by Matt Rogers
Perhaps his brother had miraculously survived…
‘Raul, there’s nothing that can be done,’ King said. ‘I saw it myself.’
‘You can’t be sure.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘We need to go back and…’
‘We’ll die.’
He pushed Raul again, double-handed, his actions full of urgency. Finally, the man reacted. He took one last look at the enormous brick structure looming in the background. Then he spat on the ground and set off at a jog down the gravel path, his eyes bloodshot.
King followed, glancing back every so often to ensure the exit door remained firmly shut. He didn’t expect Rico to be able to make it down the corridor very fast, and he assumed the guard monitoring the station wanted nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, he kept his AK-103 at the ready.
They left the scraggy brush behind and burst out onto a two-way asphalt road. It ran along the lee of the mountains opposite, great sweeping valleys of green and brown that ascended into the sky. The shanty town overlooked them, thoroughly dilapidated. To the north, the road trickled down through the city of Maiquetía until it met the coastline. It ran parallel to the ocean, stretching into the distance for as far as the eye could see.
‘We need a place to hole up,’ King said. ‘Where did you used to live?’
Raul said nothing. He stared vacantly at the cars passing them by, detached from reality.
‘Raul!’ King roared, snapping him back to the present. ‘Talk to me. We need to focus these next few minutes. Understand?’
The man nodded.
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘We’re going to die, man,’ Raul whispered.
‘What?’
‘The Movers will want us both dead. They’ll tear the whole city apart looking for us. My mother, my sister…’
‘Where are they?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been able to contact them for a year. But I hope they’re still in our old home.’
‘Did you used to live there?’
Raul nodded. ‘Me and Luis both. Before we were arrested…’ He trailed off, choking up at the mention of his brother.
‘It’s down in Maiquetía?’
Raul nodded again.
That was all King needed to know.
Time was sparse. Even now, word of two prisoners’ escape was likely flooding through the prison grounds, drawing the full force of the Guardia Nacional to this side of the complex. They had to get clear of the area before they were overwhelmed.
He waited for a break in the traffic and stepped out into the middle of the road. In his lane, a dirty olive hatchback crawled up the hill a hundred feet away, heading straight for them.
He tucked the Kalashnikov rifle behind his back and held up a hand, feigning distress. There were no visible signs to indicate he was an escaped prisoner. He still wore the same clothes from a few days ago, albeit dirtier.
The car slowed. Through the windscreen, King saw the driver gesticulating, yelling inaudibly in Spanish. Cursing the idiot blocking his path. The tyres bit the asphalt until the man had slowed his vehicle to a crawl. It crept slowly towards King’s motionless form.
He brought the AK-103 into sight and held it double-handed, one hand wrapped around the trigger guard, the other tight on the fore-grip. An intimidating pose. With the barrel of a very real, very dangerous weapon pointed directly at him, the driver baulked. He stamped on the brakes and threw his quaking hands in the air.
King sometimes forgot how intensely civilians reacted to death threats. He considered situations like these normal. Which was probably how he’d ended up in such a predicament in the first place. He gestured with the barrel, motioning the guy out of the car.
The man complied.
King passed him as he went to slip into the driver’s seat. He took one look at the guy’s dirty shirt, straggly hair, oversized slacks and beat-up ride. He didn’t imagine the guy was in a comfortable place financially. The loss of his automobile would only make that worse. King didn’t ignore his conscience.
He couldn’t.
He slipped a hand into his jeans pocket and withdrew the wad of bolivares within. Equivalent to roughly five thousand U.S. Dollars. He peeled off half and tucked them into the shaking driver’s shirt pocket. The guy looked at the money and raised his eyebrows.
They didn’t speak the same language, but King nodded his thanks for letting the incident transpire smoothly. The guy nodded back. Probably awfully confused. Yet a little reassured by the payment. He shuffled to the side of the road without a word of protest and watched King and Raul drive off with his car.
‘The fuck was that?’ Raul said, sprawled across a passenger’s seat full of holes and cigarette burns.
‘A bit of decency,’ King said. ‘Been a while since I showed any.’
‘Luis, man…’
He grew quiet. King spun the wheel and floored the vehicle in the other direction, slicing in between two nondescript sedans heading down into Maiquetía. The sun had only just risen and it cast a warm glow over the seaside city. At any other moment in time, King would have enjoyed the scene.
But not when an entire drug gang wanted his head. Not when he had just escaped from a horrid third-world prison. Not when he’d just witnessed the death of an ally.
Right now, he couldn’t care less about the view.
They drove in silence. King didn’t let his focus fade. He made sure to constantly check the rear view mirror for signs of trouble. Approaching military vehicles, or armed drug dealers, or any of the other countless people that wanted him dead.
How did you manage to end up in a situation like this again?
