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

‘Yeah,’ King said. ‘Much more.’

Slater gave thanks his partner was switched on.

Vince said, ‘So what do you want from me?’

‘To talk,’ Slater said. ‘Put the gun down.’

Vince said, ‘You gotta choice to make, pal.’

Slater raised an eyebrow.

Vince said, ‘Group of civilians at your four o’clock. Old white people, the type to scream. They’re going to see you two with your guns out in about eight seconds. That’ll get the cops involved, and I own the cops. So what’s it going to be?’

Slater knew a bluff when he heard it.

Vince wasn’t bluffing.

26

Slater flicked his gaze sideways and saw them — two elderly couples in a tight group, coming south down the other side of Coral Road, tottering along the uneven shoulder. En route to the beach, with umbrellas and folding chairs and jumbo bottles of sunscreen in tow. They were deep in conversation, but they’d look up and across any moment now and see King and Slater standing on the edge of the clearing.

Slater lowered his gun and tucked his shirt over it, pressing the barrel tight against the material.

King noticed and did the same.

Three long seconds.

Slater’s heart was two-timing now.

He heard the group’s faint laughter at his five o’clock, closing in on his six. Nearly right behind them.

Slater said, ‘They’ll see you too, Vince.’

‘I know,’ Vince said, and shoved Santa Claus hard in the back.

The big guy let out a shaky yell as he stumbled toward King and Slater. They had their Glocks in awkward positions, and they couldn’t extract them as fast as they wanted, especially not with a viewing party across the road. King skirted left and Slater skirted right so Santa Claus came to a halt between them, falling to his puffy knees as he spluttered for breath.

Vince was in the trees already, running for his life, not looking back.

Slater made to follow.

One of the old women behind them screamed.

Slater wheeled, thinking some way, somehow, Vince had fired a warning shot and it had struck a civilian. He’d never forgive himself.

But when he turned, all he saw was the lady running for Santa, sheer concern on her face.

Slater looked down.

Santa’s face was the colour of a beetroot, so red and flummoxed that he seemed on the verge of a heart attack. Slater knew the guy was just panicked, an ordinary response to adrenaline from someone with sky-high blood pressure and eighty extra pounds he didn’t need. But the woman thought he was dying.

Santa closed his eyes and sucked in air, trying not to hyperventilate. Panicking would only make it worse. He was doing all the right things, and it meant he wouldn’t be capable of speaking for somewhere close to a minute.

The woman knelt by the big guy and said, ‘Is he okay? Oh no, he’s having some sort of attack.’

Slater said, ‘We found him by the side of the road here.’

The woman wasn’t paying attention to him. Nor were the rest of her party, still hesitantly hovering across the road.

Slater met King’s eyes and jerked his head to the side.

King nodded.

They walked off fast, away from the beach, heading inland. In thirty seconds they were two silhouettes in the distance and in a full minute they were gone. With the MantaRay Bay Condominiums to their left and the Reef Course & Country Club to their right they had little opportunity to veer off Coral Road, but they took it as soon as they were past the condos, disappearing left along Bahama Reef Boulevard and then cutting into the suburb labelled “Royal Bahamian Estates.” Soon enough they were surrounded by big lots and modern houses, with nothing to show for the life-or-death confrontation minutes earlier.

Slater brought his pulse down and wiped his brow under the relentless sun. ‘So Vince is a pro.’

King said, ‘He was pretty desperate. One tiny mistake and we would have had him.’

‘But he didn’t make one,’ Slater said. ‘What other mob goon do you know who could have got himself out of that situation?’

King shrugged. ‘We’ll get him, though. Don’t worry about that. It’s our first day here.’

Slater stewed as they walked.

King said, ‘He’s smart. He’s not tough.’

‘Sometimes smart is all you need.’

‘That old guy,’ King said. ‘He knows something.’

Slater squinted against the sun as he looked over. ‘The hostage? Santa Claus?’

King managed a smile despite the circumstances. ‘No. Not Santa Claus. The server at the hut.’

‘Oh,’ Slater said. ‘Yeah. We should talk to him now.’

King checked the time. ‘Let’s walk it off, have an afternoon stroll. Give that place time for the lunchtime rush to dissipate. I don’t know about you but I’m turned off having civilians anywhere near this.’

Slater said, ‘I doubt it’ll empty out completely. And what if Vince comes back?’

‘I hope Vince comes back,’ King said, deadly serious.

Slater nodded. ‘Me too. Just checking we’re on the same page.’

‘For now, we do a lap of Freeport. You never know, we might run into Dylan Walcott and tie this all up with a neat bow.’

Slater said, ‘Yeah. When’s that ever happened?’

‘First time for everything.’

They made sure the Glocks were concealed in their holsters, then went to kill some of the afternoon by scouting the city.

A sheen of sweat had already dried salty on Slater’s skin.

It had been quite the morning.

27

At three in the afternoon Violetta got off the phone to King.

She lowered it to the kitchen island and thought it over.

They had exactly shit.

They’d scared off Vince Ricci at the tiki hut, nearly got an innocent hostage killed, and now they were wandering aimlessly through Freeport, killing time before confronting the old server. The insidious thought struck her that maybe King and Slater were ageing out of the profession. They could still battle through to success with the help of their genetic blessings, but reflexes weren’t enough in this world. She knew, deep down, they’d be screwed without her. A handler, a logistics coordinator, someone to put it all together.

But that’s the way it had always been.

Alexis stepped inside in her bikini, her hair still damp from an