The Wicked_A Black Force Thriller

by Matt Rogers

  The van screeched to a halt and everyone tumbled out, most of the party firing jokey insults back and forth, raucously loud. A bellhop ushered them through to a marble lobby with pulsating walls and a twisting ceiling — it took Slater far longer than necessary to realise it was the substances in his body moving the surroundings. An elevator came next, large enough to fit at least a dozen people, and they all crammed into the space. Malvado was somewhere behind them, and Slater gathered his wits for long enough to calm down. His mindset returned to something resembling normalcy. The elevator shot upward, almost taking some of the more inebriated members of the crew off their feet.

  Laughter resonated throughout the cable car.

  A hand gripped his shoulder.

  He whirled on the spot, almost taking out a nearby square-faced thug with hollow black eyes and dilated pupils, probably two or three tabs of acid deep. The guy simply stared at him, lost in his hallucinations. No threat. No confrontations in sight. Besides, it hadn’t been him who’d laid a hand on Slater’s shoulder.

  It was Alonsa.

  She leant forward in their corner of the elevator and whispered below the laughter, ‘I will kill Malvado when we get inside.’

  Slater tried his best to put on a warm smile and hissed through gritted teeth, ‘No. I need him alive.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Not here,’ he mumbled.

  The doors opened and they spilled straight out into an opulent living room with a ceiling more than twenty feet high, curved and sloping down toward floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the bay. In the distance, Slater eyed the Golden Gate Bridge. Despite the danger of the situation, he paused for a moment to admire the view. It was something to behold.

  Alonsa pushed him forward, and he complied.

  Malvado surged past. ‘Make yourself at home, my friend. Find a room. Enjoy your night. We will discuss business in the morning, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Slater said. He reached out and clasped a hand around the back of Malvado’s neck. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, brother. I think we’ll do big things together.’

  Malvado grinned. ‘To the future.’

  ‘To the future.’

  Slater couldn’t help but find himself surprised at how effectively he’d pounced on certain social cues. It felt like the pair had known each other their whole lives. Quietly pleased with his own progress, he made no moves to resist as Alonsa snatched him by the wrist and hurried him toward a bedroom.

  12

  You think it’s bugged?’ she mouthed as they stepped into the modern space, decorated with a collection of hard-edged designer furniture set up to look like a den of the near future.

  Slater kicked the door shut behind them and listened to the sounds of Malvado and his crew fade as they drifted to the kitchen. He swayed on the spot, gripped the bedside table, and shrugged. ‘I doubt it. He comes here on the weekends. If he has half a brain he wouldn’t stay at the same hotel twice, so I doubt he goes to the effort of bugging all the rooms each time. He only invites people he trusts back here.’

  ‘He trusts you.’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘How’d you do it?’

  Another shrug. ‘Said the right things at the right time. Men are pretty basic. I just went for what would impress me.’

  There was a flash of movement and suddenly Alonsa surged toward him like something out of a horror movie. He paled and moved to defend himself, but found he was far more restricted by the drink and drugs than he anticipated. He seized her wrist and spun her around, reversing her momentum, but the switchblade appeared in her free hand and she had it pressed to the side of his throat before he could switch into kill mode and destroy the delicate bones in her face with an elbow.

  He froze. ‘Well, fuck…’

  The alcohol tugged at his brain, dulling his senses as the cocaine wore off, but the cold touch of the steel against his skin broke through that fogginess all at once. He became acutely aware of how quickly his life could come to an end in the following seconds. It would take the slightest flick of the wrist, the most inconsequential movement, and everything he’d worked toward would come crashing to a halt. Arteries severed, he would bleed and bleed and bleed until he was a corpse.

  He forgot how effortlessly substances could concoct visions.

  And he’d never faced such a dire threat in such an affected state before.

  ‘Um…’ he started. ‘Want to talk?’

  Alonsa stared at him with inflamed eyes, pumped full of passion, glowing with intensity. ‘I’m trying to work out what to do with you.’

  ‘Maybe not this,’ Slater said. ‘That’s a suggestion.’

  ‘Shut up. I’m thinking.’

  ‘What are you thinking about? Why don’t we both take a deep breath and calm ourselves down? That’s what I’m thinking about. Let’s—’

  She reached up with her free hand and pressed it over his mouth, cutting off his mad rambling in an instant. He stopped talking.

  ‘You’re with the government in some capacity, aren’t you?’ she said.

  He started to murmur through her fingers, but she kept her hand squashed tight against his lips.

  ‘Don’t even think about lying,’ she said. ‘I can read you like a book. Tell the truth and I might let you live.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said when she took her hand away. ‘I am. Is that a problem?’

  ‘It could be.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because when you figure out why I’m here, you’ll be inclined to either try and arrest me or just kill me.’

  ‘So what’s stopping you from killing me now?’

  ‘You’re not like any government agent I’ve met.’

  ‘How many have you met?’

  ‘A few.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘Nothing good.’

