"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 173 - Once Over Lightly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

тАЬThey don't call it a room. You're a tribe member. That includes your lodging, food, recreation,
everything.тАЭ

тАЬDon't beat around the bush, dear. I asked you the chargeтАФтАЭ

тАЬNothingтАФfor you. It's taken care of.тАЭ
тАЬJust the same, I'm not going to sign the register.тАЭ

Glacia laughed, and I found out why. There wasn't any register, or if there was one, I never saw nor
heard about it. This hotel, or resort, or whatever you would call it, was the screwiest spot imaginable.

My room was swell. Glacia managed to deposit me in it without telling me what the job was, and then
skipped, saying, тАЬYou'll want to scrub up, honey. You look like you'd been pumped here through a
pipe.тАЭ Which was more like Glacia. She normally wasn't a very civil person, to people she could bulldoze
well enough to call them her friends. I'm afraid I belonged to that category.

The room had a stuffed buffalo in it, but otherwise it was normal. The walls were pastels, blues mostly,
and the furniture was what one would probably find in the forty-dollar-a-day suite in the Waldorf. But the
buffalo rather dominated the place.

I went to the window to see whether the scenery was in keeping. It wasn't. The scenery was all right, a
swatch of authentic desert equipped with the varieties of cactus Glacia had named, sand dunes, mesquite,
probably sidewinders and scorpions too. The mountains were not far away; they were remarkably dark
mountains that tumbled and heaved up to a startlingly cyanite blue sky, and if there was a shred of
vegetation, I failed to see it. The scenery was unique in a bleak, tooth-edging way. It didn't look at all
genuine, but then that wasn't unusual in Southern California.

The scenery seemed to have an effect on me, though, or perhaps it was the hotel. Or wondering about
this job. I showered and changed, and didn't feel any more confident, and tried to find a telephone to get
in touch with Glacia. There didn't seem to be any room telephones. I went into the hall, and an Indian,
presumably another bellhop, was passing, and I asked him, тАЬWhat about room phones? Don't they have
any here?тАЭ

тАЬUgh,тАЭ he said. тАЬTakeum buffalo by horn and talk to him.тАЭ He walked off.

I yelled, тАЬListen, Pocahontas, what room is Miss Glacia Loring in?тАЭ

тАЬMink,тАЭ he said, not looking back and his feathered headdress not missing a bob.

So I went looking for mink. The suites weren't numbered either, it seemed, but were designated drawings
of different animals and birds on the door panels. The place was screwy enough that this touch seemed
quite sane and practical.

Glacia had changed to a bathing suit. It was small, a dab here and there. Not enough to do her figure any
harm.

тАЬAngel,тАЭ she cried at me. тАЬI want you to meet Uncle Waldo!тАЭ

тАЬWhose Uncle Waldo?тАЭ