and reproachful. He reached up to his mouth and turned away for a second. When he looked at me again, the fangs were gone.
'Mister?'
'Do you work here?' I asked. I didn't want to use magic and break his will. There are always simpler ways of coming to terms with someone. Human ways.
'Yes, but the show's closed. Temporarily'
'Because of the murder?' I asked.
The young guy frowned. Now he certainly wasn't feeling well-disposed.
'Mister, I don't know how you got past... This is private prop erty. The place is closed to visitors. Come on, please ?I'll show you out.'
He took a step towards me and even reached out one hand to demonstrate that he was prepared to take me out by force.
'Were you here when Victor Prokhorov was killed?' I asked.
'Just exactly who are you?' he asked cautiously
'I'm a friend of his. I flew in from Russia today'
The young guy's face fell. He started backing away until he came up against the door he'd come in through. He pushed it -but the door didn't open. I must confess that was my fault.
Now he was in a total panic.
'Mister ... I wasn't to blame for anything! We're all cut up about the way Victor died. Mister... Comrade!'
He spoke the last word in Russian. I wondered what old action movie he remembered it from.
'What's wrong with you?' I was the one who was confused now. I moved closer to him. Could I really have been lucky enough to come across someone who knew something, who was involved with the murder somehow? Otherwise, what was all the panic about?
'Don't kill me, I didn't do anything!' the young guy babbled. His skin was whiter than his make-up now .'Comrade! Sputnik, vodka, perestroika! Gorbachev!'
"That last word could certainly get you killed in Russia,' I muttered, and reached into my pocket for my cigarettes.
It was a very unfortunate thing to say. And that movement wasn't the best of ideas, either. The young guy's eyes rolled up and back and he collapsed on the floor. The bottle of mineral water fell beside him.
Out of sheer stubbornness, I dealt with the young man without using any magic. A few slaps to the cheeks and a sip of water soon fixed him up. Then I considerately offered him a cigarette.
'It's all right for you to laugh,' he said morosely, after we had sat down in two fake torture chairs ?they had a hole in the seat and lurking in the hole was a menacing stake on a crank and lever mechanism. 'You think it's funny...'
'I'm not laughing,' I said mildly
'You're just laughing to yourself The young guy drank greedily. Then he held out his hand and introduced himself: 'Jean.'
'Anton. But I thought you were Scottish.'
Jean shook his ginger curls proudly.
'No... French. I'm from Nantes.'
'Are you studying here?'
'Just earning a bit of money'
'Listen, why are you wearing that idiotic costume?' I asked. 'There aren't any customers anyway'
Jean blushed ?quickly, the way only redheads and albinos can.
'The boss put me on guard duty until the show opens up again. I'm just waiting ... in case the police suddenly decide they want to check something. It's a bit creepy here on your own. I feel calmer in the costume.'
'I almost crapped in my pants,' I complained to him - there's nothing better for easing stress than that kind of low style. 'But what were you afraid of?'
Jean gave me a surly glance and shrugged.
'It's hard to say. That guy was killed here, so it's like we're to blame or something... but for what, for what? And he was Russian! You can never tell... Everyone knows what that can lead to ... We started talking about it here, just joking at first... Then it got more serious. What if his father comes, or his brother, or a friend... and he kills all of us.'
'So that's what you're talking about,' I said brightly. 'Well, let me assure you that blood vengeance isn't really all that common in Russia. But the Scots have it too, by the way.'
'That's just what I'm saying,' Jean agreed, missing the point. 'It's barbaric. Primitive! The twenty-first century, the civilised world?
'And someone gets his throat cut,' I threw in. 'What actually happened to Victor?'
Jean glanced at me again. He took a drag on his cigarette and shook his head.
'I think you're lying. You're not a friend of Victor's. You're from the KGB. You've been sent to investigate the murder. Right?'
He really must have been overdoing those action movies. This was getting ridiculous.