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

"Yeah, I can see it might be like going under the boardwalk on Coney Island."
"Something else you might also consider is employing a portion of it as an emergency bolt-hole for yourself. It would be very simple to block off a sizable section and put in whatever you might require for your daylight comfort."
He meant another cot with my home earth like the one at home. It was a great idea, but after what happened in the club's basement, not something I wanted to think about for the time being. I said I'd look into it later and changed the subject. "So you did some eavesdropping?"
"Not in the literal sense, and not easily. The supporting framework for the tiers prevented me from getting near anyone in the lower areas, but the middle and upper seats were fairly clear. However, the materials used for construction prevented me from hearing all that much. The padded upholstery over the wood is most efficient at absorbing sound. It was more of an experiment than anything else. I doubt if one could hear much of anything once the place is open to the public, but in this case conditions were fairlyЧ"
"Learn anything?" I had to interrupt him. His discovery had put him in one of those cheerful moods where he could enthuse for hours.
"A bit about the history of the club. Some of the members of your previous profession were only too pleased recalling the lurid past to notice my thumping around under their feet. They were exchanging tales of what they knew about the death of the owner in '32 and the rather explosive manner of his dispatch. There is rampant speculation that the unfortunate woman in the basement might have been one of his victims, but until she is identified they can form no solid conclusions. Their reasoning about there being a connection probably has merit, but they are most unwise to theorize without facts."
"Or do it in the hearing of anyone who'd steal the idea."
"This fanciful improvisation on the part of some of them is worrisome to me. You once said that reporters rarely have the time to commit such intentional distortions."
"Most of 'em don't, but the yellow press boys thrive on the stuff. It comes with the job. If a guy speculates and the public complains, he blames his editor, who blames the publisher, who blames the demands of the public."
"Very tidy."
"We used to think so. You learn anything else?"
"Nothing I did not already know and a great deal I did not wish to know about competing baseball teams."
"Anyone try to corner you for an interview before you went to ground under all that?"
"Yes, and not to worry, I was frustratingly reticent."
"Don't underestimate them, Charles. When they have to fill space for a deadline they can get a story out of a blind turnip."
"And since there is no such thingЧ"
"Yeah, think about it."
"Point taken. I believe the worst of it is over, though."
"Don't kid yourself. The worst will be the headlines tomorrow."
"I doubt if this will garner much interest. How does a years-old murder compare with the Duke of Windsor getting married?"
"Trust me, a walled-up body in Chicago is going to make more copy in the American press than a former king tying the knot in Europe."
"The sad fact of the matter being that you are likely correct in your assessment concerning the public's preference. You harbor a most valuable talent."
"Thanks."
"In light of that sort of fine judgment I hope you'll not give up on your writing career. I understand that knowing what the public wants is half the battle."
It was damned decent of him to refer to my irregular attempts at scribbling as a "career." "Nah. I'm just putting it aside until I get the club launched."
"That, my friend, might require some additional effort after this." He nodded at the mess out front. The meat wagon pulled away from the curb and turned down the alley. We pressed into a side doorway until it passed, then followed to watch. The driver made use of the basement loading ramp that opened on the street behind the club. In this case it was more of an unloading ramp. A couple of guys went inside with a bundle and soon reappeared carrying a long, flexible wicker basket, which they put into the wagon. It seemed fairly light in weight. The photographers took more pictures, then stood back to let the truck pass through.
Once the remains were gone the reporters also thinned out, and eventually even the cops went away. I locked things up for what was left of the night. When the law came back tomorrow Leon could let them in again.
I told Escott where I planned to go next and asked if he wanted to come along, but he tiredly declined. He'd had a full day at his office already and didn't need more excitement. Sometimes I forgot that his day was winding down just when mine was beginning.
On the way home I repeated to him all that I'd learned from both Leon and Blair and the little mental whammy I'd done on the latter. "If you're interested in keeping up on this case, you'll find he'll be strangely cooperative for the next few weeks."
"What excellent forethought, thank you." He looked like I'd just handed him the winning ticket for the Irish sweepstakes.
"Okay, what gives? You're a little too happy."
