Kiss of Salvation: A Joe McGrath and Sam Rucker Detective Novel by Waights Taylor Jr

Author:Waights Taylor Jr. [Taylor, Waights Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McCaa Books
Published: 2014-09-10T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 31

MARCUS GILBERT

TUESDAY—OCTOBER 21, 1947

“Mornin’, Sam. C’mon in. How’s it hangin’?” Marcus Gilbert ruled his empire from a palatial office complex occupying the entire fourth floor, the top floor, of his corner bank building in Scratch Ankle.

Sam had been there a few times, but he was always taken aback by the room’s design. “Can’t complain, Marcus. How about you?”

“It’s jus’ hangin’. Older you gets, that’s ’bout all it does.” Marcus roared at his joke. “We did some remodel since you last come here. Whatcha think?”

Sam knew better than to laugh at the joke as he looked around the huge room. He figured the room at about fifty by eighty feet, and it had been completely remodeled since he last saw it. The first third of the room featured flooring of Italian tiles in a collage of bright colors and patterns randomly covered with oriental rugs of various designs.

Marcus’s desk sat at the corner of the room overlooking the intersection below giving him an expansive view of his Scratch Ankle domain. The red and gold on oak desk, an eighteenth-century Louis XV writing table, had gilt-bronze mounts and a dark leather top absolutely clear of any clutter. Two white marble Corinthian columns stood to each side of the desk.

Behind the French desk and chair was a bloodwood rectangular table with four phones, an intercom, a pad of paper, and a set of fine pens and pencils impeccably arranged as if seldom used. To the right of Marcus’s desk was a six-foot round table and eight chairs, also made of bloodwood.

White carpet fully covered the remaining two-thirds of the room. This part of the room had a huge dining table that sat fourteen people. There were three large sofas and several chairs, all covered in animal hides: cheetahs, black jaguars, lions, and zebras. A ten-foot bar with a dumbwaiter next to it allowed food, drinks, and tableware to be sent up and down to the kitchen on the third floor. Hung on the wall behind the bar was the head of a Bengal tiger with its mouth wide open, exposing the fangs. On either side of the tiger were hand-painted replicas of two European masterpieces—right of the tiger Goya’s The Nude Maja, left of the tiger Titian’s Venus of Urbino.

Floor-to-ceiling bloodwood bookcases of varying depths filled most of the windowless wall space. The cases held vases, ceramics, jewelry, and small statuary from ancient Greek, Roman, European, and Byzantine cultures. The collection was arranged in a haphazard fashion with no eye to period, shape, size, or purpose.

Finally, the room’s corners featured four seven-foot white statues: Aphrodite, a Greek discus thrower, Michelangelo’s David, and Zeus.

“Looks great. Real eclectic taste,” Sam said.

“’Scuse me? Electric taste?”

“No. Eclectic. Ec–lec–tic. Means using things from a variety of tastes and styles. It’s a compliment.”

“Ec–lec–tic. You fuckin’ college boys gets me. Some of you knows all the right words, but you sure as shit don’t knows ’bout the real world.” Marcus laughed again.

“I reckon you’re right about that.” Sam stood looking at the tiger and two paintings.

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