"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 02 - Laughing Corpse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

pinched him in the middle while the clay was still wet. His hair was very
blond. He looked at us silently. His eyes were empty, dead as a doll’s. I
caught a glimpse of shoulder holster under the sport jacket and resisted an
urge to kick Bert in the shins.
Either my boss didn’t notice the gun or he ignored it. “Hello, I’m Bert
Vaughn and this is my associate, Anita Blake. I believe Mr. Gaynor is
expecting us.” Bert smiled at him charmingly.
The bodyguard--what else could he be--moved away from the door. Bert took
that for an invitation and walked inside. I followed, not at all sure I wanted
to. Harold Gaynor was a very rich man. Maybe he needed a bodyguard. Maybe
people had threatened him. Or maybe he was one of those men who have enough
money to keep hired muscle around whether they need it or not.
Or maybe something else was going on. Something that needed guns and
muscle, and men with dead, emotionless eyes. Not a cheery thought.
The air-conditioning was on too high and the sweat gelled instantly. We
followed the bodyguard down a long central hall that was paneled in dark,
expensive-looking wood. The hall runner looked oriental and was probably
handmade.
Heavy wooden doors were set in the right-hand wall. The bodyguard opened
the doors and again stood to one side while we walked through. The room was a
library, but I was betting no one ever read any of the books. The place was
ceiling to floor in dark wood bookcases. There was even a second level of
books and shelves reached by an elegant sweep of narrow staircase. All the
books were hardcover, all the same size, colors muted and collected together
like a collage. The furniture was, of course, red leather with brass buttons
worked into it.
A man sat near the far wall. He smiled when we came in. He was a large man
with a pleasant round face, double-chinned. He was sitting in an electric
wheelchair, with a small plaid blanket over his lap, hiding his legs.
 “Mr. Vaughn and Ms. Blake, how nice of you to drive out.” His voice went
with his face, pleasant, damn near amiable.
A slender black man sat in one of the leather chairs. He was over six feet
tall, exactly how much over was hard to tell. He was slumped down, long legs
stretched out in front of him with the ankles crossed. His legs were taller
than I was. His brown eyes watched me as if he were trying to memorize me and
would be graded later.
The blond bodyguard went to lean against the bookcases. He couldn’t quite
cross his arms, jacket too tight, muscles too big. You really shouldn’t lean
against a wall and try to look tough unless you can cross your arms. Ruins the
effect.
Mr. Gaynor said, “You’ve met Tommy.” He motioned towards the sitting
bodyguard. “That’s Bruno.”
“Is that your real name or just a nickname?” I asked, looking straight into
Bruno’s eyes.
He shifted just a little in his chair. “Real name.”
I smiled.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’ve just never met a bodyguard who was really named Bruno.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” he asked.
I shook my head. Bruno. He never had a chance. It was like naming a girl