"This particular problem is not my only concern. There are other matters I have in hand that might progress more smoothly for having the help of a senior officer in the local force."
"I thought you already had friends there."
"I do, but not all of them will have the same sort of authority your Lieutenant Blair possesses. I shall strive to make use of his cooperation while the beneficent effect of your influence lasts."
"Be my guest."
After dropping him at the house, I continued on to the Nightcrawler Club.
Gordy and I had some serious talking to do.

3
I used one of the side entries to the Nightcrawler to avoid the crowds out front. This wasn't a black tie evening, but I was still unshaved. Besides, if Blair had any stoolies working the joint, I wanted to avoid them as well. He knew entirely too much about me for my own good.
The door was locked from the outside, but I didn't let that slow me and sieved in through the thin cracks around its edge, then found the back stairs off the casino room. There was a touch of trudging in my walk. I wasn't nearly to the point of being physically tired yet, but my mind had been hopping nonstop for hours, and that could wear me out the same as anyone.
Gordy's men must have been busy elsewhere; I didn't spot his bruisers until I pushed open the office door. The mug who was there to answer the phone and otherwise keep an eye on things knew me by sight and understood I had a special pass to the inner sanctum whenever I wanted. I got an expressionless up and down, but without a word he left his game of solitaire to find his boss. I looked the cards over and decided he might win that round. After a minute he came back and told me to follow the man who stood waiting in the hall. This one was dressed like a waiter and had at least a .32 stuffed under one arm. I was used to seeing most of the Nightcrawler's male employees carrying heat. What would surprise me would be finding one who wasn't.
Usually Gordy would make time to see me whenever I dropped in, and we'd sprawl comfortably on his expensive furniture in the office and talk about all kinds of stuff. I'd saved his life once or twice, and that meant something to him. We also had pretty much the same hours. Escott was a hell of a good friend, but couldn't stay up all night just to keep me company, so Gordy filled in that particular gap. It was pretty educational, too. I learned more about who was who in mob politics than should be healthy, but Gordy knew it wouldn't be repeated by me to others. WellЕ maybe to Escott.
This being escorted to another room was different from his regular pattern, so my curiosity perked up. Things got more interesting when I was led down more stairs to the club's basement. I could have done without the feeling this turn inspired. Gordy didn't keep bodies hereЧthat I knew ofЧbut the dim lighting and the scent of dank, uncirculated air annoyed me with its reminder of what I'd just left. I shoved the bout of dщjр vu away.
We walked past a trapdoor in the floor. That was a relief. It led to a brick-lined tunnel running under the street all the way to another building. I'd had my fill of sinister underground chambers for the next few decades. We stopped. Amid stacks of boxes containing everything from seltzer water to tinsel party favors I took in an interesting little tableau.
Only one forty-watt bulb lighted things in this wood-and-cardboard grotto. The shadows were harsh and sucked color from everything. Gordy, who was large enough and solid enough to give Mount Rushmore some competition, sat on a crate looking at another man I vaguely knew from my time in the bookie joints. The guy's name was Royce Muldan, a handsome specimen possessing a fine appreciation for his own looks. It was said he risked his life every time he passed a mirror because of the way he twisted around to take in all the gorgeous details. One of these days he'd do it too fast and break his neck. He was dressed with an East Coast polish more suited to Boston than New York, which in Chicago made him stand out like a traffic light in a wheat field. Some people claimed to be blinded by the shine on his shoes.
He wore a patient, somewhat amused expression as I came into view. I nodded once at Gordy and kept my mouth shut until I figured out what was going on.
Gordy nearly always avoided involving me directly with mob business. He knew I preferred to remain on the outside. He rarely talked about the seamier things he had to do to stay on top, though if I asked a question he'd give a straight answer. If there was anything really dirty going on here he'd have kept me waiting in the office until he was finished. All I could pick up for the moment was that this was something he wanted me to see.
Muldan took me in with a glance, then went back to Gordy, having apparently dismissed me as a threat. Maybe he'd have been more impressed if I'd shaved.
Gordy didn't bother with introductions, just made a nod to me in return before putting his attention on Muldan. "It would be better for you to lay off," he said in a slow, measured tone. He sounded patient, but firm. "For you and everyone else."