Outlaws - Matt Rogers (read ebook pdf .txt) 📗

end as soon as possible.

He hit a touch pad on the wall just inside the entranceway with an open palm, and a series of ambient lights lit up the penthouse’s central space. The deep yellow glow deliberately fell short of glaring against the floor-to-ceiling window panes running the length of the far wall, so he still had an uncompromising view of the Manhattan skyline at dawn.

He’d left Moscow at two in the morning, flown direct for ten hours, and then commuted an hour from JFK International Airport back to the Upper East Side of Manhattan. But the clock had wound back seven hours due to time zones, so now it was six a.m. in New York. The rapid time zone changes had thrown his body clock all the way off, and now he existed in a strange fugue state, somehow simultaneously dead tired and wide awake.

Only two minutes after arriving home, someone knocked at the door.

It could only be one guest, because King had only approved one guest. Slater was still in Mexico, and he was the only resident with keycard access to the top residential floor, so it had to be that sole guest. After two separate incidents within the tower over the last year, Violetta had turned the building into an invisible fortress. King knew that government operatives specialising in wet work were there in the shadows, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, protecting two of the secret world’s most valuable assets in King and Slater. They would never let anyone reach this floor that didn’t have permission.

He left his bag where it was, went to the door, and opened it.

Jack Coombs stood there, just as grizzled and serious as when King had first met him in the bar.

On top of that, the military vet looked disgruntled as hell.

King said, ‘Are you happy to see me?’

Coombs shot him a withering death stare and stormed inside without invitation. He tried to bump King on the shoulder as he brushed past, but King slid effortlessly aside, a few inches out of range, making the older man look like a fool.

Coombs spun, rattled.

King killed the niceties and said, ‘Let’s cut the shit. You’re not happy, but don’t get petty. Voice your concerns man to man. Posturing is ugly.’

Coombs digested this, then swept through into the penthouse’s main space. He surveyed the designer furniture, the multi-million dollar view, the marble countertop of the kitchen island, the invisible stench of wealth.

He grunted, ‘You weren’t kidding about the money.’

King said, ‘Do I look like a liar?’

Coombs turned to face him. ‘I don’t know what the hell you look like, kid.’

They stood there, facing off across the giant space that now seemed hollow, permeated by tension.

King said, ‘Let’s get one thing straight.’

Coombs raised an eyebrow.

King said, ‘You’re here because I allowed you to be here. You shouldn’t know about this world. Really, you shouldn’t know Slater or I exist. After what happened in Moscow I could have vanished off the face of the earth. You’d never have been able to locate me, let alone berate me. But I felt I owed you an explanation.’

‘You’re damn right you owe me an explanation.’

‘Your client was a pathetic low-life criminal.’

‘Do you have proof?’

‘I’m not supposed to tell you a goddamn thing about what happened over there. In fact, that’s what my handler explicitly ordered.’

Coombs fell quiet.

He didn’t plead. He didn’t get angry, either. He just lapsed into silence.

King respected it.

So he said, ‘I’ll share. Because I don’t think you have bad intentions.’

‘I don’t,’ Coombs said. ‘I just want to know why my entire career’s about to go to shit.’

‘Can’t you try damage control?’

‘That only works with public information,’ Coombs growled. ‘But this is all private. Behind the scenes, everyone in the know is aware that I vouched for the man that went rogue and wreaked havoc.’

‘If you’re going to be investigated, we can quash that.’

Coombs shook his head. ‘These people aren’t the type to investigate. But word will spread. I’ll never be used again.’

‘I didn’t have a choice.’

‘You did.’

‘Sam Donati ordered the death of an innocent woman. All to get a few percentage points inked into his contract.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I heard it.’

‘So you killed him and assaulted his security?’

‘Assault implies there was no self-defence. It was seven on one.’

‘That’s your story?’

‘I have no story,’ King said. ‘I don’t exist.’

Coombs stared. He reached up and tucked a strand of thick grey hair behind his ear.

King said, ‘I’m not going to apologise.’

‘My career is over.’

‘You made hay while the sun shone,’ King said. ‘And then you slipped up. You didn’t do your due diligence. You sent me into a situation where I had to act. If I did nothing, I’d be corrupt through to the core. That’s on you. I’d do the same thing a thousand times over, if I had the choice.’

‘There were other ways to handle it.’

‘Not in my book.’

‘You could have let the law sort it out.’

‘An endless trial. A small army of the world’s best lawyers against me. All based on conjecture. All based on what I heard. I don’t think so.’

‘That’s why laws exist.’

’They’re rigid. And they take too long. That’s why people like me exist.’

Coombs frowned. ‘I thought you didn’t.’

‘You’re right. I don’t. Is there anything else you want to say to me?’

A vein pulsated on the side of Coombs’ throat. His neck had the texture of sandpaper.

King said, ‘You want to kill me, don’t you?’

‘No,’ Coombs admitted. ‘I’m just angry.’

‘Which is understandable.’

‘I have money,’ Coombs said. ‘I’ll be fine. But the bulk of my work is over. No more high-roller clients. All thanks to you.’

King said nothing.

There was nothing left to say.

He decided to let the old man vent.

‘Did he try to bribe you?’ Coombs said.

‘Of course.’

‘How do I know you didn’t take it?’

‘Because he’s dead in a hotel suite.’

‘You could have double-crossed him.’

‘I didn’t take your money,’ King said. ‘Which was perfectly legit. Why would I take his?’

A pause.

Then a shrug of acceptance.

Coombs walked back to the door.

King followed.

When the old