The Straw Men 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Straw Men, The Lonely Dead, Blood of Angels. Michael Marshall

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      ‘No. But I gather it’s, uh, extremely fine.’

      He pulled the car over to park in a space to one side of the entrance to the building, alongside a row of very expensive cars. We got out, and he led me to the door. I tried to look around, to get a sense of the rest of the development, but the visibility was shot and we were moving quickly because of the rain now drumming down onto every horizontal surface.

      ‘Fucking rain,’ Chip muttered quietly. He noticed my surprise and shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry. Realtor’s worst enemy.’

      ‘What – worse than Hispanic neighbours?’

      He laughed uproariously, clapped me on the back, and shepherded me through the door.

      Inside, all was calm. To the left stretched a kind of club room, leather chairs around dark wood tables. It was empty. Down the end was a window, which on any other day would have afforded a doubtless stunning view. Today it was just a grey rectangle. To the right was a large fireplace, in which a well-behaved fire crackled. Very quietly in the background was the sound of Beethoven, one of the Sonatas for Violin and Piano. The reception desk was a smooth line of good wood, and on the wall behind it hung a piece of ‘art’. As we stood, waiting for someone to respond to the buzzer Chip had rung, I reached inside my jacket and pressed a button on my cell phone. Assuming there was service out here, Bobby’s phone would ring. We’d arranged that I’d do this if I’d found what I was looking for.

      I had.

      The induction process took half an hour. A slim and attractive woman of early middle age, augmented by many, many dollars’ worth of hairstyling, sat us in the lounge and explained the glories The Halls had to offer. She was dressed in an immaculate grey suit and had bright little blue eyes and good skin, so I guess everything she said had to be true. She didn’t give her name, which I thought was odd. In American commercial discourse we always give our designation: straight off, right at the top along with the handshake. A token of engagement. You know my name, so I can only want the best for you. There’s no way I’m going to rip you off – what, me, your friend?

      At the heart of The Halls, Ms No-Name explained, was a desire to reproduce the traditional ideals of ‘community’ – only better. Staff were on hand at all times to assist in any matter, however arcane. The residents apparently thought of them as friends – presumably that special kind of friend who has to do whatever you tell them, no matter what time it is or how boring and arduous the task. The restaurant’s chef had previously worked at a glamour trough in Los Angeles even I had heard of, and residents could have meals delivered to their homes between the hours of 9.00 a.m. and midnight. Their wine cellars, she assured me, beggared belief. All houses were automated up to the hilt, with cable Internet access as standard. In addition to the much-vaunted golf club, there was a health club and a dining club and several others I didn’t bother to commit to memory. Membership of each of these was mandatory for residents and came in at around a half-million dollars. Per year. Each. Throughout all this I was aware of Chip nodding vigorously beside me, as if unable to believe what a good deal this all was. I sipped my hundredth cup of coffee of the day – at The Halls, at least it was good – and tried not to blanch.

      She concluded by observing that there were only three homes still available within the community, priced at between eleven point five and fourteen million dollars – barkingly expensive even by luxury real-estate standards. She rounded off with a heartwarming paean to the joys of residence that I could see Chip mentally taking notes from.

      ‘Cool,’ I said, when this eventually drew to a measured close. I put my cup down. ‘So let’s go have a look.’

      The woman stared politely at me. ‘Of course that’s not possible.’

      ‘I’ve been wet before,’ I reassured her. ‘Many times. I even went swimming once.’

      ‘The weather is immaterial. We don’t allow viewing of The Halls until a demonstration of appropriateness has taken place.’ She glanced at Chip, who was looking carefully blank.

      ‘Appropriateness,’ I said.

      ‘Financial and otherwise.’

      I raised my eyebrows, smiled pleasantly. ‘What?’

      ‘What’s being said, if I might intrude,’ Chip said, ‘is that, as we discussed on the way here, The Halls maintains a very …’

      ‘I heard,’ I said. ‘So I’m to understand, Ms …?’ I left a gap, but she didn’t fill in her name. This woman was in no hurry to be my friend. ‘I’m to understand that I can’t get further than this room until I’ve jumped through some hoops you’ve set up to determine whether I’m suitable.’

      ‘Correct.’ She smiled brightly at me, as if at a child who had finally understood, after long and painful effort, how the relative positions of the big and little hands could be used to divine how long it was until bedtime. ‘As Mr Farling should have made clear.’

      ‘And what form would these demonstrations take?’

      The woman reached into a folder and drew out a piece of paper. Placing it in front of me, she said:

      ‘The placing of the cost in full of your proposed purchase, along with sufficient funds to cover club memberships for five years, in an escrow account. No mortgage or other part-payment options are entertained. The granting of access to your accountant or other agreed-upon representative for the purpose of establishing a general financial impression. A meeting by yourself with the full board of the community, which consists of the managing agents and a representative from each of the occupied properties, with a subsequent follow-up in subcommittee should this be required. Your nomination of two significant individuals – and by “significant” we mean that they should be so within our society at large – to whom the board may make reference with regard to your past and present situation. Assuming that all of the above proceeds smoothly, then you will be welcomed onto the property to be introduced to the finer points of the development, and to make your selection.’

      ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

      ‘I assure you that I am not.’

      I tried for bluster. ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’

      ‘No.’ She smiled, turning her lips into a thin line resembling a recently healed scar. ‘Which is precisely the point.’

      I was dimly aware that the receptionist, a young man who had spent a great deal of time in the gym, was watching us. I held the woman’s gaze for a moment, and then smiled back.

      ‘Excellent,’ I said.

      After a moment’s hesitation, she frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘This is exactly what I hoped for. Mr Farling has evidently divined my needs accurately.’ My voice was now a little clipped, presumably to be in keeping with my shifted persona. ‘Someone in my position requires certain assurances, and I’m pleased to say that you have afforded them.’

      Ms No-Name began to look friendly again. ‘We are in understanding?’

      ‘Perfectly so. Might I be permitted to see plans of the available properties?’

      ‘Of course.’ She went back to her folder and pulled out two bundles. She unfolded these across the table and I scanned them quickly. СКАЧАТЬ