by Matt Rogers
‘I’ve picked up a new lead,’ she said. ‘Josefine might know more than we think. She can still talk from prison. She can get lawyers. I need to know what Elsa told her mother.’
Icke said, ‘Easy. I’ll kill the other two and get everything out of Elsa. Trust me on that. Now go back to bed.’
‘No,’ Kerr hissed.
Everything hung in the balance.
Icke paused. ‘What are you not telling me?’
‘Alastair…’
‘Have you forgotten everything I have on you?’ Icke said. ‘Are you ashamed now? Thinking maybe the body count shouldn’t be quite so high?’
Kerr closed her eyes.
As if that could stop him seeing into her soul.
She said, ‘Kill the bitches. See if I care. I’m just trying to cover for you.’
‘Why exactly do you need to be the one to talk to her?’
‘Because you’ll go about it your way,’ Kerr said. ‘It’s the only way you know, and it’s effective, but you’ll only break her. She’ll give you anything to stop the pain. There’s no guarantee it’ll be accurate.’
‘She’s a teenager,’ Icke said. ‘She’s not that smart, or that brave.’
‘Why risk it? I can be there in half an hour. I’ll talk to her — woman to woman. I’ll play nice. She’ll do what I say.’
‘Because my hangover’s already kicking in and I want this wrapped up fast.’
Kerr said, ‘When did you get sloppy? I thought you were better than this.’
Silence.
The rollercoaster drop got steeper.
Kerr thought, Did I offend him? Have I lost him?
Then Melanie’s fate was sealed.
Granted, Icke had sealed her fate long ago by introducing her to Wan’s and then relentlessly threatening Gloria not to interfere.
But Kerr had always hoped for a light at the end of the tunnel.
Had she just snuffed it out?
She got desperate.
She said, ‘How’s the wife?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘If the bedroom’s still dead,’ Kerr said, ‘I can do that routine you like.’
He hesitated. ‘Go on.’
She said, ‘You know what I’m talking about. After I get the information out of Elsa and we deal with those three brats. Right there in the office, I can rock your world.’
He grunted.
He said, ‘Thirty minutes. If you’re not there by then, I’ll start interrogating Elsa without you.’
She said, ‘You got it.’
He said, ‘See you soon, baby.’
She hung up and lowered her face to the back of the driver’s seat. She brought her head back and smacked her forehead into the cotton material, and the foam beneath. She did it three consecutive times, until a splitting headache came to life.
She deserved nothing less.
She let herself cry for thirty seconds, then cut it off and rang Melanie’s number back.
66
King and Slater no longer had their old government connections.
They no longer had the backing of a global superpower’s defence budget behind them.
They couldn’t pick up the phone and order whatever they wanted. For the near future, their arsenal was limited to what civilians could get their hands on. Thankfully, a small percentage of the population were batshit insane, so civilians could get their hands on some mighty impressive gear.
Slater floored the Rezvani Tank — a “tactical urban vehicle” with a starting price of $269,000 — out of the concealed corner of the garage. They’d express-shipped one of the beasts to their estate upon purchasing the house, simply because you could buy it at the drop of a hat off a website, no questions asked. It was the “Military Edition,” complete with ballistics armour, a 1,000 horsepower V8 engine, “RunFlat” tyres, Kevlar coating on the battery and the fuel tank, and sickeningly large ram bumpers.
Why a civilian would need one was lost on Slater, but if you needed to storm a compound east of Las Vegas owned by a bent judge and guarded by ex-Special Forces private security contractors … well, you were in luck.
He drove, and King had Violetta on loudspeaker.
She and Alexis had opted to remain at the estate and safeguard Melanie on the off chance that the remnants of Gates’ or Ray’s forces had tracked her from Wan’s.
King and Slater, as per usual, were on the frontlines.
Over the phone, Violetta said, ‘I got a follow-up call from Kerr. She’s on our side.’
