Hunters

by Matt Rogers

  The dealer’s eyes went wide.

  Play it cool, Slater willed. Please.

  At least the guy followed the instructions.

  As soon as he spotted Slater and Alonzo coming down the sidewalk, he threw the handbrake on and climbed out of the Mustang, leaving it in traffic. It was in the far lane, surrounded by the motionless gridlock of rush hour.

  He power-walked away from the idling car, enmeshing himself with the throngs of pedestrians.

  Slater broke out of the crowd, weaving between cars to get to the Mustang, and Alonzo followed.

  Slater knew there were eyes passing over him. A chunk of the drivers around him, and some of the pedestrians, and maybe some people looking down from windows facing the street. But they wouldn’t really notice him. Everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of the crime scene a few hundred feet further down.

  Slater rounded the hood and slipped behind the wheel.

  Alonzo was already in the passenger seat.

  They slammed their doors.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ Alonzo said, jerking his head at the dealer who’d given up his car without a second thought.

  Slater said, ‘Anywhere but here.’

  Slater didn’t crane his neck to watch the dealer walk away at risk of attracting suspicion, but studied the man in the driver’s side mirror. He was hunched over, wired with fear.

  Walking too fast.

  Slater clenched his teeth. ‘Slow down.’

  Alonzo said, ‘What?’

  ‘Not you.’

  From somewhere nearby there came a frantic shout.

  Slater jerked his head left and right, searching for the source.

  Couldn’t place it.

  When he looked back in the side mirror, the dealer wasn’t there anymore.

  Slater lowered a hand to his waist, brushing the HK45CT.

  Ready to shoot it out, if that’s what it came to.

  Then he spotted the dealer again. The guy was a dozen feet further up the sidewalk, and pedestrians were leaping away, because there were two burly men clad in bulletproof vests on top of him, wrenching his arms behind his back. They must have had eyes on him already.

  Slater didn’t need to see anything else.

  He already knew they were coming, without having to look around and spot the muscled operatives weaving between stationary cars, hunting the Mustang.

  He took his hand off his pistol, put it on the handbrake, and released it.

  The El Salvadoran Consulate General was on Park Avenue, less than a mile north. Only two blocks diagonally northeast from the Empire State Building.

  They could make it.

  They had to.

  Alonzo shouted, ‘Will, get down!’

  He’d already ducked.

  But Slater knew, no matter how desperately the secret world wanted his head on a stick, they wouldn’t fire automatic weapons in gridlock traffic. The media shitstorm would be monumental, incalculable. Which is why, even though there were carbines in their hands, the clusters of operatives were still sprinting toward the vehicle instead of shooting at it.

  Slater checked the side mirror one last time, to make sure the sidewalk was clear.

  It was.

  Relatively.

  The dealer had been violently tackled trying to flee, and the brutality with which he’d hit the pavement had scattered the rush hour commuters all around them.

  Slater put the Mustang in “Drive,” twisted the wheel, and floored it.

  89

  Alexis whispered, ‘Is that him?’

  Crouched in the bushes beside her, Violetta muttered, ‘Must be.’

  ‘If it’s not?’

  ‘We don’t have time.’

  They rose out of the foliage and strode across the wide road. Alexis’ jeans were ripped and her shirt was stained with mud, sweat, and blood. Violetta was in similar condition, although physically unhurt. Together they walked up to the guard who had stepped out of the front gate.

  He watched them approach with hawkish eyes. He was deeply tanned and solidly built. He loomed over them.

  They stopped in front of him and waited. Neither spoke a word.

  The guard held out a pair of pristine garment bags and Violetta took them without a word. Then he jerked his head to the right. That way.

  Violetta nodded to him, trying to convey respect.

  It must have worked, because he nodded in return. Then he turned and walked back into Fabio Torres’ mansion.

  They took the garment bags back into the undergrowth and found a small clearing to get changed in.

  They didn’t have a hope of convincing César Vásquez they were anything other than beggars if they showed up in their current state. King had forced Torres to give up some of his mistresses’ evening wear, and now they pulled two gorgeous off-the-shoulder dresses from the garment bags. They shed their old clothes, slipped the dresses over their frames, then used the makeup kit buried in one of the bags to touch themselves up and coated themselves in perfume Torres had also included. Both dresses ended at the calves, so there was no danger of dragging them in the mud of the clearing floor.

  They checked each other over, came away satisfied, and stepped back out onto the road before they slipped into the outrageous stilettos Torres had buried at the bottom of the garment bags alongside the makeup and perfume.

  They set off, adopting the cocky, carefree strut of professional call girls.

  The world’s best.

  That’s what they had to be.

  Violetta kept her fear under control as they walked next door to the Vásquez mansion. It took far longer than she anticipated. The lots were inconceivably big. There was clearly a surplus of land for those who could afford it. As they sauntered through the dark, she said, ‘Play up the American accent. I think that’s what he’s expecting. We’re good ol’ country girls.’

  ‘Like this?’ Alexis said, morphing her voice into a Texan drawl.

  It was flawless.

  Violetta smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, baby. Like that there.’

