Kill the King (10 page)

“I have the
keys this time. . .hide your stolen shit before I come in!”

If you only
knew, Khaled. If you only knew. . .

****

The dockside
bar was closed up early that evening. The very large goons standing
by the entrance made sure of that, in the unlikely event that the
parking lot crammed with luxury vehicles wasn’t enough of a hint to
law-abiding folk that they should consider getting drunk somewhere
else.

Inside the
establishment, Tyler and Khaled were each saved a spot by the end
of the long and ornate banquet table. A few dozen men of varying
importance were already seated. Some Tyler recognized; others were
unknown. The roster had noticeably changed during his absence.

They were a
motley group of expensive three-piece suits, track suits, and
leather jackets. Their cigars and cigarettes formed clouds of
blueish smoke that lingered over their heads, most of which were
either neatly slicked back or shaved down to stubble. Like Tyler,
they all drank heavily; the sound of glasses clinking echoed
throughout the bar and every bottle was emptied almost as soon as
it was opened, only to be replaced by a new one within a matter of
seconds by girls dressed provocatively in short skirts and
revealing tops. Some of the girls bared uncomfortable grins as they
humoured their patrons and their unwanted advances whereas others
maintained stoic, expressionless faces. Tyler suspected that at
least half of them were underage.

Khaled sat
first, eager to take advantage of the generous spread of snacks and
free-flowing drinks before dinner would be served. Tyler felt too
on guard to allow himself to relax and only reluctantly sat down
after knocking back a few beers while still standing. Two puffs
into his first cigarette, a dainty hand patted him on the shoulder
from behind. It was a voluptuous young redhead who couldn’t be
older than twenty at most. She was dressed in business attire and
spoke assertively, despite a strong accent.

“He needs you
in the kitchen.”

Tyler finished
his cigarette before responding, taking one last chance to observe
the men in attendance.

These men are
unarmed. . .every last one of them. Someone will die tonight and
Marko made sure they came in empty-handed. Khaled left his piece in
his jacket by accident and no one searched me. I’m in the only man
with a gun in this room.

“I’ll go see
what he needs.”

****

The kitchen
doors opened without a creak. Boreta was busying himself inspecting
the plates that were to be served, his back turned away from the
door. A large set of sharp knives was left unattended just by the
sink, barely within reach.

Tyler quietly
locked the kitchen door and treaded as softly as he could towards
the sink. He breathed slowly and softly to avoid being heard, and
slowly pulled out the biggest knife available. It looked sharp
enough to cut through bone.

Marko stood
only a dozen steps away, his back still turned.

No noise. No
witnesses. Cut his throat and escape through the backdoor. Shoot my
way out if I have to.

Eight steps
away. The knife felt heavy in his hand.

Take the loot
and run. Disappear. Goodbye, Gloria. Khaled will look after you
better than I ever could. Forgive me.

Five steps
away. Not close enough to reach Marko’s throat but close enough to
stab him in the back.

I’m sorry,
Marko. It’s you or me. I’m not going back.

Three steps
away. Tyler held his breath and clenched his teeth. He slowly
raised his hand.

Three. . .two.
. .

“Aha, just the
knife I need! Thank you, my boy!”

Tyler almost
died from the shock. Boreta turned around and extended his hand
with a smile, waiting for Tyler to hand it to him. He complied. His
throat dried up as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

“Sure, no
problem.”

“Thank you for
grabbing that knife for me. These fucking Greek cooks, Tyler.
Worthless, every last one of them! They charge too much, and they
can’t cut a lamb to save their lives. Fucking greasy mountain men
and their bitches with moustaches!”

Boreta laughed
as he hacked away at the slabs of meat.

“You know,
where I grew up as a boy, we had a funny saying: ‘After shaking
hands with a Greek, count your fingers.’ Ha! Ha! You get it, my
son?”

Tyler was too
stunned to respond with nothing other than a meek half-smile. It
was often very hard to tell whether Marko’s sudden mood changes
were genuine or a cunning ploy.

“So, anyways. .
.tell me about that young man who tried to run away from us. You
found him, yes?”

