The Taker by Matthew Bayan

Author:Matthew Bayan [Bayan, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TIMELINE BOOKS
Published: 2020-06-24T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 55

NEW YORK

“This guy is a machine.” Jeremy echoes something Sammy said days earlier.

A pensive Sammy says, “And he’s changing his methods, adapting to new situations.” He downshifts to make the exit off the L.I.E.

“How many do you think he’s done?”

Sammy frowns. “If he’s comfortable doing two hits in the same month and gettin’ paid a mil, then he’s got lots of experience.”

“He’s been at it ten years or more. If he only did this once a year, he’d be rich already. Why does he continue?”

In a very low voice, Sammy says, “J, this isn’t about money. Money just greases the machine. This is about sex or revenge or some other shit. Nobody does what he did to Ripley for money. He likes it. He’s smart enough to figure out that if he’s gonna kill, he might as well make it pay. The money is why he’s still out there. Cash covers lots of sins.”

Sammy glances at Jeremy. “I’ve seen guys like this, Jeremy. Guys who do hits and don’t care if they get paid. They always make a mess. In the end, they get put down like rabid dogs.”

A hellish fire roars through Jeremy. “Oh, I believe you, Sammy.” An image of Zaki Ali, the master criminal who sold his services to terrorists, floats into Jeremy’s mind. If Ash is like that one, they have every reason to worry. Jeremy remembers the raped and tortured corpses he found in Beirut. He tries hard not to scream.

Sammy guns the engine into a turn. “Jeremy, I gotta tell you, the way you handle a gun, that fight in Cambridge, that crazy look you get in your eyes, tell me about it. You’ve been somewhere, done something. I can handle it.”

“Sam, I understand George Ash. I have a piece of him inside me.”

“You know, I usually don’t get nervous, but my hands are slippin’ on the steering wheel.”

“Sammy, I’ve done things. Then I stopped. If I start doing them again I don’t know what I will become.”

“Where was this? When?”

“In Beirut. When I got out of college, Uncle James recruited me into a job with a security contractor.”

“What kind of job?”

Jeremy says nothing.

“Oh, that kind of job.”

Like a home movie, faces carom into my view. First, a young Neela. So hopeful and innocent, her face twisted in grief. “Can you get my father back?”

“Yes.” I am so confident. “I have good contacts here in Beirut.”

Flash to a café. I push a fat manila envelope across the table to a fat, bearded man in his forties. “That’s fifty grand.”

“I cannot guarantee anything,” the man says.

“Yes, you can. If it lives under a rock, you know its name, Zaki. I want a report tomorrow.”

“This could take time.”

I slam my fist onto the hand that holds the envelope. “Your black market activities continue only because we let them continue. We will put you out of business so fast, you’ll be lucky to be left with your skin. You hear me, Zaki? You find this teacher. He’s Lebanese, for Christ’s sake.

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