by Matt Rogers
‘Because you never back down from a challenge — i.e. recovering from colossal hangovers every morning — but now you have one less daily challenge to concern yourself with.’
Alexis said, ‘Do you ever get the urge to fall back into it?’
Honest.
Genuinely curious.
‘On nights like these,’ Slater said, ‘sure.’
She nodded her understanding.
He turned to King. ‘But you said it best. The daily challenge. Sometimes I like nights like this. Sometimes I only feel right when my brain is screaming at me to do one thing and I force myself to do another.’
‘That’s our careers,’ King said. ‘That’s our lives. Summed up in a sentence.’
Alexis said, ‘Please don’t go back to that. I like you how you are.’
He smiled. ‘I won’t. Trust me.’
It felt odd, this brief reprieve of conversation that had nothing to do with bent DAs and violent pimps and corrupt cops and Central American gangbangers. It was far too normal in the midst of an operation, and all three of them experienced the same unease in turn. Silence settled in. King busied himself with meal preparation, pretending there were tasks that needed completing on the other side of the kitchen. It allowed Slater to reach out and take Alexis’ hand with a modicum of privacy.
He said, ‘I’m happy you’re here.’
She put her arms around him. ‘Me too.’
Then Violetta barrelled into the house with a blindfolded Melanie Kerr in tow.
63
King looked up from cutting thin strips of grass-fed beef.
He said, ‘You’re bleeding.’
Violetta kept one hand on Melanie’s shoulder and put her gun down on the kitchen island so she could probe the back of her own head. She felt the blonde hair damp with blood, now matted to her skull. She winced as she studied the drops on her fingertips.
‘Gates hit me,’ she said. ‘Hard.’
He went to her, scrutinised the gash behind her ear, and breathed out. ‘It’s superficial. You’ll be okay.’
Violetta looked shaky.
He said, ‘Did it knock you out? Are you concussed?’
She said, ‘I don’t think so. Just rattled.’
‘And Gates?’
She drew a hand across her throat.
Pride stirred in his chest.
One less thug to worry about.
King kissed her quietly on the forehead, then led the still-blindfolded Melanie over to an empty stool, a few feet away from Slater and Alexis. He planted her down and reached for the blindfold.
Before he got to it, she said, ‘I know your voice.’
He lifted the cloth away from her eyes.
She blinked hard against the harsh white light and looked around. Noted King, noted Slater, didn’t recognise Alexis.
She said, ‘I knew it.’
King said, ‘It’s been a minute.’
‘That was all a setup, wasn’t it?’
‘We saved your life by pushing you out of that car.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You didn’t want to hang around for what came after.’
‘I heard what happened,’ Melanie said. ‘I’m fifteen but I’m not stupid. You killed all those guys. Armando told me.’
‘Armando’s not going to tell you much of anything anymore.’
‘He wasn’t a bad guy,’ Melanie said.
Violetta said, ‘You already said that.’
‘Only to you. I wanted them to hear it.’
King threw his hands up in the air. ‘You’ve sold us. We’ll bring him back from the dead and apologise.’
The lackadaisical nature of his tone seemed to stir something in her. She’d been putting on a decent performance but now it fell away, replaced by all the emotion she should have been experiencing from the jump. Sitting in some expensive kitchen in the presence of her four abductors, ruminating on the death of her illegitimate boss, sick to her stomach by the thought of not making it out of here alive … it all blended together.
She lowered her head to the island bench and sobbed.
King sat down next to her.
Opened his mouth to speak.
Violetta walked over and put a hand on his chest.
He didn’t follow through with what he was going to say.
Beside them, Melanie sobbed harder.
Violetta jerked her head to the side.
Allow me.
King got the message and stood up. Went over to Slater and Alexis, letting Violetta take his seat.
She put a hand on Melanie’s upper back and rubbed, slow and smooth.
‘It’s okay,’ Violetta said. ‘You’re okay.’
Saliva fell from the corners of Melanie’s mouth to the kitchen tiles. She looked up with brimming red eyes. ‘Please don’t hurt me. Please. I … I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do.’
‘We don’t want anything from you,’ Violetta said. ‘Just breathe.’
Melanie tried.
In and out, long and full.
It didn’t fix much.
But it calmed her down enough so she didn’t hyperventilate and make things worse.
Violetta gave her a full minute to wind down. To recognise that she wasn’t in imminent danger. To realise that even though King and Slater looked like two of the most fearsome people in Vegas, they were standing well back, their hands down, their mannerisms harmless. No one was going to beat her or strangle her or kill her.
Eventually Violetta said, ‘What do you know about your mother?’
Melanie started crying again.
Alexis put a hand on Slater’s thigh, silently asking, Should we give them privacy?
Slater put his own hand over Alexis’ and kept it there. Silently responding. No. I need to hear this.
Alexis understood.
Slater had personal ties to this depraved industry.
King stood motionless, watching Melanie.
Finally Melanie said, ‘I know she’s involved with some bad stuff.’
‘Like what you were doing for work?’