  They were fifty feet from Vásquez’ front gate when the guards noticed them. The rifles slung over their shoulders didn’t come up, because it was clear from the tottering stilettos and the curve of their hips that the approaching women offered no threat.

  Violetta thought, Good. Keep thinking that.

  She approached the closest guard with Alexis right behind her. ‘Hey, honey. We’re right on time, ain’t we?’

  She smiled as wide as she could, letting the full red lipstick speak for her.

  Alexis smiled coyly over her shoulder.

  The guard registered the American accent and switched to broken English. ‘What you doing here?’

  Loud enough for the guards to hear, Alexis spoke into Violetta’s ear. ‘They ain’t expectin’ us.’

  Violetta extended her pinky finger and thumb in the universal “phone” gesture and lifted it to her ear. ‘Call your boss.’

  Her presence was so commanding that they didn’t argue or screw her around. She exuded the aura that she cost a staggering hourly rate, and when she tapped her watch they practically squirmed, not wanting to leave their boss further out of pocket. It might come out of their salaries if he was in an unaccommodating mood.

  One of the guards up the back made an inquiring call, and seconds later they were frisked for weapons and ushered through into the mansion grounds.

  Aside from a few decorative differences, the grounds were eerily similar to Torres’ place. Violetta got the sense that making their houses feel like homes was low on the list of priorities for men like Torres and Vásquez. They were clearly monumentally wealthy, and instead of fretting about details they seemed to have purchased the properties as they were. They were carbon copies of one another, and it spoke to the soullessness of big business.

  It was more important to look like you were rich than to actually care about what you owned.

  Now that their presence had been greenlit, the women were fa
st-tracked to Vásquez. They barely had time to take in the sweeping lawns before they were ushered up to the terrace and through the giant double doors, already open to accept them.

  The lobby they stepped into was gargantuan, cathedral-esque in its enormity, and two curving staircases were like mirror images as they weaved up to a landing that overlooked the lobby.

  César Vásquez stood on the landing, staring down like a king overlooking his subjects, his hands on the marble balustrade.

  It was pathetic.

  Violetta looked up at him and realised he resembled a mouse. He was a tiny man, five-four at best, and thin. He was old and it showed — his skin was dry and wrinkled like the surface of a prune. He wore a velvet smoking jacket that had been tailored to his emaciated frame but somehow still managed to look sloppy. She guessed you couldn’t tailor a jacket to a frame that didn’t exist. She wondered if he even had muscles, or if it was all just bone underneath his grotesque skin.

  She wasn’t one to body-shame, but the man was repulsive as he descended the right-hand staircase slowly, taking each step with a certain dramatic flair. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to exacerbate his importance by making his guests wait with the overlong performance, or if he was simply too frail to take the stairs any faster.

  When he reached the marble floor, he strode straight over to them, suddenly able-bodied, and Violetta realised it was the former.

  She and Alexis were both a few inches taller than him barefoot, and the heels made it far worse. Still, for everything he lacked, he made up for in confidence. He didn’t seem to notice that the call girls he’d been gifted looked Amazonian compared to his tiny stature. He came right up to them, stared up at them with his beady eyes.

  Violetta could tell he liked what he saw.

  They were taller than him, younger, more beautiful. But he’d bought their time, so he could do what he pleased with them.

  Money made life bearable.

  He said, ‘Fabio says good things about the both of you. I hope you won’t disappoint.’

  His English was flawless. Almost no accent.

  Alexis purred, ‘“Good”? Oh, honey. Just you wait.’

  He clearly didn’t want to do much waiting. He shooed his guards on the ground floor away and gestured for them to follow him up the staircase. He stayed two steps ahead of them the whole way, maybe to savour the fact that he was taller than them for a brief while.

  They came out on the landing, where two more guards watched the lobby, fearsome carbine assault rifles hanging off shoulder straps. They didn’t even look at the newcomers, instead affixing their sweeping gazes on the lobby, just as they’d been instructed. Competent professionals through and through. Violetta wondered if she and Alexis would stand a chance even if they were armed, which they weren’t. They never would have got knives or guns past the front gate in these dresses.

  Vásquez clearly spared no expense when it came to security.

  He said, ‘Wait here,’ to the pair watching the lobby.

  They nodded without turning around.

  Vásquez ushered them into a seemingly endless hallway made to look like something out of ancient Egypt. There were rugs and ornate paintings of hieroglyphs and even a full-sized pharaoh’s tomb looming next to a decorative side table. Violetta honestly didn’t know whether it was a fake or not. Vásquez probably had enough money for it to be authentic. He did lord over an entire country’s infrastructure.

  Violetta cleared her throat a dozen feet down the hallway, and Vásquez spun. The hallway lighting had a soft red hue to accentuate the Egyptian furnishings, and it brought out the crazed look in his eyes. They were wide and sunken into his leather face. He said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Them guards out there,’ she drawled, keeping her voice low so they couldn’t hear. ‘They shouldn’t be too … jumpy.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Alexis stepped in close to him and breathed into his ear. ‘We’re givin’ you an experience here. It’ll be physical. You ain’t never felt pleasure like it.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  She nodded, and she didn’t take her eyes off him.

  She hooked him right there.

