Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

she never thought herself capable of. She’d killed someone to protect herself. But that didn’t make her a seasoned veteran, and it didn’t give her priority. There was a ream of difference between your first kill and the moment it all clicks, the millisecond it comes together and you realise you can control your emotions and your impulses in life-or-death situations. She’d get there, because she wasn’t going anywhere. She was in it for the long haul. But she wasn’t there yet.

She was changing, though.

A month ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

They went through, and Alexis’ irritation vanished when she saw the villa.

It was idyllic.

It was more of a bungalow than a villa, but the design was for vanity. Nothing about the house was old-fashioned, but it was made to look that way by careful design and use of the right construction materials. The roof was thatched, but King guessed there was modern work underneath. A porch wrapped around the entire structure, covering every square inch of the exterior. The side facing the ocean was mostly floor-to-ceiling glass, and there was no perimeter wall between the manicured grass and the white sand of the beach. Terrible for security, but they hadn’t been followed, and if they were diligent no one would know they were here.

Slater was the only one thrown off by the layout. ‘Someone’s going to stroll right in off the beach.’

Violetta said, ‘You wanted an actual fort? So we could draw more attention to ourselves?’

Slater shook his head. ‘When you said you’d handle it, I thought you’d handle it.’

‘I’ll leave you in charge of booking in future.’

‘Please do.’

King said, ‘This place doesn’t matter. We won’t be here long enough.’

Slater watched the waves roll in and gave his head another shake.

King said, ‘You lost the ability to defend yourself or something?’

Slater held out his bare hands, his bag at his feet on the grass. ‘With what, exactly?’

Someone knocked on the brushwood fencing out front.

Violetta said, ‘Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.’

A grizzled fifty-something man walked straight in through the open gate like he owned the place. Judging by the redness of his skin and the thick veins rippling up his exposed arms, he looked to be taking full advantage of testosterone replacement therapy. He was bald, with a lean surfer’s frame, and the deep tan all over almost masked his crimson complexion. His eyes were sharp. He was carrying a giant Samsonite case in each hand, each one made of rippling aluminium. They looked to have cost a couple of grand apiece, and that wasn’t taking into account whatever was inside them.

Slater ignored him, turned to Violetta and said, ‘Should we be concerned?’

She said, ‘No. Alonzo set it up.’

‘Relax, yeah,’ the guy said.

He lowered the cases to the grass. Each one impacted with a heavy thunk. King realised the man was far stronger than he looked, and he looked strong.

He said, ‘Any friends of Alonzo are friends of mine.’

‘What’s in the mystery boxes?’ King said.

The guy popped the catches and levered the top off each one, and King got an immediate sense of déjà vu. He and Slater had intercepted a similar shipment off the Hudson River before they’d ever met Violetta or Alexis.

What was in the mystery boxes were guns.

Lots of guns.

18

The man introduced himself as Wayne and left it at that.

He turned to leave.

King stared down at a pair of HK assault rifles, four Glock 9mms, and an amalgamation of attachments and ammunition. All brand new, all clean. No serial numbers. He was staring at tens of thousands of dollars worth of munitions.

He said, ‘Are these free?’

Wayne turned back. ‘Of course not. I gotta pay the bills, buy new boards. You ever heard of bank transfers?’

He gave a mock salute and strolled out the gate.

‘Pleasure doing business,’ he called over his shoulder as he left.

Violetta said, ‘Don’t worry, he’s fiercely independent. He won’t rat us out. I did my research.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Did a couple of tours of the Stans, took an honourable discharge and got on the first flight here. Now he surfs and smokes weed and carefully acquires high-powered weaponry on the black market.’

‘Sells to all sorts of characters, I’m sure,’ Slater said.

Violetta rolled her eyes. ‘You going to go after him, too? Be my guest.’

Slater held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m good. Feel a little better about the ocean view now.’

‘Enjoy it,’ she said. ‘While you can.’

King stared at the guns. ‘Best we get these inside before we get sprung.’

Slater was deep in thought.

Alexis noticed. ‘What?’

‘How many payloads this size do you think that Wayne guy drops to people on Grand Bahama?’ Slater said. ‘Got to be an anomaly, right?’

Violetta shrugged. ‘Maybe. Why?’

‘If he makes one slip-up, one wrong move, Walcott might find out. Everything you were telling us before we flew here suggests the guy controls most of the organised crime on the island. You think Wayne has that sort of attention to detail?’

Violetta said, ‘I trust him.’

King said, ‘I trust him, too.’

Alexis turned to Slater. ‘Do you?’

He couldn’t take his eyes off the guns.

He mulled it over.

Realised he couldn’t reach a definitive conclusion either way.

Eventually said, ‘I don’t know.’

19

Wayne Portis was thinking about dumb shit.

That’s always the case in hindsight, isn’t it?

He never thought he’d spend his last moments as a free man weighing up which IPA he’d take off the shelf that night. The Island Pirate Ale was always reliable, and he figured he’d down six tall ones just to wipe the memory of those Americans from his mind. It wasn’t where they were from that rubbed him the wrong way, it was that look in their eyes. In fact, now that he thought about it, all four of them had it, not just the two bodybuilders with faces like ice. He didn’t know what their deal was, only that Alonzo had vouched for them, and that was good enough.

Besides, cash was cash.

Now he covered the eight blocks to his small shack on foot,