He knew what would be best for him. Drive straight to the hotel and retrieve his passport and all the other items he’d left in his room, which by this point had probably been cleared out by housekeeping. Head straight for the airport. Catch the next flight out of Vargas state. Leave all this brutality and bloodshed and savagery behind. If he couldn’t retrieve his passport, he could get into contact with old friends in high places. They’d sort him out.
That’s what he should do.
Yet against his better judgment, he found himself glancing across at Raul. The man was an emotional wreck. He had no idea how to contact what family he had left. He’d just lost the brother who’d helped him survive a year in El Infierno. He was in no state to search for his mother and sister alone. Especially not with every Mover in the state hunting for his head.
That brought King to the mental image of Rico firing his rifle into Percy’s chest, killing the defenceless man in cold blood without a shred of empathy. King pictured his leering face, and the look in his eyes when he hit Luis from the other end of the corridor. It angered him all the way down his spine.
He gripped the wheel tight, letting out his frustration. Then he continued descending the hills.
He would stay. He would try to help Raul. He would try to find Rico — and finish it.
He wondered exactly what would result from such a decision.
CHAPTER 28
‘What will you do now?’ Raul said, his voice soft and raw with emotion.
The arid scrubland all around them morphed into rows of dilapidated apartment buildings. They had entered Maiquetía. Passersby saw King driving the vehicle. Their gaze lingered. He guessed that tourists in these parts was something of a rarity.
‘I’ll get you to your mother and sister,’ King said. ‘Then I’ll try and find Rico.’
Silence.
King looked across. ‘What?’
‘You don’t want to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘You just broke out of prison. I don’t know how much more luck you think you can have.’
‘Luck didn’t get us out of there.’
‘Then what did?’
‘Me.’
‘Who are you?’ Raul said. ‘Like, who are you really?’
‘I’m just a guy, Raul,’ King said for what
felt like the millionth time. ‘Same as you. Except I’ve seen a lot more.’
‘You don’t know what I’ve seen.’
‘I don’t. But no matter what, I know I’ve seen worse.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Trust me.’
‘Is this your mysterious past we’re talking about?’
King nodded.
‘You want to get into that yet?’ Raul said. ‘I’m curious.’
‘Not at all. Where’s your old place?’
‘Stick to this road. I’ll tell you when to turn.’
The trip passed uneventfully. They trawled through slums and busy intersections. They passed groups of young children loitering on street corners, smoking cheap cigarettes. They saw men wielding rifles clearly purchased on the black market, who stared at each passing car with open aggression. But amongst all that, King saw families bustling to and fro. Friends laughing. Civilians enjoying life. Hopefully Raul could find his family amongst this crowd.
Raul directed him down a side street branching off from the main road. The hatchback entered a rundown neighbourhood. Some houses had been abandoned long ago, evident by shattered windows and peeling paint and overgrown lawns. Traffic in these parts was non-existent. King drew the attention of every pedestrian in the area as he steered the car down street after street. He saw a muscular thug in a loose-fitting singlet gesture to a pistol tucked into his waistband as they passed.
‘You grew up here?’ he said.
Raul nodded. ‘We managed. But I wanted to get the family out of here. That’s why we both joined the Movers. It was only temporary…’
‘Don’t worry,’ King said. ‘I’m not judging you in the slightest.’
‘We’re not bad people, man…’
‘I know.’
Raul held out an open palm, indicating for King to stop. He brought the car to a halt in front of an apartment complex that looked as if it would collapse at any moment. The place was an enormous white block of flats. Its once-pristine exterior had long since been stained yellow by the heat and the dust and the filth.
‘Here,’ Raul said.
King pulled into the small carport out the front of the property. It contained a trio of nondescript vehicles, all at least ten years old and falling to pieces. Yellowed newspapers and shards of glass from smashed car mirrors littered the ground.
‘Mamá’s car isn’t here,’ Raul said. His voice turned increasingly quiet as he studied the complex. ‘I don’t know, King…’
‘Do they have a phone?’
He sighed. ‘I can’t remember the number. It’s been a year.’
‘There’s ways to find out if she still has a residence.’
‘Maybe. Let’s just check the apartment. I don’t have a good feeling right now…’
It was unnervingly quiet as they exited the car. What King imagined was normally a neighbourhood bustling with life had become dead. He couldn’t hear a sound save the faint echo of commotion from the main road.
‘Is it usually this quiet?’ he said as they headed for the building.
‘Um … I don’t know,’ Raul said, only half-interested. ‘I can’t remember.’
He sounded fazed out again. King looked across and saw his eyes had grown distant. They were damp. King bowed his head. He imagined Luis’ death would not stop haunting Raul for years.
‘Are you okay?’
Raul sniffed and wiped his eyes with a putrid sleeve. ‘Don’t know, man. Let’s just check it out, please. I just want to see them…’
King’s gut twisted into a knot as they pushed the reception doors open and stepped into a humid, claustrophobic lobby area. He shared the same feeling that Raul had described.
A strong premonition that no good would come of this investigation.
