by Matt Rogers
The man’s feet had given out from underneath him as he heard the news.
Raul stared at Rico with more hate than King thought humanly possible. The man had been clinging to a shred of hope the entire time. Now it was gone. He’d lost everyone close to him. He was struggling to process it.
He would be for a while.
King’s stomach sank and he turned back to Rico, who leered at the utter hopelessness of their situation. He relished their failure. Even though his operation had been destroyed, he’d still had the last laugh.
‘Why don’t you put the gun down?’ he said to King. ‘Why don’t we settle this man to man? You seem eager to hurt me. Do it with your fists. I didn’t get the opportunity to prove myself in El Infierno. You caught me by surprise. Let’s see who really would come out on top.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ King said.
‘I would.’
‘The two of us settling our score the old-fashioned way?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Shame this isn’t the movies.’
He unloaded thirty rounds into Rico’s skull and chest and stomach and legs. The man was dead within three shots, but King continued to hold the trigger down, letting out the anger flooding his veins. The shots tore through soft skin and sent geysers of blood arcing across the room. As Rico fell back over the desk, carried by the momentum of the shots, an automatic pistol spilled out of his belt. He’d had a hand around the weapon. Even in his last moments, he’d tried to manipulate King.
King had decided he wouldn’t give him the chance.
Blood swished over the surface of the desk, spilling across the oak. Emptying the clip of such a powerful weapon in the confined space would normally result in temporary hearing loss, but King had found himself in the midst of such an incomprehensible amount of automatic weapons fire over the last hour that for a moment he wasn’t sure if his hearing would ever properly return.
With Rico dead, the only sound in the room came from Raul. A helpless sobbing, racked with pain and dread. King turned and crouched and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘Hey.’
The man was inconsolable. He stared vacantly at the ground, completely tuned out. King gripped his shoulder a little harder.
‘Hey,’ he said again.
Raul looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his lip quivering. He was a mess.
‘It’s going to feel like your whole world has ended,’ King said. ‘But it hasn’t. It’s going to be hell for months. I’ve seen almost all of my close friends die on the battlefield. It feels like everything is pointless and that you’ll never recover and that there’s no point to living anymore, so why not just join them? I’ve had the same exact thoughts. And I’m telling you … it gets better. Okay?’
Raul said nothing. King didn’t expect him to. In this moment there would be absolutely nothing that would change the way he felt. But hopefully, somewhere down the line, he could begin to move on.
King knew he could.
He was tough. Tough enough to survive a gruelling spell in one of Venezuela’s toughest prisons. He would get through this. Some way. Somehow.
King scooped a hand under Raul’s arm and hauled him to his feet. The man could grieve when they were safe. Right now, they were still in a warzone.
He started to reach for Raul’s pants leg with his other hand, about to switch to a fireman’s carry, unsure if he could support himself.
‘I can walk,’ Raul whispered.
King nodded and let go of him. He needed his space.
King gathered the empty HK417 and pulled a fresh round of his rear pocket. He ejected the old magazine and slammed another thirty-round clip home.
They’d need it if they hoped to make it through a gang war alive.
Before they left the room, he took one last look out Rico’s office window at the shootout still unfolding on the shipyard’s dock. If José was down there somewhere, King would make sure he ripped the man’s throat out for what he’d done. He’d slaughtered Raul’s family in cold-blood at the request of a man who he planned to usurp, and then used Raul and King like pawns to ensure he achieved his own self-interests.
King tightened a finger around the HK’s trigger and made for the stairwell.
The corridor was desolate. It seemed every Mover in the vicinity was out on the dock, attempting to stem the wave of attackers. Likely failing, given Roman and José’s effective strategy. Even King hadn’t wised up to how he was being manipulated.
Raul followed him down the corridor and out into the stairwell. As King stepped into the space, he turned to descend.
And found three automatic weapons aimed his way.
All three men were Spanish. Two were thugs, sporting similar neck tattoos and wearing sleeveless vests that exposed muscular arms devoid of fat. The veins running along their forearms bulged as they clutched their weapons. They were high off the thrill of combat.
King wondered if they were Movers, and considered the possibility that their gun barrels might be the last sight he ever saw.
Then his gaze drifted to the third man, who noted King and Raul’s presence with a satisfied nod of acknowledgement.
José.
CHAPTER 47
‘Nice to see you two again,’ he said. Then he noted the expression on Raul’s face, and paused. ‘What happened?’
‘What the hell do you think happened?’ King said.
He kept his rifle remained pointed at the ground, and there it would stay. If he tried to raise it in the midst of such a tense standoff, he would wind up dotted with lead. That was an outcome he would prefer to avoid.
‘We made it through the Movers’ forces,’ José said. ‘We came up here to kill Rico.’
‘Way ahead of you,’ King said.
He screamed internally. He’d never been so determined to make an attempt on a man’s life until now. José deserved nothing more than a shallow grave.
‘Are you surprised I’m still here?’ José said. His voice stayed composed. Calm. Rational.
