"P. N. Elrod - Vampire Files 08 - The Dark Sleep" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Those happened more or less regularly because of the casino that took up half the ground floor. The
room was invitation only. If the goon at the door didn't like your looks, you didn't get in. The raids
weren't much of an inconvenience to Gordy. He just rode them out, had his lawyers deal with the law,
paid his fine out of petty cash, and was usually back in business a day or so later. Sometimes the
interruption was mob-ordered to distract the public from some other embarrassment and to make it look
like the cops were on the job. Gordy found the notoriety good publicity; the place rarely had a slow
night.

The only thing they didn't think to do for the place was improve the parking, but the whole city was like
that. Most of the customers were well-heeled enough to take a taxi or have their chauffeur drop them off.
I wasn't one of them and circled the block a few times to find an open spot. Ordinarily I could could find
one, but the papers had carried plenty of advertising on the show; it looked to be a full house for the nine
o'clock opening. I finally gave up and used the valet parking, trusting the thin kid who took my keys
would bring my buggy back.

I checked my topcoat and hat and threaded through the drinks crowd in the club's outer lobby bar to
see if the hostess remembered to hold a table for me. In a black dress covered with silver sequins
forming a spiderweb pattern, she wore a silly little hat made to look like a cheerfully smiling spider. The
other girls had similar costumes, but with shorter skirts. The hat bobbed and the spider's googly eyes
rolled as the hostess pored over her seating roster.

"I'm sorry, but we had to give your table to another party," she said, sincerely apologetic. "Gordy said it
was okay and for you to find him so you can sit at his table." This drew the jealous attention of a few
eavesdroppers who would have to wait for the second show.

Well, it sometimes pays to be a privileged character.

Not that I'd been worried or even annoyed about having my table yanked from under me. Being a
familiar face here by now, I knew I'd easily find a spare chair with some acquaintance, but so much the
better to get with Gordy as he'd have the best view in the house. And thanks to him I had the run of the
place. After I saved his life a couple of times, he thought it was the least he could do.

The orchestra was Ted Drew's Melodians, and they were in full swing as I pushed through the dividing
curtains into the club proper. They were ensconced upstage on risers overlooking the dance floor, which
was surrounded by three ascending tiers of chairs and tables for the audience in a wide horseshoe shape.
Gordy wanted an outrageously high cover charge of five bucks for tonight's show, but that didn't seem to
deter anyone; the joint was packed. Dancing couples bumped shoulders in a haze of colored lights and
cigarette smoke, and the padded walls were having a hard time muting the clamor of a large crowd trying
to make themselves heard over the music and each other.

The sight of it jolted me like a physical force. The faces all seemed to smear and blend into one
anonymous mass. The music and talk were unnaturally loud to my sensitive ears, and when I bothered to
breathe, the smoke clogged my throat like a clenched fist. Most of the time I could ignore such
distractions, but not now. The fancy clothes, perfumes, expensive surroundings, the clink of glasses, and
shouts of laughter devolved into the sharp memory of a dingy dance hall, the bite of damp wool clothing,
old sweat, and shuffling feet on an unswept floor. Then, involuntarily, came the next inner picture of that
floor cluttered with fallen bodies, the blood spreading wide and far, and the stink of cordite hanging in the
air.