  The stress chemicals flooding his brain dulled the alcohol, and suddenly everything became clear in an instant.

  ‘Okay, Alonsa,’ he said. ‘Why do you think I care if you’re working for the cartel?’

  She paused. Saying nothing. Which said everything.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you. Not after what you just admitted before. I don’t talk to the feds.’

  Taking a risk, he reached up and seized her wrist. But she’d been thrown off by how accurate his assumption had been, so she didn’t activate her fast twitch muscle fibres in time. As soon as Slater had control of the limb he kneed her in the stomach, wrenched the switchblade out of her grasp, and tossed it across the room. It clattered to the carpet on the other side of the bed.

  Alonsa darted her gaze toward it.

  ‘I guarantee you I’ll beat you to it,’ Slater said. ‘So don’t bother. Let’s talk.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You’re with the Sinaloa cartel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’re not happy with Malvado.’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘You were here to observe him and then kill him.’

  ‘Yes. And now I have to kill him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re a government agent, and he was so inept that he invited you back to his fucking apartment. That doesn’t represent our organisation in the best light.’

  ‘Which makes me even worse of an enemy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’ll kill me if you get your hands on a weapon?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Nice to know.’

  ‘We come from very different backgrounds. Let’s not pretend to be friends.’

  ‘We don’t have to be friends.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But we can put up with each other.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Well, it seems we have a mutual goal.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what you do with Malvado. But I’m black ops. I’m off the books. I just need to kn
ow what he knows about our operations across the border. Then I’ll disappear like a ghost in the wind.’

  ‘Bullshit. You’re not going to stop there.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do? Kill Malvado, and then jump across the border and track down every member of the Sinaloa cartel and slaughter them?’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘I don’t need luck, because I’m not doing it. My work ends when I find out what Malvado knows, and then kill him. Then I’ll be gone. I fail to see how that affects you in any way.’

  ‘It would be easier for everyone if you were gone. Then I can do my job without interference.’

  ‘I won’t interfere with your job. And you won’t interfere with mine.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I’m gone. Why do you want him dead, anyway? That’s pretty extreme. From what I’ve heard he does great work for you and your cartel — if you could call it that.’

  ‘He got greedy.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m guessing he’s been waving information under your noses and threatening to release it unless you co-operate with him?’ Alonsa said.

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘He’s doing the same thing to his own cartel.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He knows everything. He interrogates our enemies and gets all their secrets. He knows enough to cripple us. He came to us and told us he had everything in writing, spread across the globe, protected by a team of lawyers. He said if we kill him, they release it, and most of our infrastructure is ruined. But we think he’s bluffing.’

  ‘So we both need information from him.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Then work with me. Just for now. We’re complete opposites, but we can get this done, and then go our separate ways. I’m a man of my word.’

  ‘You’ll stab me in the back first chance you get.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  Whether it was due to the ridiculousness of the situation, or the lavish surroundings, or the insipid thrill of being behind enemy lines together, or the mutual goal, she seemed to believe him. Her shoulders dropped. Her chin came up. She relaxed, like a spring uncoiling.

  ‘We kill him. And then we leave. No matter how much we might hate each other.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘I need some sleep.’

  ‘Alone?’

  She eyed him warily. ‘Don’t even think about it. You must be drunker than you look. I work for the narcos, and you’re with the government. We need to keep our—’

  ‘I mean, I’m not one to judge.’

  ‘Bull—’

  ‘Whatever happens after this point, I fail to see how sleeping with each other changes the stakes in any way. The cartels will survive. The U.S. government will survive. We’re pawns in both of them. And I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy…’

  A glint appeared in her eyes, and at that moment he knew he had her. In truth, he risked death with what came next. He circled away from the bed, leaving Alonsa wide open to dive over the king-sized mattress and snatch up the switchblade. Slater had eighty pounds of muscle over her and veins full of testosterone, but it would only take one slash to open up one of those veins and send his lifeblood pooling around his feet. So, if she wanted to, she could have killed him right then and there.

  Doing all this for the simple pleasures, he thought. What would younger Slater think?

  Then again, the simple truth was that younger Slater hadn’t been much fun.

  She didn’t lunge for the knife.

  She lunged for him.

  With lust in her eyes.

  The penthouse fell into relative slumber as outside the door, members of Malvado’s crew passed out on various pieces of furniture. The quiet was interspersed with the occasional moan from Slater’s room as two assassins behind enemy lines ravaged each other with an animalistic intensity.

  When it was over, Slater slept better than he had in years.

  He didn’t dream of the people he’d killed.

  He didn’t dream of the horrors he’d witnessed.

  He was exhausted, so he slept.

  And then the sun rose and all hell broke loose.

  13

  Slater peeled one eye open as he heard the muted sound of the elevator doors whispering open in the open-plan living area outside.

