“Where's the King?” he slurs.
Jamie is still staring, the gun raised to greet this new arrival. Coated in dust, purple and yellow with bruises, the naked man's eyes travel from Jamie's raised pistol to the two dead men on the floor, and back to Jamie. He then raises a hand as though he were calming a wild animal.
“Put the gun down man,” the man says, his wild red eyes filled with realisation.
“Who are you?” asks Jamie.
“I'm...” the man hesitates, running a hand over his bruised head as though he has forgotten a line and is trying to remember. “I'm a janitor. Where's the King?”
Jamie lowers the pistol.
“He's right here,” he pulls Chloe out of the way to let the naked janitor see the prone figure of the King.
His eyes have settled on the two warm corpses.
“Who were they?” he points to the bodies.
Jamie says nothing, and Chloe emerges from behind him.
“They were his men. They tried to kill us.”
The janitor seems to be making a decision, rubbing his eyes as though it's been a long day.
“You're not one of the King's men?”
After a brief pause, Jamie looks down at the King and shrugs.
“No.”
“And this is the King?”
Jamie nods.
“Wow, that was easy,” the janitor shrugs and walks between them. The King tries to shuffle away, but the janitor reaches down and grabs him by the collar. “You're coming with me.”
Jamie's nose screws up at the reek of stale alcohol that pours off the heavily bruised, scar-riddled man. His eyebrows are raised in disbelief as the janitor lifts the King one-handed, and Chloe is watching the man in fascination as he begins to walk down the hallway without a care, heading for the steel blockade.
“What are you going to do with him?” Jamie watches the janitor sling the King over his shoulder like a child, and the crime-lord sags and gives up.
“I'm going to take him downstairs to be arrested by somebody,” the janitor turns back, pausing. “I'll be damned if I can't find one honest policeman to take him into custody.”
“Arrest him?” Jamie starts forward before Chloe grabs his wrist and holds him back. “The police are in his pocket, they'll ignore you.”
“I've got to try.” The janitor looks at the pistol hanging by Jamie's side and raises an eyebrow. “What else can I do? Shoot him?”
Jamie looks at the gun in his hands and lets out a tense breath. He drops the gun and it clatters to the floor.
“Look –“ Jamie begins, but the janitor walks away. “Hey, that door is metal, you won't get...”
Jamie stops talking as the janitor approaches the steel shutter and lifts a foot. His bare foot crashes through the steel as though it were tin foil. He kicks it a few more times and it crashes off the hinges.
“What the hell,” Chloe begins, and Jamie pulls her forward, following the janitor.
“Hey, wait -” Jamie starts.
The janitor turns, an eyebrow raised. His face, though slim and worn, exudes a stubborn kind of friendliness – he has the look of a man who knows that he cannot be harmed.
“Yes?”
“You...” Jamie tries to put it into words, but finds that all he can say is, “you too? The fire, right?”
The janitor's face straightens, and he lowers his head.
“The fire, yeah,” he says with a firm confidence. His eyes fall on Jamie's nose, and he points. “You're bleeding.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jamie says, wiping his nose absent mindedly. Only now does he notice the crusted, dried blood around the janitor's nostrils and upper lip. “We both are”
“I'll be fine if I can get a drink,” he says, and Jamie frowns in confusion. “I think. Let's get this bastard into a prison cell and then we can figure it all out. If anybody starts shooting at us, just stay behind me.”
The janitor steps over the crumpled steel door and Jamie follows after him. Chloe pulls on his wrist, making him pause.
“Chloe -”
“Is he drunk?” she whispers, her eyes darting to the janitor as he walks away.
Jamie can't take his eyes off the mottled and bruised back of the peculiar, fearless janitor.
“Uh – yeah, I'm pretty sure he's wasted.”
Episode 6
Trespasser
The building's lobby is a long rectangle of warm-lit marble and sleek, dark wood, with a claret rug running from the wide staircase, between the stone pillars, to the panelled double doors leading outside.
Mark, wearing nothing but his ragged underwear and carrying a struggling, protesting King over his shoulder, strolls down the steps and into the lobby, where a group of tense, armed men in suits are waiting.
They all spin towards him in surprise as he appears.
“Hello everybody,” he grins announcing his presence.
There are shouts of alarm, gunshots and panicked protests, followed by the heavy thud of bone on flesh. Then everything is quiet again – even the King.
“Ok,” Mark shouts, “you can come down now.”
Jamie takes Chloe's hand and leads her down the stairs, keeping their bodies pressed to the left wall as his eyes scan the room. Right enough, he sees the janitor standing in the centre with the King still hanging over his shoulder. Unconscious men lie scattered in various states of disrepair around the room. There are bullet holes in the marble and wisps of gun smoke trailing their way across the lobby.
“You're bullet proof too?” Jamie cranes his neck to check behind the pillars, certain that the King's men would not go down so easily.
“Kind of,” the janitor looks down at his bruised torso and notes a small smear of blood on his abdomen. He uses his one free hand to check that it's his, and when he wipes the blood away he finds a hair thin paper-cut lacing across his skin. “I think it depends on how much I've drank.”
“Your nose...” Chloe nods towards Mark.
