In the Company of Killers by Bryan Christy (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

“I will,” Klay said, amused.

The tags from Tenchant’s jacket had been lying beside the sink in the powder room. It was Andes blue, made of ripstop nylon with a waterproof finish, half-elastic cuffs, and a draw-cord hem. The hood adjusted with one pull and was guaranteed not to block the wearer’s peripheral vision. The whole thing was capable of folding into its own breast pocket. All the protections, Klay thought, as he washed his hands.

He’d told Tenchant they needed to be inconspicuous in the field—none of his usual biker jewelry, no motorcycle boots—and he guessed the jacket was his effort to comply. Tenchant’s hair was washed, his boots were good for hiking, and his silver skull ring was gone, leaving only a black wedding band and a runner’s wristwatch. Klay was surprised Tenchant had gotten through personnel. Beyond his clothing, Tenchant’s sinewy arms were tattooed shoulder to wrist, each sleeve featuring a Japanese Nio, a wrath-filled, muscular guardian of the Buddha. Tenchant’s guardians were Agyo and Ungyo, protectors of Todai-ji temple.

“I mean it, Tom,” Maggie continued. “I’ve been reading about the white farm murders. Women set on fire, children decapitated—”

“Mags—” Tenchant said.

“Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Tenchant cocked his head and looked at Klay as if stupid was what he liked to do.

“We’re headed out on a paper trail, Maggie, not a jungle trail,” Klay said. “Besides, I thought our man here was taking karate.”

Tenchant took a piece of cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese from his wife’s plate and popped it into his mouth.

“Taking it?” Maggie said. “He’s a black belt!”

Klay was surprised. He’d assumed Tenchant was just a beginner. A blue belt, maybe.

Tenchant shrugged.

“Well, maybe it will be Tenchant protecting me,” Klay said.

“It’s a good sign,” Maggie said. “Isn’t it? Sending him with you. They’ll keep him on, don’t you think?”

“She’s worried about the acquisition,” Tenchant explained. He picked up a napkin and wiped cream cheese off his fingertips. “Rumor is big layoffs are coming.”

“It’s a good sign, Mags,” Klay said.

Outside, their driver honked his horn. Tenchant placed a hand on his wife’s belly. “I’ll be back soon, little fella.”

“You text me every day,” Maggie said.

“I’ll text you every day,” Tenchant said.

They kissed goodbye.

“Not one bent hair,” she said, smoothing her husband’s unruly mop. Tenchant rolled his suitcase toward the door.

Klay put out his hand to say goodbye. Maggie took it and gave Klay a peck on the cheek. “I mean it, Tom,” she whispered. “Please be careful. For my family.”

Klay picked up his duffel bag. “I’ll have him back in ten days. Promise.”

•   •   •

I wonder if you could help us,” Klay said to the woman at Delta’s business-class ticket counter. She was glancing from her screen to Klay’s passport, clicking computer keys. Klay had used his miles to upgrade to business. Tenchant was in economy.

“My friend has never flown overseas before,” Klay said and began making a case for upgrading Tenchant. Midway through he realized how weak his arguments sounded. “He is an organ donor.” Klay smiled weakly.

She glanced at Tenchant in his new Patagonia jacket and returned Klay’s passport. “I’m sorry,” she said, in that way.

“It’s okay,” Tenchant said, handing her his passport. He pushed up his sleeves, flashing his Japanese tattoos, and placed his hand on Klay’s shoulder. “We’re taking my father to the impotency clinic in Johannesburg,” he said. “He doesn’t really like to talk about it.” He turned to Klay, “It’s okay, Dad.”

She glanced at her screen and then back at Tenchant. The corners of her mouth quivered. Smiling, she clicked more keys and handed over their boarding passes.

“Thank you,” Klay said.

“Don’t thank me. He has almost as many miles as you.” She winked at Tenchant. “You should get to know your son better.”

Klay turned to him, surprised. Tenchant shrugged. “Visiting Maggie’s mom.”

•   •   •

Would you care for champagne, sparkling water, juice?” their flight attendant asked.

“I’ll have a bourbon manhattan on the rocks,” Tenchant said.

Klay had orange juice. Ever since Jakarta he took care where and when he drank. At home. Eady’s office. The Gray Pigeon. Places where accidents didn’t happen.

With regard to their assignment, Klay had shared only what Tenchant needed to know: They were embedding with a criminal investigation underway in South Africa. The goal was to tell the story from the inside. The prosecutor’s name was Hungry Khoza. “An old friend,” Klay said. “Her target is Ras Botha.”

“An old enemy,” Tenchant said.

“Yes.”

“Can she get him on the Kenya murders?”

“Maybe,” Klay said, and closed his eyes.

Tenchant was on his third manhattan when Klay felt a tug on his sleeve.

“I never said it, but sorry for that grapefruit thing.”

“What grapefruit thing?” Klay said.

“Tanzania.”

“The albino story?” Klay shook his head. “Wasn’t your fault. That’s just the editing process, Porfle-style,” he added.

“As it turns out, I do bear some responsibility.”

“It happens,” Klay said, trying to brush Tenchant off.

“How’d it start, anyway?” Tenchant asked.

“What?”

“The grapefruit thing.”

“Forget it,” Klay said. Klay caught a flash of disappointment in Tenchant’s eyes, and it occurred to him how little he knew his researcher. They rarely interacted socially, not even for lunch. Tenchant ate with the copy editors and fact checkers. Klay ate at this desk. He didn’t know about Tenchant’s martial arts. Today was the first time he’d been in his home. It had taken years before he and Snaps had found their groove in the field, and Snaps had been an experienced field photographer. Tenchant was a computer nerd.

“Excuse me?” Klay said to the flight attendant. “Another round for us? Bourbon for me. A phone call,” he said, turning back to Tenchant. “Snaps had taken those incredible pics. Remember?”

“The albino with her hand cut off.”

“That one. The dug-up graves. The muti rituals. I called to give Porfle an update, just the usual, I’m about to hang up when this buffalo walks by. Huge animal, balls swinging around his knees. I say, ‘Holy shit, those are some big fucking balls.’ I wasn’t talking to Porfle. I was talking to myself.

“‘Explain,’ Porfle says. Explain what? Just some bull the