by Matt Rogers
Slater sat down in the opposite armchair and waited for Ward to speak first.
It took some time. The man wasn’t chatty. Slater had cleaned his face and patched his wounds — especially the bullet hole in his thigh — so he didn’t look quite so injured and dishevelled anymore, but he sure as hell looked exhausted. After a day of such incredulous highs, the subsequent lows were inevitable. His face was pale and there were heavy bags under his eyes, signs of adrenal fatigue. He looked set to fall asleep in the chair unless he was prodded to speak.
Slater prodded. ‘Go on. Ask me anything.’
Ward blinked to keep himself awake. ‘What?’
‘You don’t know anything about us,’ Slater said. ‘If you’re going to trust us, that needs to change.’
Ward said, ‘I just want to get out of this mess alive, man. I don’t care who you are.’
‘I’m offering to help you when I don’t have to,’ Slater said. ‘So humour me.’
‘What — you want me to quiz you about your life?’
‘I want you to do the responsible thing,’ Slater said, ‘and get to know the man you’re about to go to war with.’
‘Or not.’
Slater raised an eyebrow.
Ward said, ‘You don’t have to string me along, man. I don’t have the energy for it. Just say it like it is. I’m expendable. When we get there, and you get your girlfriend back, I’m dead. You can’t afford to let me go knowing what I know.’
‘I won’t screw you around,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll tell you the truth. I was considering that exact option.’
‘So just shoot me here,’ Ward said. ‘Save yourself the trouble.’
‘I’m not shooting you anywhere.’
‘How am I supposed to believe that?’
‘Because I keep my word,’ Slater said. ‘No matter what. “Say what you do; do what you say.” I live my entire life by that motto.’
‘False platitudes,’ Ward said. ‘I’m not leaving that warehouse alive.’
‘You’ve let Keith Ray influence you,’ Slater said. ‘He’s a desperate man who says one thing and does the opposite. You think that’s normal.’
‘That’s what everyone does,’ Ward said. ‘That’s life.’
‘For most. Not for me. Not for my friends.’
‘So you’re the pure vigilante? And there’s a gang of you? Like something out of a comic book? That doesn’t work in the world I’ve seen. It just gets you killed.’
‘Not if you’re good enough,’ Slater said. ‘Not if you’re ready for people to try.’
‘So that’s it? You do the right thing every time, and it gets you into trouble like this?’
‘You’re catching on.’
‘So you have no personal connection to Ray, or Kerr, or Gates?’ Ward said. ‘You didn’t know about them before you started sniffing around?’
‘We didn’t know anything before yesterday morning,’ Slater said. ‘King met a woman in a park who Kerr manipulated into an eleven-year prison sentence. She was sentenced today. They planted drugs on her to silence her because she was digging around the outskirts of Ray’s illicit network. That’s when we got involved.’
‘How many times have you involved yourself in something that was none of your business?’
‘Too many times to count.’
It was the truth.
His recent history — and his long-term history — defied belief.
Ward said, ‘It’s going to get you killed. It’s inevitable.’
‘I welcome that day.’
‘No you don’t,’ Ward said. ‘You say you do, but you don’t. No one’s ready to die.’
‘Don’t put your own shortcomings on everyone else. We don’t all think like you.’
‘You calling me weak?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘You’re on the path. You’re entertaining the idea of helping us. That’s noble.’
‘Nobility just gets you killed,’ Ward said. ‘Like how you’re going to wind up dead. It might not be this time, but it’ll come.’
‘Will you help us?’
Ward shifted against the electrical tape. ‘What do you want me to say? You know what I have to say, because I’m here against my will.’
‘I want you to say yes,’ Slater said. ‘And I want you to mean it.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Ward said. ‘And I admire you.’
Slater said, ‘You don’t have to lie.’
‘I mean it. I’m sorry about Alexis. There’s no point blaming anyone but myself. I should have been stronger.’
Slater soaked it in. He absentmindedly picked at the arm of the chair with a nail. Then he smiled and got to his feet.
He said, ‘There’s a clear path out of this mess. Your involvement can go unnoticed if we create enough of a scene. When the dust settles we’ll look at the security footage from the warehouse. We can erase you showing up with Alexis. You can deny the rest. There won’t be heat on you for very long. Not in the aftermath of a dead ex-sheriff and a dead DA.’
Ward shook his head at the implication.
War was coming.
He said, ‘You really don’t let up, ever? You never take the easier path?’
Slater said, ‘Never.’
‘Hopefully I’ll get there someday.’
Slater said, ‘You’ll still make a damn fine cop.’
He fetched a box cutter out of the right-hand desk drawer and loomed over Ward with it. He slashed, tearing a jagged line down the cocoon of tape. Ward stood up and out of the tape, unharmed. Slater used the same short blade to slash the cable ties.
He said, ‘Stay in this room. Don’t go anywhere. I need to go over the game plan with the others for five minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.’
Ward rolled his eyes. ‘You think I’ll sneak out a window and run back to Ray? After everything that’s happened?’
