The Night the Rich Men Burned Read Online Free PDF Page A

walking in. Standing in the corridor as Peterkinney pulls the door shut behind them. Glass is itching to get to the party, but business first. Doesn’t matter how good the reward is, business first. Glass is leading the way along the corridor, clapping his hands together. All kinds of adrenalin at work. Peterkinney behind him, sauntering along with hands in pockets. No need to feel giddy when it’s not your ambition being realized.
    Glass stopping outside the door of the manager’s office. Knocking twice. Thinking there’s no guarantee that Marty will be in there. He might be on the dance floor like any sensible person. Peterkinney is guessing different. This won’t be a party to Marty. This will be work, and work will keep him in the office.
    ‘In.’ A loud shout, making itself heard over the music.
    Glass opens the door, steps inside. It’s a small office. A grotty little place, in fact. It was painted once, but only once. There are scuff marks on the wall, little blobs of Blu-tac that once held up posters. At a glance, Peterkinney can see little holes where something was once screwed into the wall. Probably a shelf that was removed for daring to take up so much space in this dingy little office.
    A small desk under a small window, facing the door. Adam Jones is sitting behind the desk, staring back at them. Manager of the club, twin brother of Marty. He lacks Marty’s charisma, Marty’s ability to spot a good opportunity. Adam ain’t dumb, he just ain’t Marty. Marty, prone though he is to occasional misguided outbursts of ambition and emotion, is sharp. Not well educated. Not book smart. Just the kind of sharp you have to be to make it in this business. This revenge attack on Holmes would fall into the emotional category.
    Marty’s sitting on the only other chair in the room, to the right of his brother’s desk. There’s a relaxed smile on his face that his brother hasn’t thought to replicate. Sharp, you see. Pretending that all is well and nothing can ever go wrong. It spreads confidence to these kids. The smile is false. Three girls didn’t turn up for the party, which has left him short-staffed. This Holmes thing has the potential to be trouble if Billy Patterson can show off that he’s gotten the better of Marty. There’s a lot to hide behind that cocky grin.
    ‘Fellows,’ Marty’s saying, looking to disguise the fact that he can’t remember their names. So many young men come and go. You use them; you throw them away when you’re done. Bad idea to keep them on too long. Not unless they’re specialists. You keep muscle because you need men that have a reputation to do your collecting. Kids like these, doing menial stuff? Nah. Use them once or twice, then chuck them before they get complacent. Bring in the next bunch of enthusiastic young whelps that’ll do whatever you demand of them. Gratitude gives you an opportunity to exploit. It can be the difference between profit and loss.
    ‘So how did it go?’ The smile on Marty’s face suggests he already knows. Both of them have walked back in here without a scratch and the short one’s smiling proudly. They could walk in without a scratch if they hadn’t bothered doing the job, but there would be no smiles. Not unless they were good actors, and Marty’s seen too many of them over the years to be fooled.
    ‘Went well, Marty,’ Glass is saying, and wondering if he should call him Mr Jones. But there’s two Mr Joneses in the room. Better to differentiate. ‘He was at the house, like you said. We had to smash the door to get in, but we got in. Then we delivered the message.’ Saying it with an enthusiastic nod. Trying to sound casually tough.
    Marty seems pleased, but there’s more he needs to know. You hang around with big players like Peter Jamieson and you learn that detail is king. Marty doesn’t know that Glass has skimped on the detail because he’d be embarrassed to tell about Holmes being in his boxers. Doesn’t seem like a fair