Melanie looked up, and King saw her eyes were clear as day. No longer blunted by substances. No suppression when intrusive thoughts came in. Just the truth, staring her in the face, flawed and honest.
Melanie said, ‘I don’t know much about what she does.’
‘You knew she was involved in Wan’s?’
Melanie nodded. ‘Loosely. She’s … how do I put this? … she’s not really my mother.’
King froze.
Violetta masked her confusion.
Melanie followed up with, ‘I mean, biologically, she is. But we’ve never had a connection or anything. There’s nothing there. I’ve always treated Dad like he’s my only parent. My mother is like my boss, I guess.’
‘How did you get involved in the first place?’
‘One of Mom’s friends. He always seemed like a cool dude. Like the uncle you see at Thanksgiving who you always treat like one of the kids. You know they do things the other adults frown upon, and that’s what draws you in.’
‘Keith Ray or Alastair Icke?’ Violetta said.
Melanie paused. Looked over. ‘Alastair. How’d you know?’
‘A hunch. Go on.’
King looked over at Violetta like, Who the hell is Alastair Icke?
64
Violetta didn’t so much as return his gaze, let alone answer.
She was zoned in, prying the girl for information.
Melanie continued, ‘Yeah, well, he seemed cool at the time. Always had a lot of money. He’d rock up in a new car every month. Always treated Mom like shit, too, which I guess made me more fascinated. That’s harsh of me, I’m sorry…’
‘Say it like it is,’ Violetta said. ‘None of us are judging.’
Melanie said, ‘He started talking to me every time I came to the house. I could tell he wanted me … like that. I’d never done that sort of thing. I mean, I’d thought about it, but it w
as only to piss Mom off. I wanted to do anything to make her hate me. I don’t know why.’
‘You said you never had a relationship with her,’ Violetta said. ‘So you wanted something, right? Hate is better than ignorance. At least it’s an emotion. At least she’d be feeling something.’
Melanie stared at her like she was a prophet. ‘Uh, yeah. That’s right.’ A pause. ‘You’re good at this…’
Violetta said, ‘Go on.’
Melanie said, ‘I knew Alastair was some big-shot judge, and that made me more curious, and then he said I should come hang out with him one night. I could see in Mom’s eyes it was the first time she’d really felt uncomfortable about something I was doing. Which I loved. So I went with him, and he took me to Wan’s and let me have whatever I wanted. Drinks, drugs, you name it. I’ve had a few rowdy parties since I started high school, but nothing that made me feel as good as that. And he honestly left me alone after that, so I felt comfortable. I think it was, like … a power thing. He didn’t want me physically. He just wanted to get to my mom by introducing me to … you know.’
‘So you got comfortable there?’
Melanie half-nodded. ‘I met Armando. I met a few of the girls. They all seemed to like what they did. It was the drugs, I’m sure. They pumped me full of them too. Those cocktails Armando always made for me … I still don’t know what was in them. Fuck, they made me feel good, though. I’d have one of those, and it was like, nothing else mattered in the whole world. I didn’t have to think about anything else, or worry about anything. I guess that’s what addiction is, right? Yeah, shit. Now that I think about it…’
Violetta stayed quiet.
Melanie said, ‘When I wasn’t at Wan’s I couldn’t think about anything except those cocktails. They were liquid magic. The rest of my life just became a countdown until I could clock off from school and get my hands on one of them. Then it was back to bliss.’
That’s heroin, Violetta thought.
Orally ingesting the opioid was far less potent than injecting it, but it’d still hook her like nothing else, especially if Gates dissolved cocaine in the cocktails too. There’d be no instantaneous rush from the heroin due to the deacetylation of consuming it in a drink, but the hit of the coke would put her on top of the world until the dope caught hold and washed her downstream. It was the infamous “speedball” concoction, a blend of extreme uppers and downers, creating the perfect synergistic high that was responsible for countless deaths by accidental overdose.
Violetta replayed Gates’ death in her mind.
Pulling that trigger, again and again and again.
She relished it.
For Melanie, it was pouring out. Revelations on top of revelations. What had been bottled up inside her was spewing forth — all she had to do was vocalise it — and now she could instantly understand what happened to her. She was a smart kid. Not many people her age would have put it together. The addiction spiral to get her hooked, the money to keep her around, the never-ending stream of substances to entrap her. It was impossible enough for a fully functioning adult to break a hard drug habit, let alone an impressionable teenager.
Melanie shuddered. ‘I never want to go back to that place again.’
‘You won’t,’ Violetta said. ‘Gates isn’t around to watch over you anymore.’
‘What about Alastair?’
For the first time in a while, King spoke up. ‘Violetta, what about Alastair?’
Violetta looked at him, like, Not now.
King went quiet.
Violetta said, ‘He’s being taken care of.’
A pause.
Violetta took a deep breath.
She said, ‘Melanie, do you hate your mother?’
Melanie looked at the floor. ‘I don’t know.’
‘We have some flexibility over what we should do with her,’ Violetta said. ‘We’re still debating it.’
‘Don’t kill her.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ Violetta said. ‘I’m asking you what you want to do. No traps. No strings attached. Just the truth.’
