Blue Tears by Ninie Hammon

Author:Ninie Hammon [Hammon, Ninie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sterling & Stone
Published: 2020-04-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sergei Mikhailov looked at his watch. A Rolex. It was 8 a.m. Exactly 8 a.m. Then he turned to gaze again in wonder at the room.

He was standing beneath the huge archway that was the main entrance to the circular restaurant on the bottom floor of the Nautilus Casino, a room that was, in its present state, an obscene parody of style and good taste, but it would do for his purposes.

Directly across from him on the other side of the room were the doors leading to the kitchens. The wall to the right of them contained the huge bar, thirty, maybe forty feet long and three feet wide made of a lustrous teakwood with a deep, swirling grain. Behind the bar was a thirty-foot mirrored wall with glass shelves, displaying hundreds of singular bottles of liquor — everything from the finest cognac to the simplest bourbon whiskey.

Besides the main entrance where he stood, there were two additional restaurant entrances — the south entrance to his right and the north entrance at the end of the bar to his left. Gigantic Christmas trees decorated with colorful balls and bright lights stood sentinel on both sides of all the entrances. There were pointy-leafed holly wreaths at spaced intervals along the walls, connected by draped pine garlands across the fronts of the aquariums.

The aquariums were the room’s finest feature. Inset so they were flush with the blue marble walls, they appeared to be windows out into the sea where colorful tropical fish in every shape and size glided gracefully through the sparkling water. Artfully placed lighting shone down through them, casting rippling reflections to dance on every surface in the room.

Now, they were covered up with ugly swags of tacky greenery.

The restaurant had no ceiling. A chrome grid supported white globe lights the size of pumpkins, pearls with clamshell shades, that hung down to light the room. Above the restaurant was a 360-degree observation deck where gamblers and party guests on the second floor could look down on the diners. As could the guests in the hotel rooms that faced the open atrium where the restaurant was located on the ground floor.

The railing that lined the deck was shiny chrome with an inset design — a pod of chrome dolphins cavorting in an endless circle. Attached to the railing around the whole circle of observation deck was a single strand of Christmas lights with bulbs as big as cantaloupes. Dangling from the railing directly above the main entrance where Mikhailov stood were half a dozen oversized Christmas stockings ten feet long with names stenciled on them, designed for feet that had twelve toes.

Mikhailov had lived among Americans for most of his adult life but he would never understand them. Oh, he understood that at this time of year, Christmas decorations were a cultural imperative. Themed decorations could be charming. Done tastefully they could convey a particular take on the Christmas traditions. Nothing wrong with that. But Crenshaw had gone a bridge

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