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    Contract
    Contract
    Contract
    Ebook62 pages54 minutes

    Contract

    By David Manoa

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Samuel Silver is a Contract Killer, living in the city of New York.
    He receives his last contract, from his boss in Marseille.
    A woman by the name of Natasha Fox, with a past almost as shaded as his.
    As his hunt begins, events through the night unfold that has them both
    turning to each other to survive.

    Contains Content for mature audiences.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid Manoa
    Release dateFeb 14, 2016
    ISBN9781311844644
    Contract
    Author

    David Manoa

    I am a writer based in Auckland, New Zealand.I write mainly contemporary romance.My interests are Rugby League, Cars, Gaming and Bodybuilding.

    Read more from David Manoa

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      Book preview

      Contract - David Manoa

      Contract

      ~~~

      David Manoa

      Copyright 2015 David Manoa

      SMASHWORDS Edition v1.1

      ~~~~

      The author asserts the moral right to be identified as

      the author of this work.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the author, with the exception of a book reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      ~~~~~~

      Samuel Silver

      Nightfall. New York City.

      The Y-shaped streetlights on the Helix, sear my eyes as we head to New York City. I’m in a cab, sitting in the rear passenger side. The cab driver a Brooklyn native with this distinctive accent, toots at the car in front of him as he shouts out a stream of curses. I glance at my watch it’s 10:45 pm. My fingers twitch eagerly to get the details of my target. My next kill.

      The midtown Manhattan skyline could be seen in the distance. The faint obelisks of light make me squint, in the oily night. The cab driver speeds up through the toll booths, he moans about the prices, yet I’m the one paying for the fare. He flicks his eye to me, in the rear view mirror. He studies me. Watches me. I run my hand across my silver case smoothing my finger over the latches of my silver briefcase.

      The cab driver is white, mid 50’s.Bald. His arms so hairy, if he put it up against this face, it would suffice as a thick beard. My eyes flinch from the change in light when we enter the Lincoln Tunnel. Hues of yellow light illuminate the whole cab. My nose twitches from the stagnant cigarette smell that drifts from the cabin and the breath of the cab driver.

      He adjusts his mirror and asks, Hey, Pal it’s gonna cost ya to take you around. Is there a place you want to go?

      I inhale, Anywhere for now. I’m waiting for a call. An address.

      We just arrived into New York State now.

      I glance at the cab driver's navigation screen we are on W40 St. My phone begins to ring. I answer. Listen to the voice. Silver… the deep baritone voice makes my ear itch.

      I pause for a moment as the cab driver turns onto 9AV we are held up by the traffic. Two yellow cabs are in front of us. I continue the conversation.

      Pierre, Comment alle vous.

      Listen there’s a policeman here who is on to our operation here.

      I thought you Laurent in your pocket.

      Things are complicated, but this Detective must be from Interpol. FBI, DEA, who knows where Monsieur. Kate spilled information to him about you. My mouth tightened. I clicked my neck. I can’t afford to expose my investments in New York. I need a woman to disappear.

      You know my rules.

      You make this exception and I’ll guarantee you are released from your contract. One last hit. I’ll handle the Detective, but I need it done tonight. And by 2 am.

      Send me the details. Our contract to be complete on the conclusion of the job.

      There was a long pause. Oui, I will make arrangements.

      I closed my eyes. Au Revoir Pierre. I ended the call. When the cab driver looks at me.

      Ah, I knew it. You’re a tourist. French.

      No.

      Um yeah, didn’t you greet who you’re talking to in French?

      I speak it, but I’m an American citizen.

      I receive another message on my phone, I open to see the photo of a woman and the address. The time 2 AM in bold. My hands twitch.

      Where are you from pal?

      A long way from home. I have an address now.

      Shoot.

      I smirk when I flick down the photo of the beauty, to the address.

      The address is Sanctuary W47th St.

      Sure do pal. It’s a fancy as hotel. It’s not far from Times Square.

      The cab driver continues on into the city. My senses are assaulted by the large LED lights and oversized advertising signs. The streets were packed with people.

      I said, I know what they mean now, when they call this the city that never sleeps. This place buzzing with people.

      Ha, you should come here at rush hour pal. You’ll call it something else.

      "A smog-ridden,

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