by Matt Rogers
An office building deep in the heart of a business district in downtown Vegas, just east of the freeway.
She swung the big car around in a U-turn and dialled Alexis, who answered promptly.
Alexis said, ‘I’m all good.’
Violetta fell back into her normal accent and said, ‘Did you get anything?’
‘Yeah. Ray and Gates are linked without a doubt. I passed it to King and Slater. They’re doing their thing.’
‘That’s good,’ Violetta said. ‘You’re not being followed?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. I spoke to a junior officer. He was nice. What’s your situation?’
‘I have a meeting with the DA.’
Quiet.
Then, ‘How’d you manage that?’
‘I didn’t give her much of a choice.’
‘You have a button too, right?’
‘Yes,’ Violetta said. ‘You get in any sort of trouble, you press it without thinking twice. You understand?’
It was an aspect of the operation Violetta had insisted on. An automatic system between the four of them — a panic button of sorts — that, when pressed, sent an urgent warning to the other three. King and Slater had theirs — she’d insisted — but she doubted they’d use them, or even have them on their minds. Which was fair enough, if she really broke it down. If King and Slater fell in the line of duty, there was little Violetta or Alexis could do for them.
They were their country’s best for a reason.
But she was deeply worried about Alexis, so earlier that morning she’d handed her a device indistinguishable from a car key fob. It had a single grey button on it. Pressing it would send King, Slater and Violetta’s phones shrieking.
Alexis said, ‘It’s in my pocket. If I need to, I’ll use it.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now head home and bunker down. There’s a fair chance this’ll get messy.’
‘Do you need me there?’ Alexis said. ‘I want to help.’
You’ll be a burden, Violetta thought.
She said, ‘It’s fine. I’ve got this covered. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m out.’
‘Good luck.’
Violetta hung up. On cue, traffic seemed to part for her.
She merged into an empty lane and gunned it for the DA’s office.
26
Armando Gates had all the time in the world to make calls.
Slater fidgeted restlessly, unable to help himself. Twice the goons told him to stop moving, and twice he ignored them. He wanted desperately to speak to King, to formulate a plan using something other than the occasional sideways glance.
For the time being, that was what they were limited to.
But Gates was nothing if not efficient. He was back in twelve minutes, a smartphone clutched tight in his hand, his gaze jumping all over the place. Slater knew the look of someone crippled by overthinking. Gates was now conspiratorial, distrusting of everyone he thought he’d had allegiances with.
It was perfect.
‘I called Keith,’ he said to nobody in particular. He was just voicing his thoughts. ‘He denied everything categorically. But he sounded jumpy. I mean, I know he’s a coke addict, but … he was jumpier than usual. He promised to do his own investigation into it. Said he’d put out his own feelers.’
Gates looked at them.
Neither of them said a word.
Gates said, ‘Well?’
‘What the hell do you want us to say?’ King said. ‘Let us out of here, man.’
Gates pulled the Glock out of the rear of his waistband and twirled it recklessly on a finger. His eyes were manic, and Slater started to think the man might have done an illicit substance to give himself a confidence boost.
The whole “coke addict” thing sounded like projecting.
Gates said, ‘You two know how I run my shit now, don’t you?’
King said, ‘Wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘You know I have ties to law enforcement.’
‘Do we?’ Slater said. ‘I don’t know much of anything.’
King said, ‘Honestly, you think we’re going to rat you out? Did you forget why we came here in the first place? What we’re interested in?’
‘You didn’t go through with it,’ Gates said. ‘That sounds deliberate. Sounds like you wanted to be untouchable in the eyes of the law.’
Slater rolled his eyes.
Gates yelled, ‘Don’t you dare disrespect me!’ and trained his gun on Slater.
Slater said, ‘You want the truth, ’mano?’
King thought, Don’t.
Gates bristled at the slang. ‘You’re not with me. You don’t call me that.’
Slater ignored him and said, ‘Here’s the truth. You’ve pointed that thing at me too many times. You’re the boy who cried wolf. You’re ranting about conspiracies, thinking we’re involved in one thing or another, but you know the truth. You know we have nothing to do with this. You know we paid you for an underage girl. We’re not even going to ask for our money back. That’s how badly we just want you to leave us the hell alone. We came here for answers but clearly your problems are far worse than we thought, so we’ll leave you to it.’
Gates stood quiet.
Slater said, ‘So either shoot us both and bury us, which will only add to your problems, or let us out of here and focus on cleaning up your own mess.’
Gates bristled.
Then, after what seemed an eternity, he started to cackle.
He turned to each of his henchmen in question, as if saying, Are you hearing this shit? and then lowered the Glock.
He looked at Slater and said, ‘I like you. You’re loco.’
‘We’re restless,’ King said. ‘Now what are we doing here?’
‘This,’ Gates said, stepped forward and struck him full in the face with an open palm.
The smack reverberated. The office was so small it bounced off the walls.
Slater’s insides froze.
He knew, if he was on the receiving end, he wouldn’t have been able to control himself.
