Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) by James Samuel (psychology books to read txt) 📗

“What about bodyguards?” asked James. “Are they armed?”

Preap cleared his throat and coughed. Clearly, he hadn’t had a cigarette in a long time, yet he held a gnarled hand out, requesting another. Nhek shook his head, all out. James tossed his pack at Preap. The knotty hand clutched it like a life raft in an inky black lake, before depositing it in the waistband of his shorts.

“Armed, yes. But not so bad. Mr. Chea…” Preap spat as he did at each mention of the man’s name. “He always has a couple of men with guns with him. The others not so much. Just fists. Clubs. Sticks. Enough to deal with drunk barang.”

James nodded. Now it made sense. Thom had given them the assignment to take out Mr. Chea first. Although a lucrative business for General Narith, Mr. Chea was the easiest of available targets. Little more than a common crook shaking people down in his neighbourhood. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Who else do you know?” asked James.

“We can talk about that later,” said Preap. “Nhek always knows where to find me, and you can find me yourself. I never leave this river. I have nowhere else to go these days. As long as I stay out of sight, my former comrades won’t raise a finger to finish the job.”

James thanked Preap, who shook hands with both men and began clambering down the steep bank again. Some of the other down-and-outs turned to Preap to speak in hushed tones, eager to hear the news about the common fisherman conversing with the rich foreigner.

Preap shooed them away and grabbed his little pole. He continued his hunt for the toxic catches of the Mekong River in silence.

Chapter Nine

The Doun Penh District became a Frankenstein’s Monster when night fell and the Mekong River formed an endless black boundary, marking the end of the world. The music cranked up, with a raging bass thumping its way through the concrete walls. Drunk foreigners staggered along the crowded sidewalks, some with local Khmer women on their arms. And, still, the unceasing Phnom Penh traffic rushed through the city like blood cells in a vein.

James and Sinclair ventured out of their guesthouse into the scrum for the first time on their trip. The atmosphere of gluttony and indulgence would serve as a perfect cover for a kill.

“Well, this may spell some trouble,” said James. “Hardly a smooth getaway in these streets. Most of the gutters would take the wheels off.”

Sinclair sighed. “I know what you mean. I wish we had decided to do this another night instead, but I already called Thom to tell him we were moving tonight. Our client wants a tight schedule, and so that’s the schedule we’ll keep.”

James nodded. The client was always right, after all.

Together, they made their way towards The Palace. James had to blink away the spots dancing in his eyes from the ugly pink and yellow neon signs. Even the tuk-tuks and the motorbikes had to weave around the revellers spilling into the gutters, the bottoms of their sandals becoming soaked with filth.

James had dressed like an ordinary tourist, deciding not to take a weapon. He couldn’t wear a coat in this heavy humidity, and any other clothing would make it obvious that he was carrying something lethal. This realisation only dawned on him a couple of hours before. A simple hit had become far more dangerous.

“Where’s your Nhek?” said Sinclair as The Palace loomed in front of them.

“Over there.” James pointed at the smiling Nhek standing next to his motorbike. “Good, he brought the bike. I was worried he might have misunderstood me and brought the tuk-tuk.”

Sinclair gripped him by the elbow. “How do we know we can trust him? How much did you pay him?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Sinclair exclaimed. “What do you mean you gave him nothing?”

“He wouldn’t take it. I tried to give him something, but he just laughed and said he’d help us.”

“James, this cannot stand. He must be setting us up. Nobody on this earth would agree to act as someone’s getaway driver if they had nothing to gain from it. When have you ever known anyone to do anything for free?”

“Look, I know it sounds mad –”

“Really? Do you think it sounds a tad like insanity?”

He stopped himself, not wanting to spend the evening arguing with Sinclair when they had a job to do. The truth was James found it surprising as well when Nhek agreed to help him for free. Yet he felt something about Nhek. He couldn’t detect anything malicious, just a pure and well-meaning individual. Of course, as a Buddhist, he believed in karma, so the time to repay the favour would come.

“It’s my decision,” said James. “I’m the field agent here.”

Sinclair opened his mouth like he wanted to tick him off. He only shook his head and gestured towards The Palace.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “Evening, Nhek.”

Nhek had brought along what could only be described as a rust bucket. The old Enfield motorcycle looked like it hadn’t felt the touch of a qualified mechanic in years. Streaks of dirt and grease covered everything like a painter’s fingers, and most of the seat had gone, clawed away in the passage of time.

“Mr. James, I have everything. You no have any trouble with the police. They don’t chase for long.”

“They might if it has anything to do with Mr. Chea,” said Sinclair.

James could see Sinclair’s logic. Still, if they weren’t alerted in time, they would never know that a barang had just murdered one of Phnom Penh’s top businesspeople.

“Don’t worry,” said James. “I trust Nhek.”

“Thank you, Mr. James.” Nhek clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Sinclair folded his arms. “I’ll wait at the bar, just here.”