Kill the King (14 page)

The rain was
relentless. It whipped Det. Lewis in the face as he opened fire on
the sedan that chased them from behind. The bumpy ride in the rain
didn’t give much chance for an easy shot; most of the shots were
missed, save for a few that struck the windshield. That one lucky
shot was enough to at least force the sedan to slow down enough to
widen the gap between both cars. He fumbled in his jacket pocket to
find another clip to reload.

“
Kwan!
Are we there yet? I don’t know how long I can hold them off!”

The SUV sped up
to avoid the line of fire and slammed into their car from the
driver’s side. Tyler struggled to keep the car on the road.

“
Fuck
the car behind us. Shoot
these
assholes! Shoot them! Shoot
them now!”

Det. Lewis
fired several rounds through the opposite passenger window and into
the SUV, sending glass shards flying both in and out of both
vehicles. The SUV crashed into a mailbox and faded into the
distance as Tyler slammed on the gas pedal. The sedan faded moments
later. Det. Lewis whooped and hollered in satisfaction. Tyler did
not share his enthusiasm.

“Don’t
celebrate just yet. The storm drain is just a hundred feet away and
they can still catch up. They’ve probably figured that’s where
we’re headed. Check on your girl. Is she okay?”

Det. Lewis had
completely forgotten about her. He bent over to check up—it wasn’t
good news.

“Oh, fuck!
She’s breathing but she’s out cold. Gwen, wake up! Can you hear me?
You gotta snap out of it!”

“Hold on to
her. We’ve just made it to the storm drain but it looks a lot
deeper than I thought it’d be. We have to plow through it as fast
as we can if we’re going to make it.
Hang on!”

The car rolled
down the concrete slope with a loud rev, but halfway down the
engine sputtered and died. They were out of gas and rolling down
the hill without enough momentum.

No! No! No!
Shit!

The car barely
made a splash once it made impact with the water. It merely waded
into it as if it were an afterthought. To make matter worse, the
torrential rain had raised the water to chest level and it was
still rising. . .far too much to cross through even at top speed.
The car was stuck to the bottom and the water seeped in. The
current was too strong to open the doors; they’d have to exit
through the windows.

“We don’t have
much time. You have to leave her.”

Panic and anger
set into Det. Lewis. He desperately tried to pick her up from the
floor, choosing to ignore Tyler’s advice.

“To hell with
you, asshole! I’m not leaving without her! Gwen?
Gwen?
Come
on, girl. . .wake up! Wake up, goddamn it!
Gwen!”

She had already
been face down in the water for too long. It was bad enough that
she may have been concussed. Lungs filled with water were more than
enough to seal her fate. Gwendolyn was already at death’s doorstep,
and this time it was going to be wet. It was futile to keep
fighting the inevitable.

He left them
inside the partially-submerged car and swam back to the sloped
wall. The level had gotten high enough for him to climb out and sit
by the edge to catch his breath. He watched as Det. Lewis
frantically struggled to carry the lifeless girl out the window.
Each attempt was a failure. The water level only got higher with
every passing second.

“Don’t be a
fool! She can’t fit through that window, and the current is only
getting stronger. She’s going to die. You have to let her go, or
you’ll die with her!”

Another dumb
hero who can’t face the facts. The girl can’t be saved.

Det. Lewis
strained again and again. Tyler knew he was right and suspected the
cop did as well. His pained, desperate prayers to whatever deities
he pleaded with for strength went unanswered, as was always the
case in times like these. He might as well have begged the sky to
stop raining on him. He had to accept the girl’s fate or share it
with her.

“
Gwen
. .
.I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

He left through
the window and swam to meet up with Tyler, who reluctantly pulled
him out. They sat together in the rain and watched the car slowly
drift away with the current. It wouldn’t be long before the car
would be completely submerged. Detective Lewis was exhausted but
his anger left him strong enough to rise back to his feet and pick
up Tyler by the jacket collar. He shook him violently between
bitter, furious insults.

“
Fuck
you,
Kwan. Fuck you and your bullshit gangster life. You hear
me, motherfucker? Fuck you and all you stand for.
Fuck you!
That should be
you,
dead in the fucking water. Not her!
You!”

