted publicity for the club, but not this kind. The business I
was aiming to draw in would not be attracted by lurid stories about corpses
walled up in the basement.
The man outside was losing his battle against the tidal force of the First
Amendment. They'd flood in any second. I ducked for cover down behind the lobby
bar just as they burst through the door. There seemed to be a lot of them, all
talking at once.
"Holy moley, some joint."
"Ah, I seen better."
"Where? Buckingham Palace?"
"Move outta the way, I wanna shot of this." A flashbulb went off, flooding the
lobby with miniature lightning. I flinched and dropped lower, my nose just above
an incongruous dark stain marring the brand-new tiles. Damn. That shouldn't have
been there. It was like finding that first scratch on a new car.
"This place is all right. Wonder who's paying for it?" A woman's voice.
"One of Big Al's leftover cronies," a man told her with wise surity.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't, but that's what I'll write. You know all these joints have to be
cleared by the mob before they can open."
"Cleared?"
"Look around you, sugar, this is owned by the mob. Who else has that kind of
dough these days?"
"I heard that Welsh Lennet was the man whoЧ"
"Tell me how to suck eggs, sugar. I used to come here back when he ran it. It
was just a speak-sleazy then, and I mean sleazy. There was stuff going on in
this pit to make your hair stand on end."
"Spare me the clichщ quotes, I can make up my own. If it was so bad, why'd you
hang here?"
"Stories, my dear, I got miles of copy out of it. I remember when the Nevis gang
bombed the joint. Welsh was right over thereЧand then he was over there and
there and there and all mixed up with a couple of his muscle boys and some poor
lady bartender caught a freak piece of shrapnel and dropped in her tracks behind
the bar and bled to death. They still got that in the same place, I see."