He ignored the electronic plea for attention—there were some things more important than hotel business (and dammit, Martin A. Fairdig, famed chef of the Skytop Plaza’s only eight-star restaurant, was a culinary genius)—but paused when the unit bleeped again. Then again. It was astounding, how much plaintive urgency could be conveyed by a simple sonic tone … it bleeped once more. Cursing—Gordon was off duty, and the caller almost certainly knew it—he pressed ‘answer’.“Gordon,” he intoned, with as much weary resignation as those two syllables could hold (which was, in truth, quite a lot). The crossword-puzzle screensaver faded out, replaced by the caller’s face. Not, felt Gordon, a visual enhancement. This had better be urgent. And not too complicated. He hoped the handheld’s microphone didn’t pick up his rumbling belly.“Hey-yah, Gords. Catch you at a bad time?” Con Sierje, the hotel’s duty manager, radiated the offensive glee of someone who’d found the perfect sucker on whom to unload his in-tray’s current assortment of steaming crapwork.
What do You think about The Gordon Mamon Casebook?