Bright
headlights shone in on both men. The pursuers had caught up with
them.

“Tyler Kwan!
Tyler Kwan!”

They know my
name. That can’t be good.

Tyler struggled
to see through the blinding lights and see who was speaking to
him.

“Yeah? What?
What do you want? Why are you following us?”

The headlights
turned off. Two men got out of the sedan and four got out of the
bullet-riddled SUV. Two from the latter vehicle toted submachine
guns. One of the unarmed passengers was someone Tyler
recognized.

Shit. . .

The cop pulled
out his gun. “Nobody fucking move! My name is Detective Alan Lewis,
of the—”

A quick burst
of bullets went through his chest and out his back. He crawled back
towards the water leaving behind a trail of blood still visible
even in the pouring rain. He didn’t say a word nor even articulate
the slightest expression of pain. The dying man crawled away in
complete silence. He only made it a few feet away before another
stream of lead found the back of his head. His lifeless body rolled
down the slope and splashed into the water, floating away just like
the car that entombed his friend. The two men from the adjacent
sedan pointed guns of their own at Tyler’s face.

Rickards was
standing in the rain, plucking window fragments out of his
forehead. Not a word was said. The look on his face was enough to
convey his displeasure.

One of the men
from the sedan wielded a collapsible baton and struck Tyler behind
the knees, dropping him instantly. The other one dealt a few swift
kicks to the ribs to ensure Tyler stayed down, then cuffed his
hands behind his back.

“Take him
away.”

****

“Have you ever
played chess, Mr. Kwan?”

Tyler was tied
to a chair in what seemed like a shower room in an abandoned school
or gym. It was hard to tell from the fluorescent lights that
flickered noisily yet offered little illumination. He was naked and
the friction of his bare skin with the cold metal chair hurt his
testicles. It felt like an odd question to be asked, given the
circumstances. Tyler wasn’t in the mood for more inane discussions
with representatives of a legal institution. He breathed a loud,
obnoxious sigh.

“Who gives a
fuck?
Look, if you’re gonna kill me then just get it over
with already. If you’re not gonna kill me, then tell me what it is
that you want.”

Three
associates of Rickards—all stout, stone-faced men sporting black
tactical gear—stood behind Tyler. Only Rickards stood in front of
him. His bandaged face was partially obscured by his own shadow. It
was doubtful that his face was anything but glowering.

“I’m going to
pretend I didn’t hear what you just said and assume that you have
indeed played chess before. Now tell me, what is the
object
of the game?”

If Tyler’s
hands weren’t bound behind his back, they’d be clenched into tight
fists. He scowled instead. Rickards didn’t bother to wait for an
answer.

“The object of
the game of course, is to
kill the king.
Now then, let’s say
you and I and everyone in your disreputable way of life were all
part of one big game of chess. Dr. Nieuwendyk is the king on one
side, and your king is on the other side. Do you understand this so
far?”

Tyler spit at
Rickards’ feet.

“I’ll assume
that you do. Anyways. . .for a long time you’ve been a knight,
powerful and clever, and most of all unwavering in loyalty to your
king. Alas, you’ve been captured by your enemies. Your captors have
given you the choice of either
death,
or a second chance at
freedom. . .under the condition that you must now kill the very
king you once served. You of course chose the latter, and wisely
so. That makes sense so far, right? Now, here’s my final question:
now that you’ve opted to kill your old king in service of your new
king, which game piece will you be assuming from now on?”

Tyler’s chair
was violently flipped back before he could reply. An associate took
out his baton and slammed it against Tyler’s bare feet, striking
the heels first and then the soles.

“A pawn! A
fucking
pawn!
You’re not a knight anymore in this game. No!
You’re a fucking pawn! You don’t ask questions, you don’t voice an
opinion, and you don’t waste anyone’s fucking time. You’re a tiny
piece on a giant board and you do what you’re commanded to do. The
plans in store for the future are far more complicated for you to
comprehend, and they’re of no concern to you. You’re a fucking
pawn.
Does any of this register in that drunk-sodden Asiatic
brain of yours, Mr. Kwan? Well. . .
does it?”