‘She’s a snake,’ King said. ‘There’s no way she’s telling the truth.’
‘I know when she’s lying,’ Violetta said. ‘She couldn’t fake what I heard from her.’
‘She damn well could. That’s the whole point.’
‘Trust me, Jason.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘That she’s stalled Icke. We’ve got thirty minutes before he starts in on Elsa and the others.’
‘The others?’
‘Elsa’s being kept alongside two other teenagers. From what I gathered, all three of them have been in the complex for months. Part of some deal to sell them overseas.’
‘Overseas?’
‘Icke’s expanding his operation,’ Violetta said. ‘He has considerable influence, and he’s decided to start using it to go international. Elsa’s part of the first deal, because of the trouble with her mother. She had too much heat on her for them to keep using her at Wan’s.’
King grimaced. ‘They’ve been prisoners this whole time?’
‘Kerr said they’re untouched,’ Violetta said. ‘We got lucky. Icke wanted to preserve them for the buyers, whoever they are.’
Slater went white-knuckled gripping the wheel.
Riding out the anger.
King said, ‘You’ve sent through the address?’
Violetta said, ‘It’s in your messages. How’s Will’s ankle?’
‘Fine,’ Slater said.
‘I’d say twenty percent,’ King said. ‘He’s not going to be able to walk for a week after tonight.’
Slater said, ‘I know what adrenaline does. I’ll be fine.’
‘And if it takes all night?’ Violetta said. ‘If you need to defend the complex from reinforcements?’
‘Then I’ll bunker down and shoot it out.’
‘And if you need to move in a hurry?’
‘Then I’ll cut my foot off so it stops bothering me,’ he said, only half-joking.
‘You don’t need to storm in there,’ she said. ‘You can take them by surprise.’
‘I seriously doubt that,’ King said. ‘After everything that’s unfolded over the last forty-eight hours, everyone’s going to be on their guard.’
Violetta said, ‘It’s tense, but there’s confusion. They’re not going to shoot anyone who shows up on sight.’
‘They might.’
She said, ‘Trust me.’
He thought about it.
Realised he agreed with her.
King said, ‘I do.’
‘If there’s a way to minimise casualties,’ she said, ‘I think it’s best that—’
‘Violetta.’
She stopped.
He said, ‘That’s not what this is.’
He’d made up his mind. He was allergic to this world. No one who knowingly guarded over teenage girls and boys destined for sex trafficking deserved even a moment’s mercy. He wouldn’t consider it. There was no need to make it more complicated than it already was — if King let them live, there’d be the matter of who to hand them to and still ensure unbiased prosecution and conviction. Were Ray and Kerr and Icke outliers, or was there more to it than the trifecta of corruption?
It haunted him when he thought too long about it — just how effectively a trio of evil people could manipulate the system.
A sheriff to arrest who they wanted, a DA to prosecute who they wanted, and a judge to sentence who they wanted.
Find. Charg
e. Convict.
A three step process as simple as clockwork.
Or to go the other way, as was the case with Armando Gates. A sheriff to ignore distraught witnesses and informants, a DA to ignore prosecutions, and a judge to ignore sentencing. If they wormed themselves into the right positions, they could spend most of their time pursuing the leads and cases that kept their secret business untouched.
Blind in the eyes of the law.
The ultimate betrayal of justice.
Violating everything the system was built on.
King said, ‘I won’t be merciful. I’m asking you not to hold it against me.’
‘Asking?’
‘I’m not going to tell you what to think,’ he said. ‘But this is the way it’s going to go.’
She sighed. ‘Okay. Get it done.’
Slater’s eyes stayed fixed on the road.
King said, ‘How’s Melanie?’
‘Not good,’ Violetta said. ‘She’s tucked up in bed. She almost had a breakdown after you left. She was objective with herself when she was letting it all out, but there’s consequences to being so harsh on yourself. She’s reeling from everything she let Gates do to her, now that she sees it in a different light. That’s the way it always goes. It has to get worse before it gets better.’
