JК
Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 83 из 205He stared down at his drink for a few minutes. “I don't know.”
Brownie point for him. Most people would have lied. “Then I'd rather you didn't come.”
“How are you going to convince Rebecca you work for the master vampire of this city? The Executioner working for vampires?”
It sounded ridiculous even to me. “I don't know.”
He smiled. “Then it's settled. I'll come along and help calm the waters.”
“I didn't agree to that.”
“You didn't say no, either.”
He had a point. I sipped my Coke and looked at his smug face for perhaps a minute. He said nothing, only stared back. His face was neutral, no challenge to it. There was no contest of egos as with Bert. “Let's go,” I said.
We stood. I left a tip. We went off in search of clues.
20
Rebecca Miles lived in South City's Dogtown. The streets were all named for states: Texas, Mississippi, Indiana. The building was blind, most of the windows boarded up. The grass was tall as an elephant's eye, but not half so beautiful. A block over were expensive rehabs full of yuppies and politicians. There were no yuppies on Rebecca's block.
Her apartment was on a long, narrow corridor. There was no air conditioning in the hallway, and the heat was like chest-high fur, thick and warm. One dim light bulb gleamed over the threadbare carpeting. In places the off-green walls were patched with white plaster, but it was clean. The smell of pine-scented Lysol was thick and almost nauseating in the small, dark hallway. You could probably have eaten off the carpeting if you had wanted to, but you would have gotten fuzzies in your mouth. No amount of Lysol would get rid of carpet fuzzies.
As we had discussed in the car, Phillip knocked on the door. The idea was that he would calm any misgivings she might have about The Executioner coming into her humble abode. It took fifteen minutes of knocking and waiting before we heard someone moving around behind the door.
The door opened as far as the chain would allow. I couldn't see who answered the door. A woman's voice, thick with sleep, said, “Phillip, what are you doing here?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes?” he asked. I couldn't see his face, but I would have bet everything I owned that he was flashing her one of his infamous smiles.
“Sure; sorry, you woke me up.” The door closed, and the chain rattled. The door reopened, wide. I still couldn't see around Phillip. So I guess Rebecca didn't see me either.
Brownie point for him. Most people would have lied. “Then I'd rather you didn't come.”
“How are you going to convince Rebecca you work for the master vampire of this city? The Executioner working for vampires?”
It sounded ridiculous even to me. “I don't know.”
He smiled. “Then it's settled. I'll come along and help calm the waters.”
“I didn't agree to that.”
“You didn't say no, either.”
He had a point. I sipped my Coke and looked at his smug face for perhaps a minute. He said nothing, only stared back. His face was neutral, no challenge to it. There was no contest of egos as with Bert. “Let's go,” I said.
We stood. I left a tip. We went off in search of clues.
20
Rebecca Miles lived in South City's Dogtown. The streets were all named for states: Texas, Mississippi, Indiana. The building was blind, most of the windows boarded up. The grass was tall as an elephant's eye, but not half so beautiful. A block over were expensive rehabs full of yuppies and politicians. There were no yuppies on Rebecca's block.
Her apartment was on a long, narrow corridor. There was no air conditioning in the hallway, and the heat was like chest-high fur, thick and warm. One dim light bulb gleamed over the threadbare carpeting. In places the off-green walls were patched with white plaster, but it was clean. The smell of pine-scented Lysol was thick and almost nauseating in the small, dark hallway. You could probably have eaten off the carpeting if you had wanted to, but you would have gotten fuzzies in your mouth. No amount of Lysol would get rid of carpet fuzzies.
As we had discussed in the car, Phillip knocked on the door. The idea was that he would calm any misgivings she might have about The Executioner coming into her humble abode. It took fifteen minutes of knocking and waiting before we heard someone moving around behind the door.
The door opened as far as the chain would allow. I couldn't see who answered the door. A woman's voice, thick with sleep, said, “Phillip, what are you doing here?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes?” he asked. I couldn't see his face, but I would have bet everything I owned that he was flashing her one of his infamous smiles.
“Sure; sorry, you woke me up.” The door closed, and the chain rattled. The door reopened, wide. I still couldn't see around Phillip. So I guess Rebecca didn't see me either.