by Matt Rogers
It had been a monumental day. The bikers and the arrest and the breakout and the kidnapping and the assassination attempt shifted into a kaleidoscope of bad memories.
He slipped into a much-needed sleep, finding some semblance of relief amongst the chaos.
CHAPTER 18
They’d fallen asleep early — not long after ten in the evening — and as a result King found himself awake at just before six the next morning. He couldn’t sleep in anymore. Not since the military. That constant feeling that he had to be awake and alert to prevent an ambush would never leave him. For years he’d trained to be wary at all times and now it affected every aspect of his daily life.
Kate lay beside him, her arm still across his chest, her naked breasts pressed against his shoulder. She looked peaceful in sleep. He shifted his position in the bed and she stirred. She opened her eyes. Looked at him.
‘Hey.’
He smiled. ‘Hey.’
‘That was fun.’
‘We were supposed to do investigative work last night,’ he said.
‘Well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?’
King kissed her again, relishing the feeling. ‘We don’t have much to go off. I’ve got a USB drive, with video footage of the two men I told you about picking up your package. That’s it.’
‘Worth a shot. We can watch it on my laptop.’ She hesitated. ‘What would you have done without me?’
‘Huh?’
‘You don’t have a computer. No phone, nothing. You’re a ghost.’
King stared at the ceiling, one arm around her. ‘Getting off the grid was the whole point of coming here. When I up and left I knew there would be a lot of people wanting to follow my every move. I didn’t want anyone to be able to contact me, or know where I am. It meant leaving everything behind.’
‘No luggage?’
‘I barely had any possessions in the first place.’
‘What about clothes?’
‘I’ve just been buying them along the way. I’ll get a carry bag soon, and start fresh. But I wanted to sever all ties to my past. That meant nothing from America came with me.’
‘That’s efficient at least. Where were you planning to go from here?’
‘Wherever. I’ve got all the time in the world now.’
They got dressed and Kate retrieved her laptop from the chair near the door. She slid a thin notebook out and turned it on.
‘Got the stick?’ she said.
He handed her the USB and she plugged it in, bringing up a folder containing a single file.
‘That’s it,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘I figured that. You’re a little bit ancient, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not that old,’ he said, smiling.
She turned. ‘How old are you? You keep saying you retired.’
‘Thirty-two. You retire young in my field.’
‘Huh,’ Kate said, mulling over the new information. ‘I’m twenty-seven. We’re not that far apart after all.’
‘You’re saying I look old?’
She laughed. ‘No, not at all. But the way you talk doesn’t line up with your age. At thirty-two you should be worrying about your mortgage, or complaining about your nine-to-five, or having a mid-life crisis.’
‘I guess I’ve seen a lot.’
‘I guess so.’
She double-clicked on the video file, bringing up grainy security footage inside the post office. The camera faced the row of PO boxes. For a long minute there was no movement. Then in the top corner of the screen the doors swung open and the pair of contract killers walked in. They moved quickly, both determined to draw as little attention as possible. They paused by one of the largest boxes. The man on the left produced a key and unlocked it with a twist of the wrist.
The package gave nothing away. It was square and wrapped in brown paper, indistinguishable from any other parcel. The man on the right — who King recognised as Buzzcut — withdrew it and they headed for the door.
‘Fuck,’ King whispered. A dead end. Now they were left clutching at straws.
And then in the final few seconds of the video Buzzcut ripped open the top of the package and extracted a slim black device. A smartphone. He opened his jacket and tucked the phone inside, into a pocket. The other man opened the door and the pair disappeared from sight.
‘Well, that’s something,’ Kate said.
King stared long and hard at the image of the empty post office frozen on the screen. It definitely was something. Which was far more than he’d expected to see.
He strode over to the bed and snatched his windbreaker off the duvet. The Beretta went back in his waistband.
‘Where are you going?’ she said.
‘I know where that phone is.’
‘Oh, god,’ she said. ‘You’re seriously not going to…’
‘That’s what this kind of life entails, Kate. Killing bad people. Searching dead bodies. Like I said, it would be healthier for you to have nothing to do with me.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Stay here, okay? I’ll be back in an hour.’
‘And if you’re not?’
He paused. ‘Then get as far away from Jameson as possible, and forget all about what happened here. Exactly like you said.’
‘I told you I’m not—’
King crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Look, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but hundreds of people have tried to kill me before. If I die today, then these people are trained professionals beyond anything I’ve ever seen. Which means that you will die if you stay here, no questions. It’s not worth sticking to your refusal to leave if it means getting killed. Maybe even slowly.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Promise me you’ll leave if I don’t come back.’ He could see the tears brimming in the corner of her eyes.
‘I don’t want to,’ she said. ‘There’s nowhere to go.’
‘You can go anywhere. It’s better than being dead.’
Reluctantly, she nodded. ‘Okay.’
He kissed her. Unsure for how long. When they finally parted, Kate touched a hand to his face and looked him in the eyes. ‘Will I see you again?’
