Page 174

John Grisham

The Broker

In the semidarkness of his small apartment, Marco went through his earlymorning routine with his usual efficiency. Except for prison, when he had little choice and no motivation to hit the ground running, he'd never been one to linger after waking. There was too much to do, too much to see. He'd often arrived at his office before 6:00 a.m. breathing fire and looking for the day's first brawl, and often after only three or four hours of sleep. Those habits were returning now. He wasn't attacking each day, wasn't looking for a fight, but there were other challenges. He showered in less than three minutes, another old habit that was aided mightily on Via Fondazza by a severe shortage of warm water. Over the lavatory he shaved and worked carefully around the quite handsome growth he was cultivating on his face. The mustache was almost complete; the chin was solid gray. He looked nothing like Joel Backman, nor did he sound like him. He was training himself to speak much slower and in a softer voice. And of course he was doing so in another language. His quick morning routine included a little espionage. Beside his bed was a chest of drawers where he kept his things. Four drawers, all the same size, with the last one six inches above the floor. He took a

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John Grisham: The broker  

John Grisham - 2005

John Grisham: The broker  

John Grisham - 2005

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