He raises a hand to his nose in alarm, and brings it away wet with blood.
“I think I need a drink,” he mutters, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes.
“You look pretty beat up; what happened to you?” Jamie asks him as he kneels over one of the unconscious men, lifting a compact machine pistol from their hands.
“Lots of people shot me,” the janitor laughs. “Didn't do much, but yeah.” He points to the larger, purple bruises on his ribs. “These ones came from a helicopter and everything.”
Jamie and Chloe exchange a questioning look, and Jamie shrugs.
“So what's the plan?” Chloe asks the janitor.
“I open the door and throw this man outside,” he pats the unconscious King's head like a misbehaving child, “and then demand that the police – or those soldiers, whoever they are – arrest him.”
At this, the janitor heaves the King up and drops him to the ground, where he slumps and groans, waking once more. The King rubs his head, his eyes cringed shut and his mouth curled down in a grimace. His exquisite suit is a crumpled, creased mess.
“I don't think your plan is going to work mate,” says Jamie. He stands and takes Chloe's hand in his, the machine pistol in his other.
“Why not?” the janitor kneels down over the King and grabs him by the lapels, so that when his eyes open he will be the first thing he sees.
“Because the King owns the police in Glasgow. They won't take him in and if they do, they'll release him without question.”
“Yeah, I know,” the janitor shrugs. “But that's because they're afraid of the repercussions. If he's been defeated then there's nothing to fear. The very act of taking him in should dispel...” the janitor trails off as he notices Jamie's frustrated expression. “What aren't I being told, here?”
Jamie points to the groggy figure in the suit.
“He's not the King.”
“What? But you told me -”
“He's a King. Understand? There's more than one. Body doubles. Devoted actors and trusted men w
ho act on his behalf. Running a city like this from behind the scenes like the King does: it makes sense that he wouldn't do it all by himself.”
The janitor stands up and drops the King, who brings a hand up to his eyes as they open.
“Ugh, am I still -”
The janitor sighs and gives the King's head a half-hearted kick as he walks past him. With a dull crack, the King falls silent once more.
“I'm sorry,” says Jamie.
“I have to get to the King – the real one – before those men in black take me in. I can't keep fighting and running, they'll get me again sooner or later. I'll run out of drink, or they'll catch me at a bad moment, or - ”
“They got you before?”
The janitor nods, staring down at the King's limp form as his mind works.
“I think they're called Trespassers. Special forces of some kind. One of them got me on a rooftop, fired this expanding foam stuff at my face. I suffocated and passed out. It was horrible,” he shudders. “I may be bullet proof, but apparently I still need to breathe. They scanned me with all this scientific stuff and decided that if I didn't get a lot of alcohol, and quickly, I was going to die.”
“Is that why you're - ” Chloe begins, and Jamie finishes her sentence.
“Drunk?”
“I was,” the janitor laughs. “I think I'm getting a terminal hangover now. I need a drink soon.”
“The King had bottles of stuff in his office,” says Chloe. “We could try there?”
“We can get them after,” the janitor shakes his head. “This guy here takes priority.”
“I thought we agreed he didn't matter anymore,” says Jamie. “He's an imposter.”
“Oh, he matters,” the janitor says. “If this guy is one of the King's most trusted men, then he might be able to put me on the right path: to the real King.”
Jamie waves his hands, about to speak before Chloe paces forward, raising her voice.
“He's a priority? People like you and Jamie are dropping dead all over the city, we need to get you both to a hospital or something, that's our priority.”
“Chloe, come on -” Jamie begins, and she turns and cuts him off.
“Come on? Jamie, you could be dying! So could this...this guy -”
He laughs. “My name is Mark.”
“So could Mark,” she continues, turning back to Jamie. “I don't want you to die.”
“She has a point, Mark,” Jamie admits, looking past Chloe. “We're not much use to anybody dead.”
Mark shakes his head.
“I don't know how long this power is going to last, or if it's going to kill me or whatever, but my mother is on the King's list. I've beaten his men and broken his laws. Now I've dragged one of his most trusted men around by the collar: I've humiliated him. When they find out who I am – and they probably already have – they'll target my mother. I brought this on her, and I'm going to fix it. That means taking down the King before this power either runs its course or kills me.”
“You're not the only one who'd like to see the King gone,” says Jamie, “but you can't just take down a man like that. We don't even know if there is a single King who runs everything. It might be a syndicate, a conspiracy of some kind.”
“Then I take them down, too,” Mark shrugs. “How will they stop me?”
Jamie looks at the defiant, half-drunk janitor standing before him, and cannot help but feel a begrudging respect.
“With difficulty,” he concedes. Chloe is looking at the doors with a curious look in her eyes. “Chloe,” Jamie bends his neck to see her face. “What's up?”
“You said there were police and soldiers outside, Mark?”
“Yeah.”
“So why aren't they coming in for us.”
“Because,” the King's slurring, strained voice comes from the floor between them all. He rolls onto his side, cringing in pain, and props himself up on his arms, “this is neutral territory. They aren't allowed in here.”
Mark leans down, grabbing him again. He goes to lift the King, and finds him heavier than before. He strains and grits his teeth, before finally lifting the King to head height.
