Читать книгу Kawanga - Jack Halliday - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

“Don’t trifle with me, Bonnington. I have no use for triflers, no use at all.”

Bonnington’s face remained blank. It displayed no trace of his thoughts.

“Fat, pompous sow,” he thought. “Overbearing, inconsiderate, egotistical pig!”

“I want the ‘property’ returned...immediately!

“No more delays; no more excuses; no more stalling; just results, NOW!”

Conley bellowed and his voice boomed back and forth from the shiny, marble floor to the ornate ceiling. He had not seen his feet in years, and at six foot five, he was a relative of the biblical Goliath. Indeed, the flowing beard and opulent clothing fitted him for a role in any historical epic. His stomach swayed as he leaned over his polished mahogany desk. His knuckles were white under the weight. He lowered his voice as he looked into the eyes of this former police detective. He chose his words carefully, as though each one had a price, in gold.

“I don’t care if you never sleep again. I don’t care what you eat, or if you eat. I’m not in the slightest interested in you.

I want it back, NOW!”

“Ungrateful louse,” Bonnington responded, inaudibly.

“I understand, Mr. Conley,” Bonnington replied, still devoid of any visible emotion.

“I’m doing all that I can,” he assured his burly employer.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know,” he chuckled, nervousness surfacing for the first time.

“I’m not interested in bloody Rome! I’m not paying you to spout clichés! Get out and get it back and get it back NOW!”

He backed out of the office. The huge bookcases built into the walls on either side seemed to sway towards each other in obeisance to the wealthy man in front of the bay window.

The detective pulled the door towards him and left Conley a silhouette, the afternoon sun behind him.