“He had gone last night to a café in Kings Cross, having called his cocaine dealer. The café had a reputation for being “clean,” that no drug deals or bank jobs or killer hits were ever planned on its premises. Which made it an ideal place for Farro and his dealer to meet. “I can't meet your request, Mr. Farro—” His name (he said) was Fidel Salazar and he claimed he came from Colombia (where else?). He was a fidgety little man, always winding his watch, as if telling time to hurry up. He was as ...sleek as a water rat, with the same sheen to him, and Farro, fastidious about company, wished they could have met in a dark lane. He claimed to have had a Fulbright scholarship to Harvard and sometimes tried for a Harvard accent. He could lie in five languages and was reasonably evasive in two others. He had a legitimate business as a rug dealer, bringing in imports from such well-known rug capitals as Bogota, Caracas and La Paz. So far the authorities had failed to nail him, but, as in all bureaucracies, failure was not looked upon as a defeat but as a reason for increased budget.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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