The Turkish Trap: A tense and intriguing action thriller. by Jack Dylan

Author:Jack Dylan [Dylan, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Dublin: August 2006

William and James at lunch

William walked almost jauntily down Grafton Street. The lunchtime crowds were bustling as queues formed in Bewleys and in all the competing cafes and snack bars down the famous shopping street. The smirk on his face betrayed his excess of good humour, and his benevolent air drew the hopeful attention of the supposedly homeless magazine-sellers. Avoiding their clutches he swung left into Suffolk Street, and glancing briefly at the musical instruments on display in a shop window, he strode purposefully to O’Neill’s bar on the corner.

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” challenged James as he nodded to the barman and pointed to the Guinness tap.

“Well yes, I suppose I am,” agreed William, “But not without good reason I’m happy to say.”

“So what is it this time? A win on the horses? No, too early in the day for that. A coup at the auction? No, too early for that as well. I give up, you’ll have the pleasure of putting me out of my misery.”

“I’ll let you suffer until that pint arrives, but I’ll give you one clue. You are right about the financial angle – nothing else guaranteed to put a smile on a man’s face.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” laughed James. “I am reliably informed that intimate relationships with persons of the opposite sex have been known to result in the occasional inane grin.”

“Short-lived gratification of the baser instincts, old boy.” William shook his head. “They are short-lived and are guaranteed to be followed by grief and tears. Weeping, wailing, and a sore willy are all you get from the opposition. Believe me, I’m one of the walking wounded back from the battle-front.”

“So the good humour is the result of the gratification of your true love, your everlasting relationship with your wallet?”

“You make me sound like a shallow, soul-less mercenary. I’ll have you know that this tough exterior hides a sensitive and vulnerable spirit.”

“You must be the first antique dealer in history to have a sensitive and vulnerable soul. Without exception your colleagues are a grasping greedy crowd of money-grabbing charlatans.”

“Have to keep body and soul together,” said William with undisturbed equanimity, taking the first sip from the creamy pint. “And I do admit that most of my colleagues in the trade had a scruple-ectomy at an early age.”

“Scruple-ectomy? While you have just had a triple scruple by-pass?”

“Exactly. Scruples and finer feelings intact, but not always indulged.”

“That’s handy. Could I have one as well?”

“I’ll introduce you to ‘old mother necessity’, who dishes them out free of charge. You’ve just had too cushy a life and never needed to engage in the baser forms of trade. Mind you the banks, your old employer included, are becoming just as bad as the loan-sharks. They invent charges for everything; they’ll soon be charging us for the privilege of charging us.”

“Don’t laugh, it’ll happen. Did you read in the paper that in the UK, BT has introduced a ‘payment processing charge’? Whatever whiz-kid thought of that has probably been promoted already.

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