20
We dropped off Conor’s car at his place and drove to the Harrington Arms in the Gray Ghost. It was going on six o’clock, and most of the traffic was heading away from downtown. We rode the elevator from the underground garage up to the cavernous lobby.
My jaw dropped. I felt as if I’d walked into a cross between Buckingham Palace and a neo-Gothic cathedral. The place shimmered with gold. Towering columns rose forty feet from the marble floors to support the elaborate vaulted ceiling, lit with crystal chandeliers the size of my truck.
A grand staircase flowed from the second floor, spreading out at the bottom like a river delta. Twenty-foot-tall Art Deco paintings depicting the Phoenix of yesteryear hung from the walls above arched doorways. In the center of it all was a lounge area d
