The Khmer Kill: A Dox Short Story (Kindle Single)

at a slight elevation to the riverbank, with perfect line-of-sight to the opposite side.
    He cut the engine and pulled off the helmet. It was quite dark, with just a little light reflecting off the surface of the river from the restaurants and bars on the other side. The air was perfectly still. He wiped his face with a shirtsleeve, then waited while his eyes adjusted. He listened. He could hear, faintly, the sounds of traffic and conversation from the other side of the river. Other than that, nothing but the chirping of insects.
    He parked the bike alongside a tree fifty yards back from the river. Then he walked off and got prone in the weeds atop one of the dirt mounds. He took out the rifle, popped in the magazine, racked a round, and sighted across the river. It took him less than a minute to find Khmer Borane, and he saw immediately he was in luck. Gant was sitting outside, with—
    What the fuck?
    He looked away, then back. No, there was no question. It was the Khmer guy from breakfast, the one who looked like the Dalai Lama, the one the staff treated like a big shot, who was greeting all the foreign guests. That guy was Sorm?
    Gant and the Khmer were both seated on the same side of the table, facing the river, presumably so they could both enjoy the view. He scanned left and right and saw the two bodyguards from the restaurant, positioned at the front corners of the patio.
    He watched Gant and the Khmer for a moment. From their expressions and gestures, they seemed to be chatting easily though earnestly, each in his own way exuding an aura of relaxed confidence. But while there was something faintly smarmy about Gant’s manner, the Khmer had that air of… shit, what was it? Good humor? Good will? Beneficence?
    This guy was former Khmer Rouge, now running dope and trafficking kids into sex slavery?
    No. No way.
    He put in an earpiece and punched Gant’s number into his mobile from memory, then went back to the scope. A moment later, Gant reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone. He glanced at the readout, offered what must have been an “excuse me” to the Khmer, walked out to the sidewalk, and stood to the side of the restaurant.
    “Fire when ready,” he said, his tone droll.
    “Who’s that you’re with?” Dox said.
    There was a slight pause. “Sorm. Take the shot.”
    “No, sir. Whoever Sorm is, that ain’t him. Something’s rotten here in Denmark, and I want to know what it is.”
    Gant looked out across the river, his eyes darting left and right.
    “No, you’re not going to see me,” Dox said. “But I see you. That’s a nice shirt, by the way. Red becomes you. Did you wear it in case you were standing close by at the moment of truth?”
    “I did, in fact. Just a precaution. We’re wasting time.”
    “That’s right, we are. Anytime you make me ask you something twice you’re wasting my time. So again. Who the fuck is that you’re with?”
    Gant furrowed his brow and glanced in Dox’s direction again. He looked more irritated than afraid. “What difference does it make who he is?”
    Christ, what did the guy think, he was bulletproof? “You lied to me, Mr. Gant. We’re not well acquainted, so maybe you don’t know that kind of thing makes me stubborn. Regardless, unless you can figure out something mighty convincing to tell me in the next few seconds, I’m just going to keep your deposit, wish you a lovely evening, and ride on out of here.”
    “Don’t be stupid,” Gant said. “The people who hired you for this aren’t the kind you want to play around with.”
    “Oh, are you threatening me now? That doesn’t just make me stubborn. It makes me angry. Did you know, through this fancy Leupold scope you got me, I can see the individual beads of perspiration on your forehead? Like that one that just rolled down your left temple. Go ahead, wipe it away, I’ll wait.”
    “Damn it, what is your problem? This is business. The assignment is real. The money is real. You accepted your part. Now hold up your end. Take the shot.”
    “Not until you tell me what’s really going on here and who that hombre really is.”
    “No.”
    “Fine by me. Hasta la vista, shit-for-brains.”
    “Now you wait one goddamned minute—”
    Dox clicked off. He put the earpiece and the phone back in his pocket but, out of an abundance of caution, dialed the rifle back to one hundred yards and kept it locked and loaded. He decided not to approach the bike from the river head on, but