  Adrenalin and norepinephrine and cortisol juiced his veins. The hangover symptoms only lasted for a second, then fell away, replaced by the dark focus of combat mode. The curtains were wide open and the sun had only just risen over San Francisco — he didn’t know the exact time, but it was far too early for new guests to be arriving. That could only mean one thing, and even though the newcomers thought they could ambush the crew in their deepest slumbers, Slater didn’t need a wink of sleep to operate.

  Naked, still cradling Alonsa’s supple form, he powered out from under the covers and dipped into the suit pants from the night before. There wasn’t time to slip on a shirt. Bare-chested, the fabric clinging to his legs, he pranced across the carpet without making a sound. He retrieved the switchblade from the other side of the bed, slunk toward the closed set of double doors, and hunched his shoulders to minimise his surface area to any attackers.

  Briefly, he thought he might be too paranoid.

  Then the right-hand door thundered open with an ominous crash, kicked in by a body weighing well north of two hundred pounds. Slater could tell from the shuddering impact alone. He stayed low, back pressed to the closed left-hand door, and when the enormous black-clad hitman stepped into the room and aimed a suppressed carbine rifle at Alonsa’s sleeping form, Slater stabbed him twice in the side of the neck and kicked his dying body back out of the room.

  Arterial blood exploded from the guy’s throat and he collapsed under the weight of the twisting roundhouse kick, staggering two steps back out through the doorway before he went down face-first into the penthouse floor and lay still. Slater stayed right where he was.

  The second guy followed, wielding a Glock sidearm two-handed with the barrel aimed directly in front of him as he charged into the room, probably shocked by the violent demise of his comrade. Slater’s reality shifted, focusing every aspect of his being on the gun barrel coming in through the doorway. So it seemed effortless to lunge forward like a pouncing predator and wrench the Glock out of the guy’s hands and smash a fist into his unprotected face, knocking four or five teeth out of his gaping mouth, and turn the gun around and fire once, twice, three times into the same face.

  Two dead.

  And chaos erupted.

  Shouts and screams ripped through the penthouse in response to the unsuppressed gunshots. Slater saw red, ready to eviscerate anyone that proved a threat to his life. He stepped into the doorway and went pale, spotting at least five or six more men in black flooding the living area, some wielding enormous Heckler & Koch assault rifles, one holding an AK-47, and another pair sporting identical Glock pistols. An ungodly amount of firepower, all things considered.

  Slater hoped like hell they hadn’t spotted him, too distracted by Malvado’s loyal sicarios lurching off the furniture, shocked by the newcomers. He ducked back into the room and slammed the door shut. A bullet ripped through the wood, shredding splinters all across his chest. Slater launched himself away from the double doors, tumbling over the carpet, and he sent three shots through the wood as a meagre deterrent.

  Then war broke out.

  Alonsa was half-dressed, scrambling into her dress from the night before, the only clothes she had available. She dove off the bed and snatched at the empty carpet, her hand passing over the outline of the switchblade, relying on instinct to find a weapon. When she came up empty she grunted in surprise. Slater tossed her the knife by the handle and she caught it, ghosting silently across the room, keeping away from the door.

  Gunfire roared on both sides, pierced by the screams of the dying. Slater kept his head down and his body flattened out across the car
pet — another pair of stray shots tore through the wood and embedded themselves in the wall above the headboard. Slater fired again and again through the doors — the only way he could think of preventing a team of hitmen armed to the gills from storming the room and riddling them with bullets.

  An almighty crash ripped through the space, and Slater fired a shot instinctively. He needn’t have bothered. The sound came from a dead body lurching through the splintered wood, tearing one of the doors in two as it came down over the threshold, exposing the bedroom to the living space outside.

  Exposing them to the madness.

  But the hit team had moved on. There were bodies all over the place from both sides, and gunshots tore through the kitchen beyond.

  Slater heard Alonsa draw in breath sharply as she eyed the body — one of the newcomers.

  ‘These are my men,’ Alonsa hissed, betrayal in her tone. ‘Sinaloa sicarios loyal to the boss.’

  ‘Someone saw you leaving the White Phoenix with me,’ Slater muttered. ‘Must have thought you turned to Malvado’s side.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘They’re cleaning up.’

  ‘They’re dying.’

  Slater had to admit the invading force hadn’t found much success. He counted four dead in the living room, alongside two of Malvado’s men. That meant…

  The gunshots died out, replacing the chaos with whining tinnitus in Slater’s eardrums. The confrontation was over, and there was no mistaking which side had emerged victorious.

  Slater burst to his feet, keeping the Glock tight in his hands. He surged forward, dismissing threats, taking the silence as resolution.

  Amateur mistake.

  Either because of the hangover hovering in the back of his skull, or the sheer surprise of waking to a team of professional killers, or the fact that he wasn’t on steady footing with Malvado in the first place, he dropped his guard to try and assess what was happening.

  When he leapfrogged the corpse in the doorway and stepped over the threshold, something hit him in the side like a freight train. He went down uncontrollably, catching his legs on the edge of the broken door on the way down, sending both of them spilling over the carpet.