A Slow Death (Max Drescher Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

looking around for a sign of his lieutenant. ‘He must be inside.’
    ‘Looks like it.’
    Leaving the keys in the ignition, Stefan sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll wait for you here,’ he yawned.
    Barbolini eyed him carefully as she slowly released her safety belt. ‘That’s fine,’ she said eventually. ‘Attendance is not compulsory.’ Opening the door, she slid out of her seat. ‘I won’t be long.’
    As Barbolini emerged from the car, Dante Fei emerged from a door to the left. He was half hopping, half jumping, while trying to move and inspect his shoes at the same time.
    ‘Good afternoon, Dante,’ Barbolini said stiffly.
    ‘Don’t you just hate all this city?’
    Barbolini said nothing.
    ‘There’s dog shit everywhere.’ Standing on one leg, he gingerly removed the item of footwear for a closer inspection. ‘These shoes cost nine hundred marks and they’re ruined, fucking ruined.’ Fei was a small man, maybe 5’4’’, and suffered from a bad case of ‘Napoleon Syndrome’. This influenced everything he did, from the men he killed to the clothes he wore. Today, he was immaculately dressed in a grey, single-breasted Ralph Lauren Purple Label three-piece suit, with a crisp white cotton shirt, a pale pink satin tie and a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket.
    Barbolini waited patiently while he cleaned his shoe with a paper napkin. ‘Is he in there?’ she asked, gesturing towards the door. Even in the shade of the courtyard it was stiflingly hot. She could feel her silk blouse beginning to stick to her back.
    ‘Yes.’ Grimacing Fei tossed the napkin on the ground before replacing his shoe. ‘Follow me,’ he said as he danced along on his tiptoes, ‘and watch where you put your feet.’
    Inside the building was pleasantly cool and dark – empty, apart from a couple of pieces of rusting machinery of some sort in one corner. In the rear, stairs led up to a metal platform which ran the entire length of the building. About fifteen feet wide and ten feet off the ground, it was bare, apart from a single chair which had been placed maybe half a metre from the platform’s edge.
    On the chair stood a petrified Bodo Grozer. Barbolini’s chief accountant had his hands tied behind his back with copper wire. Round his neck was a noose which hung from a beam in the ceiling.
     
    Standing a few feet away from the hapless bean counter, Floris Kooy casually spat a spent piece of chewing gum over the edge of the platform. Kooy was bored rigid; he was a man who enjoyed the chase more than the kill. Now, he found himself standing guard over the number cruncher more to ensure that Grozer didn’t lose his footing and strangle himself prematurely, than to stop him actually trying to escape.
    Nevertheless, however mundane the task, Kooy was determined to remain alert and focused. He was on show for his new employers; this was part of the getting-to-know-you process . Most important of all, it was his chance to meet Carolina Barbolini face-to-face. Listening to the voices coming towards him, he pushed back his shoulders and buttoned up his jacket. 
    First impressions counted.
    Placing her sunglasses on the top of her head, Barbolini headed for the stairs.  Reaching the top, she paused, taking in the scene.
    ‘Who’s this guy?’
    ‘Floris Kooy,’ Fei whispered. ‘He’s from Rotterdam.’
    ‘I don’t like new faces.’ Barbolini took another long, hard look at the man, standing there like a dummy in a shop window. ‘Do we really need him?’
    ‘He comes highly recommended.’ Fei mentioned the names of a couple of business associates in the Low Countries.
    ‘But, still.’
    Fei felt a spasm of annoyance in his guts. It seemed that his judgement was being questioned more and more these days. The woman was driving him crazy, and not in a good way. He waited for the acid in his stomach to calm down before speaking again. ‘I think he may have a future with us,’ he argued, keeping