by Matt Rogers
The guy clattered to the floor outside in a loud tumble of limbs, waking everyone in the room. Tevin was up in an instant, feet planted on the floor before King had time to blink. He’d produced a crude semi-automatic pistol from somewhere in his bunk. An instinctive reaction ingrained by years of living on edge.
‘All clear,’ King said.
‘The fuck was that?’ Tevin said.
‘One of the inmates. He was looking for money.’
‘Did he take any?’
King held up the roll of banknotes. ‘He tried.’
‘Fucking prick!’
He gestured to one of his bodyguards, the biggest of the three. A short sharp signal that could have meant anything. But the man got the message. He grunted his understanding and reached under one of the sofas. He came out with a heavy machete. Its edge was serrated, and clearly sharpened regularly. A formidable weapon.
‘What’s that for?’ King said.
Tevin looked at him like he was stupid. ‘These wild fucks need to be kept in line. How do you think I’ve stayed on top all these years?’
‘Clearly by being a reasonable and kind leader.’
‘You need to set an example,’ Tevin said, ignoring the retort. ‘Show the whole pavilion what happens to those who try and disrupt the order of things.’
The man with the machete made for the doorway, scything it through the air in short practice swings. He got halfway across the room when Tevin stopped him.
‘Wait!’ he cried.
The bodyguard paused and turned to face his boss. Tevin spoke rapidly in Spanish, gesticulating to get his point across. Just from his actions alone, King understood the gist of his demands.
‘No,’ King said even before the bodyguard could pass him the machete.
Tevin locked eyes with him. ‘You will do it.’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘If you work for me, Jason King, then you will do as I say.’
‘I guess we’re going to have to disagree on that.’
‘You do not disagree with me.’
‘I just did.’
A palpable tension crept into the room. Tevin snarled. ‘Kill him. Or we will kill you. Just like I have killed many sapos before.’
‘Any other options?’ King said.
The other two bodyguards rose off the sofa in the corner. They shifted from foot-to-foot, staring at their boss. Obedient as always. Ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
‘No other options.’
‘Loco,’ one of the bodyguards whispered, which King knew meant “crazy”. He didn’t imagine prisoners talked back to Tevin very often.
‘There’s always a third option,’ he said.
He jerked forward and broke Tevin’s nose with a single head-butt.
CHAPTER 12
The fierce high of life-or-death combat ripped through King’s system. In an instant his entire demeanour changed. A second ago he’d held a casual stance with his arms relaxed, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. Not a hint of aggression or hostility. That was the key. If people saw an attack coming they could prepare themselves. Tense up. Dodge the first blow.
Tevin couldn’t.
The sharp crack of broken nasal bones echoed off the walls. Blood fountained from his nostrils and he fell back onto his bunk, reeling from the shock of such a painful injury. By then King had already moved past him, throwing him aside, charging at the man wielding the machete. He was most dangerous. So King would deal with him first.
He hoped that the opening blow had its intended effect. In groups, many rely on the leader for commands. However he acts often carries over to his men. Tevin howled from the pain of his injury. The sharp outcry ripped through the room. His men heard it. They hesitated.
If one man shows fear, King thought, then it will spread.
He came within range and delivered a second vicious head-butt, thrusting the thick skull of his forehead into the guy’s nose. It was the most effective method of taking the fight out of a dangerous opponent at such close quarters. Get so close that a machete swing is impossible. Then lash out with a blow they’d be least expecting.
The guy peeled away, groaning in agony, clutching his shattered septum. The machete dropped out of his hands.
King scooped it up by the handle and threw it across the room at the two remaining bodyguards charging at him. It turned end-over-end in the air, whistling past them, and buried itself in the far wall. Both men remained unharmed. But that was never the intention. A large knife hurtling through the air towards you creates an involuntary reaction. They both flinched, bringing both hands up in a rudimentary shield, closing their eyes for a moment, praying the blade didn’t slice open their organs.
Perfect.
King surged across the room and threw a four-punch combo at the man on the left. He alternated between the body and the head. The first winded him. The second cracked across his chin. The third struck the liver. The fourth hit him just above the ear and rattled his brain around inside his skull, putting him out on his feet.
His legs gave out at the same time that the last bodyguard pulled out a gun.
King’s heart spiked. A pang of shock ripped through him. The guy was too far away. He brought the pistol out of his waistband and levelled the barrel at King’s head. For a fleeting moment King looked death in the eye. He ducked as fast as he could, contracting the available surface area that the man had to aim at.
The guy squeezed a single shot off. The report tore through the room, deafening inside the confined space, accompanied by a blinding muzzle flare.
King didn’t care where it went. All that mattered was it missed. He didn’t feel the explosion of nerve endings that signified a bullet wound. He dropped low and powered off the floor, tensing his glutes. He charged across the room. He wrapped both arms around the guy’s legs and drove him back off his feet.