‘If you were right about the cocktails, she’ll be going through withdrawals.’
‘Not tonight,’ Violetta said. ‘Her eyes were blurry when I got to Wan’s. When I abducted her the adrenaline got rid of the high and replaced it with a different kind, but the stuff’s still in her system, even if it’s faint. If she gets withdrawals they’ll start tomorrow.’
‘She’ll get them,’ Slater said with the conviction of a man who had a rocky past relationship with drugs. ‘I had them with alcohol, for God’s sakes. If Gates was feeding her heroin this whole time, it’ll be hell.’
‘She’ll get through it,’ Violetta said. ‘She’s tough.’
‘I wouldn’t be tough enough for heroin withdrawals,’ Slater said, which said a lot. ‘We need to keep an eye on her.’
‘And then what?’ Violetta said.
King didn’t answer.
Neither did Slater.
Violetta said, ‘We have to be objective. This isn’t something we can keep doing. She can’t stay with us forever. What sort of example would we be setting for ourselves? That we take on board everyone who needs our help? We’ll be leading a cult before long. That’s not what we do.’
From an outsider’s perspective, it was harsh.
But it was the truth.
It’s a messy world, King thought.
He said, ‘I’ve got a plan.’
‘You do?’ she said.
‘Well, I’ve got the foundations of one. I’m working on it.’
‘Care to share?’
‘Not yet. It might sound insane.’
‘What doesn’t?’
King said, ‘Let’s make sure we get through the night first. Then we’ll talk about Melanie.’
‘And Elsa,’ Slater said. ‘And Josefine sitting in a cell. And the other kids.’
King sighed.
Violetta said, ‘It’ll be an awful lot of baggage.’
‘That’s what we signed up for,’ King said. ‘How long do we have?’
‘Eighteen minutes according to Gloria’s clock.’
King hung up.
‘Step on it,’ he said.
Slater complied.
67
To put it lightly, Icke wasn’t feeling good.
He kept shovelling fresh chewing tobacco into his gums, packing it in over the old saliva-drenched excess. Intermittently he’d spit a wad of the gunk into the trash can beside his desk, but he was chasing an unreachable high — his tolerance nowadays was something fierce, and he’d peaked on the back porch earlier that night. Through the half-hungover haze he recalled one of his Ataraxia boys ranting about something called “snus” — Swedish tobacco pouches packing a godly amount of nicotine.
Ataraxia, he thought, and laughed to himself.
The name always tickled his fancy.
Ataraxia Security was the private firm he’d used a shell company to purchase in a hostile takeover one year prior. Ex-SF operatives, serious players in the post-military civilian world, most of which had come to work for him after the buyout — no questions asked, no task too dirty. He chalked it up to an overall nihilism following their stints overseas. The realisation that the world is a dark place and that war is hell. After that, life often becomes meaningless, and a small chunk of highly skilled veterans were willing to do anything for a quick dollar, so they went into what they loosely described as “security.”
Always for the wrong people.
Always with a guilty conscience.
Ataraxia was what humoured Icke. A word used by the Epicureans in ancient times to represent peace, stillness and tranquility. He wondered if any of the men that served him ever truly thought about that, compared it to what they were actually doing.
He was sure they’d find a way to align the two.
People can justify anything.
Justification was a messy thing. He’d never given it a moment’s thought. The key to life, he figured.
His mind was wandering again. He stabbed a button on his phone because he didn’t have the energy to make it downstairs.
Bowman answered. ‘Yes, boss?’
‘You got snus on you?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Bring it up here.’
‘You said not to disturb—’
‘I changed my mind.’
He hung up.
Less than a minute later Jack Bowman appeared in the doorway, quiet as a mouse. He walked in and cast a glance off to the side, a slightly uncomfortable one. Icke thought, What’s that about?
He looked over.
Oh, yeah.
