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

“Mr. Chea,” said James. “I’m going to kill General Narith. Do you have anything useful I might be able to use?”

“The Chinese,” Mr. Chea squeaked out. “The Chinese. He works closely with the Chinese. He will have their support. Everyone knows that. But I don’t know who will be acting for the Chinese government. Look for the Chinese. Please… that’s all I know.”

James stretched out the garrotte behind Mr. Chea’s neck without his knowledge. There were no mirrors in the room, no way for the prostitution kingpin to know how close he was to death.

“You deal in children, I’ve noticed.”

“I’m a businessman. You barang come to Cambodia because that’s what you want. I take orphans, mainly, to give them a life. Out on the streets, they would die.” Ice throbbed through his tones. “People like me are the reason why they don’t starve. They live a good life here, and they have opportunities when they grow up. They earn more than the average Khmer.”

James clenched his teeth together. “You tell yourself that to sleep at night?”

“No, it’s how Cambodia works. It’s how Cambodia has always worked. I told you everything I knew. You said you would let me go if I cooperated.”

James gripped the sides of his garrotte. “If that’s how Cambodia works, let me show you how my world works.”

Mr. Chea tried to bolt, but James thrust the garrotte in front of his neck and tightened it. The piano wire cut into the soft flesh. Mr. Chea’s mouth opened, but only a gurgling sound made it out. Whether by blood loss, not being able to breathe, or no air being allowed to go to the brain, James didn’t care. He wanted Mr. Chea to feel his life slipping away, the type of death a bullet could never deliver.

James cranked back as hard as he could on the garrotte. A few more seconds and Mr. Chea’s body loosened. The deadweight of the man sank back against his chair. The horrified look of panic on his face, the glowing whites of his eyes, would follow him to the grave.

This was a kill he could take pride in.

Chapter Eleven

The street outside The Palace carried on like nothing ever happened. James strode out of The Palace, after washing his hands and arms of any traces of blood in the bathroom. The girl hadn’t appeared. The fat Khmer hadn’t heard a thing. He heard only the gut-wrenching cries from Mike’s room. Should he have intervened and risked discovery?

James stood outside the building and lit a cigarette to clear his mind. His encounters with men like Mr. Chea, men like Mike, made him question what business he was in. How much more of the horrors of the world could he witness without cracking? He took a long drag and tried to shut it out, at least for a while.

Sinclair tried to wave at him, but he pretended not to see. He didn’t want to speak to anyone about it.

He abandoned his beer and sauntered across the street towards him. “James, what is that?”

“What is what?”

James followed Sinclair’s gaze downwards to find the Khmer boy from his room. He jumped back in surprise. He’d never noticed that the boy had slipped away from his captors and followed him.

“It’s the boy they put in my room.”

Sinclair gave him a dumb gaze.

“You know,” he said, irritated at having to explain. “For sex. I don’t know how he managed to sneak out.”

“Well, send him back. This is where he lives.”

“Send him back?”

“Yes. What are you going to do with him? Take him with us.”

James took another look at the young Khmer. He couldn’t even tell him in a language he would understand to go away. Not that he wanted to. The boy was innocent of the dark acts expected of him. The boy couldn’t even comprehend what it was all about.

“Let’s go, James. As much as I’m impressed by how quietly you carried out this assignment, sooner or later someone is going to find the bodies.” Sinclair gestured at him to join Nhek and his motorbike. “Well?”

James let his cigarette droop from his lips as he chewed over what to do about the boy. After what he’d seen upstairs and their treatment at the hands of foreigners like him, how could he abandon him to this life? It rankled with him, but Sinclair was right. He couldn’t take a foreign child with him. Passengers were liabilities.

“Put him on the bike,” said James at last.

“Put him on the bike?” Sinclair repeated. “What do you mean put him on the bike?”

James tried to communicate with the child in the only way he could. Using the international language of pointing, the child followed.

“Mr. James, you make a new friend?” Nhek gave him a little wink.

“Not like that. Can you speak to him? Ask him where he comes from.”

Nhek spoke to the child in his own language. The apparent nervousness of the child didn’t stop him from chattering away to Nhek with little pause for breath.

“He says he thinks you came to rescue him. His name is Kosal and he says he always dreamed that someone would save him and take him away from there. He says that place is a very bad place.”

Sinclair threw up his arms. “We have nowhere to take the boy.”

“I take him.” Nhek waggled his head. “I take him, and he stays with me.”

James opened his wallet and thrust a hundred dollars into Nhek’s hands. This time, the driver didn’t reject James’ offer of money. An American hundred-dollar bill would provide everything a child needed for a long time.

“Okay, fine, that’s sorted,” said Sinclair. “Can we leave now? Before someone discovers the bodies?”

James clapped Sinclair on the back. “Come on, let’s go. We didn’t need the bike