by Matt Rogers
‘You probably have a million questions,’ King said. ‘Like — why was I carried out of here under police escort? Why have I come back looking like I’ve been through World War Three? What did I do to warrant all of that effort? Why would I return when I made the hotel look bad?’
‘You’re quite right, sir,’ the man said. ‘I can’t help but find myself curious.’
King pointed at the wad of money littering the unblemished marble surface of the desk. ‘That’s all yours. I’d like my stuff back that I left in the penthouse. I’d like a room for the night — the cheapest one you have. And I’d like to not have to answer any questions. Can that be arranged?’
‘Sir, I may have to contact the authorities before—’
‘No need for that.’
‘Were you released from the station?’
‘You bet. It was all one big misunderstanding.’
The man sighed. He sensed the sardonic nature of the tone, but King had communicated what he wanted clearly, effectively, and decisively. There was no room for interpretation. He wanted to be left alone, and he didn’t want to bother anyone else. And money always held some level of influence.
So the receptionist tapped a few keys, clicked a few times with the mouse, withdrew a keycard from a drawer next to him and slid the wad of cash into the same drawer.
‘No more trouble, okay?’ the guy said.
‘You won’t hear from me again,’ King said. ‘Thanks for your co-operation.’
‘Third floor. You’re in a two-bedroom suite.’
‘Appreciated.’
The receptionist retreated into a back room for a moment, then came back with an expensive-looking sports bag.
‘Everything should be in here,’ he said. ‘We cleaned out the room after your hasty departure and put all your belongings in this bag. We hadn’t got around to delivering them to the police station yet.’
Lucky you didn’t, King thought.
He took the bag, nodded his thanks and led Raul into the same spacious elevator.
‘This is crazy, man,’ Raul said. ‘Some people live like this?’
‘This is a luxury resort, so nobody lives here,’ King said. ‘But yes, people live like this. Elsewhere.’
Raul glanced around. ‘You said you were staying here…’
‘I was. Until all this happened.’
‘Are you rich, Jason?’
King hesitated. Then he decided to tell the truth. ‘Yes. I have enough money to not have to work for the rest of my life.’
‘From being a soldier?’
‘Soldiers don’t make that kind of money.’
‘But you did?’
‘I was one of a handful of men. We were basically thrown to the wolves for ten years straight. And we were compensated as a result.’
‘I think I would want to be rich,’ Raul said. ‘If it means living like this. I would sign up.’
‘No you wouldn’t, Raul,’ King said. ‘If you knew what I’ve done, you definitely wouldn’t.’
He recalled times when bullets had shredded his limbs, when third-world dictators had tortured him for days on end, when his life had been nothing but a constant raging battle to simply stay alive. Often — when he looked back on it — he couldn’t believe the things he’d achieved. The fact that he was alive today was something of a miracle. But he knew he possessed a gift — the reaction speed that had yet to fail saving him from death. He’d used it to forge a path of destruction through terrorist organisations and drug cartels and hired mercenaries.
Now, he wanted nothing more than to avoid reckless situations.
It was about time to hide from them.
But not yet.
Raul needed him. He’d been nothing but a low-level drug dealer with his heart in the right place. Now he was facing the loss of his brother and the potential loss of the rest of his family. He’d helped King escape from El Infierno. So King would help him make things right.
Or at least try to.
But there was more to it than that. If that had been the sole motivation keeping him attached to Venezuela, he might have ignored it and fled. It was about time he took his own interests into account instead of desperately battling to help others.
But Rico infuriated him.
He couldn’t force the man’s expression out of his mind. The way he’d slaughtered Percy and shot Luis. The way he’d thrown King into El Infierno with little regard to his own survival. King clenched his fists as the elevator rode smoothly to the third floor.
He would not stop until the man was dead.
Sometimes, a lifetime of experience in killing proved useful.
They walked down a corridor with antique side tables and plush carpet and exquisitely decorated wallpaper. Raul continued to flick his gaze between each individual object in turn, struggling to comprehend such decadence.
King unlocked the door to a plainly-furnished hotel room, similar to many he’d seen before. The cheapest rooms in luxury hotels all looked the same. Kept clean, freshly maintained, but nothing was there that didn’t need to be. Nevertheless, it was probably the nicest place Raul had stayed in. Especially after a year in the hellhole they’d just came from.
‘Can we rest for a bit?’ Raul said, cautious to sit down on his bed and ruin the pristine sheets. His clothes threatened to fall off him at any moment. They were tattered, torn to shreds, muddy and caked with blood and dirt. ‘I can’t keep going much longer.’
‘You need to help me with one thing first.’
‘And that is?’
‘I have personal reasons for helping you out.’
‘You do?’
King nodded. ‘I’m going to find Rico, and kill him.’
Raul scoffed. ‘Your best shot was in El Infierno. He made himself vulnerable by acting as a guard. He had none of his usual securities. Now he will.’
‘I can deal with securities.’
‘No you can’t. You don’t know the Movers like I do.’
‘I’m about to.’
