A Room in Hell [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEIn the middle of Baltimore we hit a detour and drove round in circles tiU we found the Parkway. So it was close to three when we glimpsed the illuminated dome of the Capitol. My mouth felt raw with the aftertaste of cigar butts, bourbon, powder and perfume. Jules Morrow sat hooked over the wheel like a man with a slug in his gut. Next to him Little Angy Cianfa's dark Neapolitan head bobbed disjointed on his chest. And to my left in the rearthe Cousin, glassy-eyed and erect, his Panama tilted rakishly on his forehead, his lips lumped against a belch.At the Dorchester Jules idled the motor and unscrewed his face. "Happy landing, Senator!"The Cousin upmerged and took a sounding. "Home?" Leaning forward, he chucked Jules under the chin. "Keep smilin'," he said. "Likewise, Angy." Angy's teeth glistened white and he made the three-ring sign with thumb and forefinger pressed together. Then the Cousin discovered me. "C'mon, Chris, m'darlin'," he said loverly, his beefy hand gripping my shoulder. "Let's you an' me have us a nice quiet shmoos before bedtime,""You're the Cousin," I said.So we rode the elevator to the Cousin's five-room suite and the first reel flickered like a stale fihn run for the umpteenth time on the Late Late. Same sound track. Same routine. The Cousin slung his Botany on the divan, tossed his Panama on the TV, kicked off his brogans, pulled his four-in-hand loose, undid the top button on his white-on-white, unlatched his fly9