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

About 3,500 words
A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC
by Mike Resnick
[from http://www.fortunecity.com/tattooine/farmer/2/music.txt]


The Beatles?
Yeah, I remember 'em. Especially the little one -- what was his name? -- oh, yeah: Ringo.
The Stones? Sure I booked 'em. That Mick what's-his-name was a strange one, let me tell you.
Kiss, Led Zepplin, the Who, Eddie and the Cruisers, I've booked 'em all at one time or another.
After awhile, they all kind of fade together in your memory. In fact, there's just one group that stands out. Strange, too, since they never made any kind of a splash.
Ever hear of Vlad and the Impalers?
I didn't think so. Hell, there's no reason why you should have. I never heard of 'em either, until Benny -- he's not exactly my partner, but we kind of cooperate together from time to time -- calls me up one day and says he's picked up a group and do I have any holes in the schedule? So I look at the calander, and I see a couple of gigs that are open, and I say yeah, what the hell, send their agent over and maybe we can do a little business. Benny says they don't have an agent, that this guy Vlad handles all the details himself. Now, if you've ever had to deal with one of these jokers, you know why I wasn't exactly thrilled, but the lead guitarist from this futuristic Buckets of Gor band has been hauled in for possession and I don't see anyone racing to make his bale, so I tell Benny I've got half an hour open at three in the afternoon.
"No good, Murray," he says. "The guy's a late sleeper."
"Most guys in this business are," I say, "but three in the afternoon is almost tomorrow."
"How's about you two have dinner together, maybe around seven or so?" says Benny.
"Out of the question, baby," I answer. "I got a hot date, and I just bought a new set of gold chains that figure to impress her right into the sack."
"This Vlad guy don't like to be kept waiting," says Benny.
"Well, if he wants a booking, he can damn well _learn_ to wait."
"Okay, okay, let me check his schedule," says Benny. He pauses for a minute. "So how's three o'clock?"
"I thought you just said he couldn't make it at three."
"I mean three o'clock in the morning."
"What is this guy, an insomniac?" I ask. But then I remember 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 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?"