Another flurry
of strikes to the feet. The pain shot up through Tyler’s body like
an electric shock. He thrashed around hard enough to roll to his
side. His tormentors rolled him to his back, then held their boots
on his shoulders while another one flogged him again. His screams
echoed throughout the improvised torture chamber.

“You know, when
Dr. Nieuwendyk asked me what I thought about her plan to offer your
freedom in exchange for killing Marko Boreta, I tried my best to
dissuade her. You’re too impulsive to be an assassin. She on the
other hand thought that was in fact your best asset; you’d try to
kill Marko Boreta as soon as you got within pissing distance from
him and not care about the consequences. She hoped you’d be
reckless and suffer for it. If you were to die in your attempt to
assassinate him, no one would ever suspect our involvement. Sadly,
it appears that I was right all along. Not only have you turned out
to be a disappointment, you have in fact become a problem . . .
a
big fucking problem.
So big a problem that I’ve had to come all
the way here to see you personally and fix you myself.”

More strikes to
the soles. More incapacitating pain.

“I’m thinking
that right about now, your memory’s gotten pretty sharp again.
Let’s put it to the test then, shall we? Tell me why you’re a free
man right now.”

The pain was so
intense, Tyler had momentarily blacked out as Rickards spoke to
him. He had little strength left to vocalize a response.

“I. . .I have.
. .someone to. . .kill.”

“That’s right.
You
do
have someone to kill. You have to kill the king! And
what, pray tell, is this king’s name?”

“M. . .Marko. .
.Bo. . .reta.”

“Good, your
memory is back on track. Now for the final question: how many days
do you have left to
kill
Marko Boreta?”

Tyler nearly
blacked out again. The pain in his throbbing feet made it hard for
him to do any kind of thinking, let alone counting.

“Three.”

Rickards
clapped slowly in mock satisfaction. The associates eased their
boots off of him and propped the chair back to its upright
position.

“
Excellent.
That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Now then.
. .I’m not in the mood to chase you all over this goddamn city to
give you another session like this to help you get your priorities
straight. No, this is your one-time chance for you to get your shit
together. There will be no second chance. You only have three more
days to finish the job. I suggest you not waste your time getting
drunk, fucking some disease-spreading whore, and sticking your
little gook nose in places where it doesn’t belong. Three days, Mr.
Kwan.
Three days.
That’s all you get. Succeed, and you’ll
never see me again. Fail, and my face will be the last you’ll ever
see before I lock your worthless ass up in the deepest, darkest,
coldest pit I can make. . .so deep that even God won’t hear your
screams. Do you understand the severity of your situation, Mr.
Kwan?”

Rickards didn’t
bother to wait for an answer. He turned his attention to Tyler’s
assailants.

“Untie him and
give him back his clothes—except for his shoes. Throw them in the
fucking sewer. A good long walk in the rain will do him some good.
This pawn needs to know his place in the universe.”

****

Tyler was
huddled inside an old and filthy phone booth for what little good
it did to shelter him from the incessant rain. He shivered from the
cold and it made it hard for him to dial with his numbed
fingers.

“Khaled? Yeah,
it’s me. Listen, I need a ride. I’m at a payphone on MacArthur and
Beechborough, just by the storm drain. We’ll talk about your car in
the morning. One more thing. . .bring shoes. Don’t ask why.”

****

Gloria’s phone
rang again and again. There was no answer. Tyler breathed a sigh of
relief.

She did it.
She’s gone.

Tyler’s feet
hurt more than they ever did in his entire life. They were purple
from bruising and were so swollen that they barely fit inside his
new shoes. Ferocious jolts of exquisite pain shot throughout his
entire body with every step. Tyler ignored them and kept running as
fast as his body could take him. His peripheral vision blurred and
his throat burned. He could feel a few toenails slowly weaken, then
peel off completely. His heart pounded and his lungs worked
overtime, frantically struggling to keep up with his will to run
faster and further than ever before. His physical limitations were
besieged by his will to flee. An eight-ball of cocaine for
breakfast will do that kind of thing to a man, even more so to a
desperate one. As his body kicked into overdrive, his mind became
devoured by chaos.