Before the man could fire a second round, the back of his head crashed against the concrete. It made enough noise for King to recognise that the fight was over. A concussion would be the least of his problems. Spurred on by blind rage, he snatched up the pistol and fired a round through the base of the man’s skull.
You try to kill me. I try to kill you.
That’s fair.
The aftermath of sudden massive violence settled over the room. It became eerily quiet after such an intense brawl. Ears ringing, King clambered off the dead bodyguard and crawled onto the nearest chair. He clutched the gun between his fingers. The weapon was another Zamorana. Purchased from either the local or national police forces. He panted for breath, sucking air into his lungs, recovering from the high of combat. He checked the repercussions.
One bodyguard was dead. Blood pooled from his head onto the concrete floor, coagulating with the dust to form a viscous brown substance. Another was unconscious, lit up by King’s barrage of punches. The guy who’d held the machete rested in the doorway, clutching his bleeding nose and moaning. Tevin was in a similar position. Both nostrils poured blood onto his white bedsheets, ruining them. He looked across the room at King with disbelief plastered across his face.
‘You don’t know what you’ve done,’ he said, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
‘I have an idea,’ King said. ‘Looks like I just fucked you all up.’
‘You’ll regret this. You haven’t been here long enough. You don’t know who I am.’
King rose off the chair. He towered over the now-feeble old man. ‘I think you’ve got things the wrong way around, Tevin.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t know who I am.’
‘A soldier. Who cares? I’ve seen plenty of tough guys in my time. I’ll get my men to kill you as soon as you turn your back.’
‘I’ve seen some shit that makes this place look like Disneyland,’ King said. ‘So if you think you’re going to scare me, or intimidate me, then give it your best shot. I’ll be outside. Send anyone. I’ll fucking tear them apart.’
He let the threat
hang in the air, then left the three men in their sorry states. He stepped out into the hallway and saw the skinny thief still resting on the dirty floor, staring into Tevin’s room in a state of shock.
‘Lay low for a while, kid,’ King said. ‘They’ll be angry.’
The guy stared vacantly, completely unaware. No English, evidently.
King walked past him and set off down the corridor, heading back for the pavilion. He kept the Zamorana in his grip, eyes flicking left and right, searching for confrontation. He found none. Whether due to the look in his eyes or his imposing stature, the prisoners left him alone. It must have dawned on them that he was a different breed. Not a clueless drug smuggler, crawling into their territory weak and feeble and cowering. Something else.
They were in his territory now.
He shoved past a group of Spanish thugs and headed for one corner of the pavilion. There was no furniture of any kind in the cage. It was nothing but a bare room packed with inmates. No room for cover. King felt his stomach sinking as he sat down with his back resting against the wall. Tevin was right. He had a gun, but he would have to fall asleep eventually. It wouldn’t take much to outnumber him. Unless he decided to kill half the men in the pavilion, he would end up catching a knife in the back or a bullet between the eyes soon enough.
Most of the prisoners were asleep. Outside it was still dark, with a faint glimmer of light creeping over one of El Infierno’s walls. He could make it through the coming day, and probably the entire night after. He’d kept watch longer than that during his time in the special forces. But then what? Eventually he had to break. He couldn’t sleep deprive himself forever.
One by one, the inmates stirred as the sun rose. All of them were caked in mud, gazing around the putrid room with glassy expressions. They didn’t care about the conditions, as long as they could get their hands on the next fix. King watched them all. Some seemed to have their wits together. They communicated with each other in hushed whispers, minding their own business. Others drooled onto the floor, scratching at scabs and staring into space.
King gripped the Zamorana tighter. There seemed to be no threats in this area of the pavilion. His line of sight was obscured by the crowds, so he couldn’t see if Tevin or his men had emerged from their room yet. He imagined they would, looking for revenge. He would be ready.
It was an uncomfortable position to hold. He had to stay constantly wary, never letting his guard drop, scanning the crowd for any kind of threats.
He heard a noise from outside the pavilion. A foot scraping against concrete. He glanced out through the steel mesh and saw Rico approaching the cage. The man kept his hands behind his back, strolling leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. He noted the gun in King’s hands and grinned.
‘Bet you’re not used to a prison like this,’ he said.
‘I’m not used to any prison,’ King said.
‘I’m sure you aren’t, scum.’
‘What’s to stop me shooting you right now?’
‘You won’t do that. It’s the rules.’
‘What if I say fuck the rules?’
‘Then the guards will slowly torture you to death. You don’t want that.’
‘Any luck on my trial?’
Rico looked away. ‘Didn’t they tell you at the station? You’ve already had it.’
‘So I’m in here forever?’
‘You’re a murderer. Of course you’re in here forever.’
‘I deserve better than this.’
‘You deserve what we say you deserve. Now, I see you’re in a bit of a tricky situation at the moment. I’d guess that you’ve pissed off Tevin and his friends. Am I correct?’
‘I did a little more than piss them off.’
‘Ah. So you’re fucked.’
‘I’ll kill them if they try anything.’
