by Matt Rogers
Slater sensed something there, a piece of information he was desperate to know. He relented. ‘Let’s compromise. A fair trade.’
‘A trade?’
‘You tell me what you’re hiding. And I’ll tell you what I do.’
‘Do you do awful things?’
‘Define that.’
‘Do I want to know?’
‘You won’t hate me.’
‘I can live with that.’
‘You first, then,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘I… saw something. And I’m the only person who knows about it.’
‘To do with the businessman?’
She nodded. ‘The second guy. He’s the CEO of a property law firm. I won’t name him.’
‘He’s got dark secrets?’
‘Yes... well, I assume. But it’s not what you might think.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was sleeping with him. About a month ago. It helped that he was attractive, and somewhere around thirty. I like a guy with ambition. But he had a wife, and a kid. So I was already uncomfortable off the bat.’
‘And?’
‘And they disappeared.’
‘What?’
‘The wife and kid. For a full week. They vanished.’
‘How did you know?’
‘He kept avoiding my calls — and, look, I don’t know, I thought we had something. I was dumb. I thought it might have been more than just a fling. So I kept trying to contact him. And trying. And trying. And finally he picks up the phone and he’s in a mad panic, and he tells me his family’s been kidnapped. He just unloads it, like it had been on his mind for days and he finally had to release it. Then he realises he’s made a mistake and hangs up. And I never hear from him again. The next week I pass him in downtown Chicago, and his wife and kid are right there. Like nothing happened at all. No press about it. Nothing.’
Slater took a moment to process the information. ‘That is odd.’
‘Now can you tell me what you do?’ Florence said. ‘Look — I probably shouldn’t have just told you that. You need to keep quiet about it. Please. Oh, God, I hardly know you…’
He could sense the panic starting to set in. That information must have been weighing on her mind for some time, and Slater kissed her on the forehead to calm her down.
Despite his ability to keep up the facade of a hardened exterior, inwardly something stewed. He didn’t like the story one bit, not for any obvious reason — six months into a black operations career, he had seen things up close that would ensure he never squirmed at gory details ever again — but because its mere presence hit him like a gut punch.
There was a reason it had ended up on his doorstep.
Florence had clammed up, sealing her lips before sharing any other sensitive details, but Slater had a grimy feeling he wasn’t done with it. The circumstances were too odd, the coincidence too great…
Then the phone on the bedside table buzzed once, indicating an incoming call.
Only one man had access to that number.
Slater grimaced as he realised his vacation in Chicago might not involve as much recuperation as he might have thought.
‘You want my secret?’ he muttered in Florence’s ear.
She nodded.
‘I kill people for the government,’ he said, and got straight to his feet. He shouldn’t have told her, but he figured she deserved to know.
But the simple act of sharing that information meant he now had to vanish.
He slid into the same jeans and long-sleeved cotton shirt, both still brand new, and snatched the smartphone off the bedside table. Without a second glance back at the bed, he quickly checked the room for any stray possessions and, finding none, hurried straight out into the hotel corridor before Florence could utter a word of protest.
Never to return.
3
He didn’t bother checking the caller ID, because he knew the number would be blocked. He stepped into the plush hotel hallway with nothing but the clothes on his back, his phone, and his wallet — the only possessions he’d ventured to Chicago with. When his clothes got dirty he would buy new ones, and then after a week or so of aimless wandering he would return to active service, where all his material needs would be met. He had never been a man of materialistic tendencies, and he didn’t think he ever would be. He preferred the raw, sensual experiences.
He guessed that made him a hedonist.
Judging by his actions over the past few hours, he wasn’t ready to protest the label.
He answered the call and pressed the phone to his ear as he called for the elevator. ‘Lars.’
‘How’d you know it was me?’ the man said.
‘Who the hell else would be calling me?’
Lars Crawford handled Black Force operatives. He was the only member of the shadowy organisation that Slater had met in the flesh — the equivalent of a human relations manager for an army of solo warriors. Slater hadn’t been acquainted with any of the other Black Force operatives — Lars tirelessly drilled home the concept of the division, highlighting the fact that operatives and officials interacting with each other would ruin the deniability of the organisation.
Slater didn’t care either way.
He was content with being paid millions to put his life on the line for his country.
And even though he’d knocked on death’s door several times over his short career, he didn’t see any signs of slowing down in the immediate future.
Hence the lack of possessions, and the spontaneous trip to Chicago, and the three-hour romp with a model he’d just met.
He was a man of impulse, and he embraced it with open arms.
‘How’s the vacation?’ Lars said.
‘It’s okay. I’ve got my feet up.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Lars said, with all the scorn of a man who knew Slater’s personality inside and out.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t think you’ve put your feet up in three years, apart from when you need sleep. And you don’t need sleep often.’
‘You know me too well.’
‘I do. Which is why I’m calling.’
