by Matt Rogers
A dead lion in the elevator. Dead men scattered about the walkway. Dead men underneath the complex, their corpses left to be discovered in the most incriminating of settings. Their legacies would be ruined, their lives lost, because they felt the need to satiate their twisted vices.
He’d done enough.
Not just for his time in Macau — but for a lifetime.
You crossed that bridge long ago, he thought.
He should have stopped halfway into his career. But he’d carried on pressing forward, throwing himself into combat time after time, adding scar after scar to his mental state until he’d devolved into a broken man by the time he’d finally left the service to his country behind.
From there he’d plunged into hell in Yemen, and followed it up with a war for the ages in Macau.
To this day, he couldn’t ascertain whether he found trouble, or trouble found him.
But his work here was done.
He honed in on the total silence draped over the emporium and stared up through the glass-domed ceiling at the cloudy sky. It was late afternoon, and he hadn’t slept in what felt like days. He dropped the carbine, recognising the finality with which it hit the steel mesh of the walkway.
Signalling an end to the chaos.
For now.
For a brief stint of his life where he could recover from the craziness. Put his feet up for as long as it took to heal back to full health. Maybe he’d revisit the stem cell clinic in Zurich. There were a thousand options, all of which he had the opportunity to capitalise on.
But first, he needed to sort out the future of a young girl waiting in the basement of the complex for him to return.
He limped for the elevators in tentative fashion, ignoring the cable car containing the dead hairless lion. For superstition’s sake, he strayed as far away from the beast as he could manage, calling for the elevator at the very end of the line.
It arrived in seconds — clearly it was a slow day for VIP customers — and he hobbled into the centre of the thickly carpeted box, thumbing a button on the panel.
He wiped blood from his face, winced as fresh pain coursed through seemingly everywhere at once, and leant back against the metal banister to take the pressure off his mangled leg.
All in a day’s work.
Before the doors closed, he thought he heard a low growl resonate up from below the walkway, piercing the air. Slater tuned his ears to the sound, just as a follow-up scream of pain tore through the emporium.
Then silence.
Peter Forrest, murdered by his own pet.
A wry smile spread across Slater’s face as the doors sliced closed.
53
It took less than ten minutes to devise an exit plan.
Shien had acted years ahead of her age, finding the keys to each cell on one of the dead guards and freeing each of the young girls one by one. By the time Slater arrived in a bloody heap at the correct sub-level, a broken mess of his former self, Shien had arranged the drugged-up children in an orderly line by the bank of elevators.
She saw Slater hunched over, dripping blood onto the thick carpet.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Will…’
‘Told you I’d be alright,’ he said with a bloody smile.
By now Shien had grown accustomed to the violence, and none of the other kids were in a suitable state to react to it. They stared at him, glassy-eyed, probably seeing him as some kind of apparition. He stumbled through the elevator doors and sucked in deep breaths as he thought about their next move.
‘There needs to be a discreet way to leave,’ Slater said. ‘From this floor. Forrest would have made sure of that.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Shien said.
‘Don’t worry. Talking to myself. But there’ll be a way out from here without walking through the front door.’
‘Isn’t everyone dead?’ Shien said. ‘Why can’t we just walk out?’
‘Even if there’s no-one behind the cameras, I don’t want to attract attention. I’m not in the right state to defend all twelve of you.’
‘So where do we go?’
‘Like I said. There’s got to be a back way.’
‘I can look if you want,’ Shien said. ‘There’s no-one else down here — I already checked the whole floor. You killed a lot of people, Will…’
‘Wasn’t all me.’
‘Well, you’re in no state to go running around looking for a way out. Let me do it.’
Slater’s fatherly instincts took over but he cut himself short. He could barely see straight, let alone run up and down the corridors searching for an exit. He nodded, his mannerisms weak, leaning on one of the concrete walls, relishing the cool touch of the stone against his cheek.
‘Stay here,’ Shien said.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m fine. The drugs aren’t in my system anymore. I can think properly.’
‘Yeah, but … you’re nine years old.’
‘And you’re half dead.’
‘True.’
Slater blinked hard, composing himself, racing through a list of hypotheticals once they found themselves out of Mountain Lion. Shien seemed to read his mind.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ she muttered, lowering her voice. ‘There’s so many of them.’
‘I’ll take them to the police. There’s not much else I can do.’
‘And what about me?’
Slater stared at her, recalling what Forrest had told him about her parents — about the lack of a home she had to return to. ‘We’ll figure that out later, Shien. For now let’s get out of here.’
‘You know something,’ Shien said, narrowing her eyes. ‘About me. What is it? What did you find out?’
Slater grimaced — horrific injuries removed the ability to conceal emotions. ‘Now’s not the time.’
She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But you’d better tell me eventually.’
‘Search for a way out,’ he said. ‘And keep these girls close by. There’s something I need to do — to buy us some time once we get out of here.’