An overweight middle-aged woman sat behind a small desk facing the entrance. She didn’t smile or utter a greeting as they entered. She simply stared with a deadpan expression. She said something in Spanish to Raul. It came out harsh and obtrusive. Raul responded with a question, and she answered. His face lit up and he turned to King.
‘She says they’re here,’ he said. ‘They’ve been paying rent ever since we left. She’s seen them around.’
King felt relief. He didn’t want to picture what state Raul would enter if they had stumbled across a pair of bodies. And he wouldn’t have put it past Rico and his men to deliver such a statement after both brothers had been thrown in jail.
‘How did they manage to afford it?’ he said.
‘Does it look like I know?’
‘Let’s go then.’
They entered a dark and cramped stairwell, illuminated faintly by the odd flickering bulb every couple of levels. Raul took the stairs three at a time, motivated by nervous energy. King tried to relate to the man’s excitement. But he had no loved ones. He had no connections. That had come with his career. He could have spent the rest of his life in El Infierno without anyone on the planet batting an eyelid.
He followed Raul, scouting each floor for any signs of hostile intentions. Nothing. Each hallway branching off from the main stairwell was deserted. The whole building felt abandoned, even though it was a residential area.
Raul stopped on the sixth floor and led King through several nondescript corridors, all indistinguishable from each other, all filthy. Spiderwebs covered light fixtures and clusters of loose wiring and insulation hung through holes in the ceiling. They paused at a plain black door.
‘This is it,’ Raul said, his hands shaking.
King debated between leading the way in or hanging back. If Raul’s mother and sister were indeed here, he would place himself awkwardly between a family reunion. But if Movers had somehow made it to the complex in time and were lying in wait, he didn’t want Raul storming head-first into a slaughterhouse.
In the end, saner heads prevailed. There were no long-term consequences to scaring Raul’s family. If they were gunned down upon entering, that would be slightly more inconvenient. King pushed Raul aside and placed a hand on the doorknob.
‘What are you doing?’ Raul said.
‘Just in case.’
He pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. He heard nothing. Not a peep. Either Ana and her mother were asleep, or someone had a gun trained on the door, waiting patiently for both of them to step through and be eliminated.
In one motion, King twisted and shouldered the door aside, bursting into the apartment. His blood pumped as he assessed its contents. He was ready to kill.
But that would not be necessary.
For it quickly became clear that the apartment had been abandoned for a while.
CHAPTER 29
King passed through a narrow entranceway into a space containing both a kitchen and a living room — separated by a partition. At first glance, everything seemed normal. The apartment had a homely feel to it. A few quilts lay draped over furniture; maybe a pastime of Raul’s mother, maybe store-purchased.
Then, in the corner, he saw it.
A chair lay overturned.
He noticed this with a tightening stomach. Doubt crept in as he scanned the rest of the apartment. There was a scuff mark on the arm of one couch. Freshly formed. Like someone had clawed it to prevent being dragged away. Discrepancies began to appear. A vase rested on the carpet near the kitchen bench, still in one piece. Like it had been knocked off the bench in a scuffle.
‘They’re not here, Raul,’ King said. ‘This doesn’t look good.’
Raul gazed around the room, misty-eyed. Probably recalling prior memories.
‘How can you be sure?’ he said. ‘What if they’re at the shops or something?’
‘They’re not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know when things aren’t right.’
‘Things aren’t right here?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Raul crossed to the kitchen and began ruffling through the bills and notices that littered the surface of th
e bench. Searching for any kind of hint as to what had happened. Or maybe just determined to get his hands on concrete evidence that his mother and sister had gone on living here after he and Luis had been locked away.
King watched with a certain disconnect. He had an idea as to what had happened, but he didn’t feel it was the right time to share such information. Especially not after Raul’s devastating loss less than an hour ago.
He would be a broken man if King told him that his entire family was likely dead.
Raul shifted a stack of loose documents aside and picked up a small scrap of paper. He studied it hard. An expression of disbelief crossed his face.
‘Whoa…’ he whispered.
King crossed the room. ‘What’s that?’
‘José Guerra.’
‘Huh?’
‘An old friend. This is his name and number. It’s his handwriting too.’
King snatched the paper from Raul and glanced at it. Sure enough, contact information had been scrawled across the lined paper in freehand.
‘Who is he?’
‘A small-time arms dealer. We grew up together. He’s the one who taught me English — the childhood friend I spoke of. His parents lived in Britain for a few years. They’re fluent, so he’s fluent. Now I’m almost fluent.’
‘How small-time?’
‘Well, he was small-time. Then I put him in contact with the Movers when I started working for them. They talked. I think they were finalising negotiations when Luis and I were arrested.’
‘Negotiations?’
‘There were rumours in the pipeline that Rico was looking for a new supplier. That’s why I introduced them to José. He’d been expanding for a few years, selling black market weapons to low-level crooks. He’d just started importing higher-quality gear when I told him that the Movers might be looking for a supplier.’
‘Lot of money in that.’