it.”
“And or else if I couldn’t. The valuable Harris account. You know what you can do?”
“Sit down, Russell.”
“I had no intention of doing anything else.”
A chair groaned.
“What about my fisherman?”
“He’s still in the clink. And your silver-tongued pleader won’t be able to get him out.”
“Why not?”
“Because a funny little man who stays cool called Kang says so. He’s slapped a theft charge on.”
“How could he?”
“Very simple, he has one to slap. The fisherman’s idyllic little straw thatched hut contained an eight hundred dollar Leica.”
“So what?”
“So it belonged to your brother. A shop in Ampang Road is prepared to swear same. Fisherman say … Me gettee giftee. Kang say … Oh, yeah? And if you want my legal opinion on the matter any court will support Kang.”
“My brother could have given him that camera.”
Russell smiled at me.
“Oh, absolutely. It’s the sort of thing the white man is doing all over the East these days, handing out Leicas to thatched-roofed natives. It’s got something to do with United Nations, I wouldn’t wonder. Anyone would believe about that gift except the law; we’re old-fashioned, twenty years behind the times. For instance we still believe in hanging. I do personally. Half my clients could easily, if luck went a little against them.”
He looked at me.
“Though it won’t be a rope for you, dear fellow.”
“I’m glad you think I’ll never be caught, Russell.”
“I don’t think you’ll live long enough, the way things are going. What’s the matter with you? You’ve a lot of money.”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you loosen your stays and relax?”
“I’m young. Still red blood in my veins.”
“You ought to have a mirror in here,” Russell said.
He lit a cheroot. After that he put one foot on my desk and with some effort lifted the other and set it up there, too.
“I respected your brother, Paul. He was a business man first and played games second. You’re a loony all the way. Rushing around in this heat ready to burst into tears at the sight of a bloody palm tree against a bacon and egg sunset. Not turned that car of yours over yet?”
“I’m a good driver.”
“That’s what they all say. Then … wham! It’s the good drivers who always leave those wills with codicils establishing trusts down to a third generation as yet unborn. I hate all their guts. Get me a beer, will you?”
I got him a beer and he poured it into his flesh without pausing to breathe. He held out his glass for a refill.
“I’m sorry about your fisherman. I gather you wanted to score over Kang? Well, you haven’t. And now I’m going to preach a little sermon just as soon as I get the feel of coolness between my fingers. That’s nice. I’ll sip. Sit down yourself.”
He took out a vast handkerchief and mopped. He trickled, little rivulets running out of his scanty hair. His flourishing moustache was touched with beer foam but beaded damp by nature above the white line.
“Sermon begins. Watch Kang. He’s looking for more than the man who killed your brother. I can smell a political type. He’s probably secretly taking a law course by post from England, and when he has pulled off his coup, will resign from the police and produce his B.L. London, Detached. Then he’ll stand for Senator. It came leaping into my sodden mind that you might be the big coup. The fisherman is just one little coloured fragment in the jigsaw and Kang means to hold on to him. You know what Kang thinks? He thinks that if he lets the fisherman go, one night the poor man will have his throat cut.”
“On my orders?”
“When will you learn that us legal types dislike that straight from the shoulder stuff? There are a thousand ways you could have put that. Cut out this simplicity. It makes my gorge rise and increases my blood pressure.”
“I don’t go in for murder.”
“Splendid, my dear chap, splendid! And now we have cleared the air,
“And or else if I couldn’t. The valuable Harris account. You know what you can do?”
“Sit down, Russell.”
“I had no intention of doing anything else.”
A chair groaned.
“What about my fisherman?”
“He’s still in the clink. And your silver-tongued pleader won’t be able to get him out.”
“Why not?”
“Because a funny little man who stays cool called Kang says so. He’s slapped a theft charge on.”
“How could he?”
“Very simple, he has one to slap. The fisherman’s idyllic little straw thatched hut contained an eight hundred dollar Leica.”
“So what?”
“So it belonged to your brother. A shop in Ampang Road is prepared to swear same. Fisherman say … Me gettee giftee. Kang say … Oh, yeah? And if you want my legal opinion on the matter any court will support Kang.”
“My brother could have given him that camera.”
Russell smiled at me.
“Oh, absolutely. It’s the sort of thing the white man is doing all over the East these days, handing out Leicas to thatched-roofed natives. It’s got something to do with United Nations, I wouldn’t wonder. Anyone would believe about that gift except the law; we’re old-fashioned, twenty years behind the times. For instance we still believe in hanging. I do personally. Half my clients could easily, if luck went a little against them.”
He looked at me.
“Though it won’t be a rope for you, dear fellow.”
“I’m glad you think I’ll never be caught, Russell.”
“I don’t think you’ll live long enough, the way things are going. What’s the matter with you? You’ve a lot of money.”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you loosen your stays and relax?”
“I’m young. Still red blood in my veins.”
“You ought to have a mirror in here,” Russell said.
He lit a cheroot. After that he put one foot on my desk and with some effort lifted the other and set it up there, too.
“I respected your brother, Paul. He was a business man first and played games second. You’re a loony all the way. Rushing around in this heat ready to burst into tears at the sight of a bloody palm tree against a bacon and egg sunset. Not turned that car of yours over yet?”
“I’m a good driver.”
“That’s what they all say. Then … wham! It’s the good drivers who always leave those wills with codicils establishing trusts down to a third generation as yet unborn. I hate all their guts. Get me a beer, will you?”
I got him a beer and he poured it into his flesh without pausing to breathe. He held out his glass for a refill.
“I’m sorry about your fisherman. I gather you wanted to score over Kang? Well, you haven’t. And now I’m going to preach a little sermon just as soon as I get the feel of coolness between my fingers. That’s nice. I’ll sip. Sit down yourself.”
He took out a vast handkerchief and mopped. He trickled, little rivulets running out of his scanty hair. His flourishing moustache was touched with beer foam but beaded damp by nature above the white line.
“Sermon begins. Watch Kang. He’s looking for more than the man who killed your brother. I can smell a political type. He’s probably secretly taking a law course by post from England, and when he has pulled off his coup, will resign from the police and produce his B.L. London, Detached. Then he’ll stand for Senator. It came leaping into my sodden mind that you might be the big coup. The fisherman is just one little coloured fragment in the jigsaw and Kang means to hold on to him. You know what Kang thinks? He thinks that if he lets the fisherman go, one night the poor man will have his throat cut.”
“On my orders?”
“When will you learn that us legal types dislike that straight from the shoulder stuff? There are a thousand ways you could have put that. Cut out this simplicity. It makes my gorge rise and increases my blood pressure.”
“I don’t go in for murder.”
“Splendid, my dear chap, splendid! And now we have cleared the air,
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