"P. N. Elrod - Vampire Files 04 - Art In The Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

I knew the place had been raided by the cops at least once since my last visit, and Gordy had taken the
temporary shutdown as an opportunity to redecorate. The walls were bright with fresh paint, and the
tables, chairs, and bandstand were now shiny black with gleaming chrome trim. The only thing unchanged
were the costumes on the girls, which remained black with silver-sequined spiderwebs patterned on the
happily short skirts. The leggy details were enough to keep me occupied until Gordy showed up.
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He was puzzled to see me, maybe slightly wary as well, but when I stuck my hand out he took it. He
was a big mountain of a man with a solid, but not crushing grip. He had no need to prove his strength
against anyone, taking it for granted people could figure it out for themselves.

" 'Lo, Fleming, what's up?"

"This and that. Got a quieter place than here?" I gestured at the band across the dance floor below. They
were just starting off another tune for the patrons.

He nodded, not one for much wordage, and led the way through a door marked Private. The
soundproofing did its job and we were in the casino room, up to our eyeballs in stale smoke and the tight
atmosphere of prolonged tension. Gordy nodded to a couple of tough boys in tuxedos guarding the
money cage and threaded through the craps and roulette tables to the back exit. We took a short hall and
some stairs up to an office I remembered very well. The redecorating had gotten this far with a new rug,
paint, and paintings. His deceased boss's boats had been replaced by green-and-brown pastorals. A
canvas depicting a lush forest covered a section of the wall where six slugs from a .38 had embedded
themselves one memorable night.

"Nice picture, huh?" he said, noticing my interest. There was a very slight humor coming from his eyes. "I
like to look at it."

"That's what they're there for." I noticed it was not an ordinary store-bought print, but a real oil with a
decent frame.

"Yeah."

He pointed at a deep leather chair and settled into a wide matching sofa, taking up most of it. He wasn't
fat, just big, and I knew from experience he could move fast and light when he wanted to; the present
slowness was all pan of his camouflage. Large men were supposed to be slow and stupid, so Gordy
cultivated that image and thus kept a lot of people off balance. In his business an edge always came in
handy.

"Want anything?" he asked, meaning refreshments.

I shook my head and with some caution removed my dark glasses. From his reaction I could tell my
eyes were still quite red from the feeding.

"You look like you had a hell of a weekend."

"I did."