‘What?’
‘Hold on.’
He staggered past the posse of children, following the curvature of the corridor in slow-motion, effectively operating with one leg. Shien made to follow him but he held out an open palm.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got this. Start looking for a way out.’
It took him three painful minutes to reach the cell block. With his vision swimming in murky waters, he found the corpse of the man from level 44 and slipped a pair of bloodstained fingers into his jacket pocket, retrieving the four bright orange casino chips he’d handed over earlier that day.
He tucked them into his own jeans pocket and limped for the elevators.
On the way back, he passed Shien exiting one of the rooms, shaking her head in frustration. ‘Nothing so far.’
‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ Slater said.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting us a bankroll.’
Through sheer dumb luck, Slater managed to exchange the chips without interruption. He rested his forehead against the glass security screen separating him from the cashier, barely able to keep himself upright. When he straightened up, he noticed a bloody imprint left behind on the sheet — a clear mark where his temple had rested. He gulped back unease and waited while the cashier counted out four hundred thousand US Dollars, all hundreds.
The woman behind the screen barely gave him a second glance — a true professional. Anyone else would have gawked at the sight.
Slater recalled a time not so long ago when he’d found himself in the depths of Yemen’s mountain ranges, clutching onto his life by a thread. That had felt different, though. Survival out in that wasteland had been something primal — he’d formed a connection to the land while stumbling out of hell, shot and beaten and barely conscious. There had been nothing around for dozens of miles in any direction. Here, surrounded by easygoing tourists and wealthy
patrons, overshadowed on all sides by luxury, his injuries became more noticeable.
He stood out like a sore thumb.
The cashier bound the bills into four tight bands and tucked them discreetly into an expensive-looking carry bag emblazoned with the Mountain Lion emblem. Slater slid a hand under the thin partition and took the bag, nodding gratefully to the woman.
She nodded back.
With that he pivoted — albeit slowly, taking care not to aggravate his leg any further — and limped his way back across the vast lobby. This giant dome of a room was situated adjacent to the main casino complex. Slater passed elderly men in suits and women in regal gowns and tourists with their shirts tucked into their shorts twirling fifty-dollar casino chips eagerly through their fingertips as they hustled for the closest tables.
The facade of importance.
None of this mattered. Slater saw the complex in a new light — all the activities important to the bottom line took place far out of sight, either in VIP rooms with obscene table limits or below, in sterile concrete rooms that reeked of fear and suffering.
The areas open to the general public facilitated an illusion.
There was also an inevitable delay. Slater gazed around and noted it appeared like there was nothing wrong at all — customers seemed happy, staff seemed pleasant. No hint could be found that Mountain Lion’s owner lay dead on the top floor, torn apart by his own exotic pet, accompanied into the great beyond by dozens of gangsters and killers from all walks of life.
Astonished by the ridiculousness of it all, Slater pressed forward, staggering past groups of civilians with all the time in the world.
Slater had little time.
Then he almost ran directly into a man, both of them headed in opposite directions and unfocused on their exact trajectories. Slater bumped shoulders with the guy and a twinge of abhorrent pain tore up his leg. He suppressed it with a wince and turned to make eye contact.
He froze in place, recognition spreading across his face.
Samuel Barnes mimicked his actions.
54
‘You’re alive,’ was all Slater could think to say.
Samuel wore a plain black long-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans, both of which were draped unnaturally over his frame. Slater realised the clothes weren’t his — they had been given to him by his captors. The man looked as if he’d aged ten years since Slater had seen him last. Heavy black bags hung underneath his eyes and his cheekbones protruded from his face. His features were hollow and gaunt. He stood hunched over, his shoulders slumped, the baggy clothing no doubt covering an array of bruises and injuries.
‘Yeah, man,’ Samuel said, his voice hoarse. ‘I’m alive.’
‘You okay?’
‘Been better.’
They both remained frozen in place, two statues in a sea of moving bodies. Passersby ignored them — they had their own destinations in mind.
Will Slater and Samuel Barnes assessed each others’ injuries.
‘What happened?’ Slater said.
‘I came back here. After you left me in that apartment complex. I tried to cash in the chip you gave me.’
‘And?’
‘They grabbed me straight away.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. All of them. First a guy called Forrest wanted to know what I’d been doing — but obviously I couldn’t tell him because it was his own men who blackmailed me. Then those guys came in afterwards. The triad guys. They wanted to know what happened to the money. I didn’t know shit, man. You took the laptop.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Slater said. ‘I could have done more.’
‘You seem pretty banged up yourself.’
‘I don’t want to think about it. That’ll make it worse.’
‘That some kind of battlefield mentality?’
‘Something like that. Where are you headed?’
‘Me?’ Samuel said, staring vacantly over Slater’s shoulder. ‘Don’t know, mate. I just got out.’
‘From where?’
