Paper Money by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page A

to each other in their own parts of
    London; and he surmised, correctly, that the reason the Post was not
    interested was simply that people like Herbert who bought the Post
    weren't interested. And he learned to read between the lines of police
    jargon: knew when an assault was trivial or a complaint domestic; heard
    the note of urgency in the operations-room sergeant's voice when a call
    for assistance was desperate; discovered how to switch his mind off when
    decided to read out great lists of stolen-car over the air. 4
     
    The speeded-up sound of his own alarm clock I, came out of the big
    speaker, and he turned the deck off. He increased the volume on the
    radio, then dialed the Post's number. He sipped his tea While he waited
    for an answer.
     
    PAPER "Post, g'morning." It was a man's. voice.
     
    "Copy ta please," Herbert said. There was another pause.
     
    "Copy."
     
    "Hello. Chieseman here, timing. at oh seven fifty-nine."
     
    There was a clatter of typewriters in the background. "Hello, Bertie.
     
    Anything doing?"
     
    "Seems to have been a quiet night," Herbert said.
     
    EIGHT A.M. TONY cox stood in a phone booth on the corner of Quill
    Street, Bethnal Green, with the receiver to his ear. He was perspiring
    inside the warm coat with the velvet collar. In his hand he held the end
    of a chain which was attached to the collar of the dog outside. The dog
    was sweating, too.
     
    The phone at the other end of the line was answered, and Tony pressed a
    coin into the slot.
     
    A voice said: "Yes?" in the tone of one who is not really accustomed to
    these newfangled telephones.
     
    Tony spoke curtly. "It's today. Get it together."
     
    He hung up without giving his name or waiting for an answer.
     
    He strode off along the narrow pavement, pulling the dog behind him. It
    was a pedigree boxer with a trim, powerful body, and Tony had
    continually to yank at the chain to make it keep pace The dog was
    strong, but its master was a great deal stronger.
     
    The doors of the old terraced houses gave directly on to the street.
     
    Tony stopped at the one outside which was parked the gray Rolls-Royce.
     
    He pushed the house door open. It was never locked, for the occupants
    had no fear of thieves.
     
    There was a smell of cooking in the little house.
     
    Pulling the dog behind him, Tony went into the kitchen and sat on a
    chair. He unhooked the chain from the dog's collar and sent it away with
    a hefty slap on the rump. He stood up and took off his coat.
     
    A kettle was warming on the gas cooker, and there was sliced bacon on a
    piece of grease-proof paper. Tony opened a drawer and took out a kitchen
    knife with a ten-inch blade. He tested the edge with his thumb, decided
    it needed sharpening, and went out into the yard.
     
    There was an old grinding wheel in the lean-to shed. Tony sat beside it
    on a wooden stool and worked the treadle, the way he had seen the old
    man do it years ago. It made Tony feel good to do things the way his
    father had. He pictured him: a tall man, and handsome, with wavy hair
    and glittering eyes, making sparks with the grinder while his children
    shrieked with laughter. He had been a stall-holder in a street market,
    selling china and saucepans, calling his wares in that strong, carrying
    voice. He used to make a performance of pretending to needle the grocer
    next to him, shouting: "There yare, I just sold a pot for half a nicker.
    How many spuds d'you sell afore you take ten bob?" He could spot a
    strange woman yards away, and would use his good looks shamelessly.
     
    "I tell you what, darling--" this to a middle-aged woman in a
    hairnet--"we don't get many beautiful young girls down this end of the
    market, so I'm going to sell you this at a loss and hope you'll come
    back. Look at it--lid copper bottom, if you'll pardon the word, and it's
    my last one; I've made my profit on the rest, so you can have it for two
    quid, half what I paid for it, just because you made an old man's