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trotted up the wide steps in order to slip inside with a knot of
revelers, but found my way suddenly blocked by an agile mountain
disguised as a man in a tuxedo. He had short blond hair, small eyes, and
a chronically grim set to his mouth.
"Good evening," he said civilly. I mumbled a reply of some kind, noting
he was giving me careful study. His eyes flicked to some grillwork set
like an oversized vent in one branch of the U-shaped entrance. The
darkness of the small room beyond wasn't quite adequate to hide the man
with the gun who sat there. He nodded and the mountain stood aside and
let me by. I pretended not to notice this exchange, as they decided I
wasn't a dangerous character. It was favorable to be underestimated. 1
looked young and hopefully innocent--all that was needed was a touch of
stupidity. Considering some of my antics from the past, that would
probably be very easy.
The doorman did his duty, but I paused at the threshold with a brief
attack of doubt and insecurity. Though it would have been too dangerous
for him, I wished Escott was along. I missed his confidence. Despite the
advantages I had now, I could still get scared. For just one second I
nearly turned back, but a silly-looking woman with frizzed black hair
and too much makeup caught a look at me and whooped hello. Her party had
preceded me coming in and were already more than a little drunk.
"Whatcha waitin' for, a streetcar? Come on in, cutey," she shrilled.
I couldn't stand this kind of drunk, but went in before I started
thinking again. She latched on to my arm.
"Isn't he cute? Hey, Ricky, isn't he cute, isn't he?"
Ricky said, "Yeah," and swayed a little. How had they qualified getting
in if the watchdogs had been so careful with me?
"That's how I like 'em, tall 'n cute," she told Ricky reproachfully. I
hadn't been cute since I traded my short pants in for an older brother's
hand-me-downs, but let them drag me inside. Stepping away from the door,
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I heard the men behind us chuckling. Good. If they found my situation
something to laugh at. they might also think me harmless.
As politely as possible under the circumstances, I detached myself from
the lady's grip and checked my hat and scarf in with the first of the
many stunning blonds that worked there. Platinum was the dominant color,
apparently a requirement for employment. They wore short black dresses
decorated with silver sequins in the pattern of a spider's web. Over
their hearts were black, red and silver pins of stylized spiders, all of
which were a nice gimmick to tie in with the name of the club.
With difficulty, I turned my attention from the girls to the rest of the
place. It was very noisy. The barrage of conversation trying to be heard
over the brassy orchestra was like a riot in a large dog kennel. With
that image in mind it was easy to categorize the patrons. There were a
few high-class ones with pedigrees, but the overwhelming breed
represented were the mutts; well-dressed, but mutts all the same.
Another blond came up and led me to a table the size of a dinner plate
and told me the waiter would be by shortly. The place was surprisingly
busy for a weeknight, but well organized. In less than a minute a young
man appeared and took my order for Irish coffee, which also appeared in
less than a minute. I pretended to sip, though bringing it to my lips
was an act of will, and I had to stifle a gag. For distraction I looked
around and caught several unescorted young ladies giving me a hopeful
eye. I wasn't that handsome--they were working girls. I had no
inclinations for that at the moment, so my gaze slid past to the swaying
couples on the floor below. The band wound up the music, the dancers
dispersed, and the lights went down. A single spot picked out another
platinum blond leaning against the grand piano. She was in something
long, white, and silvery, a nice contrast to the brief black skirts of
the other girls and a perfect complement to her long shimmering hair.
She sang something sad and shallow in a voice that was surprisingly
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good, filling the room and hushing even the worst drunks. As with any
woman I noticed, I was comparing her to Maureen, looking for something
wrong, but for once the lady was holding her own. She finished her song,
and the lights faded and came up, but by then she was gone, leaving her
audience wanting more. The band cut to another number and couples began
to venture onto the floor again. I looked up and saw a pretty girl
smiling at me, holding a tray full of tobacco products.
"Bobbi always knocks 'em dead," she observed with a nod toward the
stage. I made a business of picking out some cigarettes and got her to
talk a little. In two minutes I found but where she lived, when she got
off work, the time of Bobbi's next number, the location of the gambling
rooms, and the requirements to get inside, which were specifically a-lot
of cash and the willingness to lose it fast. Her interest cooled and she
moved on, apparently having had experience with gamblers. I'd seen the
type as well; men who would rather gamble than make love, more fool
they.
And here I was trying to imitate them. I abandoned my table and drifted
over to a guarded door marked PRIVATE. The large man there asked my
name. I gave the one I was using that night and was slightly
disappointed to get no reaction. He consulted a telephone, a buzzer
sounded, and he opened the door wide.
It was another big room, but much quieter, lit by crystal chandeliers
and dimmed by cigarette smoke. I'd been in places like this before, but
never when they were in one piece. Usually I was hot in the wake of a
police raid making a written account of the destruction and noting down
who had been arrested for what. Prior to tonight I had never been able [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]