  He would have done anything for her.

  He stepped aside so he had a direct line of sight to his guards and whistled a sharp note. One of them turned, leaving the other to watch the lobby diligently, adhering to proper procedure.

  Vásquez raised his voice so they could hear and switched back to Spanish. ‘We’re not to be disturbed.’

  ‘Sí,’ the guard said.

  ‘No matter what you hear.’

  The guard winked at the old man with a certain understanding behind it. He’d been there, done that. He knew what sounds to ignore. He must have already known the old man was a pervert.

  Vásquez returned the gesture and continued down the hall. Violetta and Alexis followed him into a giant bedchamber, with a circular love bed that would have dwarfed a king-size.

  Alexis said, ‘Oh, we’re gonna have some fun in here.’

  Vásquez could barely contain himself.

  Violetta shut the door behind them as Alexis took Vásquez’s hands in hers.

  He was staring up into her eyes, transfixed, when Violetta used her body to conceal the subtle twist of the lock.

  Sealing them in.

  90

  King sat at the foot of Torres’ bed, keeping his gun trained on the old man, but not a word was spoken between them for thirty full minutes.

  Then Torres’ emergency phone shrilled.

  King glanced at it. ‘Is that your degenerate neighbour?’

  Torres asked, ‘Am I allowed to check?’

  King nodded. ‘Slow.’

  Torres scooted across the carpet on his rear end and tilted the phone screen toward him. He went pale.

  King said, ‘Worse?’

  ‘It’s the front gate.’

  ‘Your security?’

  A nod.

  King said, ‘Why are they calling you on that phone?’

  ‘They call me on the regular phone, I usually don’t pick up if I’m … preoccupied. They call me on this, I always answer. It means it’s serious.’

  King’s core tightened. ‘Answer on speaker.’

  Torres complied. He treated the phone like it was hot to the touch, stabbing the screen twice to answer the call and enable the loudspeaker. The conversation played out in Spanish.

  ‘What?’ Torres snapped.

  ‘Two men here to see you, sir. They say they know you. And they’re being … confrontational. I don’t think they’ll take no for an answer.’

  ‘Names?’

  ‘They didn’t give them, sir. Just said they’re associates of a woman who has a “deeper” connection with you. A professional relationship, apparently. Whatever that means.’

  Torres went white.

  He muted the call temporarily and twisted to King. ‘You said she was out of the picture.’

  ‘She is,’ King said, his head spinning.

  Opal. Topaz.

  ‘Then who are these people?!’ Torres shouted.

  ‘The stragglers,’ King said. ‘I’m sure you know what I want you to do.’

  Torres said, ‘Are they dangerous?’

  ‘Maybe,’ King said. ‘I’m more dangerous.’

  He drifted the pistol’s aim between Torres’ eyes.

  Torres clenched his teeth so hard King thought he might break a molar, then unmuted the call. ‘Rafael?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ the static voice came back.

  ‘Are they in earshot?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m in the booth.’

  ‘I want you to shoot them dead. Don’t give them time to be suspicious. Just do it and do it quick.’

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘Do I pay you to ask questions?’

  ‘They look trained.’

  ‘You’re trained, too. And you’ll have the element of surprise.’

  ‘They’re American, sir. Are you sure you want
the scrutiny—’

  ‘Do it now or I’ll have you killed slowly.’

  A brief pause, then Rafael’s common sense emerged victorious. ‘Yes, sir.’

  His voice was already shaky, his system releasing cortisol in anticipation of murder.

  The call died.

  Torres pushed the phone across the carpet away from him, like it was radioactive. His hands trembled.

  He looked up at King. ‘Is it going to work?’

  King didn’t answer.

  Torres said, ‘I’ve never heard my head of security so apprehensive. He was with the cartel before he came to work for me. He’s seen everything. Why was he so hesitant?’

  Because Opal and Topaz are a step above even the most hardened killers, and it shows.

  King didn’t say that.

  He didn’t say anything.

  He waited to hear the echo of the gunshot.

  So far, there was silence.

  The mansion air hung quiet.

  Torres repeated his question. ‘Is it going to work?’

  ‘Probably not,’ King admitted, realising there was no need to lie anymore. If it worked, the situation would be handled. If it didn’t, there’d be no security left to pose a threat of saving Torres.

  Only the hunters.

  Torres’ voice wavered as he croaked, ‘What?!’

  ‘But it will buy me some time,’ King said, realising he had to move.

  He shot off the side of the bed and sprinted for the staircase as automatic gunfire echoed up from the driveway.

  91

  The shots were muffled all the way up in Vásquez’s bedroom, but unsuppressed gunfire is still distinguishable.

  Vásquez’s head snapped up, ruining his fixation on Alexis. ‘What was that?’

  Alexis felt his leathery grip slide out of her palms and shifted her weight to the other heel. Violetta was still by the door. Alexis and Vásquez had stared each other in the eyes for a full twenty seconds. Alexis had him in her trance, but now it was ruined.

  Alexis said, ‘You’ve spent your whole life in this country and you’re still shocked by gunfire?’

  ‘That was close by.’

  Alexis shrugged. ‘Go out and check if you want.’