He snatched Billy’s car keys off the coffee table and opened the motel door. ‘Of course. You think I’m going to let them do anything to me?’
She shook her head.
He knew it would do both of them no good to linger and contemplate what would happen if he didn’t come back. So he closed the door behind him and made his way down to the carport without a shred of hesitation.
It was an icy morning, much like the last one. A thin layer of dew covered everything. The sun had only just risen and the temperature still hovered close to zero. Before he got in the car, he glanced down the main road, looking into town. There was little activity at this time of morning. He guessed the daily bustle didn’t start until around seven. All around him, the ringing cacophony of bird calls added to the eerie feel of the woods.
He decided he didn’t like the country all that much. Its stillness and tranquility had been ruined by the chaos of the last two days. Now the isolation only meant his death would go completely unnoticed. His body would rot in the woods. An unnerving thought, to say the least.
It took several attempts to get the car started, which he chalked up to leaving it outside as the night froze over. On the third try it coughed and spat to life, eventually settling into a rhythmic chugging. He reversed out of the parking space and set off along the mountain roads, which had become all too familiar. He knew the rough location of the metal work factory. He hoped there would be some way to access the clearing by vehicle.
It took five minutes to reach the area where he’d seen the two construction workers die, and in that time he did not pass a single vehicle on the roads. Once again, the emptiness of the landscape sent a shiver down his spine.
Zero witnesses. Zero help.
After trawling through a
maze of deserted routes he came across yet another indiscriminate gravel path. It seemed there was one everywhere he looked. He pulled the sedan up to its entrance and stared down its length. It trailed away into the forest. He couldn’t determine exactly where it ended, but it seemed to head toward the general vicinity of the factory. He would never know for sure unless he tried it. There was nothing to do but hope he wasn’t heading into a trap, spin the wheel and guide the car down the rocky path.
As he drove, he grimly accepted that he would most likely be heading to another dead end. If the phone had a passcode, or simply didn’t hold any useful information, then he was unsure of what to do next. He’d been moving forward this entire time, yet his barebones investigation would probably come to a screeching halt at the bottom of this path. Nevertheless, he forced the thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on what lay ahead. It was what he’d always done. He wasn’t about to give up yet. Not until he was dead, or he’d found out who was trying to kill him.
The path opened out into the clearing, just as he’d thought. He pulled to a stop in the middle of the dead grass. The factory lay ahead. In the daytime it was far less imposing. Still large, the majority of its exterior had rusted from exposure to the cold and the wind. Metal awnings shadowed the surrounding ground, and a twisting array of brick and steel arced toward the sky. King spotted the open warehouse door on the ground floor. The construction workers’ pickup truck still sat where he’d left it, battered into a wreck. Further inside, he saw the machine that housed the four bodies. A cylindrical cone. Some kind of industrial grinder.
What came next — searching the bodies — would not be a pleasant task. He got out of the sedan, hoping that the decomposition process had yet to begin. After only two days in often sub-zero temperatures, he didn’t think it would have.
He strode into the warehouse and listened to the creaks of the empty factory around him. The pickup was parked close enough to the cone to act as a stepping stone. He leapt onto the bonnet, which groaned under his weight. He gripped the rim of the cone and scurried over the edge.
The entire ordeal turned out to be less disgusting than he had anticipated.
Overnight the bodies had frozen. They lay stiff and rigid, completely pale, lifeless. Far less of a problem than if they had been kept in heat for two nights. King had seen enough dead men in his time to remain unperturbed. He opened Buzzcut’s jacket and peered at it in the gloom. Sure enough, there was an inside pocket at chest height which he’d missed on his first search, held shut by a single button. He prised it open and withdrew the iPhone that lay inside.
He pressed the home button, and to his surprise the screen fired up. The small battery symbol in the top right corner indicated it had less than four percent left. Which wasn’t a problem, as either Kate would have a charger or the hardware store in town would.
He leapfrogged out of the cone, leaving the bodies behind. Hopefully they could be at peace and he would never have to look at them again. As he crossed the stretch of ground to the entrance, heading back the way he’d come, he decided to try the phone. He turned the screen on once again and flicked sideways.
It unlocked instantly.
The sheer stupidity of Buzzcut’s actions surprised him. He peered down at the home screen, wondering just why a hitman would fail to secure his phone. Perhaps he’d been confident enough to throw caution to the wind, sure that he would not meet his match in a small country town like Jameson. King stepped out into the empty clearing, still staring down in disbelief. The lack of a passcode had thrown his awareness out the window.
Which meant he momentarily lost concentration on his surroundings.
When he looked up, he realised the clearing wasn’t so empty after all.
His sedan was surrounded. But not by mysterious hitmen or assassins. Four men stood facing him, all brandishing state-of-the-art automatic weaponry. All sporting bruises and swollen faces and jagged cuts. All men he recognised.
The bikers.
