Kill: Four by Blake Banner

Author:Blake Banner [Banner, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07R79T41V
Published: 2019-04-24T22:00:00+00:00

TEN

By the time I got back to Knysna, it was almost six PM. I took a bottle of Bushmills to my cabin, knocked back two stiff shots and stood under the shower for twenty minutes, switching from scalding hot to cold and back again, trying to wash away the image of Ameya Dabir’s startled face rocking back as the slug crashed through her forehead.

I toweled myself dry, took another slug of Irish, dressed in the new clothes I’d bought and made my way to reception. Janine saw me walk in and arched an eyebrow at me.

“Good evening, Mr. Richard Sinclair.”

I gave a smile that wasn’t a smile because my eyes were not involved and dropped the Hugh Grant accent.

“That’s not my name.”

“More BS?”

“Give me a chance, will you? My name is Lacklan, and I’m from Boston. Will you let me buy you dinner and come clean?”

I watched her eyes flick around my face. Her pupils dilated slightly and she smiled. “My goodness. I do believe Mr. Richard Sinclair is telling the truth. How could I refuse?”

I engaged my eyes in the smile and said, “Cut it out. When shall I pick you up?”

“Why waste time? Let’s strike while the iron is hot.” She leaned through a door in the wall behind the desk and said, “Clem? I’m going out for the evening. Man the desk, will you? If you need help, call Isabella.”

A muffled voice replied. She picked up her purse and walked around the desk to join me, grabbed my arm and guided me toward the door. “This is going to be good,” she said, and squeezed my bicep.

She took me on a walk through a maze of twisting paths that threaded their way among pinewoods and luxury villas, until we came to a short road that bordered the lagoon, just a short distance from the mouth, where the water was a deep green among rocks during the day, an almost black in the failing light of the evening. All the way, she had her arm linked through mine and kept up a gentle chatter about everything and anything, from the oyster beds in the lagoon to nearby ostrich farms and the crocodiles at the George Crocodile Park.

The restaurant was a long, oblong wooden box with a terrace, perched on the edge of the rocks, overlooking the waves that belched and crashed through the narrow opening from the Indian Ocean, erupting in explosions of spray a mere twenty feet below. The chill air coming in off the sea made it too cold to sit outside among the flaming torches that illuminated the terrace, so we went inside where it was warm, there was a powerful smell of char grilled meat, and a pleasant buzz of conversation. We found a table by the window and sat opposite each other. A waiter in a black and white apron down to his ankles brought us a couple of plastic-coated menus and I ordered an Irish, straight up. Janine nodded at the waiter.

“I’ll have the same, then tell Jaqui to find me your two tenderest sirloins.

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