"Destroyer - 025 - Sweet Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Warren)

"Jane, his wife!"

The fading strains of a highly orchestrated "chopsticks" disappeared. The green glow that had illuminated one side of the man's face faded as he leaned out of the car, away from its built-in television set.

Arthur Grassione looked at Norman Belliveau and said simply: "You're going to find room for me and my men."

Norman worried whether the new guests would like the rooms he had picked for them.


CHAPTER SEVEN


Tuesday's Pub was not just any old bar.

When it had been called the St. Louis Tavern, it was any old bar. When it was the St. Louis Tavern it served the beer that made Milwaukee famous on tap to the bums that made St. Louis famous.

But then some smart cookie downtown figured that since it was near the train station and across the street from the Greyhound bus stop, and not far from the airport, the St. Louis Tavern was the perfect place to renovate into a modern watering hole.

So as the sodden regulars continued trying to see their gray futures in the golden liquid in their dusty glasses, the old interior was transformed into the smooth plastic decor of Tuesday's Pub.

The only problem was that it hadn't worked. The neighborhood had turned into a slum faster than the tavern could be turned into a cocktail lounge and now the owners were left with a joint, with a fancy name, new but ripped plastic seats and an even tougher clientele than the ones they had tried to chase.

When Dr. Harold Smith arrived, he was almost overcome by the pervasive stench of camaraderie that only dead drunks have for each other. Wood, urine, plastic, all combined their smells in an olfactory welcome, which was not shared by the people at the bar.

Standing inside the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark, Dr. Smith with his precisely creased gray suit, white shirt and regimental tie, and his gray two-suiter that was guaranteed to withstand a fall from the top of a twenty-story building, drew a lot of attention from the regulars of Tuesday's Pub.

"Hey, hey, look at the honkey," someone called from the bar.

"Woowee, he look like a professor. I bet he think he in the city museum."

"No," Smith said aloud. "Not a museum."

He walked past the bar to the back room, where he saw Remo and Chiun sitting at a table. Remo was counting ceiling tiles and Chiun was watching a dart game in progress.

Smith eased himself into an empty chair across from Remo, who continued to look at the ceiling.

"Nice places you bring me to," Smith said.

Remo still stared at the ceiling. Chiun nodded to Smith.

"Remo, it is Emperor Smith. Emperor Smith is here," he said.

Without looking down from the ceiling, Remo said "Did you bring the money?"

"Into this place?" Smith said.

"Don't weasel-word me," Remo said. "Have you got the money for my house?"

"I can get it in ten minutes," Smith said. "Now what is all this about a house?"