Raul stared at him blankly.
‘You need to show me where your old co-workers operate,’ King said. ‘It’s about time I paid one of them a visit.’
CHAPTER 32
At mid-afternoon, the avenue had come alive with activity. It reminded King of the bazaar where his troubles had first begun. There were no stalls. There was no steam rising from hot grills and loud arguments between haggling customers and determined traders. But the pavement was just as populated. Civilians bustled along the strip, darting in and out of shopfronts and carrying bags of produce over their heads.
Raul had led King here after a half-hour nap. They’d showered one after the other, washing away all the filth and degradation of El Infierno. King had stepped out from under the jet of water feeling like a new man.
He ensured the water was ice cold. He hadn’t had a warm shower in months. The process gave him a temporary boost of energy by increasing his overall oxygen intake.
Short term discomfort for long term benefits.
King was beyond tired, but he didn’t want to sleep. Not just yet. Partially because there was work to be done, and also because he was unsure as to whether he had been concussed during the mayhem of the prison breakout. Going to sleep after a concussion was one of the worst responses. It could lead to death. He knew he had a splitting headache and a shooting pain behind his eyes, and he had yet to determine whether that had come from sleep deprivation or being rattled by a stray punch or kick. Whatever the case, sleep could wait.
Raul had become distant once again.
‘You okay?’ King said.
Raul looked at him. ‘Does it look like it?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m worried, man. What if José’s a dead end?’
‘Then we can use other methods.’
‘Such as?’
‘There’s always other options, Raul. Let’s worry about those later. Don’t overthink it. Your family is probably fine.’
�
�Mamá has her medication. I don’t know if Ana can deal with all of this on her own…’
‘We’ll find them.’
They set off into the crowd. Occasionally, a passerby would rudely bump into King. He ignored it each time. He didn’t want to set off another chain of events and wind up locked behind bars by corrupt prison officials and a psychopathic drug lord.
In fact, he never wanted to experience such a situation ever again.
‘Me and Luis used to deal along here,’ Raul said as they walked. ‘In fact, it’s where we got arrested.’
‘Along here? You never used to go into the tourist district at all?’
‘Look at me, man,’ Raul said. ‘I’m almost your height. I’m imposing. They kept me away from those places. The dealers in that area are pros. They can blend into the tourist crowd. They can look pleasant and approachable. All that shit. I never learnt that.’
‘Maybe that’s why you two got arrested.’
‘Maybe … you know, I thought they would have paid the cops off. Like, don’t interfere with any of the Movers.’
‘They might not have known you were a Mover. They might have thought you were competition and pounced on you for interfering with the territory your gang was paying them to protect.’
‘You think?’
‘Then when they realised you were a Mover, they would have approached Rico. And obviously he had no further use for you. So he let them lock you up.’
‘Piece of shit.’
‘I concur.’
Raul looked ahead and his eyes widened. He changed direction and came to a halt out the front of a food vendor’s truck. The pleasant smell of cooking meat wafted from the opening. Raul pretended to study the menu.
‘There’s one right behind me,’ he said. ‘Loitering out the front of that alley.’
King turned and scanned the pavement inconspicuously, trying not to draw attention to himself. He saw the man Raul was talking about. A guy in a sleeveless vest showing off his muscular arms. He had a mean scar under his right eye and his head was shaved bald. He looked Spanish, with olive skin and pearly white teeth. Tough, but approachable enough to buy drugs off. He had his hands clasped behind his back and he patrolled slowly between each side of the alleyway.
King saw the unmistakeable bulge of a firearm tucked into the side of his waistband. That might pose a problem.
‘You sure?’ he said to Raul. ‘I don’t want to confront the wrong guy.’
‘I’m sure,’ Raul said. ‘He worked for the Movers back when I was around. I saw him every now and then.’
‘You think he’ll recognise you?’
Raul shook his head. ‘Not a chance. I was a nobody. Still am.’
‘Well, here goes…’
He turned on his heel and made straight for the guy. Strolling slowly. Non-threatening, simply curious. He stopped in front of him and surveyed the scene, making a point to linger within just enough range to be noticeable.
The guy perked up. He spoke sharply in Spanish. King turned and feigned curiosity.
‘English?’ he said.
The guy held up a flat palm and tilted it to each side a few times. ‘Little bit.’
‘I’m looking to get high.’
The guy smiled. ‘You come to right place. You tourist?’
King nodded. ‘I’ve got a lot of cash to burn.’
‘What you want?’
‘Whatever you’ve got.’
‘Cocaine?’
King nodded again. ‘Fine by me. How much do you have?’
‘You take what I give. I no have much.’
‘Wonder why that is…’ King muttered, then thundered a fist into the man’s gut.
He’d been surreptitiously advancing as the conversation progressed, leading the man just far enough into the lip of the alley to avoid the attention of most passersby. When he found himself in enough of an isolated position to deal with the guy, he shredded the casual, relaxed demeanour that had baited the Mover. The man had received no warning signs from King, and as a result he’d dropped his guard.
