The Egyptian (The Dominic Grey Series) by Layton Green

Author:Layton Green [Green, Layton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2013-06-03T23:00:00+00:00

Jax signaled to the bartender for another hit of Jack. All drinks have their places, he mused. Wine was for seduction and swanky restaurants. Gin martinis: social functions and high-end nightclubs. Cuba libres: beach bars and low-end nightclubs. Tequila was for Mexico and bars with ugly women. As Jax’s Kiwi friend once told him, If you don’t see anything you like, have another tequila. If you still don’t, repeat until you do.

Vodka was for Scandinavia, Russia, and bars patronized by females from any of said countries. Frozen drinks, drinks with fruit flavors, mixed drinks with more than two ingredients that weren’t martinis: to be quaffed only during torture. Beer—all times and places not covered by the above list.

Stuck in a living Kafkaesque nightmare and unable to escape the implacable minions of a psychopathic dwarf and his deranged bald employer: strictly the realm of Jack Daniel’s.

Jax knew he was being tracked, but he’d be damned if he knew how. And he knew more ways to track someone than he knew ways to curse in foreign languages. He’d exhausted his resources and concluded either Al-Miri really was a wizard, or he was using a new technology.

How many days had he been on the run? Maybe not that many, but it felt like an entire chapter of his life.

He stood to use the restroom and took a moment to gain his equilibrium. It was rare for him to be this drunk, and he was thoroughly enjoying it. He might not in the morning, but hey, that was the price of admission.

His shoes stuck and smacked against the various unpleasant substances coating the floor of the dive bar. The place was a low-ceilinged, wood-floored shack that would probably fall over if he pushed hard enough on one of the walls. The bar smelled like the floor felt: beer, vomit, sweat, probably some urine mixed in from those special patrons who just couldn’t hold it. A couple of indolent ceiling fans circulated the foul air.

Jax wanted off this continent. He wanted to be back in the nether regions, somewhere he didn’t have to worry about rules, laws, or police he couldn’t bribe with ease. He had shaken off the people following him on three different nights, in three different states, and they kept coming.

He couldn’t risk a scene at a United States airport, or involve United States police. He didn’t have the right contacts here. So he was heading south, or north, he hadn’t yet decided. Each route had its advantages. The Canadian border was easier to cross in a pinch, but Mexican officials asked fewer questions. Whichever he ended up choosing, he was then going across the pond, and then across another. If they wanted to follow him to his turf, then it was game on. He’d hire a small army, hole up on top of a mountain next to the Taliban, and blow whoever came after him back to Oklahoma.

In the meantime he was sticking to the worst places he could find on

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