Then again, King had always been able to do what Slater never could.
King sat still, his gaze steel, but he didn’t react. His cheek was already red from the handprint, the skin swelling.
Gates turned to Slater.
In his own head, Slater screamed, Calm!
Gates hit him even harder.
An absolute thunderclap, all Gates’ wiry muscle and lanky wingspan translating to a mean unforgiving swing. Slater’s skull rattled and the noise boomed in his head and pain exploded on one side of his face.
Slater sat there.
He took it.
It was harder than he’d ever thought.
Gates said, ‘Just in case you two forgot who the king of the jungle was. Now get out of my establishment and never show your faces in this city again.’
There was no reason for the outburst. Gates seemed to believe them, which meant he knew they had nothing to do with the war he’d found himself embroiled in. But he’d tried to assert dominance anyway, just for the sake of it.
Definitely cocaine, Slater thought.
From first-hand experience, he knew how reckless it made you.
You understand the consequences of your actions.
You just don’t care.
Gates said, ‘Won’t do it yourself? Fine.’
He signalled to his henchmen, who hauled the hostages to their feet and dragged them back down the corridor to the rear of the building. They threw them out the door, letting them tumble down the short flight of concrete steps to the garbage-strewn laneway. Slater landed in a heap, and felt King come down beside him. The thugs loomed over them, sneering, then turned and slammed the door shut, sealing them out.
Slater made sure to pant for breath and look forlorn as he picked himself up, dusted his dirty suit off, and moped back to the BMW.
King went to the Bentley in the garage with equal misery.
As soon as they both got behind the
respective wheels, their faces hardened to stone.
They drove away in a two-car convoy.
27
Alexis didn’t go straight home.
She knew she’d be a burden to Violetta if she tagged along, but it didn’t feel right to call it a day just yet. She drove away from Ward’s squad car and doubled back along Tropicana Avenue, hesitant to leave the city centre. What if her phone shrieked? What if someone pushed their panic button?
What? she scolded herself. What could you possibly do for them?
The answer was “nothing.” She knew it. Maybe eventually she’d gain confidence through consistent repeated training, but right now she was green. As green as you could get, and monumentally out of place amidst a trio of seasoned operators.
Patience, she told herself. All in due time.
She parked in the lot of a fast food restaurant facing Tropicana Avenue and settled back, watching the traffic pass by. All these people, their worries superficial, their lives relatively simple. Part of her missed it. Most of her didn’t.
Then she saw something out of place.
Ward’s LVMPD car, racing past her position, lights flashing. He was behind the wheel, hunched over it, staring hard out the windshield.
Searching for someone.
Me?
Yes.
There’s something he forgot to tell me.
Before she knew it she was reversing hard out of the parking spot, veering back onto Tropicana Avenue, gunning it after the squad car. She shot past vehicles obeying the speed limit, one after another, until Ward’s rear bumper was right in front of her.
She leant on the horn, one long continuous beep.
He noticed her right behind him.
Signalled to the left.
She pulled to the shoulder, slowing horizontally across a long row of empty parking bays outside a pawn shop. She figured he would stop in front of her, get out, deliver the additional information, and peel away. But he continued a hundred feet ahead to the mouth of a side street weaving between two rows of shops. She didn’t think anything of it. She was parked illegally, after all, and it’d be wise to get off Tropicana Avenue so they could properly pull over. She put the Toyota back into gear, looped out of the bays and turned left into the side street.
She should have thought twice.
He was already out of the squad car, his expression strange. She pulled up behind him and rolled her window down. Call it foolishness, call it whatever you’d like. She didn’t call it anything, because the human brain is a strange thing. She literally didn’t have time to consider it. Operatives like King and Slater and Violetta know how to keep a cool head under pressure, and make decisions in milliseconds. Common folk like her … well, it’s like a deer in headlights.
She saw him striding for her car, and in the half-second of time she had to contemplate what he was doing, she thought, I hope this is nothing.
Because his service weapon was in its holster at his waist.
She thought about reaching into her pocket, just in case—
Suddenly he was there.
A foot from the sill.
‘Hands where I can see them, please, Alexis,’ he said.
She paused. ‘Why?’
‘Just want to make sure you don’t try anything stupid.’
‘Why would I try something stupid?’
‘Word gets around this town quick.’
She looked up at him.
She didn’t ask for answers, because he knew damn well he hadn’t provided any. He didn’t need reminding.
She said, ‘What is this?’
He looked sorry.
As if that meant anything.
He looked all around for witnesses, then took the gun out of its holster and fed it through the open window frame, touching the barrel to her collar bone.
Her heart almost leapt through her chest.
He said, ‘Who are you really?’
She didn’t have to try too hard to tear up. She only had to half-fake it.
She shook her head, her eyes wet, and looked up at him. ‘Alan…’
He said, ‘Get out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them.’
