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And he dropped a pronoun. Speak ofhimagain. Harry considered this. “So, is he a boyfriend? A lover?”
Before Harry could blink, Asher had his pistol pressed against Harry’s temple, his other hand still on the steering wheel, smooth as silk.
Harry smiled at him, even chuckled a little and looked around the barrel of the gun. “Is that a no? Or a yes?”
Asher gnashed his teeth but pulled his gun away, and it was an interesting reaction, Harry noted. Normally cool and even aloof, this reaction from Asher was extremely emotive.
It told Harry a lot.
“Anyway,” Harry said, playing it off. “I’m thankful to your informant. The passport looks good, even though I don’t want to know how he got that photograph of me.”
Asher glared at him.
“And you seem to know where you’re going here,” Harry added, gesturing to their surroundings. The small dirt road linked up with another dirt road, then a sealed road, and before long they were on the A1 headed to Algiers. The old truck rumbled and bounced along the highway.
“Do you think perhaps next time you could ask your friend for an upgrade in vehicle?”
“Do you think perhaps you could be grateful instead of an ass?” Asher retorted. “I liked you better when you didn’t speak.”
Harry smiled.
“And when you didn’t smile.”
* * *
The driveto Algiers took almost seven hours, given the speed of the truck wasn’t exactly great. Asher had been quiet for about the first three hours and Harry had enjoyed the silence.
The rumble and the jostle of the truck became soothing, almost, and although his ankle didn’t appreciate the vibrations, it sure beat walking.
They’d had to stop for fuel, and this time Harry bought them breakfast pastries and coffee, and Asher’s mood seemed to lighten after he’d eaten. Because for the second half of the trip, he talked, and talked.
And talked.
Pretty much non-fucking-stop about Algerian history, trade and industry.
Clearly Asher was well educated in such subjects, but after three hours, Harry wondered if his ears might actually start to bleed.
“I always liked Algiers,” Asher volunteered as they finally came into the city. “The weather is great. The people, the food. So much history. Some very beautiful architecture.”
“I’ve only been here twice, and never stayed long,” Harry admitted, welcoming the change of topic. “Certainly not long enough to appreciate the architecture.”
Asher glanced his way, smiled, and shook his head. “You’ve been to how many countries in the world?”
Harry tried to think... “Too many to count. Probably easier to list the ones I haven’t been to.”
“And you never appreciate the cultures?”
Harry looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Ah, no. I have assignments. I get in, make the target, and get out.”
Asher sighed. “Which was your favourite? You had to like one more than the others.”
Harry squinted at him. “The reason I like some cities over others, or whatever, is because of the anonymity. The ease with which I can hide, escape, go undetected, blend in. I don’t look at the architecture.”
Asher snorted. “In what city do you blend in? Please name one. You’re six-foot three-inches tall, three feet wide, and angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You glare and scowl. Your size is intimidating enough without the death-stare.”
