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

"Yes, as it happens I doЧ"
"Then you don't need this on top of 'em. This is cop-work. Let them do their job."
"But who is she, how did she come to be here?" He was a lean silhouette against the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders bunched with tension. I suddenly realized I'd not turned on the room light. He hadn't bothered with it either. Probably so he could better watch the street below. "Are you not curious?"
"I'm still in shock; gimme some time to get over it."
"You'd best do so straightaway. A police car just pulled up."
"That was quick."
"It has a radio antenna. They must have been very close."
We went downstairs. The two uniforms who'd been sent to check things had already pushed their way into the outer lobby and were gaping at the scenery, but covered up their initial awe pretty fast. For the first of several times that night I gave my name, where I lived, my occupation, and told them the problem. Escott did the same, but since he'd just come along for the ride and wasn't the owner of the joint, they weren't as interested in him.
We took the cops down to the basement and showed them what they needed to see, then stood back for the next few hours as things took their course. Eventually some plainclothes detectives and a photographer turned up. Anyone who didn't have a badge was herded upstairs for questioning.
Everyone got a grilling, and I could understand why the other guys had been so anxious to leave. It wasn't to avoid trouble so much as to get away from the aggravation of telling the same story over and over again.
The cops kept an eye on me the whole time and weren't exactly subtle about it. I shrugged it off, unworried since I had an alibi. The murder had taken place long before I decided to come west.
The coroner's wagon arrived, and I started to have hope that the circus would wind down once they carted off the remains. I had to revise my thinking when another big car pulled up behind, and out stepped Lieutenant Nick Blair, a homicide cop who didn't much like me.
He was even more nattily dressed than I'd remembered, this time in a midnight-black double-breasted suit with a matching fedora at a rakish angle. The getup looked to be worth about two months' pay for him. It was reasonable to assume that he was either on the take or had another source of money than his modest paycheck. He had hard brown eyes, slick dark hair, and sported a thick, wide mustache trimmed to give his mouth a kind of perpetual smile. Its confident good humor was entirely superficial when aimed at me. Along with the workmen and Escott, I stood outside watching all the comings and goings. Blair still managed to right away pick me from the crowd. I heard that sharks do the same thing when it comes to finding fish.
"This could be interesting," Escott murmured.
"Aw, you're just trying to make me feel good."
Blair aimed that false smile that didn't reach his eyes my way for a long ten seconds, then walked into the club without saying a word.
"Most interesting, indeed," Escott added out of the side of his mouth. You couldn't see it, because he was good at holding to a poker face, but I knew he was hiding an amused smirk under there somewhere.
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."
"Leave it to you to notice. So," the woman said, and I could imagine her surveying the room, eyebrows slightly raised with disdain, "where's this year's stiff?"
"In my pants, sugar."
"Dream on, darling, it's all you'll ever get from me."
"Lemme tell you about my dreamsЧ"
"Hire a shrink. What's through here?"
Their babble faded as they moved into the main room, and I relaxed a little. Someone had flicked on the bar light again. Without thinking about it I shut it off. Mistake. One of the guys had lingered and noticed.
"Hey, who's there? Come on out andЧ"
By the time he'd poked his head around the bar I'd vanished. Safe from view, I hung in place while the intruder thoroughly checked the area. He probably wasn't as interested in finding anyone so much as assuring himself that no booze had been accidentally left lying around. I tried to stay out of his way, but he jostled intoЧor I should say throughЧme all the same, collecting a fierce shiver. Any contact people make with me while I'm in this form is a noticeably chilling experience for them. He soon went away, muttering his disappointment, and joined the others.
I materialized and drew enough breath for a sigh of relief. It would be impossible to put them off forever, but I wanted to postpone things for as long as possible.
Vanishing cured the ache behind my eyes, but not this ongoing pain in the neck. I had things to do, starting with another phone call. Alone and unwatched for the moment, now seemed the right time. Gordy had been decent to me; I thought I'd return the favor.
The photographer bozo had flipped the bar light on in his search. With mild annoyance I cut it off yet again, then cat-footed over the marble floor to the stairs without getting spotted. I could have gone invisible one more time, but it takes a lot out of me, and I was already starting to feel the first restless whispers of hunger. Better to conserve my energies for the time being since I didn't know how long the show would last now that Blair was running things.
Up in my office I dialed a number, identified myself to the mug who answered, and told him to find his boss. He must have recognized my voice, for he dropped the receiver with a clunk as he hurried to comply.
Gordy came on a few minutes later. " 'Lo?"
"It's me," I said. "Thought I'd warn you about some trouble here at my place."