Tortoiseshell and Pinstripes

This hotel where Hollis was staying, which had no sign at all, had an antique desk carved with a naked girl, apparently feeling up a horse, though the work was so intricate that it was hard to tell, exactly, what was going on, and Milgrim didn’t want to seem to be staring. Otherwise, there were dark paneled walls, a pair of curving marble stairways, and the unfriendly regard of the young man seated behind the desk, peering coldly up through nonprescription lenses in tortoiseshell frames. Not to mention his tall, sturdy, pinstriped associate, who’d asked if he could help Milgrim. Help him, Milgrim had felt, to turn right around and get back on the street where he belonged. “Hollis Henry,” Milgrim had said, managing what he’d felt had been a good approximation of a neutral tone he’d heard a lot of around Blue Ant, in similar circumstances.

“Yes?”

“Her car’s here.” Truck had seemed too specific. “Can you let her know, please?”

“You’ll want the desk,” the tall young man had said, turning and walking back to what Milgrim now assumed to be his station by the door.

There hadn’t seemed to be any, or not in the stand-up, pigeonholes-behind sense, so Milgrim had continued on, another ten feet or so, to where this other, smaller, similarly suited young man was seated. “Hollis Henry,” he’d said, trying his neutral tone again, though it hadn’t come out very well. He’d thought it sounded rather dirty, somehow, though perhaps that was the carving, which he’d noticed as he spoke.

“Name?”

“Milgrim.”

“Are you expected?”

“Yes.”

Milgrim, viewed through what he imagined were probably parts of the actual exoskeleton of a dead if not extinct animal, held his ground while a very elegantly ancient-looking telephone was brought into play. “She doesn’t appear to be in.”

From somewhere beyond the stair came a complex rattle of metal, and then the sound of Hollis’s voice.

“That would be her now,” said Milgrim.

Then Hollis appeared, beside a tall, pale, hawk-nosed, ferocious-looking woman who might have been captain of the guard at some Goth queen’s palace, to judge by her tight short jacket, with its fringed epaulets and ornate frogs, every shade from charcoal to midnight. She needs a saber, Milgrim thought, delighted.

“Your car is here, Miss Henry,” said Tortoiseshell, Milgrim having apparently become invisible.

“This is Heidi, Milgrim.” Hollis sounded tired.

The tall woman’s large, startlingly strong hand effortlessly captured Milgrim’s, giving it a brisk, rhythmic shake, possibly half of some covert recognition system. Milgrim’s hand was allowed to escape.

“She’s coming with us.”

“Of course,” said Milgrim as the tall one, Heidi, headed for the door, her stride long and determined.

“Good evening, Miss Hyde, Miss Henry,” said Pinstripes.

“Honey,” said Heidi.

“Robert,” said Hollis.

He opened and held the door for them.

“Now, that’s a ride,” said Heidi, catching sight of the Hilux. “Lose your rocket launcher?”

Milgrim looked back as Pinstripes closed the door behind them. Was there such a thing as a private hotel? He knew that there were private parks here. “What’s this hotel called?” he asked.

“Cabinet,” said Hollis. “Let’s go.”

Дата добавления: 2015-08-03