Page 33 of Deathtoll
If he let her use the phone, she could call Murph. If she babbled on about admissions, making no sense, Murph would know something happened. He was probably in the building already. He’d be over in a minute. She could keep Ian talking until then.
Kate kept her smile going, kept her cool. “How about we get that out of the way, then sign you right up for treatment?”
“You pick up that phone, and the next thing I know, a padded van shows up.” Ian’s darting gaze focused, stilled. “You’ll call someone to have me locked up in a looney bin.”
“You can listen to every word I say.”
“No phone call!” he shouted, jabbing at the air with his cell phone as if with a weapon.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Kate inched back, not that a few more inches would make a difference, if he became violent. She was trapped behind her desk, couldn’t run.
Ian waved his hand and kept yelling. “When the government saidgo, I went. Every time. Now when I say I need help, you give me the goddamn help!”
Chapter Ten
Asael
“Can I interest you in a slice of fresh pecan pie?” the homey-looking waitress at the Broslin Diner asked Asael.
He sipped his decaf and shooed her away as he checked his messages, noted the code automatically forwarded from another number. The code identified one of his regular clients, an eccentric oil billionaire who used him to eliminate regulators and business rivals.
Asael called the man back, and while the call bounced from secret server to secret server, he wondered about his next project. He usually disposed of the man’s overseas opponents in a straightforward manner. They didn’t require much finesse. If anyone suspected foul play, it only increased the oil baron’s reputation.
Western competitors needed more planning and a degree of separation. For example, if a rival executive, in the middle of negotiations, received a call that his father had died of a sudden heart attack, his mind would no longer be in the game. He’d want to close the deal and get out of there, rush home on his private jet.
“Thank you for calling me back, friend,” the client on the other end said.
The overly familiar address annoyed Asael, but he never corrected the man, who got a charge out of pretending he had an assassin for a friend. Most of Asael’s clients were weird in different ways. And this one paid better than any of the others.
“How can I help?”
“I wanted to talk to you about your last assignment.”
Asael straightened in his booth, alert. “Any problems?”
“No, my friend. I was merely wishing I could have been there…” He trailed off suggestively.
Asael waited.
“Next time,” the man said after a couple of seconds, “if there was a way for me to…”
“I’m not sure that would be safe.”
“What I mean is, maybe a video could be arranged.”
“And if that video proof is found in your possession?”
“Maybe not a job connected to me, then. Maybe something you do for someone else? Whatever the client pays for the hit, I’ll double it for the opportunity to view live footage.” The man’s voice thickened as if with arousal. “I want to feel like I’m there.”
Creepy fuck. Then again, the world was full of freaks. Asael sipped his decaf. The question was, did he want to keep this particular client?
He set down his cup softly, the touch of ceramic and wood not even a whisper. “I’ll see what I can do, my friend.”
Chapter Eleven
Murph
