"James E. Gunn - The Magicians" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gunn James E)

Crystal Room

I chuckled. It never fails: hotel bulletin boards are like movie marquees; there always is something
on them that is misspelled.
The chuckle died away in the vastness of the hotel lobby like laughter in a church. I glanced
around uneasily. My man hadn't come in, I had no reason to be uneasyтАФno valid reason anyway. I just
didn't like the job. Not that it promised to be tough. It was too simple, really, and the old lady was paying
too much. And I had the feeling that there were eyes watching me. There was nobody. I could swear to
that. And yet I knew I was being watched. That's a switch. It's enough to give any private detective a
neurosis.
Hell! Why should anyone pay a thousand bucks just to find out some guy's name?
***
Wood was crackling aromatically in the fireplace at the far end of the lobby. Easy chairs and
sofas were arranged geometrically on a couple of large blue and red Oriental rugs. I made my way
across the floor, my shoes going thump-thump, whack-whack, thump-thump, whack-whack as I walked
from rug to marble and back again. Then I was at the desk. I leaned against it so that I could watch both
doors my man might enter.
The clerk at the desk looked up. He was a type; you've seen him. Thin, thirtyish, dressed in a
dark suit and a bow tie, his bald head gleaming brighter than the floor, obsequious to his superiors,
vindictive toward those placed under him. Unfortunately, he knew me.
"Hello, Charlie," I said.
"Casey," he said suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
"Business."
"No trouble, Casey," he said. "I'll have you tossed out of here. The management won't have you
raiding rooms, snapping pictures. Our guests pay for service and privacy, and anybody whoтАФ"
"Relax, Charlie," I said. "Nothing like that."
He subsided. I felt him sink back from his toes, but he didn't give up, "Since when have you had
anything but divorce cases?"
"I've come up in the world, Charlie. Who puts the notices on the board over there?"
"Usually it's the convention management," he said, "but this morning I did it. Why?"
"Can't spell, either, eh?"
He glanced at the board and back at me, his face impassive. "Nothing misspelled there."
"Yeah," I said. "I've always wanted to attend a covention." It started out as a small joke, but
when I got to the key word my voice broke and an unpleasant shiver went up my back.
"Now's your chance," Charlie said, "because that's what it is. If you qualify."
"Qualify for what?"
"As a member of the group."
"What group is that?"
Charlie shrugged.
"You mean just anybody can walk in off the street and hold a meeting here?" I said. "For any
purpose?"
"Why not?" Charlie said. "They've got as much right as anybody. Particularly if they pay in
advance."
"Well, how do I know if I qualify if I don't know what they do?" I asked.
"There's the man in charge now, just coming through the door," Charlie said. "Why don't you ask
him?"
I turned my head toward the entrance on my right. Just inside the sliding glass doors, sighing shut
behind, was a tall man with dark hair and graying temples. He looked slim and distinguished, though
oddly attired for ten in the morning, in evening clothes. In his lapel was a five-pointed star, small, gold,
engraved with symbols too small to read from where I stood. The description checked. He was my man.