Demon Read Free Page A

turned and headed into the outdoor market. As soon as he was within shouting distance, merchants barked at him, peddling their goods from their canopied booths, trying to entice him with cheap offers on everything from cigarettes to pirated movies to frankincense. Mike ignored them, pushing through the growing crowd of shoppers.
    His eyes locked on Anwar, standing in his booth, flopping rugs down on tables. Mike sidestepped around an old man arguing about the price of dates. From his pocket he pulled a Spyderco Calypso knife, flipped the three-inch blade out, and held it against his thigh away from Anwar’s eye line.
    As Mike neared, a customer walked up to Anwar and grabbed a rug and started haggling.
    Shit, Mike thought. He’d had Anwar to himself. Now he had to hope he’d get another chance before more customers showed up. If that happened, he’d probably have to back off and wait for the crowd to die down. Or risk a pistol shot. But as the crowd grew, the chances of escaping after such a hit would diminish.
    Mike slowed and turned to the booth next to the rug merchant’s. He feigned interest in some canteens and listened to Anwar argue for several minutes.
    With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Anwar hand the rug to the customer, accept cash, and then the man was on his way. Mike didn’t waste any time, turning and heading for the booth.
    Anwar motioned for him to come closer, to see his beautiful rugs. Mike smiled as he reached the booth, three feet of table separating him and Anwar.
    â€œYou speak English?” Mike said.
    â€œOf course, of course.” Anwar slapped a rug in front of him. “Interested in a rug, are you? Something for your beautiful wife or girlfriend? Maybe you have many girlfriends, a young man like you.”
    Anwar laughed at his own joke and patted his gut.
    Mike mimicked the jollity. “Can’t tie me down with just one. But it gets expensive, you know?”
    â€œA man can never have enough money for the amount of mistresses he requires.”
    Again Anwar laughed like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Mike only chuckled.
    â€œA man like you, though, has much money, yes? Strong, rich contractor.”
    Mike looked down at his clothes and back to Anwar. “That obvious, huh?”
    â€œI see you contractors here all the time. Blackwater, yes? Or whatever you call it these days. The clothes you all wear—so similar it is like a uniform.”
    Mike smiled. It was just the reaction he’d hoped for when choosing the clothes. The other merchants would remember seeing a contractor. The description they might give, though, would pretty much match anyone in the area working private security.
    â€œSo, my friend, what kind of rug would you like?”
    Mike shrugged. “I really don’t know anything about them. What makes a good rug?”
    â€œEasy, my friend, easy.” Anwar flipped over a red rug and pointed at the threads on the back. “Do you see how tight these stitches are?”
    Mike leaned down, his nose about two inches over the rug. “I guess so.”
    He said it loud enough to hear but low enough to draw Anwar down toward him. He moved his knife hand up to his hip at the same time. The images of the Brits Anwar helped kill flashed through his head.
    Anwar, his head about a foot away and just slightly higher than Mike’s, said, “The tighter the stitches and the more threads there are means the rug is of top quality. This rug—”
    Mike’s hand flashed up, sliced the blade across the bottom of Anwar’s neck, and was back at his side in under a second. Anwar’s throat opened up and blood rained onto the rug.
    â€œGod save the Queen, Anwar.”
    Mike retracted the blade, slipped the knife in his pocket, and walked away from the booth. He glanced over his shoulder. Anwar had dropped to his knees, his head resting on the rug in his blood. No one had noticed