"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Courting Rites" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

Courting Rites
By: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
****
Humphrey Bogart used to star in the sort of hard-edge, black-and-white film that
“Courting Rites” could easily be made into. But let’s cast Lauren Bacall or Mary
Astor as the detective this time (if we don’t opt for Kathleen Turner as V.I.
Warshawski)—a gumshoe who isn’t as tough as her trade, but who’s as smart as
any of the movie detectives who wait behind those glass doors for clients to walk in
with problems that are always, always more than they seem. Maybe even smarter.
Those detectives usually turn up in Los Angeles and New York. Ms. Winters works
out of Nevada, where the rents are cheap.
From this winner of the John Campbell, the Hugo, and the World Fantasy
Awards, we have the tale of the hard-boiled detective with a heart that’s soft—but
not that soft.
****
I should have known the case would be difficult from the start. He walked into my
office, sure as you please, confident he could charm any woman within range.
Maybe he could have once; he had a face that even at his age registered beauty.
Problem was, the face should never have grown old. His silver hair and startling blue
eyes only accented the idea that this man should have died young.
“Miss Winters?”
I nodded. I allowed men of his age certain liberties when it came to addressing
me. Any man under forty-five would have been reminded curtly that the proper title
is “Ms.”
“How may I help you, Mr.”—I glanced at the appointment book—”Silas?”
He smiled. “Silas is my first name.”
“And your last?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He took the chair in front of my desk. His clothes, dated
and slightly formal, carried the faint scent of pipe smoke. It added an exotic feel to
my rather staid office.
There are, perhaps, a thousand P.I.s in LA, which is why I left. I took all my
ready cash and set up shop in Nevada, where the land and the rents are cheaper by
hundreds—sometimes thousands—of dollars. I set up a fancy office—plush blue
upholstered chairs, matching carpet, framed prints on the wall, all-important
air-conditioning, and room for my part-time secretary in the months I needed her. I
had hoped it would give clients the idea that I was well-off—a woman who knew
what she was doing. It helped with tourists. But I got the sense that this man was not
a tourist.
“So,” I said again. “How may I help you?”
“You may find my banjo.”
Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t this. “Your banjo?”
“It may sound trivial to you, Miss,” he said. “But to me, it is of the utmost
importance.”
I folded my hands on my clean desk. I hadn’t had a client in weeks, and the
last had been a skip-trace out of Vegas. Certainly not the most interesting kind of
case, nor the most lucrative. “What is it, a collector’s item?”
He smiled, and I saw a flash of that once-powerful charm. “It’s one of a
kind.”
“Pictures, records, serial number?”
“No, none.” He waved a hand, dismissing my comment. “It was made by my