‘Overthinking makes fools of us all,’ Slater said. ‘Don’t think the wrong thoughts.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll be here.’
Slater retracted the blade and slipped the box cutter into his pocket. He stepped out of the office, locking the door behind him for good measure. Because what he’d said was true. It only takes one stray thought, one tempting idea, to ruin a good thing.
When he made it to the kitchen he found King and Violetta in an embrace, their eyes closed, their foreheads pressed together.
Slater turned quietly to leave.
‘It’s okay,’ King said, stepping away as he heard the footfalls. ‘You’re not intruding.’
Slater hovered in the doorway. ‘You two okay?’
Violetta nodded. ‘Yeah. Just needed a minute.’
Slater sighed. ‘Don’t we all?’
She said, ‘How are you both? Physically, I mean. I almost forgot Gates and his men roughed you up.’
Slater said, ‘I’m fine. Thank God that role’s over. I don’t know how much more I could have taken.’
‘More than you think,’ King said. ‘You’re not as impulsive as you think you are. You haven’t been for a good while.’
Slater paused, taking his time to process the compliment.
Then he said, ‘Thank you.’
Violetta said, ‘It’s eight. Almost showtime.’
Slater said, ‘I’m hitting the armoury.’
Violetta hesitated.
So did King.
Slater said, ‘What?’
She said, ‘We hadn’t discussed—’
‘I assume you left me out deliberately, King,’ Slater said. ‘On the phone, you said you’d only be there with Violetta.’
King said, ‘I thought you could be put to use somewhere else.’
Slater nodded, almost gleeful. ‘Hence the armoury.’
‘Don’t make a scene.’
‘Of course not,’ Slater said, turning his palms out. ‘I’ll be quiet as a mouse.’
King nodded.
Slater said, ‘But you know damn well I’m not letting a single one of them l
eave Arden alive.’
He turned and walked out before they could try to talk him out of it.
51
A suburban Range Rover peeled out of the estate at twenty to nine.
It seemed they had an entire showroom at their disposal, but it was simply forethought. The estate had come with a six-car garage. They’d filled each parking space immediately, only days after moving in. Better to be overprepared than the alternative.
King drove.
Gloria Kerr sat in the passenger seat, her hands cable-tied. There was no tape around her body. Slater had de-mummified her as expertly as he’d tied her up in the first place. It was quickly becoming a crutch of his.
Violetta sat in the back with Ward. His hands were cable-tied, too, but only for dramatic effect. The cord looped tight around his wrists but had been pre-cut between his hands. He was free to separate them whenever he pleased, but he kept them together in front of him to make himself look like a prisoner.
He had a compact Glock 26 — leant to him by Slater — concealed in an appendix holster under his dirty uniform. They hadn’t given him a change of clothes. They wanted him easily identifiable to Ray, and if he was a useless hostage they were going to throw away for Ray to murder, then they wouldn’t care about him enough to give any thought to creature comforts. They’d leave him in his sweat-soaked, bloody uniform, because why the hell should they lift a finger for him in the first place?
Slater wasn’t in the car.
Appearances were important, so Violetta didn’t say a word to Ward. Kerr was listening from the passenger seat, keenly aware of her surroundings. King didn’t speak, either, focusing on the road trawling past as he turned out of the Ridges.
Kerr spoke first. ‘You two are hypocrites, you know that? So is the black guy.’
‘“The black guy” has a name,’ King said.
‘I don’t care,’ Kerr said. ‘He’s an idiot just like the pair of you. All that talk about justice and nobility and now you’re handing me back to Ray.’
‘He needs you,’ King said. ‘And he had someone to trade.’
Kerr threw her chin over her shoulder, gesturing to Ward diagonally behind her. ‘Who the hell is this?’
‘Alan Ward,’ Violetta said. ‘A junior officer Ray is none too happy with.’
Kerr quietened, thinking. Then she twisted as best she could in her seat. ‘What’d you do?’
‘Ran away from him.’
‘Shot him in the chest, too,’ King said. ‘Don’t forget that.’
‘Mmmm,’ Kerr mused. ‘He won’t like that.’
‘No,’ Violetta said. ‘He certainly won’t.’
Kerr said, ‘So it’s even worse. You’re letting this guy get killed. Probably tortured, knowing Ray. Maybe even sodomised. There’s been rumours the old pig swings in both directions. But I’d say that’s fifty-fifty. Rumours can be unsubstantiated.’
Ward’s face went ghost white.
King didn’t blame the guy.
If this doesn’t work, Ward was thinking, I’m worse than dead.
There were two options for the cop.
Give up completely.
Or make sure to fight harder for King and Slater to ensure his own self-preservation.
Ward made the smart choice.
He kept his mouth shut and didn’t confirm any of Kerr’s suspicions. He gazed out the window, pretending to fight back tears. Kerr bought it. She settled back into her seat and stared out the windshield at the road flashing past. Her face was smug.
King feigned irritation. ‘What?’
She said, ‘I’m not as stupid as you think I am.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘There’s no way you’re betraying everything you stand for,’ she said. ‘That’s not what purists like you do.’