She levered the door outwards. Her hands were shaking. The panic button was burning a hole in her pocket. She couldn’t get to it. She stepped out and stood up, the sun hot on her face, making her squint, masking her vision. Her pulse was out of control. Ward’s silhouette hovered in front of her, the gun now lowered to his waist. The barrel was aimed at her gut.
He said, ‘Put your hands behind your back.’
She complied.
He cuffed her.
Then he led her to the squad car, shoved her into the passenger seat, and circled to the driver’s side.
He got in, sealing them in the cabin. The silence was deafening.
‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘It’d be smart to tell me the truth.’
She couldn’t speak.
Even if she wanted to.
He waited.
Finally she managed a few words. ‘What are you doing to me?’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ Ward said. ‘Turns out Keith Ray isn’t exactly out of the picture.’
‘W-what?’
‘I guess I can explain,’ he said. ‘I owe you that much.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Something happened this morning,’ he said. ‘Right after I left you. I don’t know what it was, but it made him real paranoid. He’s been putting out calls for the last thirty minutes to all his old contacts. If I had to guess, he’s in some sort of conflict with the pieces of shit he associates with. Anyway, he asked if anyone had spoken his name recently. A buddy of mine — well, I thought he was a buddy — told him that I’d just called something in.’
‘You promised our conversation would stay between us.’
‘It was a passing remark. This buddy … he’s the one who told me about Keith in the first place. I trusted him. I shouldn’t have. He’s weak-willed. He cracks under pressure. Keith cracked him. Next minute I get a call from Keith Ray. I’ve never spoken to him before. He asks me what I heard or saw. He tells me if I lie to him, he knows where I live, and he knows I live with my grandmother. He knows I take care of her. So I tell him what happened. And he says he’s never heard of you. He says he’s never bought you a drink. He says he’d remember that sort of thing. He knows you’re lying. He told me to pick you up and bring you to him or my grandma pays the price.’
Alexis thought she might pass out.
There was no colour in her face, and she knew she couldn’t act tough anymore.
Her vision swam.
In a tiny voice she said, ‘You wouldn’t…’
She watched Alan Ward force down a wave of emotion.
He scrunched up his face and steeled it and said, ‘I’m sorry. Family is everything to me.’
He drove off as Alexis sank hopelessly down into her seat.
28
King was the first to arrive back at the estate.
He parked the Bentley in the driveway, leaving room in the garage for the BMW. Slater drove it in moments later, and they rendezvoused at the front door. A quick survey of the grounds and open garage revealed no other cars.
King called Violetta.
It rang, and rang, and rang.
No one answered.
Slater called Alexis.
It rang, and rang, and rang.
Same result.
King said, ‘Doesn’t mean anything. There are endless reasons they wouldn’t have eyes on their phones.’
Slater scratched the stubble along his jaw and looked at the ground. ‘I don’t like it. Alexis was finished before we even went into Wan’s. She gave us the go ahead. All she had to do was drive back.’
‘Let’s talk about Wan’s first,’ King said. ‘Good job holding it together.’
‘You too.’
King knew Slater meant it. One side of King’s face was puffy from Gates’ full-contact slap. Slater’s i
njuries were less noticeable — there was no superficial damage on his face — but he’d been stomped hard in the torso more than once.
Slater said, ‘Please tell me we get to put those guys in their place.’
‘Of course,’ King said. ‘But not yet. Elsa’s still in the wind. We can kill all Gates’ men and interrogate him, but that’s an all-or-nothing gamble that Gates knows where she is.’
‘He’s the pimp,’ Slater said. ‘You honestly think he doesn’t?’
‘She vanished around the time Keith Ray disappeared out of the record books. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.’
‘But then Gates knows…’
‘We don’t know what he knows,’ King said. ‘Ray is the key to all this. That “personal bodyguard” stuff is nonsense. You’re telling me the ex-Clark County Sheriff went to work for a low-level thug who runs a seedy club out the back of a cigarette store?’
‘You think it’s the other way round?’
‘I know it is. Ray retires, wipes his record as best he can, then gets to work recruiting all the undesirables he cosied up to throughout his career. And besides…’
King trailed off.
Slater said, ‘What?’
‘Sure, Gates might know where Elsa is. Whether she’s in the ground or still alive, kept somewhere for a fate worse than death. But what about the rest? What if there’s dozens we’re not addressing, all for the salvation of one of them?’
Slater went quiet.
King said, ‘I want all of it exposed. Every corner, every shadow. I want to bring it all down. And the only way we do that is with patience. This won’t resolve itself today.’
‘We have to,’ Slater said. ‘Or…’
King shook his head.
Slater said, ‘What?’
‘You don’t get it.’
Slater didn’t respond.
King said, ‘It was always too late for that. We were never going to get there in time.’
With an air of inevitability he pulled out his phone and opened the internet browser. He navigated to the “Courts” subsection of the Las Vegas Review-Journal and refreshed the page. It only took a few seconds to scan the headlines of the newest articles, all of them brief and devoid of flowery prose. They were informing the public of sentences, after all. They had to be short and sharp.