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

a rock group. Nobody's asking you to play _Have Nagila_."
"No churches," he says.
"For a guy who's looking for work, bubby, you got a lot of
conditions," I say. "You want to work with me, you got to meet me
halfway."
"We will work in any venue that is not a church or a boat,"
he says. "We work only at night, and we require total privacy
during the day."
Well, at this point I figure I'm wasting my time, and I'm
about to show him the door, and then he says the magic words: "If
you will do as I ask, we will pay you 50% of our fee, rather than
your usual commission."
"Vlad, sweetheart," I say, "I have the feeling that this is
the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship!" I walk to the
wetbar behind my desk and pull out a bottle of bubbley. "Shall we
make it official?" I ask, reaching for a couple of glasses.
"I don't drink...champagne," he says.
I shrug. "Okay, name your poison, bubby."
"I don't drink poison, either."
"Okay, I'm game," I say. "How about a Bloody Mary?"
He licks his lips and his eyes seem to glow. "What goes into
it?"
"You're kidding, right?" I say.
"I never kid."
"Vodka and tomato juice."
"I don't drink vodka and I don't drink tomato juice."
Well, I figure we could spend all night playing Guess What
The Fruitcake Drinks, so instead I pull out a contract out of my
center drawer and ask tell him to Hancock it.
"Vlad Dracule," I read as he scrawls his name. "Dracule.
Dracule. That's got a familiar ring to it."
He looked sharply at me. "It does?"
"Yeah," I say.
"I'm sure you are mistaken," he says, and I can see he's
suddenly kind of tense.
"Didn't the Pirates have a third baseman named Dracule back
in the 60s?" I ask.
"I really couldn't say," he answers. "When and where will we
be performing?"
"I'll get back to you on that," I say. "Where can I reach
you?"
"I think it is better that _I_ contact _you_," he says.
"Fine," I say. "Give me a call tomorrow morning."
"I am not available in the mornings."
"Okay, then, tomorrow afternoon." I look into those strange
dark eyes, and finally I shrug. "All right. Here's my card." I
scribble my home number on it. "Call me tomorrow night."
He picks up my card, turns on his heel, and walks out the
door. Suddenly I remember that I don't know how big his group is,
and I race into the hall to ask him, but when I get there he's