Page 34 - THE ATTACK ON THE FERRISWHEEL- 200 PAGES FREE OFFER

the telephone line worked."

The mayor interrupts him. "There will be heads rolling… a lot of heads.
Supervision of the municipality's renovation, gas and electricity supply have

failed, and it is Vice Mayor, Jacob Hook, who is responsible for that."

At this very moment it knocks on the door and Mrs. Richardson sticks in her
head.

"Oh, sorry, I'm interrupting, but the press conference starts in a minute, and the

setup’s ready with microphones and everything."
The tall, gray-haired woman became a widow three years ago after her

husband, Professor Bouyer Richardson. She could comfortably enjoy her otium
at home in the townhouse for the sordid pension left by the professor. But

instead of retiring with her old dog Trisse, she has started a new life as the city's

gossip queen. When Professor Bouyer was alive, of course he knew of his wife's
inclinations, but was lucky to keep the lid on the boiling pot.

"Thank you, Mrs. Richardson, you can tell them that we’ll be there in a

moment," the chief replies. "Please close the door when you leave. We just need
to put the last things in order," he adds.

Mrs. Richardson, once again, makes a grimace of discomfort. It’s hard for her to
hide her frustration that she yet again failed to patch up pieces of their

conversation.

"Let's have a little medicine, shall we?." The mayor jolts down the zipper on his
briefcase, opening it and pulls out a small hipflask with accompanying mini-

mugs, and with a swift move he places everything on the table, then proceeds to

pour.
"Cheers," the chief says.

"Cheers," the mayor replies, and they drink.

"Well, let's get to it."
The mayor packs his pocket-sized drinking-kit away, and puts it into his bag.

Panting and cursing, the chief of police manages to slide his uniform-jacket over

his thick corpus, while the mayor lets his white suitjacket hang on his right arm.
The two corpulent men make their way down a narrow and dark corridor that

leads to the police station foyer, where people usually come in from the street to
report crime or get a passport and driver's license.