by Matt Rogers
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
Rebecca rocked back and forth in the driver’s seat, trembling. Her vision was pulsing, and she thought she might faint.
Then King said, ‘You’re Rebecca. From Mass General.’
Her hammering heart almost stopped. It at least skipped a beat. ‘How do you know that?’
She looked over her shoulder. Fearing a conspiracy. Expecting to see Myles sprinting towards her stationary car, eyes bloodshot and arm flapping like the separated bone fragments were dangling from strings.
King said, ‘Took me a second, but I recognised your voice.’
‘Good memory.’ It was an attempt to keep the tone light, but when she said “memory” it undulated and caught in her throat, and she found herself crying openly.
King asked, ‘What is it?’
When she pulled herself together, she said, ‘I’ve fucked up.’
‘How?’
‘You had a run-in with a cop, right?’
Dead silence.
She figured her best bet was just to charge ahead with zero hesitation. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’
Somehow, a quieter silence.
She could almost feel him bristling.
‘Well, now he’s my ex, I guess,’ she said.
‘Why do you think I care about your relationship status?’
‘Because he just tried to kill me and he’s going to try again and I had no idea who else to call.’ She sobbed, then caught it and swallowed it before it devolved into a full-scale meltdown. ‘I don’t know what to do…’
Even if he’d waited only a couple of seconds to respond, it would have seemed an eternity. Instead it took him nearly a full minute, so it felt like she was sitting in that damn car forever. She kept peeking over her shoulder, expecting to see Myles’ fist, or the barrel of a gun.
Finally King said, ‘Let’s meet, then.’
She hesitated. It’s what she’d wanted, but had she actually expected it to work? If she was honest with herself, she’d called him because she knew he wouldn’t help her. Some sort of subconscious self-punishment. And now it was all real. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Where are you?’
The question made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Then she realised it wouldn’t make much difference if King was psychotic, too. Her situation couldn’t get much worse. He’d beaten the living shit out of Myles at the hospital, but it sounded like it was deserved. She had to hope he had something resembling a moral compass.
‘Hold on,’ she said, when she realised she didn’t know. She swiped out of the call, opened the maps application, took stock, and swiped back. ‘Chestnut Hill. South of Boston.’
He didn’t answer.
She asked, ‘Where are you?’ without thinking it through.
‘At home. Jane discharged us early because of what happened. I just had a son, remember?’
‘Yes,’ she said, restraining from slapping her own forehead. ‘I know that.’
‘Then why ask?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even understand why you’re helping.’
‘Because I believe your boyfriend would kill you if he had the chance.’
‘Why?’
‘I met him.’
‘You broke his arm.’
‘He’s lucky that was it.’
‘What was he doing at the hospital?’
A pause. ‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Why do I doubt that?’
She nearly choked on her words, but cleared her throat and pressed on. ‘Please tell me. Please. I need to know what he was doing there. I won’t be able to live with myself if he did anything really bad.’
The next pause indicated he believed her. She wasn’t sure why it felt like that, but she was glad, because she was telling the fucking truth and she needed someone to be on her side—
‘He drugged Violetta,’ King said, interrupting her train of thought. ‘He was asking her questions, trying to get answers out of her, but I don’t know what they were about. He left before I could ask him politely. I wasn’t about to kill a cop in public.’
‘Is Violetta—?’
‘Recovering. She’ll be okay.’
She exhaled. So there wasn’t blood on Myles’ hands, and by extension, hers. Not yet, anyway. She’d almost forgotten he’d tried to blow her face off. That still didn’t seem real. She knew she was in shock. ‘How did he get in?’
‘I assumed you let him in.’
‘No,’ she said, then grimaced. ‘Rick. The ward clerk. He’d be gullible enough to fall for some cop bullshit.’
‘Did he know about you and Myles?’
‘No,’ she said forcefully. ‘I made a point of that. No one knew about my private life. I wasn’t … proud of it.’
‘Then why were you with him?’
A bitter laugh escaped, despite her best efforts to contain it. ‘So I didn’t have to live alone with my misery. I’d have killed myself a while back if I had no one.’
There was no, “I’m sorry to hear that.” She hadn’t expected it, given the circumstances. He had other priorities. ‘If you really didn’t know about this, then what did you say to him that made him do it?’
‘Something about your friend’s kid. The one he brought to the hospital after Violetta delivered. I told him that you asked who it was. It was an odd thing, you know, to overhear. I just mentioned that. And Myles stormed out of our apartment like I’d lit his ass on fire. I didn’t know what he was doing. I promise.’
Silence.
Then he said, ‘La Colombe Coffee Roasters. In the city, on Atlantic Avenue. It’s busy and public. You’ll be safe there. Meet me in an hour.’
She stammered, ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me yet.’
He hung up.
She took off as soon as the call ended, eager to get off the roadside. As she drove she ruminated. There was something about King’s tone. The way he said things, the care he took with his words. The precision. It didn’t add up to anything she could put her finger on.
Until it did.