Silence.
She said, ‘I know exactly what this is.’
She turned in her seat again, focusing on Ward. She waited for him to stop stargazing and notice her watching him like a hawk. He tried to suppress his discomfort.
He couldn’t.
She said, ‘Good luck tonight, honey.’
He didn’t answer.
King said, ‘Don’t talk to him.’
Kerr ignored him. She kept staring at Ward, unblinking. ‘Just be sure you’re making the right decision.’
Violetta said, ‘Shut up.’
King reached over to turn Kerr’s head away.
Before he could, she whispered, ‘Think it over.’
She winked at Ward.
King shoved her against the passenger door, hard enough to silence her. The smugness remained, wafting through the cabin. She was so sure of herself, despite her circumstances. So confident it would all work out.
King had a moment of crippling self-doubt.
Is this the right call?
What are we doing here?
The primal part of his brain told him that he and Slater should have relied on old-fashioned methods. It had served them well in the past. The quintessential frontal assault, tapping into their superhuman reflexes that made them extreme outliers compared to your average combatants. They’d stormed strongholds, terrorist camps … hell, they’d even mowed through dozens of mercenaries on an icebreaker ship in Russia, commandeered by forces intent on kickstarting a third World War.
But every time they’d done it in the past there’d been nothing to lose except their own lives.
If they stormed the warehouse like charging bulls, Alexis would die.
Restraint had to be used.
Tact had to be implemented.
That was the only way forward.
But now King’s heart was in his throat. He was re-evaluating, recalculating, factoring in Gloria Kerr seeing right through the shtick. Did it matter if she knew? She was as interested in staying alive as the rest of them, so it probably didn’t. She’d willingly keep quiet so she could get handed back over to Ray, a man who served her and trusted her. There was a clear path to her own freedom in front of her, but could she be trusted to take it? Would she self-implode and bring her kidnappers down with her just to be petty?
King didn’t think so.
The surrounding lights grew further interspersed until there was almost nothing but dark desert in every direction. King pulled off Blue Diamond Road, and the overhead streetlights along the roadway fell away. Now there was only the occasional light amidst the industrial zone, the whole neighbourhood quiet for the night, the machinery powered down, the workers having returned to their homes and their families.
A hot wind blew.
Violetta said, ‘Here.’
King turned into a smaller street within the community. Dormant buildings loomed on all sides — blue silhouettes against a black starry background.
One building had exterior lights on.
A warehouse, stuffed between two larger compounds, eerie in its isolation. Bulbs on the outer awnings bled weak spheres of overlapping light across the largely empty lot out front. There were a couple of black SUVs nosed up to parking spaces — brand-new, King noted, but scuffed and dirtied to look older and blend into the surroundings.
Pretending Ward was still a prisoner against his will, King said, ‘Alan, is this it?’
Ward nodded reluctantly.
Violetta said, ‘He nodded.’
King slowed to a crawl and inched his way forward.
Further details became apparent.
Namely, the presence of a big old man out front, holding a gun to the head of a younger woman.
There was no one else in sight.
King thought, Please show restraint, Slater.
This can all still go smoothly.
He pulled to a halt in front of the warehouse.
52
Slater showed restraint, alright.
He refused to do anything that might jeopardise his cover. Outside of that…
Well, things were a little more flexible.
He used night-vision goggles to ensure no one had eyes o
n him in the dark as he stuck to the shadows of West Gary Avenue. The wonders of common GPS technology installed on every current smartphone allowed him to memorise a grid view of Arden beforehand. There was a silenced MP5 sub-machine gun strapped to his back, but he had no intention of using it. The Ka-Bar combat knife in a thigh holster on the outside of his khakis would do the trick.
Knives were quiet. Guns were loud. A suppressor is effective, but doesn’t come close to what it’s like in the movies. There’s still a visceral cough — which, in a place like this, would alert everyone in the vicinity to his presence.
This was what he’d always wanted. Detachment from the main objective, uninvolved in the trade itself, free to find openings and weaken Ray’s forces however he could before the swap went down and everything turned to chaos.
That was his only purpose tonight.
Stay quiet. Stay mobile. Eliminate any and all targets without sounding the alarm.
Simple enough.
These boys didn’t have his training.
He swept every corner, every nook and cranny of his field of view. The goggles turned everything to shimmering grayscale, punctuating any sort of movement amidst the scenery. He found nothing. He knew Ray was somewhat competent, so there’d be at least a couple of scouts manning the back of the warehouse, spread out across Arden, but they weren’t this far out.
No matter.
Onward.
He turned into the property of a concrete contractor, most of the space taken up by mountainous towers of rusted construction piping. He moved through the steel wasteland without making so much as a footfall.
He crouch-ran to the closest pile — at least four times taller than he was at its apex — and leant an inch around the corner.
The feed from his goggles flared with light.
He retreated back behind cover, slow and smooth, making no sudden movements. Not an ounce of panic displayed in his gestures. Safe behind the pipes, he replayed the last five seconds of his life in excruciating detail, and came to the right conclusion.