Chapter 8
1991
He stopped, suddenly hesitant, turning slowly back and finding Rocket returning his gaze, a look of inquisitiveness on the other man’s face.
“Rocket,” he said softly, his voice full of apprehension.
“What?” the other asked.
Again, he thought of the hotel in Bucharest, of the way that Dracula had managed to escape just before their arrival. He frowned, suddenly deeply troubled.
“Rocket, you trust Mrs. Samuels, right?”
Still perched on his barstool, Rocket looked about with sudden concern, as if fearful that their words would not only be overheard but interpreted by the scarce crowd of the bar, the lonely drunks, the bickering couples, the indifferent transients staring at the worn green felt of the pool table, the sound of the blinking, whispering jukebox at their b
