Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) by James Samuel (the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT) 📕

A great cascade of filth bumped up against the curb outside the guesthouse from the rains the night before. He stepped over it with caution, spotting the grimy plastic and used condom entangled within the mud.

Mr. Arun looked up from serving beers to the two foreigners at tables near the door and rushed over. His great, gleaming smile lit up his face, and Dylan couldn’t help but return it like a tennis serve. Friendly faces in this country appeared hard to come by for him.

“Sir, good to see you again, and so early. Your friends are not here. They go away for some nights. I am very sorry, sir.”

“I know,” said Dylan. “Have you seen Nhek?”

“Nhek… Nhek… ah… no.” Mr. Arun made a great show of racking his brains with his frantic gestures. “I call him for you, sir. I bring him here.”

“No, no, it’s no problem. Just a beer for me.”

“I call him for you.” Mr. Arun rushed back into the guesthouse to fetch his beer.

Dylan sighed and took up a seat at one of the tables. He didn’t know what to say to Nhek as Mr. Arun delivered the moist bottle and went to summon the tuk-tuk driver. Lost and confused, he weighed up the pros and cons of getting on the next plane out of Cambodia and disappearing into obscurity.

As he sipped at his beer, he banished these thoughts from his mind. No, he couldn’t go into hiding. This job paid well, but he didn’t have enough to bankroll his retirement. As a relatively young man, he still had to earn a living. Besides, he owed James for getting him through those tumultuous days in the Cardamom Mountains. Disappearing wasn’t an option.

The beeping of a horn shook him from his thoughts. Nhek arrived with his usual cacophony of noise. Dylan looked up, happy to see someone with whom he could speak a few words. Nhek had proved his worth, although Dylan still couldn’t understand why he spent so much time aiding a few foreigners.

“Mr. Dylan. I’m very happy to see you again.” Nhek clapped him on the shoulder and proceeded to speak in Khmer with Mr. Arun.

“Good to see you, Nhek.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Dylan?” Nhek sat down. “Very happy you called me. You barang have become very good friends to me. You are warm-hearted people. I know this.”

Dylan doubted that, but he let the comment pass. “James and Sinclair are in Siem Reap on business. I had nothing better to do. You’ve known James longer than I have; I want to help him.”

Nhek pounced upon the beer Mr. Arun had delivered to their table. He took two enormous gulps and wiped the suds from his chin. “Mr. James tells me nothing about his business. Only when he needs me.”

He chewed on the inside of his mouth and took another sip of his beer, wiping his wet hands on his trousers.

“Mr. James is a good man. A very good man. He will be safe in Siem Reap. No problems there. Safest place in Cambodia for barang like you. My cousin works there. Tuk-tuk driver like me.”

“Nhek, can you keep a secret? A really big secret?”

“Of course, Mr. Dylan. Anything.”

“You’ve been on business with James before?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Dylan. Did Mr. James tell you about the last time? These very bad men shoot guns at us. Very lucky not to get hit, but Mr. James is a good man, and nothing hit us.”

Dylan sighed as he waded through Nhek’s unnecessary excitement. “Then, Nhek, how much would it cost me to have you drive me somewhere. Somewhere quickly.”

Nhek considered the offer. “For tourism?”

“Not for tourism. Business. I need you to be silent about what happens afterwards. We’re going to Camko City. You sit outside the building and when you see me, I jump in and you drive away quickly.”

“Five-hundred dollar.”

“Five-hundred dollars?” Dylan almost choked on his beer. “Is that what James pays you?”

“Ah Mr. Dylan, this is a business. Private business. You buy my eternal silence.” Nhek made a motion of pinching his lips closed. “I never say a word to anyone, even Mr. James.”

Dylan pursed his lips. He had more than enough to pay for Nhek’s services, but he still felt like the Khmer driver was taking him for a ride. At this point, he didn’t care. He took out his wallet and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills for Nhek.

Nhek bowed his head and clapped his hands together like a Buddhist monk. “You are too kind, Mr. Dylan.”

“Something like that…”

“When would you like to go, Mr. Dylan?”

“After your beer.”

Dylan checked himself to make sure he still had everything. His Glock 19 hadn’t gone anywhere. To kill Song Wen and cut his ties with Shao and Xiphos forever would clear his conscience and repay the debt he owed to James. Maybe James and Sinclair would be able to help him start a new life after all this was over?

Nhek gulped his beer and they were soon flying back towards Camko City. Their tuk-tuk took command of the roads, swerving towards cars and other tuk-tuks with menace. In record time, they passed into the new Phnom Penh.

Nhek pulled up outside Song’s apartment block in Camko City. Did Song realise he’d departed his post yet? Either way, Shao wouldn’t have been able to send reinforcements to protect Song just yet. He still had time.

People like Nhek would never be able to afford to live in a place like this. He wondered what the tuk-tuk driver thought as he idled on the pristine streets. Did he feel any jealousy towards these people? Did he feel any anger against the government for investing in this neighbourhood and leaving people like