Farewell My Lovely [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE It was a warm day, almost the end of March. I was over on ; ¦ !,' Main Street, looking up at the sign of a second floor nightclub :j i : < |' called Florian's. There was a man near me looking up at the sign too, his eyes dreamy and a little shiny with tears, as if he was thinking of other people, other times he'd known there. He was a big man, but not much taller than six and a half feet and not much wider than a bus. His hands hung at his sides; in one of them was a forgotten cigar, smoking between his enormous fingers. Passers-by were looking at him. He was interesting to look at, too, with his old gangster hat, worn, wool jacket with little white footballs on it for buttons, a brown shirt, yellow tie, grey trousers and snakeskin shoes with white bits over the toes. A bright yellow handkerchief, the same colour as his tie, was stuck in the top pocket of his jacket. Main Street isn't the quietest dressed street in the world, but even there you couldn't miss him. He was like a spider on a bowl of pink ice-cream. He stood completely still, then slowly smiled and moved towards the door at the bottom of the steps up to the club. He went in and the door closed behind him. A couple of seconds later, it burst open again, outwards. Something flew out fast and landed between two cars on the street. A young black man in a purple suit with a little white flower in his buttonhole, stood up slowly, making a sad sound like a lonely cat, shook himself and walked painfully away down the street. Silence. Traffic started again. It was none of my business at all, so 1 walked over to the door to take a look inside. A hand as big as an armchair, reached out of the darkness of the door and took hold of my shoulder, squeezing hard. The hand picked me up and pulled me in through the door, up a step or