Slater stepped into an empty cable car and rode it down to the hotel lobby, praying the call didn’t cut out in the metal box. Thankfully, the hotel had employed counter-measures to prevent that, and the reception held.
He breathed a sigh of frustration. ‘You need me?’
‘I do.’
‘Is it urgent?’
‘It’s unique.’
‘Everything I do for you is unique.’
‘Which is why you’re necessary. You’ll be paid.’
‘It’s not about the money.’
‘It should be. Our organisation’s breaking records with our payouts.’
‘That’s because everything is off the books, Lars,’ Slater said, as if scolding a child. ‘You can afford to throw millions at us. Besides, when we die you can just take it straight back.’
‘You’re awfully cynical tonight.’
Slater thought of what Florence had told him. ‘Just got a bad vibe about Chicago.’
‘Hate to break it to you, but that vibe’s about to get a whole lot worse.’
Slater sighed. ‘Thought you might say that.’
‘How long will you need to get ready?’
As if on cue, the elevator doors slid silently open and Slater strode straight across the lobby. He didn’t stop at the reception desk, manned even at this hour by the receptionist working the night shift. He’d prepaid upon booking the penthouse suite, in case he needed to make a hasty departure for any number of reasons. He’d made sure that no check-out was required.
He despised lingering in one place any longer than necessary.
The grand entranceway led out onto the esplanade, running parallel to the Chicago River. From there, a world of opportunity awaited. Slater could head in any direction he wanted, young and healthy and rich.
In his prime.
Except he was t
ethered by binding contract to whatever Lars Crawford instructed him to do.
He would probably be indebted to the U.S. government for the rest of his life, considering his recklessness and lack of ability to read the fine print. He’d signed the contracts without scrutinising them — in truth, Black Force could have swindled him.
But he never thought anything through.
He simply bounced from one bout of madness to the next, in whichever form that took. Somehow, it had led him here, building him into one of the pioneers of a division breaking new ground in the realm of reflexes and reaction time.
At least, that’s what he was told.
So as he stepped out into a chilly Chicago night and swept his gaze over the river, he took a deep breath and responded with, ‘Ready now.’
‘Good,’ Lars said.
Without hesitation.
As if he’d expected nothing less.
‘Where do you need me?’
‘I need you to get yourself arrested,’ Lars said.
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
4
‘Head west,’ Lars said. ‘Away from the coast.’
Slater spun in a tight circle, flashing dark looks at every civilian in the immediate vicinity. Finding nothing suspicious, he turned back to face the river and hissed into the phone, ‘Do you have eyes on me?’
‘No. But I can track that phone.’
‘Black Force doesn’t watch me on my time off, do they?’ Slater said. ‘Because I wouldn’t like that one bit.’
‘You’re a twenty-three year old kid,’ Lars said, turning stern. ‘You don’t get to tell us what you do and don’t like. You signed your life away, in case you forgot.’
‘I didn’t sign it away. You’re paying me millions. And in your own words, I’m “one of the rawest talents you’ve ever seen?”’
‘Don’t get cocky, kid.’
‘All I’m saying is that you need me.’
‘No,’ Lars said. ‘We don’t watch you. But you seem awfully sensitive about it. I’m guessing you had a female companion.’
‘I can do what I want in my downtime.’
‘I never said you couldn’t. But this isn’t downtime anymore. You’re officially back on active duty.’
‘There’s nothing official about this,’ Slater muttered, lowering his voice.
‘West,’ Lars said. ‘Walk.’
Slater set off at a measured pace, struggling to soak in the beauty of Chicago’s nightlife. The stroll along the esplanade offered stunning views of the skyline, with the skyscraper lights making the still water shimmer in the gloom. It was cold, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Slater loosened up as he quickened his pace, heading fast in a streamlined direction. The whole time, he kept the phone pressed to his ear.
‘You going to tell me what this is about?’ Slater said.
‘A Commander in the Chicago Police Department.’
‘Name?’
‘Ray D’Agostino.’
‘Sounds like a lovely man,’ Slater said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
‘He’s in charge of the Central District. Runs it with an iron fist, by all accounts. Good for the books. His arrest rates are solid. Pulls in all manner of vagrants.’
‘Not seeing any red flags so far.’
‘Three homeless men he brought into custody for public intoxication have died in their cells in the last two weeks.’
‘That happens.’
‘Not with that frequency. And not under suspicious circumstances. And not all under the jurisdiction of a single commander. That’s a lot of red flags right there.’
Slater sensed frustration brewing. He’d been secretly hoping for some downtime, whatever that entailed. His relentless approach to life had served him well for the better part of four years now, but everyone had their limits. Chicago had been an uncharacteristic request, but Lars had granted it, knowing full well what Slater had been through over the course of his first three operations. The fact that he was being yanked back into the line of fire for something like this set his blood boiling.
