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

Credulity could only stretch so far.

Teddy said, ‘Okay. I believe you. So, yes, I borrowed eighty thousand dollars from Dylan Walcott.’

King said, ‘What’s the loan now?’

‘Somewhere around one-thirty. It’s compounding because I can’t get ahead.’

‘A hundred and thirty grand?’

Teddy nodded, bowed his head.

Slater got the sense the old man had told no one about this. This was his first time spilling his guts.

King said, ‘Are you married?’

Teddy grimaced. ‘Yes.’

‘Does she know?’

A pointless question. The grimace said everything.

‘Yes,’ Teddy said. ‘She’s sticking with me. We can get through it together.’

‘She might just be saying that so it gives her time to pack her bags without you getting mad.’

Teddy shook his head. ‘Trust me. She’s the best thing in my life. We were married thirty years ago and we’re still madly in love.’

Teddy could see they didn’t believe him. It wasn’t malicious thinking — Slater had simply seen too many relationships fall apart because of deceit, mistakes, hurt. Spend most of your life around traumatic experiences and it’s a natural byproduct.

That got him thinking about Alexis, and whether that would turn out the same…

He brought his mind back to the present.

King said, ‘How much do you know about Dylan Walcott?’

Teddy said, ‘He loans people money when they need it.’

‘He’s a racketeer,’ King said. ‘He owns a dozen private banks here in this exotic tax haven, and a few casinos along with it. He uses the former to wash the money generated by the latter.’

‘Where are you from?’ Teddy said. ‘You’re Americans?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know an awful lot about what’s going on over here.’

‘We dealt with a similar situation in Las Vegas,’ King said. ‘We followed the money. It led us here.’

Teddy pondered that. ‘Do you think you can fix all the evil in the world?’

‘No,’ Slater said. ‘Just some.’

‘If Dylan’s as bad as you say he is,’ Teddy said, ‘then what do you think the two of you are going to do about it?’

‘We have our ways.’

‘Nice and cryptic,’ Teddy said. ‘Look, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. I know what I owe and I know who I owe it to. It’s a messy situation, but it’s relatively simple, right? I’ll pay, piece by piece, and I’ll survive. I like the sound of that a whole lot better than giving you two the green light to do whatever it is you do.’

‘Who said anything about green-lighting us?’ King said.

Slater said, ‘I don’t think you understand what’s happening here.’

‘What is happening?’ Teddy said.

Slater leant forward. Figured it was about time to be upfront. ‘We’re going after Dylan Walcott, with or without your blessing. All we’re here to do is get a little more information on the man, find out what sort of trouble he puts the locals through. So talk to us or don’t talk to us, but it won’t make much difference either way. And no one will trace it back to you one way or the other.’

Teddy looked over his shoulder, paranoid.

Slater said, ‘Do you see Vince around? You’re in the clear.’

‘Oh, God,’ Teddy said. ‘What did you do?’

King said, ‘Nothing yet.’

Slater said, ‘And it’s not as simple as you claim it is. You’re in over your head. This island is an experiment in money laundering. Always has been, always will be. Local politicians and organised crime figures and stock manipulators like Dylan’s grandfather all worked together to build this city, and they’re all in cahoots to this day. We’re going to do something about that. So you need to ask yourself whether you want to remain a slave to Dylan Walcott or maybe give a pinch of information to the resistance.’

Teddy said, ‘My shift is over in thirty minutes. I think I’d like you to come to my home and meet my wife. Then we can all discuss this together.’

Slater turned to King.

King nodded.

33

Alexis cracked the guy in the jaw before he could drive the knife up into her chin, and his face snapped with a pop.

Truth is, you break someone’s jaw, they’re done.

He nearly passed out from the pain and pitched backwards into the dirt, arms and legs splayed. Before he could even utter a moan of agony she’d turned to the second guy.

‘You got a knife too?’ she said, her voice booming with adrenaline.

He did.

He ripped it free from its holster at his belt. He wasn’t scared yet, just firing on all cylinders. Sure, his buddy had caught an unlucky punch, taken by surprise, but now it was one on one and this dumb bitch had played her hand prematurely. He still had her cornered, and now it was a knife against brass knuckles, no surprise hits. He gripped it tight — she noticed it was a newer knife, the blade cleaner than the first — and advanced toward her.

He made it one step before she came out with the compact Glock concealed in the holster at the lip of her jean shorts, below the small of her back. She aimed it square between the man’s eyes.

He smiled. ‘Dat’s a nice gun. What you gonna do with it?’

She lowered her aim and shot him in the thigh.

He dropped the knife, collapsed on one leg, fell to one side like a limp ragdoll, then the pain caught up to him as he sprawled in the dirt and thrashed around as if possessed.

She kicked the two knives away, sending them skittering into the foliage on either side of the trail.

The guy with the broken jaw made it to his knees, venom in his eyes. He was using one hand to hold his chin in place but he was aflame with intensity. She’d learned first-hand how superhuman adrenaline makes you. Almost any injury can be shrugged off, temporarily held at bay until you know you’re safe. But her own adrenaline was racing, and in a fight between two parties who somewhat know what they’re doing, the first to sport a significant injury is usually the loser.

The rest is courtesy.

But she was much smaller, and inexperienced in the “field,” so she treated