Rico paused. Surveyed the yard. ‘Come to the gate.’
‘Why?’
‘Those questions I mentioned before,’ he said. ‘It’s about time I asked you them.’
CHAPTER 13
Rico took the Zamorana away from King and shoved it into his own waistband. Then he cuffed him and led him out of the pavilion, much to the dismay of the other inmates. They barked insults in Spanish, hurling abuse at the gringo prisoner who seemed to be allowed special privileges. King didn’t look back at them. He stared straight ahead and let Rico lead him towards the fortress surrounding the prison.
He was unnerved by what questions Rico could have in mind.
The guard took him through dilapidated hallways until they came to a heavy steel door. He unlocked it and gestured for King to follow him in. It was set up like a conference room, with a large wooden table in the centre surrounded by rickety chairs. There were no windows. The air was stifling. An uncomfortable atmosphere permeated the place. As they entered, Rico signalled to a pair of prison guards at the other end of the corridor. They drew their weapons and approached the door, keeping watch on the other side. Rico slammed the door closed.
‘What is this?’ King said.
‘We need to talk,’ Rico said, sitting in one of the chairs. He beckoned to the opposite side of the table. King sat.
‘About what?’
‘Do you want to get out of here?’
‘Obviously.’
‘Then I need answers.’
King hesitated. ‘Are you saying you’re a factor in me being locked up in here?’
‘I’m not saying anything. But you need to say a lot if you ever want to see outside these walls again. If not, I’ll just leave you to rot.’
‘You’re a prison guard.’
‘Am I?’
Silence.
‘The three men you beat half to death yesterday,’ Rico said. ‘I need to know exactly who put you up to that task.’
King froze.
The only way he could know about that was if…
Rico leant forward, resting both elbows on the table, studying King like he was a science experiment. The two stared at each other across the room. Tension ran thick in the air. King saw the man in a new light.
‘Do you really work for the prison?’ he said.
Rico smiled. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. None of your concern. Now, those men…’
‘I’ve never seen them before in my life.’
‘I’m not saying you had. Who put you up to it?’
‘No-one.’
A flicker of rage flashed in Rico’s eyes, as if he thought he was being played with. ‘Bullshit.’
‘I was minding my own business and they provoked me,’ King said. ‘So I fought back. I do that.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it. Especially given the timing.’
‘The timing?’
‘You know what you did.’
‘I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you I have no idea who they are, no idea who you are, and no idea what party I crashed. But if you’re really the one responsible for me being in here, then I suggest you let me the fuck out.’
Rico cocked his head. Like King had just asked to be made President of the United States. Like he was offended by such stupidity. ‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because this whole thing is a giant misunderstanding.’
Rico leant even further in. ‘I have you right where I want you. I’ll keep you in here until you give me answers or the other prisoners drive you insane. Or kill you. I know someone put you up to this, but I’m trying to piece together which faction it was.’
‘Who are you?’
Rico shook a finger in his face. ‘You don’t get to ask questions.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘You have two options,’ Rico said. ‘You tell me what you know, or I throw you back in there and Tevin’s boys tear you apart.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ King said. ‘So I guess that leaves you with only one option.’
‘Suit yourself.’
The man let out a rapid burst of Spanish, loud enough to be heard out in the hallw
ay. On cue the door swung open and the pair of prison guards entered. Both were well-built, each around two-hundred pounds of solid muscle. They lifted King off his seat and marched him back the way he had come, giving him time to think about what had transpired.
Rico had thrown him in here. Which meant the three goons he’d beat down in the alley had worked for him. So he wasn’t a guard. He’d paid his way into El Infierno to monitor King in an attempt to get answers that he didn’t have. He thought King was some kind of hitman, put up to the task of disabling the three men. But why?
What had he accidentally disrupted that warranted such an extreme reaction?
He didn’t get to spend any more time with his thoughts. The guards hurried him towards the pavilion under the warmth of the morning sun. Once again, the nearby prisoners stared at him with rabid curiosity. The activity of the newcomer intrigued them. Word had likely spread regarding what had happened to Tevin and his men. He would either be a target, or a hero.
He quickly found out which.
The hostility was tangible as they thrust him back into the cage. Many of the same weapons King had seen when he’d first arrived were back in the hands of the inmates. He was an outsider again. An intruder. Tevin had turned most of the pavilion’s population against him while he was gone.
He turned to speak to the guards, but they were in the process of leaving. The gate had been bolted shut behind him. He was trapped.
He sighed and faced the rapidly forming crowd, outfitted with knives and guns and all kinds of weaponry supplied by either the guards or Tevin’s goons.
He prepared for the last conflict he would likely ever have.
CHAPTER 14
It was a sickening feeling. The realisation that nothing he could do would have an effect on the resulting conflict. If they wanted to, they could light him up with bullets or stab him over and over again until he was dead. He would never be able to fight them all at once. His heart rate quickened and his pores opened up once again. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He gulped back the thick humid air.