Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [77]
The garage door slammed, and Jerry made no effort to become any less visible, but the bulky, tweed-coated man didn’t notice him as he patted water from his heavy black beard, took off his hat, and opened the door. He wiped his feet and went inside. Jerry had recognized him as Mr. Smiles. Mr. Smiles owned the house.
After a moment Jerry went up to the door and took out his key ring. He found the right key and opened the door. He saw Mr. Smiles enter the front room.
The hallway smelled a little damp, in spite of the radiator burning close to the hat rack; and the walls, each painted a different colour (tangerine, red, black, and blue), were all cold as Jerry leaned on first one and then another.
Jerry was dressed in his usual black car coat, dark trousers, and high heels. His hair was wet and did not fall as softly as normal.
He folded his arms and settled down to wait.
“What’s the time? My watch has stopped.” Mr. Smiles entered the room, shaking rain off his Robin Hood hat and still patting at his beard. He walked to the fire and stood there, turning the hat round and round to dry it.
The five others said nothing. All seemed introspective, hardly aware of his arrival. Then one of them got up and approached Mr. Smiles. His name was Mr. Lucas. He had the decadent good looks of a Roman patrician. He was forty-five and a successful casino owner. Except for Mr. Smiles (who was forty-nine), he was the oldest.
“Twelve-forty, Mr. Smiles. He’s late.”
Mr. Smiles concentrated on drying his hat. “I’ve never known him not to do something he said he’d do, if that’s any comfort,” he said.
“Oh, it is,” said Miss Brunner.
Miss Brunner was sitting nearest to the fire. She was a sharp-faced, attractive young woman with the look of a predator. She sprawled back in her chair with her legs crossed. One foot tapped at the air.
Mr. Smiles turned towards her.
“He’ll come, Miss Brunner.” He gave her a glare. “He’ll come.” His tone was self-assuring.
Mr. Lucas glanced at his watch again.
Miss Brunner’s foot tapped more quickly. “Why are you so certain, Mr. Smiles?”
“I know him—at least, as well as anyone could. He’s reliable, Miss Brunner.”
Miss Brunner was a computer programmer of some experience and power. Seated closest to her was Dimitri, her slave, lover, and sometime unwilling pimp. She wore a straight fawn Courrèges suit and matching buttoned boots. He also wore a Courrèges suit of dark blue and brown tweed. Her hair was red and long, curving outward at the ends. It was nice red hair, but not on her. He was the son of Dimitri Oil, rich, with the fresh, ingenuous appearance of a boy. His disguise was complete.
Behind Miss Brunner and Dimitri, in shadow, sat Mr. Crookshank, the entertainers’ agent. Mr. Crookshank was very fat and tall. He had a heavy gold signet ring on the third finger of his right hand. It gave him the common touch. He wore a silk Ivy League suit.
In the corner, opposite Mr. Crookshank, nearer the fire, sat dark Mr. Powys, hunched in his perpetual neurotic stoop. Mr. Powys, who lived comfortably off the inheritance left him by his mine-owning great-uncle, sipped a glass of Bell’s cream whisky, staring at it as he sipped.
The fire did not heat the room sufficiently. Even Mr. Smiles, who was usually unaffected by cold, rubbed his hands together after he had taken off his coat. Mr. Smiles was a banker, main owner of the Smiles Bank, which had catered to the linen trade since 1832. The bank was not doing well, though Mr. Smiles couldn’t complain personally. Mr. Smiles poured himself a large glass of Teacher’s whisky and moved back to the fire.
None of them was well acquainted, except with Miss Brunner, who had introduced them all. They all knew Miss Brunner.
She uncrossed her legs and smoothed her skirt, smiling up unpleasantly at the bearded man.