Scratch

This is another part of my book that is in the process of being published. It is supposed to be the scene of where our main character and his Russion accomplice enter the Home of there gang, where they meet the Don for the first time. What do you think of this part so far -

   Lucky Hand was a small casino, three storeys tall, deep and dark hiding down a deserted road. A dying neon sight displayed the flickering name, in greying green and a rusted brown that should have been red. The road that lined similar buildings were littered with cardboard boxes soaked through from yesterdays grim weather. Young teenagers stood against a broken wire fence, concealed in the dark. They might have felt smooth; but they looked hidden in the mouth of the alley scared of the sharp surroundings.
   Stephan glided the black car into the sloping curb, the white wall tires rolling to a halt as the engine faltered before cutting out. The doors clicked open in fast succession and two men slipped out, garnished in black tailcoats, black jackets and black gloves. There clothing gave them a sweeping sinister personality about them. They swung the doors shut swiftly before walking in union to the Lucky Hand. The door opened as they approached, two men grasping the stubby doors decked out in white shirts and green ties.
“Welcome back.”
It was if the building sucked you into a different world. Stephan and Levarno strolled in, waiters lining the tall walls layered with tasteful brown wallpaper. High ceilings housed silver chandeliers and the polished wooden floors held various traditional American Casino tables, Blackjack, Roulette and more. Behind a closed door a shot rang out disturbing the clean silence. Russian Roulette.
There were other people in the building, all dressed formally in dinner jackets, seated on plush stalls, sipping exotic cocktails and tasting fine foods. Stephan led Levarno up a short stair case to the second floor, but they were stopped at the last step, barred by two burly men in suits.
“Weapons?” One murmured in a deep, nourished voice. Stephan went first, pulling the Thompson from inside his jacket. He handed it, nozzle down to the guard who took it casually despite the irregular shape. Levarno dropped the Derringer in the man's huge palm, followed carefully by a serrated blade. He brushed past and whispered to the man's ear.
“Don't lose it.” He didn't respond. The entered a room thick with pipe smoke, the thick tendrils choking Levarno. He moved forward and took a seat at a office table. At the head was another man dressed similarly to Levarno, with slick grey stuck back on his scalp. He had strong features and deep brown eyes, ruptured by a thick scar striking across his face, down against his jaw. Despite this minority he appeared an important and handsome man.

Last edited by FlexiStudio (2010-12-04 11:13:56)