The Samaritan by Mason Cross Read Free Book Online Page A

of her Florida adventure, I thought it was extremely unlikely they’d experience any trouble from Zoran.
    It was funny: every time I let my mind wander, it drifted back to the look on his face as he realized I had the drop on him and that there was every likelihood he was about to die. A look of surprise. A look that said, Wait a second. This isn’t supposed to happen to me. There’s been some terrible mistake.
    I wondered if that would be the look on my face when it was my turn. Everybody thinks they’re invincible, until they’re not.
    Absently, I let my fingers play over the knot of scar tissue on the right-hand side of my stomach. A reminder of Wardell and Chicago, when my turn had very nearly come around.
    The Otis Redding song finished and was replaced by Percy Sledge. Outside, on the street, a figure caught my attention. A heavyset, tanned man in his fifties. He was walking stiffly, as though in mild pain. He wore mirrored shades, a blue T-shirt that was a little too small for him, and knee-length shorts that were at least two decades too young for him. He carried a battered brown leather briefcase, just to complete the ensemble. I pretended to keep my eyes on the view, watching out of the corner of my eye as the man paused at the doorway and entered the diner.
    A shadow fell across my face and I heard a familiar voice. “Getting sloppy, Blake. I snuck right up on you.”
    I kept my eyes on the view. “You’re limping, Coop. Rheumatism?”
    He laughed. “I sprained it playing racquetball. I approve of the location, by the way.”
    I looked up at last. “Easy commute for you,” I agreed. “Or did you mean this place?”
    “No, this place could be better. They don’t serve liquor.”
    “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, Coop,” I pointed out. He shrugged. I waved a hand at the chair across from me and he sat down.
    “So you found the prodigal daughter. Everything go okay?”
    “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
    “So I hear.”
    I smiled and said nothing. Nobody had died, and I didn’t think Zoran and his guys would be filing a police report anytime soon. There had been nothing on the news about an incident involving firearms in a dicey neighborhood. I wondered if Coop had heard something from another source, or if he was just being Coop.
    “So, this is an honor,” Coop said, raising his bushy eyebrows. He was referring to how unusual it was for us to meet in person, the majority of our interactions being carried out over the phone or by secure email.
    “It seemed silly not to meet up, since I was in the neighborhood.”
    “And it means you can buy me a drink to thank me for everything I do for you.”
    “They don’t sell alcohol, remember? Besides, don’t I thank you by paying you?”
    “There is that.”
    “So what do you have for me?”
    He smiled. “Same old Blake—straight down to business.” He reached down and snapped the catches off the briefcase, withdrawing a thin plastic document wallet. “I got something.”
    “Black, white, or gray?” I asked. The question was standard. I like to know up front how legitimate a prospective job is, and that usually comes down to the character of the employer. A black or gray job isn’t necessarily a barrier, but it’s good to go in with eyes open.
    He wavered a second. “Off-white.”
    “Off-white?” I repeated skeptically.
    “It’s a big company. They operate out of New Jersey. Denncorp. They make semiconductors or something.”
    “Who have they lost?”
    “A senior accounts manager. They were cagey with the details. He jumped ship with some sensitive information, and they can’t find him to have a discussion.”
    “So he knows they’re doing something they shouldn’t be, and they don’t want him to tell anybody. What’s their desired output?”
    “Desired output? Jesus, you sound like one of them.”
    “Gotta match the terminology to the client, Coop.”
    “They want you to find him and bring him to them. Location to