The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 15
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looked, in my opinion, more like the victim in a horror novel than the dapper celebrity who
penned them.
“I was hoping that you might have found that disk.” His smile looked like it hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I told Friedlander that I don’t think you could have left it here. I’ve
looked a couple of times.”
Hollow-eyed, he continued to smile twitchily at me. “It’s very important that I find it.
Bobby is very upset.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. If you want to look around –?”
He took out a pack of clove cigarettes and lit one. His hand shook. “There are things
you don’t understand.”
Well, yeah, starting with the popularity of reality TV and moving on down to adult
men who wear Capri pants.
I said, “I gather it was research for a project you’re working on?”
His eyes seemed to start from his head. “Why would you say that?”
Paranoia: it’s not just for dinner anymore. “I’m guessing,” I said kindly.
He continued to stare at me, then relaxed a fraction. Nodding, he blew a stream of
smoke out his nostrils. “Bobby and I meet people. In the course of our work.”
“Sure.” I had to wonder about his relationship with Friedlander. I’d had the impression
that Friedlander was sent as an author escort from the publisher, but that seemed to be
incorrect. Was Friedlander maybe Savant’s assistant? I considered that diamond stud winking
away in Savant’s shell-like right ear, but I didn’t get the feeling Savant was gay or even bi.
He continued, “We take notes. You never know what will be useful. We have a book
due every nine months, see?”
“That’s got to be tough.” Surely the hundreds of thousands that he earned in royalties
was some compensation.
“We don’t use it all, naturally. Some of our research material is fairly…sensitive.”
Were they blackmailing people? What was the deal here? I must have looked
perplexed, because he said, “If you help me, I will help you.”
“You’ll help me with what?” Was he offering to work in the store? I wasn’t sure if I was
that desperate yet.
His eyes did this shift from side to side. He whispered. “I know about
your…problem…with…” His voice died out, and his lips formed soundless words, “Blade
Sable.”
Blade Sable? Was this somebody I should know? Kind of sounded like a gay super hero.
“Blade Sable?” I repeated, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.
Gabriel eyed me in disbelief, then said, “Think about it, Aiden.”
“Adrien.”
“Whatever. You wouldn’t want to deal with this on your own. These people are very
dangerous. Even without the Powers of Darkness.”
* * * * *
By midmorning, when no one turned up from the agency, I phoned and was informed
that they had sent someone. The slightly exasperated implication was that the employee was
here somewhere – or perhaps that I had carelessly lost the employee and now wanted
another one. The woman at the agency did not actually remind me that employees did not
grow on trees, but I felt like she wanted to.
Luckily, it was a slow morning. I decided that it wouldn’t matter if I closed for an hour
or two to meet the professor. I was entitled to lunch. Maybe a long lunch. What was the use
of being the boss if you couldn’t take a long lunch once in a while?
As previously arranged, we met at Campanile on South La Brea Avenue. Recognizable
by its distinctive bell tower, the building housing Campanile restaurant and La Brea Bakery
was built by Charlie Chaplin back in 1929. Before the building was completed, Chaplin lost it
in a divorce settlement. His loss is our gain.
The professor was seated in the green-walled garden area, with its towering glass
ceiling and red-tiled floor. He was reading and sipping a glass of wine. He wore jeans and a
velvet doublet over a white shirt. His long, silvery hair gleamed like sterling against the
claret-colored velvet. He was a striking presence, oblivious to his surroundings.
Even without the powers of Darkness. Well, there are powers, and there are powers .
I rested a hand on the chair across from him. “Professor Snowden?”
He must have been watching my approach from under his lashes, because he looked up
out of his book, and without missing a beat, drawled, “Call me Guy.” He set the book aside
and offered his hand. We shook. His gaze held mine a few seconds longer than politeness
required.
Interesting.
I sat down across from him. “Guy, then. Thanks for meeting me.”
Guy moved his book aside. He had beautiful hands, tanned, graceful, but with long-
fingered strength. I could still feel the imprint of his palm against mine.
The waitress appeared. I ordered a glass of the Clos du Bois merlot. When she was out
of earshot, Guy said, “I have good news. I don’t think you’ll be…pestered any further.”
“Really?”
“I’ve spoken to the students involved – former students, actually. It was mostly
a…misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? That’s it?”
The remarkable green eyes met mine. “Er…yes.”
Maybe he was happy to let it go at that, but I wanted a little more reassurance that it
was truly over.
The waitress returned with my wine. She was one of those pert waifs, flirting
reflexively with us while we ordered our lunches. Guy went for the mesclun salad with
marinated ricotta, pine nuts, and crostini currants. I opted for a sandwich with smoked meat,
provolone, and tangy cherry peppers.
“So what caused this misunderstanding?” I inquired, returning to our original topic of
conversation. “Did anyone explain it to you?”
“Yes. And I’m satisfied that it is over.” His gaze found mine again, and he smiled wryly.
“I know the kids involved. They got a little carried away, that’s all. You can tell Angus it’s
safe to come home.”
“Just in time for finals,” I said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.”
His eyes never wavered. “You don’t?”
“Nope.”
After that we chatted idly, politely, until our meal arrived. I thought that, although this
was not really a social occasion, certainly nothing remotely resembling a date, it was pleasant
to be sharing a nice meal with an attractive man – in public. And he was very attractive.
Cultured, urbane, witty – exuding an easy, unconscious sexuality. Polar opposite from Jake. I
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