Читать книгу Murder Island - Don Pendleton - Страница 14

6

Tai Kok Tsui, Kowloon Peninsula

Music spilled out into the wet night as Bolan entered the bar. The Beretta was a comforting weight, hidden beneath his coat, but even so, he remained wary. He was carrying a heavy duffel bag, packed with his gear and enough untraceable cash to tempt even the most honest man.

The bar was crowded and the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the tang of spilled alcohol. In the background, multiple televisions showed sports, newscasts and music videos, the noise of each merging into a single dull pulse. Hopefully, his stay wouldn’t be long.

Mr. Regmi had been only too happy to divulge the whereabouts of Bolan’s first choice of possible pilots, and all for the price of a game. Bolan had lost, as always, though not for lack of trying. Regmi was a terrible teacher. Or maybe he simply liked winning. But he’d told Bolan where to find McQueen.