Monsters - Matt Rogers (icecream ebook reader TXT) 📗

‘So, the way I hear it, you’re the only one willing to sink that low.’

‘Gotta pay the cost to be the boss.’

‘James Brown. Nice.’ King clapped his hands together, like he was impatient. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

Slater said, ‘You sure we can’t participate?’

Frankie side-eyed him, let loose a grin. ‘Someone’s getting ahead of themselves. Not tonight, I’m afraid. I have rules and I stick to them.’

Slater said, ‘Who’s the guy?’

‘His name’s Choi. That’s all you need to know.’

‘Choi?’

‘Choi.’

‘What does Choi do?’

‘Need-to-know basis.’

‘Who’s he pissed off?’

‘Need-to-know.’

King tapped Slater on the shoulder, once, briefly. ‘Don’t think you need to ask any more questions.’

Frankie half-smirked at King, nodded his appreciation. ‘You guys got questions for me?’

King shook his head. ‘No. I’m sure your boys will bring us up to speed en route to wherever we’re doing this. But one thing—’ He jerked his thumb at Danny. ‘He doesn’t come along.’

Out of the corner of his eye King noticed Danny stiffen, mouth hanging slightly open.

Frankie shook his head. ‘That’s non-negotiable. This is my operation. I choose my crew.’

‘He stays behind or we walk,’ King said. ‘Both of us.’

Frankie looked at Slater. ‘You back this?’

‘I don’t know what he’s on about,’ Slater said. ‘But I’d walk with him. It’s the principle. Either both of us or neither.’

Frankie turned back to King. ‘I need a reason.’

King said, ‘I talked to the kid after practice this morning. We spoke about his anxiety. He’s a fucking boy, Frankie. He has no spine. If we’re going to be involved in this, it has to be airtight. I don’t want to babysit anyone, and I don’t want anyone blabbing the second they get caught, if it comes to that. He’s a nervous wreck. He stays behind.’

He kept his gaze locked on Frankie.

Tried not to pay attention to his peripheral vision, where Danny’s silhouette shimmered. Everything about it was ugly. Intimate secrets betrayed, trust shattered.

Frankie couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. ‘Ruthless, hey? Guess that’s what you need.’ He wheeled to Danny. ‘Okay, kid. Get the fuck outta here. Not your night.’

King faced forward.

Didn’t shift his line of sight.

He hated everything about this.

There was that long moment of hesitation, then the sound of Danny’s footsteps pattering away. King didn’t watch him go, so he didn’t see the expression on the kid’s face. He waited until the footsteps had fully receded before he spoke. ‘Was tonight his first time?’

Frankie stared. ‘That’s none of your business.’

Yes it is, King thought. It means everything.

Frankie said, ‘You happy with this crew? Or you gonna stir up more shit?’

Slater interjected. ‘We’re happy.’

‘Good. Any more cowboy shit like that and we’re done. I’ll allow it this once.’

King didn’t respond.

Frankie wheeled in a whiteboard and spent the next fifteen minutes using a marker to conduct an old-school brief of the night’s plans. Location, timing, positioning, then details about Choi himself — his age and height and weight, but nothing about why he needed to be beaten to death.

Slater voiced these concerns. ‘I need to know who he pissed off.’

Frankie smacked his lips together, put the marker down, dropped his hands to his side. He turned dramatically to Slater. ‘No, you don’t.’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘You know where the door is. Participation is voluntary, brother.’

Slater glanced at King, who imperceptibly shook his head.

Slater said, ‘I’m fine right here.’

Frankie said, ‘Any more questions?’

Slater shook his head.

Frankie picked up the marker again. Made a big deal out of it. He used the end of it to tap the whiteboard a couple of times, studying its contents, then nodded to himself. ‘I think that’s it. Remember to get photos from a few different angles. I’ll pick the best one and send it through. Then it’s payday.’

Carter and the two meatheads shuffled toward the back doors of the warehouse, and King and Slater followed. Frankie stayed behind.

Of course he wouldn’t be getting his hands dirty. Why would he?

He had kids to do that for him.

43

Carter and the meatheads didn’t seem to like the newcomers much.

They deliberately hustled ahead toward the rear doors, leaving enough space to afford King and Slater some privacy.

King sensed Slater step right up beside him, making sure he was out of earshot of Frankie before he muttered, ‘What was that shit with the kid?’

King lowered his voice in turn. ‘Danny?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Got to hope this was his first job. Got to hope he’s salvable.’

‘And if he isn’t?’

King shook his head. ‘That’s a future problem. Not a now problem.’

‘How do you want to approach—?’

But Carter and the two meatheads had stopped to unlock the rear doors, so Slater clammed up. The doors led out to a smaller parking lot framed by barbed wire fencing. A cargo van sat dormant in the closest space to them. There was nothing remarkable about it, which was the point. Carter hurried straight for the sliding door and heaved it open. He gestured for King and Slater to get in the back.

Slater looked at King and raised an eyebrow.

King gave that same imperceptible head shake.

Not here.

Too many unknowns, too many variables.

Slater said, ‘Okay,’ and got in the back of the van. King followed suit, wordless. Neither of them looked at Carter or acknowledged the subtle power games bristling below the surface. They’d made their decision.

The meatheads followed them in. Carter sported a confused expression as he slid the door shut. He’d obviously been anticipating confrontation, or at least protest, but King and Slater let nothing show on their faces as they sat side-by-side on one of the metal benches. The meatheads sat opposite. An interior light above the four of them cast a soft yellow glow down on the windowless space.

No one spoke, so they were able to hear Carter get behind the wheel and fire the van to life. He drove out of the lot, taking turns sharper than he needed to. King assumed it was another test. Neither he nor Slater budged. They skewered their feet into the ground to stop them sliding around on the benches. The meatheads didn’t have the same