‘This isn’t our fucking problem, Lars,’ he hissed. ‘Isn’t that for internal affairs? Or the FBI? Or whoever the hell runs that kind of thing?’
‘We need to employ discretion.’
‘But still… how is this my problem? What do you want me to do? Rough him up and get him to confess to being a sociopath who gets off on killing vagrants? Is that what you want?’
‘No,’ Lars said.
Slater grew quiet. He knew when his handler turned to single syllables, shit was milliseconds away from hitting the fan. He reminded himself of the fact that, by all accounts, he was still classified as a reckless youth as far as black operations were considered. He’d only been whisked into the program because of another operative — something Lars had been hesitant to divulge, but had eventually shared with Slater. A man by the name of Jason King, one year younger than Slater, who was shattering the myths that elite operatives needed to be in their thirties.
The two misfits, Slater thought.
He wondered if he would ever meet Jason King.
Then his mind wandered back to the present.
‘Look, Lars,’ he said. ‘I just don’t get it. I really needed this time off. Hopefully you can understand.’
‘And we equally need you now,’ Lars said. ‘What do you think I do all day? Sit around and masturbate and wait for something to slide across my desk that I can throw to one of my operatives?’
‘Uhh…’
‘Everything is vetted and analysed and scrutinised and picked apart. You should be aware that if something gets passed onto you, it’s of the utmost importance. You’ve been deemed the best fit for this operation for a number of reasons, and I don’t have time to lay them all out. That’s not my job, and it’s not your job to know. You just need to follow through with it. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m going to give you directions to a construction site. The entire block was abandoned months ago — the building company went into liquidation. The area’s a hotspot for vagrants and squatters, and I need you to go there and make a scene. D’Agostino patrols that area excessively, even though it’s not his job. If it’s not him, then it’s one of his men. They’ll bring you in, and you’ll try your best to figure out what his deal is, or if he’s involved. I don’t want to give you any more than that, because I trust you to improvise and do your job. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
‘You know any government forces that have the capacity to act like a homeless man, and kill if necessary?’
‘No.’
‘That’s why we need you. You don’t exist. Remember that.’
‘So if it goes belly up in there, I’m on my own?’
‘That’s always been the deal. Surely you’re not getting second thoughts about that now.’
‘But I have full discretion?’ Slater said. ‘This is an ordinary job in all respects, right?’
‘Of course. If D’Agostino tries to kill you, you can fight back. But if you’re going to use physical force, make sure you have a way to get the hell out of there. We can’t come in and save you in a hurry.’
‘The three guys. How’d they die?’
‘Two from intoxication. There was enough alcohol in their bloodstream to kill a horse. But the autopsies are… sketchy, to say the least. It didn’t help that D’Agostino made it as difficult as he could to properly study the bodies. There’s marks on both their necks. Like they were held down.’
‘And the third?’
‘Stabbed by a fellow cellmate.’
‘Who?’
‘No-one knows. Cameras were off at the time.’
‘That’s some pretty serious shit to go down in a holding cell. Is the district investigating?’
‘D’Agostino doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to crack down on it.’
‘Sounds like a real slimy piece of shit.’
‘Good. Hopefully tha
t motivates you to get the job done.’
‘Could be a coincidence.’
‘Could be. You’ll find out.’
‘This is sketchy, Lars.’
‘So is everything you do for us. Since when has that ever stopped you?’
‘Get myself arrested. Act suspicious. See if D’Agostino has a crack at me. Find out why. Break out of the station. Anything else?’
‘That should just about do it.’
‘You owe me.’
‘If D’Agostino’s bent, and we find out why, and we nail him for it, I’ll give you a million.’
‘You really do have a fat purse, don’t you?’
‘I wasn’t lying the first time we met. The best work deserves the best rewards. Especially if you maintain a consistent track record.’
‘I don’t exactly have time to spend it,’ Slater said.
‘Saving for retirement,’ Lars said, and Slater could sense the sheer sarcasm in his voice.
‘Retirement sounds an awful lot like dying in my early twenties in this field.’
‘If you make it out the other side,’ Lars said, ‘you’ll have some wild stories to tell.’
‘You bet I will.’
‘I’ll forward you the address. Good luck, kid. Go to work.’
The line disconnected and Slater slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened his stride, pounding pavement to mitigate his nerves.
Twenty-three years old.
At this pace he wasn’t sure he’d make it to see twenty-four.
5
The GPS co-ordinates came through in a text message a couple of minutes later. Slater stared at them, memorised them, burned the numbers and decimals into his mind. Sure enough, a moment later the message vanished off his phone, as if it had never existed at all.
Which it hadn’t.
And neither did he.
He continued along the esplanade for close to a mile before branching off into the central district. At this hour — well past midnight — all the businesses were closed, and the sidewalks were largely devoid of life. Slater passed an assortment of shifty characters as he powered through the streets, but there was enough purpose in his stride and confidence in his demeanour to ward off any potential muggings.