It only struck her halfway into Central Boston that maybe this guy was more dangerous than her crazy ex, and perhaps she’d inadvertently ordered Myles’ execution.
47
King had stepped out of the bedroom to take Rebecca’s call.
When he hung up, he spent some time staring out the window. Sea Foam Avenue was subdued, quiet in the dark blue light just before the sun broke over the horizon. It had been an uneventful first night with Junior in his crib. The only notable event was police sirens ripping through Winthrop in the early hours of the morning, but King hadn’t paid it much attention. He wondered if it was relevant. He made a mental note to call Slater on his way over to Boston.
He crept back into the room and found Violetta awake.
‘Who was that?’ she murmured.
King explained everything. Didn’t leave a word out. It was one of the fundamental principles of their relationship. If they started keeping secrets from one another, they were better off alone.
She drank in the tale with ever-widening eyes.
He finished with, ‘If you need me here…’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Rebecca’s in real danger. And at least you know that cop’s intentions now. So you don’t have to feel bad about handling him.’
Years ago, King never would have imagined the woman he loved so callously approving of someone’s death.
It made him happy, to know that he wasn’t alone in wanting to eradicate this beautiful world of the scum that inhabited it.
He said, ‘Do you remember anything he asked you?’
‘Something about Tyrell.’
King nodded slowly. ‘Dirty cop, then.’
‘Did you hear those sirens last night?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ll call Will,’ she muttered. ‘Check up on
him. You sort out Myles, and maybe this’ll all be okay.’
He kept his gaze on her for a long moment. ‘How do we always get ourselves into shit like this?’
‘I don’t know,’ Violetta said, settling back into the pillows. ‘But this one was all Slater.’
King looked around. ‘You’ll be okay on your own?’
The covers were up to her chin, and there were four or five pillows forming a soft nest around her. She seemed intensely vulnerable lying there, all the way up until she heard his question and whipped a Glock out from under one of the pillows. She’d drawn it as fast as she could to demonstrate her capabilities, even so soon after labour.
‘I’ll be okay,’ she said with a small smirk.
He crossed to the crib and admired Junior. The newborn might have been the quietest baby in human history, he figured. Junior had barely cried since they were discharged from the maternity ward, content with snuggling up in a little ball and drifting in and out of sleep.
Some fathers went away from their families for offshore blue-collar jobs, or work commitments in other cities or countries. They took stints on oil rigs or in copper mines, or they flew interstate for conferences. They did it because they loved their wives, loved their children, were eager to provide. They made sacrifices to put food on the table.
Some fathers went away from their families to kill psychopathic bent cops.
King just hoped that one day Junior would understand.
He bent down and kissed his son’s warm forehead, then went to the garage to arm himself before he drove into the city.
48
Harsh white daylight that dawned over Winthrop.
Slater had barely slept a wink.
His mind raced like his thoughts were caught on a flywheel, spinning ever faster as the big room flooded with light. Tyrell, on the other hand, was out cold. He nestled deeper into the crook of Slater’s armpit, like he could hide from the sun forever.
They were stretched out on the huge sofa in Alonzo’s living room. Alexis was still asleep in the spare bedroom. Slater had started the night in there, with Tyrell more than happy to take the sofa, but in the middle of the night he’d come out to check on the boy and found him weeping. He’d laid down beside Tyrell, looped an arm over his shoulder, and the kid had gone straight back to sleep.
Slater hadn’t moved all night.
It wasn’t worth it.
Now Tyrell stirred, blinked hard, eyes half-closed despite his best efforts to open them. When he realised he was nestled against Slater, he jerked away like he was embarrassed about it. Slater didn’t mind.
The boy asked, ‘Where are we again, man?’
‘A friend’s,’ Slater said.
‘We switched cars or something, didn’t we?’
‘Yeah. You were nodding off by then. Your adrenaline wore off.’
Last night he’d driven the van across Boston and then south, taking it to the same small car lot where he’d dumped the Porsche the morning before. The luxury SUV was still there, untouched. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Satisfied that it was clean, they’d swapped back to it, dumping the van forever. Then, at Alexis’ suggestion, they’d driven back to the tip of Winthrop and hid the Porsche in Alonzo’s garage. They hadn’t taken the parkway, so they didn’t know if the other vans were still parked there, rigor mortis no doubt setting in to the bodies within. Either the authorities would stumble across the scene, or Dwayne would clear the evidence when he realised his men weren’t coming back.
Alonzo hadn’t asked questions when he’d opened his door to them at three in the morning. He’d just introduced himself to Tyrell and gone back to bed. Slater didn’t think anything would faze the man anymore.
He got up and made coffee, and Tyrell stretched on the sofa, trying to sink into the cushions. Like he could escape this life if he squeezed his eyes shut. Slater understood. The mornings after experiencing trauma were always the worst. No momentum. The shock wears off. You have all the time in the world to think about the ruins of your life.
He savoured the first espresso and had just drained its last dregs when Alonzo came down the stairs from the loft-style master bedroom. Slater got a good look at the man for the first time in a few weeks. He was even slimmer under the sleepwear, almost all the excess weight stripped off his frame. Slater liked that. It was easy to stay disciplined when someone was always over your shoulder, telling you the right thing to do. It’s much harder to take that knowledge and apply it when no one is watching.