‘Holding cell. They told me they were going to kill me tonight. Don’t think they had much use for me when they realised I didn’t know shit.’
‘What changed?’
‘Everyone disappeared. The men guarding me got called somewhere. To deal with some … problem.’ He stared at Slater as he finished the sentence, connecting the dots silently. ‘What’d you do?’
‘Stirred up some trouble.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘Only a matter of time before this place falls to pieces,’ Slater said.
Samuel went pale and cast his eyes skyward. ‘Like … structurally?’
‘No,’ Slater said with a smirk. ‘Behind-the-scenes stuff. They won’t be in business much longer.’
‘Triad?’
‘You heard of someone called Jerome?’
Samuel’s eyes widened. ‘Everyone has. Did you piss him off?’
‘I killed him.’
Despite the commotion all around them, silence laced the space between the two parties. They both stood there, Samuel’s mouth agape, comprehending what had unfolded inside Mountain Lion.
‘You need to get out of here,’ Samuel said.
‘I’m working on that.’
‘No — I mean, right now. You don’t know what you’ve just done.’
‘I’ve pissed off some pretty important people in the past. I’m still here.’
‘Not like this.’
‘Good thing I’ll be out of the country soon, then. I take it you’re thinking the same thing.’
Samuel nodded. ‘Just … lucky to be alive, man.’
‘How’d you actually get out?’
‘The door was wonky. I could work on levering it open when there was no-one around — but there were always people around. Until you showed up. Then everyone disappeared.’
‘So I inadvertently put you in this place and got you out. Consider it even?’
‘I’d have been dead if you never showed up in the first place. The triad would have killed me, and then the girl. Is she still alive?’
‘She’s still alive.’
‘Job well done, then,’ Samuel said.
Slater found himself astonished by the transformation he was witnessing. Gone were the nerves and the stuttering — instead Samuel stood before him with a placid expression on his face, dejected and reserved. Accepting of his circumstances. Slater looked into his eyes and wondered what kinds of physical punishment they’d dished out on him.
They’d certainly changed him.
‘Where are you going now?’ Slater said.
‘Don’t know, man. Out of here.’
‘You got money?’
‘No.’
‘You got a passport? Any personal belongings?’
‘No. Can’t go back to my place. They’ll be watching it. When they find out I’m gone.’
‘I think you’re the least of their problems right now, Samuel. Go get your stuff, and get out of Macau. And while you’re at it—’
Slater reached into the carry bag and snatched up one of the four bundles of bills the cashier had provided him with. He handed it across, making sure to be discreet.
‘There we go,’ he said. ‘Now you’ve cashed your chip in.’
Samuel stared down at the money, tears brimming in his eyes. It seemed his emotions were finally forcing their way to the surface. ‘Thanks, man. Don’t even know who you are.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Slater said. ‘We can skirt around it as much as we want, but I left you for dead in that apartment complex. That’s the truth. Don’t rely on me for anything. Go start your own life with that money and do something with yourself. Forget I exist.’
‘Don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon.’
‘Good luck, brother.’
Samuel stared at him. ‘You too, man. With … whatever it is you do.’
‘I piss people off, it seems. It’s a full time gig if you do it well enough.’
‘Don�
��t run into any of Jerome’s friends.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ll kill—’ Then he paused, likely remembering what Slater had done in the apartment complex, the sheer ferocity with which he’d barrelled through a small army of hitmen. ‘Don’t worry. Do your thing.’
‘Get yourself out of Macau.’
‘On it.’
Samuel turned and disappeared into the crowd, a pale shell of his former self. Another victim of greed and corruption and the lust for power. Slater couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t operated in this murky world. It surrounded him, overwhelmed him, consumed him.
But he kept his head afloat.
Even with such riches and the unrelenting demonstrations of what kind of life one could live when they turned a blind eye to morals, Slater had never faltered. Never wavered. He prided himself on that.
With dark memories of his time in Macau on his mind, and an intricate web of pain receptors screaming for attention throughout his body, he ghosted through the masses covering Mountain Lion’s lobby.
Heading back into its dark heart.
55
‘Will,’ Shien said, her voice as stern as always. ‘Let me drive.’
‘Not a chance,’ Slater mumbled.
The damage to his leg had caused him the most distress. Cuts and bruises and knocks to the head were uncomfortable, but nothing Slater hadn’t handled a million times over. On the other hand the agony coursing through his knee carried with it a sensation he hadn’t experienced for quite some time.
Yemen, a voice in the back of his head whispered.
He allowed himself a smirk — how could he have forgotten so quickly? He realised his entire life had been made up of a series of grievous battlefield wounds, interspersed with short periods of respite. Frankly he found it hard to believe he’d made it this far without turning into a cripple or a brain-damaged zombie. Since he’d first stepped foot in the United States military and been whisked from division to division until he ended up in a career too unbelievable to fathom, Slater had been operating as a war machine.