‘Things clicked a while ago,’ King said. ‘Your partner is dead.’
‘Roman’s dead?’ José said, and for a moment he bowed his head. ‘We knew the risks trying something like this. Casualties were inevitable.’
‘Was he close to you?’
‘We were close, yes.’
‘Good. I threw him over a railing. If you go down twenty storeys you might see what’s left of his body.’
José paused. Blood rushed to his face. A vein protruded from his forehead. ‘Why the fuck would you do that?’
‘That’s rich coming from you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We know what you did,’ King said. ‘Raul’s family. You piece of shit.’
José’s eyes widened as he recognised what was causing Raul such distress. ‘Oh, of course… I assume Rico told you I killed them?’
King heard a noise behind him, like a foot scuffing along the ground. He realised that Raul was about to explode off his feet, making a suicidal charge. King held out a hand, open-palmed, urging the man to stay put. It would be no use killing himself while trying to avenge his family.
Raul stayed put.
At least for now.
‘I’m not the monster you think I am,’ José said.
‘Oh?’ King said.
‘It’s true that I used you,’ José said. ‘I saw an opportunity to create a distraction that would help us in our attack. So if you want to argue that I recklessly threw you into the firing line, then fine. But it was your choice to come here. You were going to do it, no matter what I said. If I’d turned you away, you would have found another way to carry out an attack. I could see it in your eyes the second you stepped foot on my property. So yes, I lied to you. And yes, I deal drugs. I enjoy money. I provide a service to the addicts of Maiquetía that a million other people just like me would be happy to do. And I lied to my main client and used the inside knowledge he provided of his operation to ap
proach the competition and plan a takeover of his business. If you have a problem with that, then go right ahead and kill me. I’ll give you my own gun to do so. But I’m not a heartless fiend.’
‘You took his family away and shot them in cold blood,’ King said. ‘How can you possibly be trying to defend yourself?’
‘Because that’s not what happened.’
‘That’s what Rico said.’
‘Of course it is. That’s the story I told him.’
King paused. ‘What?’
‘Why do you think my number was in their apartment?’
‘Because you were helping them. And they trusted you. Which is why Rico told you to kill them. Because it would be easy.’
‘You’re right. It would have been, if I’d decided to.’
Raul let out a whimper. It was a guttural noise filled with confusion and an underlying tone of hope. Maybe there was a possibility that…
‘I swear to fucking God,’ King said, ‘that if you’re lying to us, I’ll personally rip your head off.’
‘Use common sense,’ José said. ‘If I really was the person you think I am, I’d have shot you the second I saw you. It wouldn’t have taken much effort. In fact, I’m still tempted to. You killed my business partner. And a close friend.’
‘A close friend who left me to die in the worst prison in the country.’
‘Noted,’ José said. ‘Which is why I’m letting you live. All’s fair in war. But now the war’s over. Most of the Movers are dead. We control the shipyard. We’ll comb the city over the next few weeks and pick off the rest. But that’s none of your concern. If you want to wage a war against drug gangs in Venezuela, you’ll be here for the rest of your life.’
‘That’s not my concern,’ King said.
‘Good,’ José said. ‘Rico was your concern. Now he’s dead. Raul’s family was your concern. So here you are…’
He reached into his back pocket. King hesitated, tensing up. If José came out with a gun, he would raise his own HK417 and unload. It would create a blazing roar of gunfire from all sides and every man in the stairwell would die in the crossfire. But it was better than José having the last laugh. This way, his forces would be leaderless. They would fall apart. Their meticulous planning would have all been for nothing.
King would die, but he would die satisfied.
But José did not produce a weapon. He produced a keychain. Four indistinguishable gold keys were attached to it alongside a plastic replica bullet.
‘What is this?’ King said.
José looked at him long and hard. ‘I trust you.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
‘I know I shouldn’t. But I do. Which is why I’m giving you these.’
He tossed the set of keys over. King took a hand off the HK417 — foolish in hindsight — and caught them. José could have shot him right then. Caught him off guard. Put a round through his skull. Finish the job.
But he didn’t.
‘Once again,’ King said. ‘What is this?’
‘Those are the keys to my house.’
‘Why the hell are you giving me the keys to your house?’
‘There’s a couple of people staying there that Raul needs to see.’
King’s eyes widened. He made to respond, then thought better of it. He simply nodded. If what José told him was true, then King could most definitely see the situation from his perspective. In fact, most of his actions were entirely forgivable if Raul’s family were indeed unharmed.
‘Now,’ José said. ‘You saw what happened downstairs. There’s a lot of clean-up to do. There’s a lot of connections to make. The hard work’s just beginning for me. But you two get out of here. I don’t want any trouble from you, and you don’t want any trouble from me. Understood?’
King didn’t bother trying to wrap his head around the allegiances and power plays and double-crossings and gang wars. He couldn’t care less. If Raul’s family were truly safe, then his work was done. The gangsters who’d thrown him around a corrupt prison system were dead. He’d found his revenge.
It was over.
He lowered his weapon, and José’s thugs did the same.
