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

And after about ten minutes, out comes Vlad, still dressed in black, though he's added a cloak to his suit, and the three Impalers are in their white nightgowns, and even from where I'm sitting I can see that they've used too much lipstick and powder, because their lips are a bright red and their faces are as white as their gowns. Vlad waits until the audience quiets down, and then he starts singing, and I practically go crazy, because what he's doing is a rap song, and worse still, he's doing it in some foreign language so no one can understand the words, but just about the time I think the audience will tear the place apart I realize that they're sitting absolutely still, and I decide that they're either getting into it after all, or else they're so bored that they haven't got the energy to riot.
And then the strangest thing happens. From somewhere outside the building a dog starts howling, and then another, and a third, and a cat screeches, and pretty soon it sounds like a barnyard symphony, and it keeps on like that for maybe half an hour, every animal within ten miles or so baying the moon, and then Vlad stops and bows, and suddenly the kids jump to their feet and begin screaming and whistling and applauding, and I start thinking that maybe it's Liverpool all over again.
I go backstage to congratulate him, and when I get there he's busy giving hickeys to a couple of girls who snuck past the security forces, which isn't as bad as sharing a snort with them, I suppose, and then he turns to me.
"We will expect our money before we leave," he says.
"Out of the question, snookie," I say. "We won't have a count until the morning."
He frowns. "All right," he says at last. "I will send an associate of mine to your office to collect our share."
"Whatever you say, Vlad bubby," I tell him.
"His name is Renfield," says Vlad. "Don't let his appearance startle you."
As if appearances could startle me after twenty years of booking rock acts.
"Fine," I say. "I'll expect him at, say, ten o'clock?"
"That is acceptable," says Vlad. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?" I say.
"That scarab ring you wear on the small finger of your left hand..."
I hold it up. "Yeah, it's a beaut, isn't it?"
"I strongly advise you to takle it off and hide it in your desk before Mr. Renfield makes his appearance."
"A klepto, huh?" I say.
"Something like that," answers Vlad.
"Well, thanks for the tip, sweetheart," I say.
Then a Western Union girl enters the room and unloads a bushel of telegrams on Vlad.
"What is this?" he asks.
"It means you're a hit, baby," I said.
"Oh?"
"Open 'em up and read 'em," I encourage him.
He opens the first of them, scans it, and drops it like it's a hot potato. Then he backs into a corner, hissing like he's a tire losing air.
"What's the problem?" I say, picking up the telegram and reading it: I LOVE YOU AND WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABY. LOVE AND XXX, KATHY.
"Crosses!" he whispers.
"Crosses?" I repeat, trying to figure out what's bugging him.
"At the bottom," he says, pointing to the telegram with a trembling finger.
"Those are X's," I say. "They stand for kisses."
"You're sure?" he asks, still huddled in the corner. "They look like crosses to me."
"No," I say, pulling out a pen and scribbling on the telegram. "A cross looks like _this_."
He shrieks and curls into a fetal ball, and I decide that maybe he snorts a little nose candy after all, or that he just doesn't know how to handle success, so I kiss each of the girls goodbye -- their cheeks are as cold as his hand, and I make a note to complain about the heating system -- and then I go home, counting all the millions we're going to make in the next couple of years.
Well, Renfield shows up the next morning, right on schedule, and I wonder what Vlad was so concerned about, because compared to most of the heavy metal types I deal with, he's actually a mild, unprepossessing little fellow. We get to talking, and I find out that his hobby is entomology, and I can see that he's really into his subject because his homely little face lights up like a Christmas tree whenever he discusses bugs, and finally he takes the money and leaves.
Right about then I am figuring that a Mercedes is really too small and I am seriously considering getting a Rolls Royce Silver Spirit instead, but the fact of the matter is that I never see Vlad and the Impalers again. Pride and Prejudice makes bail, and Buckets of Gor beats their rap on a technicality, and suddenly the only thing I've got for my new superstar is a gig sponsered by a local church group, and he turns it down, and I call his hotel to explain, and he's checked out with no forwarding address.
I check _Variety_ and _Billboard_ for the next year, and I see that he's shown up in some minor league towns like Soweto and Lusaka, and the last I hear of him he's heading off to Kuwait City, and I think of what a waste it is and how much money we could have made for each other, but I never did understand rock stars, and this guy was a little harder to understand than most of them.
Well, you'll have to excuse me, but I gotta be off now. I'm auditioning a new group -- Igor and the Graverobbers -- and I don't want to be late. The word I get is that they're talented but kind of lifeless. But, what the hell, you never know where lightning will strike next.

-- The End --