The first punch almost took him off his feet. It drove into the guy’s stomach with enough power behind it to send him skittering back a few feet, shuffling further into the alley.
King’s heart rate skyrocketed. He’d been eager to deliver as much damage as possible with the element of surprise on his side. He’d put everything into the punch. It hadn’t hit the vital organs he’d been aiming for. The guy didn’t double over. He didn’t drop to the ground in a heap. He stayed upright …
… and began reaching for the gun in his waistband.
King had a running start, so he made full use of it. There wasn’t time to reach back for the Taurus tucked into his own waistband. By that point, he’d have a bullet buried in his skull. He had a split second to act.
Without hesitation, he took two steps and launched off one foot, using every shred of athleticism he had. With the other leg he bent at the knee and followed through, swinging it in a scything uppercut. His kneecap smashed into the Mover’s jaw as the guy was fumbling at his belt.
Hands down. Chin exposed. A perfect shot.
The man crumpled, his legs giving out. King landed with a foot on either side of the guy’s motionless body and looked down. The man was now in the throes of unconsciousness. His jaw had cracked under the force of the blow.
King realised he wouldn’t be getting any answers from the man.
‘Shit,’ he whispered.
The plan had been to knock the breath out of the Mover, drag him further into the alley and interrogate him about where Rico was stationed and how exactly to gain access to him. He might have been able to determine the location of Raul’s family, if the Movers had them. The reality meant King had over-reacted and created a situation that drew attention. The frantic movement had caused a couple of pedestrians to swivel their heads, noticing the incident.
He couldn’t stay here.
Swearing at his own ineptitude, he crouched and searched the man’s pockets, moving quickly. He had to get out of here before more eyes reached them. The last thing he wanted was an on-foot police chase through the streets of Maiquetía.
In fact, he didn’t want to see another policeman for the rest of his time in Venezuela.
His search turned up a thick roll of cash and a cheap plastic mobile phone. He slotted both items into his pockets, then turned and retreated out of the alley, leaving the Mover to come to in a dazed stupor, wondering exactly what had happened and where his possessions had gone. King knew his memory would be hazy.
He’d experienced his fair share of severe concussions, including one just a few short months ago in Australia.
That brought back memories of a similarly dangerous situation. It truly seemed that wherever he turned, trouble followed. King scurried out of the alley and blended back into the crowd, cursing his bad luck.
But how many times could he find himself in similar situations and still attribute it to coincidence?
Perhaps he was supposed to do this forever. Maybe violence was attracted to him. Maybe his destiny was to travel the world, righting wrongs, helping those who couldn’t succeed on their own.
He forced the dumb thought from his mind and headed back to the hotel with Raul trailing quietly in his wake.
CHAPTER 33
‘The hell was that?’ Raul said as they stepped back into the hotel lobby.
‘I got a little too aggressive,’ King said.
‘I know. Why? I thought you were some kind of superhuman.’
King glanced at him. ‘Quite the contrary.’
‘You knocked a guy out with a flying knee on your first attempt. That’s not exactly normal…’
‘Just a lot of practice.’
‘Whatever you say, man. You’re crazy.’
‘I wasn’t supposed to do that. He went for a gun and I reacted.’
‘Couldn’t you get the gun off him at the start? Or do your all-seeing powers not extend that far?’
‘I thought I’d incapacitate him with the first punch. Ended up missing the target area.’
‘Ah,’ Raul said, punching one of the buttons on the panel next to the elevator. ‘So you make mistakes after all.’
‘We all make mistakes.’
Raul stepped into the elevator as the doors swung open and sighed. ‘I’ve made a few.’
‘What will you do after this?’ King said.
‘No idea, man. Let’s just find my family. Then I’ll work out what the hell to do with my life.’
King nodded and decided not to press the matter any further. It was time for a proper sleep, even though it was still mid-afternoon. He found his muscles exhausted after a gruelling three days. Fighting exerted enormous physical energy, fatiguing the body faster than almost all other exercise, and King had done his fair share of the stuff over the course of his latest escapade. He knew he needed sleep to recharge for whatever lay ahead.
They burst into the hotel room and headed to separate beds, both large and spotless and inviting. King locked the door behind him, dropped his head onto the mattress and was asleep in a matter of moments.
They slept through the evening and into the night. Again, King didn’t dream. He slept soundly, undisturbed. And he knew why. He’d experienced the same sensation in Australia, and it worried him sick.
He seemed to struggle to sleep when his life followed the course of normality. When he wasn’t fighting for his life, or being pursued by various members of society looking to kill or torture him, he didn’t feel at home. For ten years he’d dashed from one location to the next, always fighting, always in motion. When he tried to live an ordinary civilian’s life, he struggled to acclimatise.
It was a habit he knew he needed to break.
A harsh, discordant ringing woke him up in the early hours of the morning. It came from somewhere within his jacket pocket. The sound tore through the silence of the hotel room. Raul’s head reared up from his pillow as King sat up to withdraw the source of the noise.