answer to any tourist’s prayer.
‘Mr. Hassan,’ I said, pausing before him. ‘My name is Doe. I have some private business with you involving money. Can we go someplace where we can talk?’
He regarded me, his little eyes like wet black olives, then he got to his feet, muttered something to his wife who shrugged her fat shoulders, then he joined me.
‘Anything to do with money interests me,’ he said. ‘So where do we go?’
I led him to my car and got him settled in the passenger’s seat. His body smell was a little overpowering and I opened all the windows.
This helped, but not much.
‘Mr. Hassan,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to waste your time, nor mine. I have information that you are a bomb expert. I need a bomb for which I will pay good money. Are you in the market?’
He drew on his reefer without moving his steady gaze.
‘Who gave you this information?’
‘Do you care? I want a bomb. If you can’t deliver, just say so, and I’ll shop elsewhere.’
‘What kind of bomb?’
‘Something small that will do a lot of damage, but won’t start a fire.’
He sat silent, like a coiled fat snake, staring now at the busy waterfront, then he nodded.
‘It’s possible. Yes, I could arrange that, but what will you pay?’
‘What’s your usual charge?’
‘For a small bomb, without causing fire, that is safe for an amateur to handle and will cause a lot of damage, my price would be three thousand dollars.’
He expected to haggle, and I didn’t disappoint him. I spent nearly thirty minutes haggling with him. I was in no hurry. Finally, we settled for one thousand and three hundred.
‘OK, Mr. Doe,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow night at this time, you come to my stall and I’ll deliver. No problems. A nice little job, plenty of noise, plenty of damage and no fire. OK?’
I took out my wallet and gave him five hundred. As he stowed the money away in his voluminous robes, I said, ‘Mr. Hassan, I know you have a good reputation. Make sure you live up to it. I could make your life a misery.’
He grinned uneasily.
‘No problems, Mr. Doe.’
He climbed out of my car and went waddling through the stream of tourists to his junk stall.
I set the air conditioner working to clear his smell, then closed the windows and headed for home.
As I drove through the traffic congested streets, I thought that in the early hours of tomorrow morning the Black Cassette would no longer be in business.
So, OK, this was revenge, but whatever I did wouldn’t bring Suzy’s bright face again on my pillow.
CHAPTER 6
I t was just after 23.00 when I rang on my front door bell. There was a delay as Bill regarded me through the spyhole, then he opened up.
‘No problems, Bill?’ I asked, as he relocked the front door.
‘I’ve settled in.’ He moved into the living room. On the table was the Thorsen file. ‘I’ve been going over this, Dirk, over and over, because pretty soon we’ve got to squeeze something out of it. Something or somebody’s got to give.’
I sank into an easy chair.
‘Let me shoot off my mouth, Bill,’ I said, then went on to tell him about my talk with Josh Smedley.
‘The Mafia are active,’ I concluded. ‘Well, OK. We expected this. They’ve put the fear of God into Mrs. Thorsen. No news of Terry.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘Now, Hank. I intend to make his life a misery.’ I went on to tell Bill about the bomb. ‘It’ll wreck the club. I am going to wreck his car. I want him to feel life is on top of him. Then I’m going to wreck his home. Now, Bill, the big point is I don’t want Hank to get the idea that it is me after him. If he does, he’ll run to his Mafia pals and scream for protection, and we could be in trouble.’
I got to my feet and went into the kitchen.
I found a small piece of cardboard. On it I wrote with a felt pen the following: BLACKS NOT WANTED HERE: K.K.K.
I returned to the living room and showed Bill the notice.
‘This will be tacked
‘Mr. Hassan,’ I said, pausing before him. ‘My name is Doe. I have some private business with you involving money. Can we go someplace where we can talk?’
He regarded me, his little eyes like wet black olives, then he got to his feet, muttered something to his wife who shrugged her fat shoulders, then he joined me.
‘Anything to do with money interests me,’ he said. ‘So where do we go?’
I led him to my car and got him settled in the passenger’s seat. His body smell was a little overpowering and I opened all the windows.
This helped, but not much.
‘Mr. Hassan,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to waste your time, nor mine. I have information that you are a bomb expert. I need a bomb for which I will pay good money. Are you in the market?’
He drew on his reefer without moving his steady gaze.
‘Who gave you this information?’
‘Do you care? I want a bomb. If you can’t deliver, just say so, and I’ll shop elsewhere.’
‘What kind of bomb?’
‘Something small that will do a lot of damage, but won’t start a fire.’
He sat silent, like a coiled fat snake, staring now at the busy waterfront, then he nodded.
‘It’s possible. Yes, I could arrange that, but what will you pay?’
‘What’s your usual charge?’
‘For a small bomb, without causing fire, that is safe for an amateur to handle and will cause a lot of damage, my price would be three thousand dollars.’
He expected to haggle, and I didn’t disappoint him. I spent nearly thirty minutes haggling with him. I was in no hurry. Finally, we settled for one thousand and three hundred.
‘OK, Mr. Doe,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow night at this time, you come to my stall and I’ll deliver. No problems. A nice little job, plenty of noise, plenty of damage and no fire. OK?’
I took out my wallet and gave him five hundred. As he stowed the money away in his voluminous robes, I said, ‘Mr. Hassan, I know you have a good reputation. Make sure you live up to it. I could make your life a misery.’
He grinned uneasily.
‘No problems, Mr. Doe.’
He climbed out of my car and went waddling through the stream of tourists to his junk stall.
I set the air conditioner working to clear his smell, then closed the windows and headed for home.
As I drove through the traffic congested streets, I thought that in the early hours of tomorrow morning the Black Cassette would no longer be in business.
So, OK, this was revenge, but whatever I did wouldn’t bring Suzy’s bright face again on my pillow.
CHAPTER 6
I t was just after 23.00 when I rang on my front door bell. There was a delay as Bill regarded me through the spyhole, then he opened up.
‘No problems, Bill?’ I asked, as he relocked the front door.
‘I’ve settled in.’ He moved into the living room. On the table was the Thorsen file. ‘I’ve been going over this, Dirk, over and over, because pretty soon we’ve got to squeeze something out of it. Something or somebody’s got to give.’
I sank into an easy chair.
‘Let me shoot off my mouth, Bill,’ I said, then went on to tell him about my talk with Josh Smedley.
‘The Mafia are active,’ I concluded. ‘Well, OK. We expected this. They’ve put the fear of God into Mrs. Thorsen. No news of Terry.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘Now, Hank. I intend to make his life a misery.’ I went on to tell Bill about the bomb. ‘It’ll wreck the club. I am going to wreck his car. I want him to feel life is on top of him. Then I’m going to wreck his home. Now, Bill, the big point is I don’t want Hank to get the idea that it is me after him. If he does, he’ll run to his Mafia pals and scream for protection, and we could be in trouble.’
I got to my feet and went into the kitchen.
I found a small piece of cardboard. On it I wrote with a felt pen the following: BLACKS NOT WANTED HERE: K.K.K.
I returned to the living room and showed Bill the notice.
‘This will be tacked
Similar Books
