Free The Spoilers / Juggernaut by Desmond Bagley

I’m doing a bit of private enterprise in my own time. If I think it’s good enough I’ll stay on the job when my holiday is up. He might accept that.’
    ‘Keep my name out of it,’ warned Warren.
    ‘Sure.’ Abbot drained his glass. ‘Yes, I think he’ll fall for it. The shock of my wanting to work on my holiday ought to be enough.’ He put down the glass on the counter. ‘But I’ll need convincing first.’
    Warren ordered two more drinks. ‘Let’s sit at a table, and I’ll tell you enough to whet your appetite.’
VI
    The shop was in Dean Street and the neatly gold-lettered sign read: SOHO THERAPY CENTRE. Apart from that there was nothing to say what was done on the premises; it lookedlike any Dean Street shop with the difference that the windows were painted over in a pleasant shade of green so that it was impossible to see inside.
    Warren opened the door, found no one in sight, and walked through into a back room which had been turned into an office. He found a dishevelled young man sitting at a desk and going through the drawers, pulling everything out and piling the papers into an untidy heap on top of the desk. As Warren walked in, he said, ‘Where have you been, Nick? I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
    Warren surveyed the desk. ‘What’s the trouble, Ben?’
    ‘You’d never believe it if I told you,’ said Ben Bryan. He scrabbled about in the papers, ‘I’ll have to show you. Where the devil is it?’
    Warren dumped a pile of books off a chair and sat down. ‘Take it easy,’ he advised. ‘More haste, less speed.’
    ‘Take it easy? Just wait until you see this. You won’t be taking it as easy as you are now.’ Bryan rummaged some more and papers scattered.
    ‘Perhaps you’d better just tell me,’ suggested Warren.
    ‘All right…no, here it is. Just read that.’
    Warren unfolded the single sheet of paper. What was written on it was short and brutally to the point. ‘He’s throwing you out?’ Warren felt a rage growing within him. ‘He’s throwing us out!’ He looked up. ‘Can he break the lease like that?’
    ‘He can—and he will,’ said Bryan. ‘There’s a line of fine print our solicitor didn’t catch, damn him.’
    Warren was angrier than he had ever been in his life. In a choked voice he said, ‘There’s a telephone under all that junk—dig it out.’
    ‘It’s no good,’ said Bryan. ‘I’ve talked to him. He said he didn’t realize the place would be used by drug addicts; he says his other tenants are complaining—they say it lowers the tone of the neighbourhood.’
    ‘God Almighty!’ yelled Warren. ‘One’s a strip joint and the other sells pornography. What the hell have they to complain of? What stinking hypocrisy!’
    ‘We’re going to lose our boys, Nick. If they don’t have a place to come to, we’ll lose the lot.’
    Ben Bryan was a psychologist working in the field of drug addiction. Together with Warren and a couple of medical students he had set up the Soho Therapy Centre as a means of getting at the addicts. Here the addicts could talk to people who understood the problem and many had been referred to Warren’s clinic. It was a place off the streets where they could relax, a hygienic place where they could take their shots using sterile water and aseptic syringes.
    ‘They’ll be out on the streets again,’ said Bryan. ‘They’ll be taking their shots in the Piccadilly lavatories, and the cops will chase them all over the West End.’
    Warren nodded. ‘And the next thing will be another outbreak of hepatitis. Good God, that’s the last thing we want.’
    ‘I’ve been trying to find another place,’ said Bryan. ‘I was on the telephone all day yesterday. Nobody wants to know our troubles. The word’s got around, and I think we’re blacklisted. It must be in this area—you know that.’
    Something exploded within Warren. ‘It will be,’ he said with decision. ‘Ben, how would you like a really good place here in