The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 35
Jason walked slowly along and located the building he was looking for. In garish red letters, the sign outside of the nightclub announced he had arrived at "Sylvia's." He leaned back and looked up. There were no signs of life in the blackened windows on the top floor. The curtains were tightly drawn. More than likely, Sylvia Hopkins slept during the day and managed the affairs of her business at night.
He glanced left and right to make sure he was alone on the street.
Satisfied that he was, he slipped into the alleyway and walked around the building, inspecting the structure for some alternative means of entry.
Aside from an entrance to the office suites on the south side and an emergency exit on the west, the only way in or out was the front door.
After his circuit of the building was complete, he wandered into the office lobby and checked the directory posted on the wall. There were several businesses in residence, but none of them seemed noteworthy. He checked the elevator and, as he had feared, it did not go to the penthouse.
There must be another one in the nightclub.
He headed back onto the street and returned to the alley where he'd started.
Peering up at the top floor again, he sighed in resignation. The one route to Sylvia Hopkins seemed to be through her bookie, Gunther--- directly through the front door.
Jason leaned against the wall, thinking. He'd have to pose as a potential customer. He looked down at his travel-wrinkled clothing and frowned. This getup would never do. Jeff Cross had said that Hopkins catered to a wealthy, powerful clientele---and he certainly didn't look the part. Mentally ticking off a list of things he'd need, he walked away.
High overhead, the velvet drapes that had been parted slightly dropped closed.
CHRIS had walked at least a hundred miles pacing between the window and the bed. He'd watched every minute tick by on the bedside alarm clock since he'd awoken that morning, and as the day wore on, he became increasingly agitated. All manner of horrors plagued his mind.
What if Jason had been hurt? What if he never returned?
Shortly after three o'clock, the door opened. Jason strode into the room, his arms laden with an unruly assortment of shopping bags.
Chris glanced at the parcels, and his breath exploded in fury. "I've been climbing the walls in this hotel room all day, and you've been out shopping?"
Jason dropped the bags on the bed and sat down. "Now hold on---"
"I've been insane with worry. You didn't wake me or leave a note or anything." He'd been wound like a guitar string, and the sudden release of tension at seeing Jason alive and safe overwhelmed him.
"Hopkins is holed up in a tower. No way in but through the front door," Jason said, sidestepping Chris's tirade.
"You've been there?"
"That's why I had to go shopping. If I'm going to pose as a client, I need to look the part."
"Well...." Chris's fury melted. "You could have called," he stammered lamely.
Jason grinned. "Sorry, dear. I completely lost track of time. Next time, I'll remember to check in."
Chris gave him a disbelieving look, but the teasing softened his ire.
He massaged at his temples. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have launched into you like that. I'm just a wreck."
"Here," Jason said, tossing a bag at him. "I think these are your size. Just a guess, but I thought you'd want some clean clothes."
Chris pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of the bag and examined the labels. "Pretty close. The pants are a little big. I lost some weight over the past year."
"Speaking of which, you probably haven't eaten anything today."
Chris shook his head. "Sorry, dear," he mocked. "I was a little preoccupied. Could you have eaten anything?"
"I can always eat," Jason replied smartly and picked up the telephone.
Twenty minutes later, a room service attendant delivered a cart loaded with sandwiches and bottled water. Jason tipped him and arrayed the spread on the small round table against one wall.
As they sat together eating, Jason asked, "I'm curious. How did you meet Michael?"
Chris swallowed. "A party. George's party, actually. I hated him at first. I thought he was an egotistical snob, and I didn't want anything to do with him."
"This is a recurring theme with you," Jason replied ironically, grinning in satisfaction as a sheepish smile blossomed on Chris's face.
"But I know what you mean. Sounds about like Michael Blake."
"He was so persistent. He got my phone number from George and kept calling and calling. I considered a restraining order. Finally, though, it was easier to just give in and go out with him."
Chris smiled at the memory of his early days with Michael. "He was charming---arrogant, as I suspected, but a great conversationalist. He took me to a seafood place on the waterfront for our first date. You know, one of those dives near the industrial area where you can't completely escape the smell of diesel fumes and rotting fish? We had clams right out of a bucket---and beer."
"I am having a hard time picturing Michael Blake eating anything from a bucket."
Chris laughed. "Not many people know that side of him. Michael trots out the Armani for the public, but in private, he's only a little pretentious. He has a softer side. He doesn't let it show very often, but it's there."
"Do you realize this is the first time you've spoken of him in the present tense?"
This caught Chris slightly off guard. He hadn't noticed the shift in his attitude until Jason pointed it out. It made no sense---he didn't have a shred of evidence to support it, but Jason seemed so certain that, somewhere along the way, he had managed to convince Chris too. "As incredible as it would have seemed to me a day ago, I guess I've started to believe