Elsa Bell sat cross-legged in the corner, her wrist handcuffed, the handcuff itself clamped on a radiator. Physically unharmed, but mentally distraught. Icke could see it on her face. She was a shell of the bright bubbly girl he’d scooped off the street months ago, but the buyers weren’t looking for bright and bubbly personalities, so that didn’t matter. They wanted flesh and flesh alone.
Bowman said, ‘What’s she in here for?’
Icke looked at his watch. ‘In exactly thirteen minutes I’m going to start getting answers from her.’
‘About what?’
Icke raised his eyes. ‘None of your business. Where’s the snus?’
Bowman was as slimy as he was ambitious. He tried to pass off the illusion of purity — for example, the grimace he’d sent in Elsa’s direction despite the fact he’d been the one guarding her the whole time — but it was all a ruse to climb the invisible ladder. He wanted power, he wanted a rep. He thought Icke was the fast-track to both. Icke didn’t care to enlighten the man as to the fact he’d be out on the street the moment he asked for a raise or a promotion.
Icke wasn’t here to distribute favours.
This was business.
Bowman handed over the plastic tub labelled “SIBERIA — EXTREMELY STRONG” and Icke fished out three pouches and crammed them into his upper gums. “Upper deckers,” he thought he remembered. They burned like hell.
‘Careful,’ Bowman said. ‘They’re strong.’
Icke rolled his eyes. ‘I think I’ll survive.’
Bowman shifted from foot to foot. ‘I think we should discuss—’
‘I’m done with you,’ Icke said, handing the tin back. ‘Gloria called ahead — she’s paranoid about getting intercepted. She wants a security cordon to accompany her for the final stretch. God knows why, but I’ll humour her. I’m in a giving mood. Take Ricardo, Usman and Jesse with you out to North Racetrack Road and wait for her to show.’
Bowman hesitated. ‘That’s unnecessary. It’s quiet out here.’
‘Did I ask for your opinion?’
Bowman nodded his understanding and walked out.
/> It had been at least a minute since Icke had packed the snus in. Still nothing. He pitched back in the desk chair and closed his eyes. Elsa’s shallow breathing was all that punctuated the quiet. It was a beautiful sound.
The nicotine hit him.
Hard.
His head spun.
He bathed in the buzz for as long as he dared, then opened his eyes and checked his watch.
Across the room, Elsa stared with a mixture of resignation and fear. Still fear, after all this time. You only feel fear if you still have hope. Most of his prisoners gave up within the first week. She was stronger than the rest.
Wouldn’t matter.
Icke tapped the watch face and smiled, looking at her for the first time.
She cowered away.
‘Ten minutes, Elsa,’ he said, head in the clouds. ‘Then I’m picking that delicate brain of yours.’
68
Slater said, ‘I don’t like the cautious approach.’
King checked his phone, noted a text message from Violetta.
Kerr called again. She lured four of Icke’s best men out to North Racetrack Road under the guise of a security cordon. She didn’t need to do that. She’s turned on him.
Doesn’t change what she’s done, King thought. Doesn’t change who she is.
But it was progress, and sometimes that’s all you can ask for.
King relayed the text, then said, ‘The battering ram approach is the same situation as Ray’s warehouse. It could get the hostages killed.’
‘Icke’s not as impulsive as Ray.’
‘Didn’t know you knew either of them.’
‘They’re all degenerates,’ Slater said. ‘I’ve been on both sides of that particular border. I know what it does to you. Ray was always a small time player in the big league. Icke runs the league. He can’t afford to be as rash.’
‘You managed to balance it well enough,’ King said. ‘You spent most of your early career under the influence. You didn’t let it compromise you.’
Slater said, ‘I went dead sober on the ops, and then made the rest of my life a blur so I didn’t have to think too hard about what I was doing to my body and my health. I’m sure Icke can do the same when it comes down to crunch time. He’ll be level-headed tonight.’