“You're awake.”
“You're drunk,” the King retorts, laughing as he dangles from Mark's hands.
“I want the King. The real one. How do I get to him?”
The false King starts to laugh again, a mocking, bitter laughter.
“You're not getting him. Even I don't know if he really exists. You're chasing shadows, son.”
“You must get orders from somewhere.”
“Anonymously delivered by third party couriers. I have no idea who sends them.”
Mark grits his teeth and pulls his fist back. The King flinches despite his bravado.
“Tell me. There must be some way of getting to him.”
“You think I'm averse to a beating? In the last hour I've been knocked out twice and shot in the fucking kneecap. You're nothing. I can see it in your eyes, you're not a bastard. You're a kind soul. You don't want to hurt me, not really; you certainly won't kill me. Why would I tell you shit?”
Mark purses his lips and looks at the floor as his fist lowers.
“I knew it,” the King sneers.
Then Jamie has the machine pistol pressed against the King's skull, and his voice is a low growl.
“Tell the man what he needs to know. He may not be a bastard but I am.”
Mark drops the King, and turns his shocked expression to Jamie.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you your information,” Jamie tells him, and points the gun at the King's other kneecap. “Tell him, King, or I start shooting.”
“Jamie, put the gun down,” Chloe begins to walk across the lobby, her hands out to calm him.
“Oh, you two are hilarious together,” the King sneers. “Which one is good cop and which one is bad cop?”
Jamie calmly points the gun down at the King's kneecap and, without hesitation, pulls the trigger. A burst of gunfire blows the King's knee into red mist and the prone man spasms on the floor, crying out in agony.
The next thing Jamie feels is Mark's hands bunching his shirt and lifting him, his face contorted in a mixture of horror and anger. The smell of gunpowder and blood fade like smoke as time slows itself around Jamie.
It comes easier now. Mark is trying to shout something, but his alcohol scented spittle freezes in mid air, and Jamie is hanging from his immobilised hands. Across the room, Chloe is flinching away from the blood spray.
Jamie twists himself out of Mark's vice-like grip, prying at his fingers with both hands just to get his shirt free. He falls to the floor and scrambles under Mark's grip as the weight of the time building up in his head begins to throb.
Finally, he stands behind Mark with the machine pistol in his hand once more, and pointed at the half-naked janitor.
Time returns with an elastic snap, and the King's screaming pierces his ears. Mark lunges forward, his hands pawing at the air, and he stops and turns in alarm.
“You – how -”
Jamie points the machine pistol at the janitor.
“Don't touch me again.”
Mark tenses up, his fists still clenched.
“You know bullets don't hurt me, right?”
“You tested that theory sober yet?”
Mark says nothing, still aching from the last few gunshots. They're getting worse as the alcohol buzz wears off.
“I thought not,” Jamie says, “so it looks like we're at an impasse, since you can't actually lay a finger on me.”
“Just put the gun down, nobody needs to die here.”
“I shot him in the knee, he won't die.”
“And what next? You'll kill him like those men upstairs?”
“They were going to kill me, I had no choice.”
“You're the one with the power: there's always a choice.”
“Easy to say when you're bulletproof. I'm not, and neither is she,” Jamie points
at Chloe across the room, who is kneeling beside the King as though he were a wounded animal.
“That man is our ticket,” says Mark. “We use him to get to the King, and we can end this entire thing.”
“Who says I want to? I just want to get my money and leave this sorry, forsaken, piece of shit city and live my life in peace.”
Mark stops, squinting in confusion at him.
“Money?” he asks. “Really?”
Jamie frowns. “What?”
“That's what you want? You've been given this incredible power, whatever it is that you can do, whatever the fire gave you, and you just want money?”
“I wouldn't consider an imminent brain haemorrhage a blessing,” Jamie shrugs, “but yeah. I worked for that money, the King owes me it. I want that, then I want the retirement package I was promised. I want my life back.”
“You could do so much with this power, man. I can guarantee you that the King's money won't bring you what you want.” Mark lowers his voice and takes a step forward. “Do you even really know what you want?”
“You don't know me,” says Jamie, his finger tightening on the trigger. “You don't know what I've been through.”
“Living a hard life doesn't mean you're entitled to inflict pain on others,” says Mark, and takes another step forward.
Jamie lowers the gun, keeping his eyes locked on Mark's, and then points the gun down at the writhing figure of the King.
“This man,” says Jamie, “doesn't deserve your sympathy, or your mercy. He'd show you none.”
“And what about you, Jamie?” asks Mark.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you any better? Are you going to show mercy?”
“Jamie,” Chloe whispers, and Jamie's eyes flicker, “put the gun down.”
“We're on the same side here, Jamie. We both benefit from bringing the King to justice.”
“There is no justice in this bloody city.”
“There is now.”
Jamie lets out a long, harsh sigh and drops the gun. Chloe flinches as it clatters to the floor.
“If this gets her hurt -” Jamie begins, and Mark holds up his hands to stop him.
“It's all on me, I know.”
“As soon as this is over, we leave the city -”
Kingdom: The Complete Series Page 7