“Artan didn’t
tell you?”

Boreta put the
knife down and turned around to face Tyler. His smile disappeared.
“What Artan told me does not matter. I want
you
to tell me
what happened. Did you find him?”

Only the child
tells what goes on in the house.

“Yes.”

“Then what
happened?”

“Khaled and I
traced him to Kibera and we lured him into a trap. He had a driver.
I took care of him. Then we went to the kid’s house to recover the
merch and the leftover cash he didn’t spend.”

Marko listened
attentively, his steely gaze unyielding. The eyes of the dragon
were squarely fixed on Tyler.

“Yes. . .and
just
how much
was recovered?”

Tyler closed
his eyes, straining to remember the false information he had fed
Artan and the runners.

“Three hundred
grand, four keys of coke, six keys of smack, and twenty vials of
meth.”

Marko turned
back to inspect the food one last time.

“Is that so?
Hmmm. That’s how much Artan expected, but that’s not what showed up
at the drop-off. There’s more than fifty thousand dollars
missing.”

Tyler raised
his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“The boys said
they did what they were told and never opened the bags. When we
searched their apartment, we found some dope but no money. Do you
know anything about this?”

“No.”

“That’s what I
thought. The fucking kids said that
you
gave them that dope.
Can you believe it?”

Tyler furrowed
his brow. “I’d never do such a thing.”

Marko walked
over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Exactly!
Tyler—my boy—do this to
me?
That felt like a knife to my
heart. It’s such a pity. Good runners are hard to find these
days.”

Tyler grabbed a
towel to dry Marko’s hands. He didn’t need to ask what became of
the runners. Their corpses were going to get dumped into the open
sea before dawn. That was standard operating procedure.

“Please go back
and join the party. Try to enjoy yourself, alright? You are always
so serious. Today might be your last day in this world, you know.
How long do any of us have to live and enjoy what God has given
us?”

Tyler nodded
and walked out of the kitchen. His knees felt weak and could barely
walk straight. Back at the table, a petite brunette awkwardly
poured wine in a large crystal goblet where Tyler was to be seated.
He politely signalled her to stop what she was doing.

“Just leave the
bottle here. Go fetch me a second one instead.”

****

The banquet
lingered on for several hours. Tyler never felt at ease in
occasions of merriment. His time spent locked away in solitary
confinement had only worsened his inability to socialize and find
amusement in anything. It felt foreign to him, being in the company
of so many people enjoying themselves so freely and earnestly.

He was served a
rich cut of roast lamb served in Balkan style with lima beans and
walnuts. It was far better fare than what he had gotten accustomed
to when he was locked away, especially in the extended periods
spent in the Block. Nonetheless, he could only casually peck at a
few morsels between bottles of wine. He watched Khaled feasting and
carousing in the company of his associates and wondered how someone
could ever live in such a violent and dangerous world yet feel so
happy and satisfied at the same time. A part of Tyler envied
Khaled’s capacity for joy and talent at winning people over with
his charm. He was already so deeply feared for his ungodly
strength; to Tyler, it just seemed so completely unnecessary for
Khaled to still be so likeable.

Maybe that’s
what Gloria sees in him. He’s more human that I can ever be.

Such thoughts,
as always, had to be put aside. He was already three days in and
Boreta remained alive. . .at that very moment in fact, he sat only
slightly out of his reach. Tyler smoked and drank some more as he
contemplated his next move. He was the only man carrying a piece,
and no one else seemed aware of it. This seemed to be the time to
do it at last. Doing it in front of his entire Family however meant
that he might not make it out the door alive. He didn’t have enough
bullets to kill them all.

Eventually the
banquet began to wind down and after-dinner drinks were served.
Boreta stood up to pour himself a glass of scotch before pulling
out a cigar from his jacket pocket. The room quickly faded into
silence.

“Thank you all
for coming. Before you finish your last drinks and go about your
business, I have a problem that needs to be addressed, and I need
all of you to listen to me carefully.”

Boreta cut and
lit his cigar to the complete silent attention of everyone in the
room. He observed the faces staring back at him as he began to
smoke.