CHAPTER 19
‘Long time no see, pal!’ the nearest man called.
It was Jed. No doubt hopped up on painkillers. His jaw had turned black and blue and there was a strip of duct tape covering the wound on the top of his head. Even from a distance away, he looked like shit. Skinny stood beside him. Behind them was Beefy, and behind him was the first man King had knocked out, who he had yet to ascribe a label to.
King couldn’t believe that they had returned. He knew he’d made a mistake by keeping them alive, but he hadn’t found it within himself to kill the four men back in the clubhouse, even after what they had done. They were just local thugs, after all. They had deserved a beating, but not death. And Beefy had looked at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Such fear couldn’t be faked. King had been certain that the four of them would flee. So why were they here?
Then he noticed the weapons they held, and everything made sense.
King recognised the design all too well. There had been enough of them around during his time in the Special Forces. Colt M4 carbine assault rifles, issued to the US military. Brand new, shiny. As if they’d been taken right off the production room floor. Expensive, exclusive firearms that were entirely out of place in the hands of a ragtag group of small-town bikers.
These guys had probably been intercepted on their way out of town by those in the shadows of Jameson. Geared up with state-of-the-art weaponry and told to go headhunting for Jason King.
Big mistake.
‘Hey there, Jed,’ King said, heading for them.
Jed and Skinny raised their weapons like the amateurs they were. They held the massive rifles in trembling hands. King knew they had never used assault rifles before.
He had.
‘Keep your hands up when you come over here,’ Jed said.
‘That’s good, Jed,’ King said. ‘You sound stern. I like it. Much more imposing than sitting on the dirt and sobbing.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Didn’t think you’d come back.’
‘We did.’
‘I can see that. How much did they pay you?’
‘Huh?’
‘How much were you offered to kill me?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Those guns you’re holding,’ King said. ‘Who gave you those?’
Skinny perked up. ‘They’re ours.’
King laughed. Spitefully. Sarcastically. ‘No they’re not. You’re a bunch of backwood thugs who haven’t seen a real fight in your life. I took care of all of you without breaking a sweat. Now you come back with an arsenal of guns, because you all know you won’t be able to do anything against me unless you get help from your sugar daddy. Am I right?’
King knew he didn’t stand a chance from twenty feet away. If the bikers desired, they could light him up at a moment’s notice. He’d die, without a doubt. His heart pounded against his chest wall, pumping his veins with adrenalin, but on the outside he made sure to exude cockiness. He kept his demeanour confident and arrogant and insulting. If he could antagonise the bikers to the point where they decided to get up close and personal, then he had a chance.
He was far from the one in control. But he made it seem like he was. He preyed on their desire to show him who was boss.
It worked swimmingly.
Jed and Skinny, guns up, made for him. They closed the gap until they were within touching distance. Another big mistake. Jed walked with a pronounced limp, no doubt still battered from the altercation the previous day. He prodded King with the barrel.
‘Get on your knees,’ he said.
As King dropped to the ground, he scrutinised their M4’s up close. Once again he struggled to comprehend how such powerful arms had been transported to Jameson. Who were these people supplying them? What reach did they have? Whatever the case, it was more than clear that he was now a definite target, and not just someone in the way. His enemies had, instead of showing their faces, supplied a bunch of local bullies with enough we
aponry to arm a special forces unit and sent them after him. And they would succeed in getting the job done unless he capitalised on the situation.
Jed saw the object in King’s waistband and withdrew the Beretta. He tossed it away into the overgrown grass. Disarming him.
King began to laugh. At first, sniggering. Then that built to a crescendo, until he was cackling in glee. He made sure to make eye contact with Jed’s weapon.
‘What the fuck is so funny?’ Jed said.
‘You guys really are amateurs.’
‘You say that, but you’re the one on your knees.’
‘You’re not going to kill me.’
‘Pretty sure I am, you dumb fuck.’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘And why is that?’
‘You’ve all got the safety on.’
King said it with such disdain that for a brief, panicked moment … they believed him.
Both Jed and Skinny’s eyes darted to their weapons, searching for the safety near the trigger, wondering if they really had made such a colossal mistake.
It was a fraction of a second of hesitation.
All that a man like King needed.
He exploded off his knees. A single burst of energy, tapping into something deep within, some kind of primal rage. It lent him a strength and a speed that he knew no common civilian could match. A rush that he’d trained himself to unlock when a split second could mean the difference between life and death. He reached up and snatched Jed’s gun with unrestrained power. The sudden movement shocked the man, causing an involuntary reaction. A flinch. His grip loosened.
That would do.
King ripped the gun away and spun it around and slotted his finger perfectly into the trigger guard and pulled down. All in a single swift movement. Streamlined, with the practiced flow of a trained professional. Something these men were very far from.
The weapon fired instantaneously. Safety off.
It had never been on, but the statement had made the bikers pause. Made them question their decisions. Made them hesitate for that minuscule amount of time that — in combat — meant death.