Alonzo had applied it.
Slater said, ‘You’re looking healthy.’
Alonzo said, ‘You’re not.’
Slater noticed Tyrell watching them from the sofa, despite the boy’s best efforts to make it look like he wasn’t. His eyes were half-closed, but he was staring through the heavy lids. Slater jerked his head toward Alonzo’s office branching off from the front hallway, and they went in there to talk.
They sat down on opposite sides of the big desk and Slater said, ‘It’s been a wild twenty-four hours.’
‘So who’s the kid?’
‘I helped him out of something that no one else ever would have.’
‘Can he go back?’
Slater shook his head. ‘His father and two of his uncles are in the heroin business. I can’t work out whether they were all collaborating or running different crews. But now his dad’s dead, and so is one of his uncles. The last one standing isn’t happy. He sent some of his boys to kill Tyrell and I last night.’
‘To your home?’
Slater nodded.
‘How’d he get the address? I made it bulletproof—’
Slater shook his head again. ‘It wasn’t you. Your work is never the weak link. It’s always us humans that fuck things up. We’re not robots. We’re messy.’
‘The boy called his uncle?’
‘His uncle called him. Manipulated him into giving him an address.’
‘He’s a liability, then. It’s uncomfortable to admit but it’s the truth. He’ll always do that sort of thing. And now, what, your home’s burned? You and Alexis spent so long making that place yours. And now it’s gone. Cops probably crawling all over it. What, you’ll just start over again? For the thousandth time?’
That made Slater hesitate. ‘It’s a fucking house, Alonzo.’
‘You can’t keep doing this.’
‘Says who?’
‘It’s not fair on Alexis.’
Slater let the darkness spread over his face. ‘Has she said anything to you?’
‘No, but…’
‘Then how about you go and ask her what she thinks about all this. Tell her to be honest. See what she says.’
‘You sure she’s okay with it?’
‘You think we’d be together if we didn’t have the same priorities?’
‘And what are those priorities?’
‘To help someone when we see they need help and they can’t do it themselves.’
‘You going to rescue every kid across America from bad homes?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘Just this one.’
He didn’t expect Alonzo to get it.
Alonzo said, ‘And when his uncle calls him again? When he tells him he’s here? I like this place, Will. I like my life now. I risked my life and career to keep you and King safe, and I don’t want to start again. Maybe that’s selfish, I don’t know. But it’s how I feel. I can’t deny it.’
Slater expected to feel anger, but actually he understood. It’s all a matter of perspective in the end. ‘We’ll leave tonight.’
Immediately, Alonzo shook his head. ‘No. Don’t be stupid. Where will you three go? Your house sounds like it’s radioactive.’
‘Not three. Two.’
Alonzo didn’t respond.
Slater said, ‘Alexis will stay here. I’m the one who started this. So it’s on me to finish it.’
‘Will it ever be finished?’
Slater raised an eyebrow.
‘If you made bi
tter enemies with a drug gang, that’s not something you can neatly finish.’
‘Maybe not neatly,’ Slater said. ‘But you can finish it.’
‘How?’
‘I forget you weren’t out in the field. You only read reports of what King and I used to do.’
Alonzo shrugged. ‘You have me there. I’m lacking field experience.’
‘The way to finish it is to do something so violent, so total, that whoever’s left after the dust settles wouldn’t dare breathe your name.’
Slater didn’t realise the way he said it, not until he noticed the look on Alonzo’s face.
Eventually Alonzo said, ‘Yeah, okay. I wouldn’t fuck with you. But what are you going to do?’
‘Haven’t figured that out yet. But it’s my problem. I didn’t ask you or Alexis beforehand, so I want you out of the equation. Can you do that for me?’
Alonzo chose his words carefully. ‘She’s welcome here as long as she wishes.’
She. Not, You all.
In other circumstances it might have torn friendships apart, but Slater understood the necessity. If Slater made a pattern of showing up on Alonzo’s doorstep with every downtrodden soul in Boston, it’d get old pretty damn quick.
‘I’m sorry for bringing this here,’ he said, trying to rid himself of the ego that wanted to ask where Alonzo’s humanity was.
Alonzo said, ‘Don’t be. You did a selfless thing. You should be proud of yourself. But now it’s time for you to finish it.’
Slater nodded.
‘Any idea where you’ll go?’
‘I have some ideas.’
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
King.
49
On the drive into town, stuck in peak hour as the sun spilled golden over the stationary lanes of vehicles, King called Slater.
Over speakerphone, Slater filled him in.
When he finished, King said, ‘Shit.’
Slater said, ‘I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow morning.’
‘How?’
‘Still putting that together. But I’m not waiting for Dwayne to come to us. If we turn meek he’ll do something desperate, no matter how reduced his forces are. He has the address to our home. I’m going to run straight through the fucker before he has the chance to do any permanent damage.’