home | login | register | DMCA | contacts | help | donate |      

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z


my bookshelf | genres | recommend | rating of books | rating of authors | reviews | new | | collections | | | add



57

Jonathan Wong received a telephone call in his office in Central. When the caller was sure he was speaking to the dispatcher of the photographs, each of which consisted of a close-up of a mincer with human contents, Danny Chows voice tightened. What do you want?

I represent a client who wants to do business, Mr. Chow, Wong replied, reaching for a cigarette.

Some client.

I think both sides have made their points. Respect has been generated. Nows the time to deal, dont you think?

The voice from New York sighed. You could put it that way. What does he want?

Wong lit his cigarette. The commodity you procured for my client sometime ago was unfortunately never delivered. He would like to order some more. Enough for operational purposes this time. And at a more realistic price.

Do we get to keep our couriers?

I think we can reach an understanding about that.

Chow sighed again. We can probably deal. Give me two days.

Certainly, Jonathan said, and replaced the receiver.


| The Last Six Million Seconds | c