“Well, do not
just sit there like bulls waiting for the axe to fall. Keep
drinking! Everything is fine.”

Slowly, they
commenced drinking again. Tyler grabbed a nearby ashtray and lit
another cigarette.

“
Family.
That’s what I call this organization. Why, you may wonder? Because
though we are not bound by blood, I expect us all to work as if we
were. I do not care what country your parents came from, and I do
not care if you came from a good home or a bad home. That’s all in
the past. They are no longer your family.
This
is your
Family now, and the only family you will ever have. Here, you are
all my sons and daughters. . .and I am your
Father.
Is that
clear? No?”

Boreta’s mood
soured. He slowly paced around the table, leaving a faint trail of
smoke behind him.

“Back in the
old country, I had built an empire with sweat, and I defended it
with blood. . .more blood that you could ever imagine. I was
powerful.
Men of both sides of the law feared me! The
corrupt communist bastards, the lowlife thieves, the oligarchs,
even the fucking militias when the war broke out. . .it didn’t
matter who they were. I defended what was mine with blood, and the
fear it spread kept me strong. They were
all
afraid of me.
For a time, life was good. Then the war happened. . .the black days
and nights when NATO rained bombs on our cities and when the
militias filled mass graves with murdered women and children.”

Boreta paused
mid-step, then paced back towards his side of the table. His free
hand curled into a fist.

“And then,
everything went to
shit!”

He slammed his
fist onto the table as he let the last word reverberate. The men in
the room exchanged worried looks.

“I had to
escape. I had to leave everything behind to save myself.
Everything!
I was all alone in the world. I had to hide for
years
like a fucking cockroach in the slums of Europe before
I could cross the ocean and start again. In the years it’s taken me
to build something again, do you know what I’ve learned?”

Everyone was
too afraid to speak. Eyes darted in all directions. Tyler could
feel himself sinking in his chair. His hand slowly moved towards
his gun, tucked away in his back with no one aware of its
presence.

Shit. He knows.
He’s going to denounce me in front of everyone. This is it. Now’s
the time. Fuck!

“I learned that
I was wrong. Fear is not enough to stay on top—not nearly enough.
The real secret of power is
loyalty.
Without it, betrayal
always lurks in the shadows, like a spider waiting for a fly to
fall into his web. Treachery is the greatest poison. You must never
betray me, and you must never betray your Family.
Never
betray!”

Shoot Marko
first, then Khaled. Save the rest for the doormen on the way
out.

“My heart is
broken tonight. It has come to my attention that one of you has
been working as an informant. It’s someone near and dear to my
heart. Someone I’ve known for many, many years.”

I’m not an
informant. I’m not your son, either. Time to die.

Boreta studied
the terrified faces one last time. He shifted his gaze towards
Khaled and then nodded. Khaled calmly rose to his feet and passed
five other men on his side of the table before halting. Without
warning, he savagely kicked a middle-aged associate off of his
chair. He then grabbed a half-emptied champagne bottle from the
banquet table and smashed it over the man’s head, sending wet
shards of broken glass into the air. No one dared move or
speak.

Khaled hoisted
the man up over his head and slammed him onto the table. He
clutched his victim by the cheekbones with one hand to keep him
from slipping off. The informant’s squeals were muted by Khaled’s
crushing grip. His feet knocked drinks off the table as he writhed
in pain. Boreta walked over to the trapped rat and repeatedly
yelled at him in a language Tyler did not understand. They were
without doubt words of anger and hate. Still raving in anger as
Khaled held him down, Marko butt out his cigar in the informant’s
left eye. A few attendees gasped loudly as they witnessed the
horror show. Tyler tucked his gun away. He felt somewhat
relieved.

Khaled shifted
his grip to the man’s throat. Through a bloodied mouth lined with
broken teeth, the informant wailed something in what appeared to be
the same language that neither Tyler nor most of the people in
attendance knew. Marko glowered and shook his head. His tone grew
softer as he replied in this foreign tongue, and then patted Khaled
on the back to get it over with. It took several excruciating
seconds before the informant stopped floundering and meekly
accepted the inevitable.