"Mike Resnick - A Little Night Music" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

that powder-blue Mercedes 560 SL with the sun roof that I saw the
other day, and I figure what the hell, maybe this guy's group can
earn my down payment for me, so I say that three in the A.M. is
okay -- and as it turns out, I could have met him at seven after
all, because this broad throws a bowl of soup at me and walks out
of the restaurant just because I try to play a little bit of Itsy-
Bitsy-Spider on her thigh under the table.
So I go back to the office and lay down on the couch and take
a nap, and when I wake up there's this skinny guy dressed all in
black, sitting down on a chair and staring at me. I figure he's
strung out on something, because his eyes have got like wall-to-
wall pupils, and his skin is white as a sheet, and I try to
remember how much cash I have lying around the place, but then he
bows his head and speaks.
"Good evening, Mr. Barron," he says. "I believe you were
expecting me?"
"I was?" I say, sitting up and trying to focus my eyes.
"Your associate said that I was to meet you here," he
continues. "I am Vlad."
"Oh, right," I say, as my head starts to clear.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintence, Mr. Barron," he
says, extending his hand.
"Call me Murray," I answer, taking his hand, which is cold as
a dead fish and much the same texture. "Well, Vlad," I say,
dropping his hand as soon as I can and leaning back on the couch,
"tell me a little something about you and your group. Where have
you played?"
"Mostly overseas," he says, and I realize that he's got an
accent, though I can't quite place it.
"Well, nothing wrong with that," I say. "Some of our best
groups started in Liverpool. One of 'em, anyway," I add with a
chuckle.
He just stares at me without smiling, which kind of puts me
off, since if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy with no
sense of humor. "You will book my group, then?" he says.
"That's what I'm here for, Vlad bubby," I say, starting to
relax as I get used to those eyes and that skin. "Matter of fact,
there's an opening on a cruise ship going down to Acapulco. Six
days and out. Five bills a night and all the waitresses you can
grab." I smile again, so he'll know he's dealing with a man of the
world and not just some little schmuck who doesn't understand
what's going on.
He shakes his head. "Nothing on water."
"You get seasick?" I ask.
"Something like that."
"Well," I say, scratching my head and then making sure my
hairpiece is still in place, "there's a wedding party that's
looking for some entertainment at the reception."
"What is their religion?" he asks.
"It makes a difference?" I say. "I mean, they're looking for