Five-Ring Circus Read Online Free Page B

driveway, two Dobermans came round the corner of the house, salivating at the prospect of a night-time snack. Two minutes later Blackie Ovens, in striped pyjamas and polka-dotted dressing gown, came out of the house and, after snapping at the dogs to back off, opened the gates. “The boss is expecting you.”
    â€œI thought he might be. Nice gown, Blackie.”
    â€œThe boss give it to me. He thought me last one looked too much like a jail uniform.” The dogs barked and he barked back at them and they slunk away. “I’ll get you some coffee while you’re talking to the boss.”
    It was characteristic of him that he didn’t ask what had brought the two detectives here at this time of night. He had worked for Jack Aldwych for thirty years, an iron-bar man as rigid in his allegiance to the boss as his favourite tool of trade. He no longer wielded the iron bar as a profession, but Malone had no doubt that it was kept handy for emergency use.
    Aldwych was waiting for them in the big living room, in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Each time Malone saw him he marvelled at the dignity and handsome looks of the old crim; he could have passed for a man who owned banks rather than robbed them. He now lolled against the upholstery of wealth, taking on some of its sheen. Even the roughness of his voice had been smoothed out, though it could harden with threat when needed. He was, as he had often told Malone, retired but not reformed.
    â€œSoon’s Les Chung told me he’d talked to you, I knew you’d be over to see me. What d’you think I can tell you he hasn’t already told you?”
    â€œHow do you know what he’s told us?” said Malone.
    Aldwych smiled, showing expensive dental work: a banker’s smile. “I don’t think Les would of told you much.”
    â€œWhat about these partners from China, the Bund Corporation? One of them, Mr. Shan, is dead.”
    Aldwych wasn’t disturbed by the news; he had ordered at least a dozen deaths. He waited while Blackie brought in coffee and biscuits; then when Blackie had gone out of the room, he said, “I hadn’t made up my mind about him. Jack Junior’s going to have another look at him.” Jack Aldwych Junior ran the Aldwych enterprises; he was the front, respectable and more than competent. “There’s a woman, too—Mrs. Tzu. Calls herself Madame Tzu. T-Z-U. She comes in from Hong Kong every month or so. I’ve never dealt with partners as blank as those two.”
    â€œDumb?” said Clements.
    â€œChrist, no. Smart as they come. Always polite, but sometimes it’s like talking to the Great Wall of China.”
    â€œIt used to be like that talking to you, Jack,” said Malone, and the old man gave him a Chinese smile. “How much have you got in this venture?”
    Aldwych sipped his coffee, nibbled on a Monte Carlo biscuit; then: “A hundred and twenty million.”
    The two detectives looked at each other and Clements shook his head in wonder. Then Malone, who thought a two-hundred-dollar suit was an investment, said, “That’s a lot of money, Jack. You’re as solvent as that?”
    â€œYou’re not being very polite,” said Aldwych with a grin. “Yeah, we’ve got it . . . Scobie, d’you know what Olympic Tower is gunna be? It’ll be almost a small city on its own. A five-star hotel, offices, shops, restaurants—the lot. It’s gotta be up and running eighteen months before the Olympics. The main part of the hotel is already booked—the International Olympic Committee, the IOC you’re always hearing about, they’ve booked it for all their top delegates. The rest of the hotel, we’re aiming for top-of-the-market bookings, no package deals, no prizewinners from Wheel of Fortune or The Price is Right. The cream, that’s what we’re after and what we’re gunna get. The IOC booking guarantees