Page 30 of Samson

“I don’t know,” Demir said. “Is there?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Then is there something I can help you with?”

Samson looked around the cabin of his car. He’d left the camera with a telephoto lens on the passenger seat on purpose. “No, Mr. Demir. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

Demir looked relaxed, but Samson wasn’t against pushing him into a fight. “You think too much of yourself.”

“Do I?”

“My colleague noticed you loitering.”

“I don’t see a no parking sign.”

“Didn’t your parents raise you to know it’s rude to stare? Also, taking photos without someone’s permission is obscene.”

“That depends on the subject matter. But I’d happily go if you’d tell me what it is you’re doing in there.”

“That’s all it will take?”

“That’s it.”

“Well then, we’re renovating.”

“I already know you’re doing more than that.”

“You’re delusional.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t. You can leave now, or I’ll call the authorities.”

“You don’t even want to know my name?” The two had never officially met, but he found it hard to believe Demir didn’t know who he was.

“Maybe I don’t care.”

“Samson Vartan.”

Demir’s countenance didn’t change. “Should that mean something to me?”

“Only if you want it to.”

“Then I would like to politely convey to you that it is in your best interest to leave. Unless you want things to get ugly.”

“Oh, I would love for things to get ugly.”

Demir took a step back from the window and unbuttoned his jacket, pushing it aside to reveal the gun at his hip.

“I take it you have a permit for that?” Samson said.

“I don’t need one.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot how special you are. I hate to break this to you, but what you’re doing inside that building—you’re not going to get away with it.”

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