"Robert B. Parker - Poodle Springs (v1.1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parker Robert B)

"If you're open for business I'd like to talk to you."

"Go ahead," I said.

"Can you come here?"

"The Agony Club?"

"Yeah. You know where it is?"

"Just out of Poodle Springs jurisdiction," I said. "When?"

"Now."

"I'll be out in half an hour," I said and hung up.

Linda was looking at me with her arms folded across her chest. I let my chair squeak back and put my hands behind my head and smiled at her. She had on a ridiculous little white hat with the hint of a veil, and a sleeveless little white dress and sling strap high-heeled white shoes, the right toe of which was tapping the floor.

"I'll be out in half an hour?" she said.

"First client," I said. "I have to earn a living."

"And our lunch?"

"Call Tino, maybe he'd like to join you."

"I can't go to lunch with the houseboy."

I stood. "I'll drop you off at home."

She nodded and turned and went out of the office ahead of me. When I dropped her off she didn't kiss me good-bye, even though I went around and opened the door for her. A charmer, Marlowe. A model of courtliness.

The Agony Club was northeast of Poodle Springs, just over the line in Riverside County. A famous actor had set out to build himself a castle in the desert and then a reversal of fortune based on an incident with a 15-year-old girl, and the castle was a casualty. It looked like a bordello for wealthy Mexicans, all white stucco and red tile, with fountains in the courtyard and bougainvillaea creeping along its flanks. In the middle of the day it had a slightly tarnished look, like an overaged screen star. There were no cars in the big crushed stone circular driveway. I could hear the hum of the air conditioner somewhere out of sight, like a locust behind the building.

I parked the Olds under the portcullis at the back of the courtyard and walked in through the cooler darkness of the entry. There were two big carved mahogany doors, one slightly ajar. I pushed through it into the suddenly cool indoors. It felt good after the hard desert heat, but it felt artificial too, like the soothing touch of an embalmer. The two hoods who'd braced me the other day appeared from somewhere to the right.

The taller one said, "You carrying?"

"Yeah," I said, "you never know when there might be something to shoot out here."

The smaller hood was only half visible, hanging back in the gloomy doorway to the right. I could see the light from the main room glint off the gun in his hand.

"Can't see Lippy with a gun," the tall one said.

I shrugged and opened my coat and the tall one took the gun smoothly from under my arm. He looked at it.

"Two-inch barrel," he said. "Not much good at a distance."

"I only work close up," I said.