‘You have my number?’ José said.
King nodded.
‘Give me a call when you get there. We can straighten things out. Gate code is “8380”.’
King nodded again.
José produced a scrap of paper from one of the deep pockets in his khaki trousers. He handed it over. An address was scrawled in ballpoint pen on its surface.
‘Let’s go, Raul,’ King said.
He brushed past the three men in front of him and began the descent. Raul followed swiftly behind. He hurried after King, his pace fast. Probably reinvigorated with newfound hope and promise.
‘King,’ he whispered. ‘Do you really think…?’
‘We’ll find out,’ King said.
CHAPTER 48
They made it out of the shipyard without a shred of protest.
José had clearly informed his forces that King and Raul were not to be interfered with. King kept his HK417 looped over his shoulder just in case any of the gangsters hadn’t received the message, yet they were met with no resistance whatsoever. In fact, none of José’s forces even bothered to acknowledge their existence. They were busy dealing with the aftermath of the gunfight.
As King crossed the newly erected drawbridge connecting the cruise ship to the port, he surveyed the dock and noted the result of the conflict.
The Movers had lost.
Badly.
José’s forces had taken casualties, but that was inevitable. A few of their men lay injured or dead, in the process of being tended to by their comrades. Stress and worry plagued the faces of the gangsters.
King imagined it had been a tense morning for them.
As they passed through a surreal scene littered with the bodies of dead gangsters, some completely torn to shreds by bullets, he pondered what an unbelievable sight it would be to a common civilian. Even a man like Raul — raised on the streets and wise to combat and the brutal conditions of a no-holds-barred prison — struggled to process the swathes of destruction across the port.
King knew it was bad that he felt right at home amongst the carnage.
His pulse barely rose as he glanced from body to body. He simply assessed the dead with cold calculation, scanning for threats. There were none. Every man still alive was preoccupied with other tasks. They would leave undisturbed.
He led Raul to one of the pick-up trucks on the very edge of the Movers’ barricade. It had taken the least amount of gunfire. Its rusting chassis had been dotted with only a few stray rounds. He hoped it still worked. He climbed into the driver’s seat and checked the ignition. The keys were there, jammed into the slot. Clearly the Movers had figured that there was no use securing the cars. If enemy forces managed to hijack them, then they would probably be dead by that point anyway.
Raul got in next to him and tugged the passenger’s seatbelt across his chest. He stared straight ahead. Muted. Untalkative. King guessed all his energy was focused on the thought of his mother and sister greeting him with open arms.
He hoped that the man’s wishes would come true.
He started the truck and drove it slowly through the chaos, avoiding living and dead bodies alike. He didn’t care what José would do with the shipyard. Like he’d told the man earlier, if drug operations bothered him enough to wage a vigilante crusade, then he would never sleep.
And he needed sleep.
He’d devoted a career to battling injustice. In retirement he’d made the decision to leave those problems to his successors.
That’s worked out so well for you so far, he thought.
They exited the shipyard the way they’d come in. The mangled gate had been battered aside by José’s forces following them in. They mounted the gravel road and began the slow climb into the hills of Maiquetía.
King held out the scrap of paper. ‘You been here b
efore?’
Raul shook his head. ‘That’s a wealthy neighbourhood. Buried in the hills somewhere. He must have bought the place when he made his fortune. While Luis and I were locked up.’
Talk of his brother clearly drifted his mind onto traumatic thoughts. King saw him shrink up. He turned away to hide his eyes growing damp.
‘Your brother was a good man,’ King said.
‘I know.’
‘At least Rico is dead.’
Raul shook his head. ‘Doesn’t change a thing.’
‘I know it doesn’t,’ King said. ‘But it’s peace of mind. He won’t hurt anyone else.’
‘José will just take his place,’ Raul said, sounding entirely disillusioned.
‘If your old friend is telling us the truth,’ King said, ‘then maybe he has some humanity. Maybe things will unfold differently with him in charge.’
‘We’ll see…’
Raul directed him through shanty towns and cramped neighbourhoods and onto a winding road that looped between craggy cliffs of rock dotted with tufts of dead grass. They continued up into the hills, the pick-up’s engine chugging as it battled the steep gradient. Finally they entered a neighbourhood that King instantly recognised as upper-class.
Well, at least in comparison to the rest of Maiquetía.
These houses had yards. Most were two-storey, big and sprawling and well-built. King saw sloping terracotta roofs and gated properties complete with security cameras at every turn. He guessed that security systems were paramount in these parts. Anyone with a semblance of fortune would be a target.
According to the address listed, José’s property was at the very end of a wide court paved with smooth asphalt. King stopped the pick-up in front of a spacious property complete with a four-car garage and a guesthouse. He let out a low whistle as they got out and approached the steel fence.
‘Crime pays,’ King said.
‘Around here, it sure does,’ Raul said.
The man took a deep breath. King rested a hand on his shoulder.
‘I just want you to know,’ King said. ‘Whatever we find … I’m here for you. I’m hesitant to believe José just yet.’