Melanie didn’t respond.
For close to five minutes.
The clock ticked. Violetta seemed to be suppressing some sort of urgency — she started tapping her foot against the stool, then stopped. King noticed. He wondered what the stakes were, but he didn’t dare speak. He recognised the preciousness of Melanie’s open nature. It might not last much longer. They had to take advantage of it for every second it was there.
After what seemed an eternity, Melanie said, ‘I see it now.’
‘You see what?’
‘Mom was like me with those cocktails.’
Violetta said nothing.
Waited for an elaboration.
Melanie said, ‘I didn’t even realise what I was doing because my whole thought process revolved around those goddamn drinks and what was in them. You know? There was no time to think, Hey, maybe I shouldn’t be doing things to old men for money. Maybe I should be in school more, instead of keeping Armando company. Maybe I don’t like what I’m doing. As soon as all those thoughts started creeping in I’d have a Long Island made by Gates and they’d vanish again for another twenty-four hours. The never-ending cycle.’
Violetta stayed quiet.
Melanie said, ‘That’s the cycle Mom’s trapped in, but her thoughts revolve around making sure Alastair doesn’t hurt her family.’
King felt sick.
The world was a gross place.
You couldn’t take anything at face value.
‘I’m not saying she’s a good person,’ Melanie said. ‘She isn’t. She let things happen to me and to her that should never have happened. I think…’
‘What?’ Violetta said.
‘I think she’s weak. She acts all tough but it’s just an act. Really she’s scared.’
Silence.
‘I don’t want her to get hurt,’ Melanie said. ‘But at the same time I don’t know if I can forgive her.’
‘Wait here, honey,’ Violetta said. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She got off the stool, beckoned for King and Slater to follow, and led them to a spare room on the ground floor. Behind them, King saw Alexis go to Melanie and console her, putting Melanie’s head against her chest and letting her sob.
Violetta stepped into the command centre and closed the door. She didn’t seem to want to turn the overhead lights on so she hit the space bar on the keyboard and the flood of screens lit up, bathing them in artificial light.
She found Slater staring, his eyes ablaze with rage.
He said, ‘Point me in the direction of Alastair Icke and give me a gun.’
She said, ‘It’s your lucky day.’
65
The car was a capsule of stress.
Gloria Kerr sat in the back seat, shaking, sweating. She didn’t dare risk the interior lights, so she sat in darkness, swiping at her glowing phone screen. Dutiful, loyal Eddie — one of the men beat to shit at her office complex earlier that day — had showed up with the ride, already having fixed a fresh set of plates before arriving. He’d dropped it off for her after she’d rung him from a payphone, then he’d walked away, melding into the night so she couldn’t see the extent of the damage to his mangled nose for long.
She’d driven less than half a mile before her phone lit up with: Melanie. Then her worst nightmares came true over the course of a two-minute conversation.
After that she’d parked in the middle of nowhere, enshrouded by dormant buildings, and got in the back seat.
She wasn’t sure why.
It’d be easier to make a quick getaway if she didn’t have to peel herself out of the rear seats. But she was panicking, and people do stupid things when they’re not thinking straight.
She couldn’t think straight to save her life.
Trying not to hyperventilate was difficult enough. It was easy to play cool, calm and collected when your family were off-limits. Now everything was different.
It had all changed.
She hovered her thumb over Icke’s contact name and held her breath.
Which didn’t help.
She inhaled, exhaled, and dialled.
The phone shook in her hands — not from its own vibration.
She steadied her nerves — and her fingers — as best she could.
On loudspeaker, the ringing ceased and Icke said, ‘Yeah?’
‘Change of plans,’ she said. ‘Don’t kill them yet.’
‘Why?’ he said. ‘I’m pulling in now. What’s the hold up?’
‘I need to speak to one of them.’
Silence.
Kerr said, ‘You still there?’
‘Of course I’m still here,’ Icke said. ‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’
‘Elsa Bell,’ Kerr said. ‘Josefine’s daughter.’
‘Whose daughter?’
‘The woman from today. In the courts.’
‘Ah,’ Icke said. ‘Isn’t that a cruel twist of fate? Deal with them both in one day. Send the mother away and bury the daughter. That poor husband.’
He laughed.
The sickest sound in the world.
Something strange struck Kerr, twisting her insides. She hesitated, momentarily terrified she was having a heart attack. But it subsided after the initial stab, and became an unending falling sensation in her gut, like going over the drop on a rollercoaster. It took her longer than it should have to decipher it.
It was guilt, shame, disgust — all rolled into one.
Sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
She’d been associating with this creep for so long now. She couldn’t remember the normal days anymore. He’d taken advantage of her physically, emotionally, spiritually.
No, she told herself. That’s weak. You always had a choice.
You’re no better than he is.
She suppressed the urge to vomit. It’d kill the conversational timing, and she couldn’t afford it.
He said, ‘Are you still there?’
She said, ‘Yeah. Sorry. Shitty reception.’
‘So what do you want?’ he said. ‘What do you need to know?’