Read Online Namaste by Sean Platt, Realm, Sands, Johnny B. Truant - Free Book Online Page B
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because they hadn’t raised their weapons. But at some point, at least the two flanking the gate had flicked safeties to off, and while no one had to explain anything to anyone else, it was apparent that if Amit took more than a few more steps forward, he would be perforated like a page in a coloring book.
Amit withdrew his prayer beads. The big guard didn’t flinch. He’d either figured out that Amit had no weapon or didn’t care. It was probably the latter. All six wore body armor over their shirts.
Amit rubbed the beads between his fingers, thinking.
“What does your boss do?” Amit looked at the guard on the other side of the door, over to the two in their towers, then the pair 15 feet farther down the wall on either side. Only the black man responded.
“Olive oil importing. Waste management. Gaming.”
Amit nodded, getting the joke. There wasn’t much in the way of visual entertainment in the Sri compound, but he’d been outside many times, and that was enough to understand the supposed ways of crime lords. Retroactively, he justified that time spent as research.
“What if I told you why this other monk — who was not me — did what he did to the Right Hand?”
“I’m not particularly interested.”
Amit paced, rolling beads in his fingers. He’d come here because he’d needed the lay of the land. Of course, the boss would have heard about the monk; Amit himself had instructed the Right Hand to tell him that this monk would be coming for him next. Of course, his security would be raised. He could have hidden, but given that he’d already gone out of his way to make his mission known, showing up in person was logical. It was always possible that the guards would try shooting him out of hand the moment he arrived, but Amit didn’t think they would. For one, powerful men maintained low profiles with the law as best they could, and firing automatic weapons needlessly would surely attract attention. He’d kept his distance, and while he could never strike in time to outrun six separate lines of fire, he’d be able to run in plenty of time if those guns started to chatter. Mostly, he’d come — after following the cues he’d sussed out from the boss when meeting with the Right Hand — in order to show himself. Every magician knew that the best tricks were built on misdirection, and that meant giving your audience something to look at.
“I am actually a very nice person.” Amit turned and smiled, showing his teeth so the guards would see his mirth. “I long to kill your boss, but wish you no harm. You must know that. I do not want you to see me as a threat to you, personally. This is important. I have many friends and would always like to have more.”
“Charming,” said the big man.
“When I come back, if I get closer to you than two lengths of my arm, please consider dropping whatever weapons you are holding and raising your hands. If you do, I will merely incapacitate you. Like this.”
Amit had noticed the empty guard station — above the main gate, on a small walkway — upon arrival. He’d watched the remaining guards before walking from the small clutch of trees and into the open. He saw how they were all watching certain areas more than others out of habit. By watching their eyes, he could see their collective blind spot. Their sweeping guns never sufficiently covered the driveway’s center.
A twig snapped behind Amit.
He dropped to the ground, knowing the man behind him would fire his weapon the minute he saw rapid movement from the man in his sights. The seventh guard did not disappoint; the gunfire’s cough etched a tattoo in the lawn and caused the large guard to leap back in alarm. Amit had been monitoring the man’s breathing. When he heard it — intermingling with the slight breeze but still distinct — he knew the man was close enough for Amit to guess his weapon’s aim, and reach with his foot after a quick crab-scuffle backward.
Amit withdrew his prayer beads. The big guard didn’t flinch. He’d either figured out that Amit had no weapon or didn’t care. It was probably the latter. All six wore body armor over their shirts.
Amit rubbed the beads between his fingers, thinking.
“What does your boss do?” Amit looked at the guard on the other side of the door, over to the two in their towers, then the pair 15 feet farther down the wall on either side. Only the black man responded.
“Olive oil importing. Waste management. Gaming.”
Amit nodded, getting the joke. There wasn’t much in the way of visual entertainment in the Sri compound, but he’d been outside many times, and that was enough to understand the supposed ways of crime lords. Retroactively, he justified that time spent as research.
“What if I told you why this other monk — who was not me — did what he did to the Right Hand?”
“I’m not particularly interested.”
Amit paced, rolling beads in his fingers. He’d come here because he’d needed the lay of the land. Of course, the boss would have heard about the monk; Amit himself had instructed the Right Hand to tell him that this monk would be coming for him next. Of course, his security would be raised. He could have hidden, but given that he’d already gone out of his way to make his mission known, showing up in person was logical. It was always possible that the guards would try shooting him out of hand the moment he arrived, but Amit didn’t think they would. For one, powerful men maintained low profiles with the law as best they could, and firing automatic weapons needlessly would surely attract attention. He’d kept his distance, and while he could never strike in time to outrun six separate lines of fire, he’d be able to run in plenty of time if those guns started to chatter. Mostly, he’d come — after following the cues he’d sussed out from the boss when meeting with the Right Hand — in order to show himself. Every magician knew that the best tricks were built on misdirection, and that meant giving your audience something to look at.
“I am actually a very nice person.” Amit turned and smiled, showing his teeth so the guards would see his mirth. “I long to kill your boss, but wish you no harm. You must know that. I do not want you to see me as a threat to you, personally. This is important. I have many friends and would always like to have more.”
“Charming,” said the big man.
“When I come back, if I get closer to you than two lengths of my arm, please consider dropping whatever weapons you are holding and raising your hands. If you do, I will merely incapacitate you. Like this.”
Amit had noticed the empty guard station — above the main gate, on a small walkway — upon arrival. He’d watched the remaining guards before walking from the small clutch of trees and into the open. He saw how they were all watching certain areas more than others out of habit. By watching their eyes, he could see their collective blind spot. Their sweeping guns never sufficiently covered the driveway’s center.
A twig snapped behind Amit.
He dropped to the ground, knowing the man behind him would fire his weapon the minute he saw rapid movement from the man in his sights. The seventh guard did not disappoint; the gunfire’s cough etched a tattoo in the lawn and caused the large guard to leap back in alarm. Amit had been monitoring the man’s breathing. When he heard it — intermingling with the slight breeze but still distinct — he knew the man was close enough for Amit to guess his weapon’s aim, and reach with his foot after a quick crab-scuffle backward.
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