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

could have all met under different circumstances,’ she said. ‘I hope you’re doing okay.’

Beckham craned his neck to look up at Slater, then back to Alexis. ‘Do you know what your boyfriend did back there?’

Alexis met Slater’s gaze, and nodded slowly before turning back to Beckham. ‘I saw seven men go in. You two came out. I think I can figure that out for myself.’

‘Are you military?’ Beckham asked.

‘No.’

‘Just a civilian like me?’

‘Yes.’

Beckham shook his head, still pale, still in a state of shock. He would be for quite some time. The memories of what he’d seen would live with him forever. But it was a whole lot more preferable than being incapable of memory, buried in an early grave.

Beckham said, ‘This is madness.’

‘Welcome to my life,’ Slater said.

He and Alexis got to work helping the man out of his wheelchair, lifting him gently up and placing him in the back seat. They strapped him in, draping the seatbelt over his frail torso. He nodded his thanks, but it was half-hearted. He was distant. Detached.

Slater said, ‘Relax. You don’t have to be cordial. You’re allowed to think I’m a monster.’

‘Wouldn’t that stick with you? If everyone thought that.’

‘I don’t care what people think.’

Slater folded up the modified wheelchair and manhandled it into the two rear seats Beckham wasn’t occupying. There was no space in the trunk of the i30. Then he got behind the wheel and swivelled to make sure Beckham was settled in okay.

They locked eyes.

Beckham said, ‘I don’t think you’re a monster.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘I thought you didn’t care.’

‘Maybe I do,’ Slater said. ‘Just a little bit.’

‘You just saved my life, but everyone’s going to think you murdered seven loyal patriotic troops and kidnapped a cripple.’

‘People believe what they’re led to believe,’ Slater said. ‘Sometimes doing the right thing is messy. As long as the people in this car, and a certain few outside of it, know who I really am … that’s all that matters.’

After that Beckham went quiet, and they drove for close to an hour in silence, barreling as far away from Stratford Hills as they could feasibly get. Separating themselves from a messy crime scene that would undoubtedly make national, if not international, headlines. After such a prolonged quiet, Slater figured Beckham was in the midst of an adrenaline dump, and might even be fast asleep back there. But when he angled the rear view mirror to check on the man, he found him wide awake, meeting Slater’s gaze with an unblinking stare.

Slater said, ‘What’s up?’

‘What happened between Violetta and I was messy,’ he said. ‘How couldn’t it have been? But maybe you’re right. Maybe she was doing the right thing all along.’

Slater nodded.

When he shot a glance at Alexis, he was surprised to find her staring at him with a tear in her eye.

Probably remembering what had happened earlier that morning.

Sometimes doing the right thing is messy.

She reached out and gripped his thigh with her hand.

Gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Maybe it would all be okay.

81

The house in the centre of the compound was long and low and enormous, built ranch-style.

It sprawled out across the space, surrounded by a couple of outbuildings — each of them probably home to bunks for the extra manpower. To the right there was a big garage with the roller doors up, home to a number of off-road vehicles and more traditional SUVs. Four mean-looking guys with Hermès caps atop their heads milled around out the front of the garage. A couple of them had AK-47s hanging off slings over their shoulders, and the other two had clearly visible semi-automatic pistols in holsters on the belts of their jeans. All four weapons were on full display.

It was a show of force, designed to intimidate the new arrivals.

It might have worked, had the trio in the cabin not been immune to intimidation.

The blue-eyed guard ran alongside the truck and directed it to pull up in the middle of the space in front of the house. King parked and killed the engine. The huge tractor unit creaked and groaned as it powered down.

Behind them, the Dodge drifted lazily in through the front gate and parked behind the trailer.

The front door of the house opened, but no one came out. King spotted silhouettes in the doorway, milling about with excitement. Probably the underlings, forced to stay back but enthusiastic about the arrival of the precious cargo. There were seven men in sight — the blue-eyed guard, the two guards atop the wall, and the four men with Hermès caps. A sizeable force in an open landscape with no nearby cover. Bad for King and Violetta and Banks. Bad for the cartel, too, but they had more than twice the amount of troops, and they were all expendable.

The blue-eyed guard beckoned.

King unclasped his seatbelt, popped the door and slid out of the cabin.

‘Wait here,’ he murmured over his shoulder as he exited. ‘Stay frosty.’

‘What was that?’ the guard said, twirling the snubnose revolver on his finger with a shocking lack of trigger discipline.

‘I just told them not to do anything stupid,’ King said as he stepped down into the dirt. ‘It’s a little tense, after all.’

The guard shrugged. ‘I’m not tense.’

Then he aimed the Colt at King’s chest.

He smiled, exposing artificially white teeth. ‘Are you tense?’

‘No,’ King said.

‘You look it.’

‘You should take my pulse,’ King said. ‘You, on the other hand … you’re coked to the eyeballs. What are you right now — 140, 150 beats per minute? You look jacked.’

‘I’m fine, gringo.’

‘Uh-huh.’

But the guard squirmed regardless. It was the equivalent of telling someone not to think about a white elephant. King even mentioning the man’s pulse — which was naturally elevated anyway — must have shot it through the roof, because the vein on the side of his neck started pumping and he reached up and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

Which only made him more fidgety.

The compound effect, live in the flesh.

The guy jerked a thumb toward the back of the trailer.