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

way of getting around the owner. Along with vanishing into thin air, I also
possessed an innate talent for hypnosis. When the time came he'd think it was
his own idea to cut me a break. If Gordy had figured out what I was planning, he
kept it to himself.
Instead, he put the word out I was a friend of his to keep away the inevitable
parade of shakedown artists wanting pieces of the club. Like it or not, to open
so much as a hot dog stand in this town you had to give certain people their
cut. Usually it was added in with the price of the permits or liquor or labor or
deliveries. Gordy told me not to worry about it, so I didn't and just got on
with the work.
There was a hell of a lot of it. No one had been near the joint for nearly five
years. With its violent history, boarded-up windows, and the beginnings of
serious dilapidation I couldn't blame people for staying away. It looked like it
should be haunted, but I figured fresh paint and some neon lights would fix
that, maybe even a fancy canvas awning going out to the curbЕ
As Escott and I pulled up to its redbrick front, he noticed the big sign above
the door declaring: "Coming Soon: Lady Crymsyn."
"I thought it was going to be 'Jack Fleming's Club Crymsyn,' " he said.
"It was, until I figured that more than enough people in this town already know
me." For fame, I had fond hopes of becoming a writerЧhopes thus far not shared
by those editors to whom I'd sent stories. Since it looked like I wasn't going
to make any bucks in that direction in the near future, I needed the income from
the club to keep my wallet filled. "I don't want the notice, just the money," I
told him.
"Most wise. It is rather improved from when I was last here." The boards were
off, and the broken windows replaced by diamond-shaped panes of red surrounding
squares of clear glass in the center. The inside lights shone through them,
bright and warm. Not a necessity in the summer, but come winter I hoped it would
be an inviting sight to customers.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," I promised. He'd only been to the place once
before, and then just after I'd closed the deal. At that time, my future
top-of-the-tops club looked like an outhouse pit. Escott had kept diplomatically
quiet.
We walked through the wide front doors to the lush lobby area. It was all
finished, with pale marble floors, a substantial bar made of the same material,
and a few discreet touches of chrome. Empty shelves made of inch-thick glass
awaited their future stock of booze bottles and glassware. The lights underneath
cast interesting shadow patterns on the walls and ceiling. It looked great, but
they shouldn't have been on. I went behind the bar and found the off switch.
"What? No mirror?" Escott questioned, indicating the padded wall behind the
glass shelves.
"Patent leather's got more class," I told him with a straight face.
"And safer for you. Are there any mirrors here at all?"
"Only in the public johns and dressing rooms." I'd just avoid them.
A double doorway sporting red velvet curtains led into the main club area. We
went through, and Escott stopped cold.
"My God," he said. He was rarely awestruck. I enjoyed the moment.
On the wall opposite the entry was a larger-than-life-size painting of Lady
Crymsyn herself, meant to be the symbolic personification of the club. I'd
commissioned it from Alex AdrianЧyeah, that Alex Adrian, the world-famous artist