Cold Eye by Giles Blunt

Cold Eye by Giles Blunt

Author:Giles Blunt [Blunt, Giles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: [email protected]
Published: 2018-04-05T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter 10

The address was on East Seventy-third Street, between Madison and Fifth. By the time the cab turned left off Madison, Hood was gripping the edge of the seat. Electricity pulsed through his body like never before: panic, excitement, fear. As he was paying the driver a man emerged from the townhouse, wearing a full-length tweed coat and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low to hide his features. He brushed against Hood as he got into the cab.

Hood said, “Is Andre Bellisle in there?”

The man tucked his face deeper into his collar and shut the car door. Hood realized then that he was about to enter a brothel.

He rang the doorbell, and was admitted by a buzzer. The foyer, which was deserted, was decorated in very expensive good taste. There were fluted columns, a marble floor, and hanging above the fireplace a painting by Remington. It might have been the home of an ambassador. Hood opened a pair of double doors and peered into a huge den, also deserted. He closed the door and went up a thickly carpeted staircase.

The upstairs hall had five doors leading to what presumably were bedrooms. All five were closed, the hall silent. The stairs continued, narrower and uncarpeted, toward the third floor. Hood climbed these and knocked on a small door at the top. He heard footsteps and the door was thrown open.

“You’re late.” Bellisle loomed in the doorway, his nostrils flared in contempt. There was nothing left of the ugly dwarf he had been. In place of that creature stood a proud, patrician, beautiful man, whose eyes and skin glowed with health.

Hood could only manage to stammer out something about having a lot of work to finish.

“In future, either come or don’t come. Don’t be late.” He motioned Hood to enter.

The small attic room contained a desk, a couch, and six television monitors stacked on a table. Each screen showed a top view of a bed.

Hood sat on the edge of the couch, his fear gone, his wonder at the change in Bellisle subsiding. He was not entirely sure he was not hallucinating but he spoke in a cool tone to hide any uncertainty. “I can’t imagine why you brought me here.”

“Oh? Not interested in sex?”

“Not in watching it.”

Only one of the TV monitors contained any people. A man was on top of a woman, his buttocks gleaming in the light from a Tiffany lamp. Bellisle pointed. “From his position it probably seems like a wonderful experience.”

“I’m glad you don’t have the sound on.”

“I can turn it up, if you like.”

“No.”

Bellisle folded his arms and turned his cool blue eyes to the screen. The smirk on his face said he’d seen it all before. The man was moving up and down with no more passion than an oil pump.

Hood settled back on the couch. “What technique this guy has. It’s soporific.”

“You think it less ridiculous if the couple is in rapture? It’s the opposite. Human beings are absurdly serious about their pleasures.”

“You, of course, are not human.



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