The Great California Game

Начало книги

IN antiques, everything is women.

Everything else is America.

I’m a convert to America. Like a nerk, I’d always assumed the Olde Worlde was a cut above the Yanks. Now? Now, I can’t honestly see why they bother with the rest of us. They’ve got everything. Like beauty. Antiques. Wealth. And, strangely, innocence. So if you’re a confirmed Ami-hater, better swap tins quick for some improving literature, because this story’s how I fell in love with the place through the genteel world of antiques — meaning the hard way, via murder, robbery, fraud, larceny.

Antiques make you live that way. I’m an antique dealer, every breath I breathe.

I’d been in New York three days, and seen nothing but hurrying crowds. I worked in a bar eatery. From nothing, I’d already worked myself up to the lowest of the low.

THE Benidormo Hotel was as cheap as dinge could make it. The dozy bloke at the reception desk—a couple of planks flaking paint — made me pay a night’s advance. His job was watching quiz shows. I tried to sound American, wrote my name as R. E. Lee, didn’t tell him I’d just arrived from Hong Kong with nearly nowt, and found the right floor by trudging because I mistrust lifts.

Читать дальше →