Exploits Read Online Free Page B

escorting my rickshaw driver to a small table.
    “Don't mind if I do,” he replied.
    “By the way, Brother, I didn't catch your name.”
    “Harvey,” he said, reaching out and shaking my hand. “Harvey Edwards, and before we discuss any further business, you still owe me for the ride.”
    “How much?”
    “Tell you what,” he said. “Buy me a couple of beers and we'll call it square.”
    “I can't do that, Brother Harvey,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a couple of coins. “This ought to cover what I owe you.”
    “You got something against beer, Preacher?” he asked.
    “Not a thing,” I answered. “Nothing slakes the thirst like a cold beer.”
    “Then what's the problem?”
    “ I ain't got no problem, Brother Harvey,” I said. “But you —you're in training.”
    “For what?”
    “The rickshaw races.”
    He frowned. “What are you talking about? There ain't any rickshaw races in Macau.”
    I grinned at him. “Yet,” I said.
    Suddenly his eyes lit up like little candles. “Oh?”
    “Brother Harvey, I been mulling on it, and I can't see no reason why I should risk the Lord's money playing fan-tan and other games of chance with these local sharks when we can invite ’em into our pool.”
    “You know,” said Harvey with a great big smile, “I can't think of any reason either.”
    “Good!” I said. “Then we're in business.”
    “Fifty-fifty,” he replied.
    I shook my head. “One-third for you, one third-for me, and one-third for the Lord, which is only fair, since He's putting up the money.”
    “He ain't doing the running, though,” said Harvey adamantly.
    Well, we hemmed and we hawed and we haggled, and what it finally came down to was that Harvey and I would split the first ten thousand pounds we made down the middle, and the Lord got Himself a twenty percent option on the rest, provided He produced fair weather and a fast track. That settled, we indulged in a couple of grilled Macau pigeons, and then I started asking him where we were likely to find the biggest plungers.
    “No question about it,” he said. “They're all at the Central Hotel.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “You're about the first person I've run across who hasn't,” said Harvey. “It's the biggest building in town, even if it is only nine stories tall. You can see it from just about anywhere.”
    “Maybe I ought to rent a room there instead of here,” I suggested.
    He laughed at that. “They'll be charging you rent every twenty minutes, Preacher,” he said. “It ain't exactly your run-of-the-mill hotel.”
    Which was an understatement if ever there was one.
    We waited til the sun went down and then made our way over to the Central Hotel, which despite its name wasn't a hotel at all. We walked in the main entrance, and found ourselves on the ground floor, which was crawling with coolies. There were small-stakes games of roulette and baccarat and fan-tan going on everywhere, and the girls were just about all in need of a little soap and water and a good dentist.
    “These guys don't look like no high rollers to me,” I said as we began walking across the room.
    “They're not,” replied Harvey.
    “Well, then?” I asked.
    “Follow me,” he said, walking toward a huge, winding staircase.
    The coolies were a little better-dressed on the second floor, and the girls looked a mite healthier. By the third floor, they were playing with British pounds instead of Hong Kong dollars, and we ran into a bunch of Indians on the fourth floor. When we reached the fifth floor, most of the players were Europeans and well-dressed Chinamen, and the girls were so downright beautiful that I remarked to Harvey that I couldn't wait to see what they'd look like once we reached the penthouse.
    “The gambling ends on the sixth floor,” he answered. “The top three floors are just bedrooms.”
    So we made our way up one more flight, and the only difference between the sixth floor of the Central Hotel and the