Kill the King (16 page)

“No, I didn’t
kill him. He was an undercover cop, believe it or not—
Detective
Alan Lewis.
He stole some of your pills to get them analyzed by
a friend of his. He was hoping this would be his big breakthrough
in the case he was helping build against you. I know it sounds
crazy, but he told me all of this himself. He ambushed me a couple
of nights ago and held me at gunpoint; he wanted the combination to
the briefcase that I delivered to your office.”

Frank slammed
down his glass in anger and rose to his feet. Beads of sweat stuck
to his pale face.

“Fucking hell!
Unbelievable! That dirty fucking whore! I should have known all
along. I
knew
there was something suspicious about him. I
just couldn’t put my finger on it. I was a fool to have trusted him
so easily.”

“If he could
gain access to your briefcase that easily, then I guess you must
have been pretty close.”

Frank bit his
lip and fidgeted in his seat before turning his back away from
Tyler. His arms seemed to show him dabbing away at his eyes.

“Yeah. I guess
so. I don’t know. It’s not so easy for me to talk about this, you
see. It was so hard for me to resist a man so handsome. . .and so
eager to join me in bed. It had been so long since I could touch
someone like that again. Opportunities for intimacy are hard to
come by for deviants like me. What can I say, Tyler? I’m a lonely
man with many dark secrets. I’ve spent all my life holding high the
torch of Aryan virtue, only to live in the shadow it cast instead.
It’s pretty shitty when I take the time to think about it. I guess
we all live a lie in one form or another.”

Rather than
feel uplifted from confessing his true colours, it only wore him
out. His voice gradually deteriorated to a shaky rasp. His face
became grim and sullen. Tyler placed his pack of cigarettes on the
desk and pointed the open top towards Frank, inviting him to
indulge himself. Frank pulled one out from the pack and lit up
before sitting back down.

“You know, I’m
a proud warrior of the Aryan civilization and I don’t regret
devoting my life to help rid the world of inferior
peoples—including yours. Make no mistake about it, even as I make
my confession to you as a man knowing he’s about to die tonight.
All things considered though, I want you to know that I’ve always
respected you. Sometimes I think that if we were living in some
other place or some other time, we might have even been
friends.”

As Frank spoke,
Tyler opened the briefcase and took out its contents: a
suppressor-mounted MAC-10 machine pistol and two magazines. He
loaded the gun and pocketed the extra magazine, then refilled both
glasses again. The gun sat on his lap as he resumed drinking. He
was just about to ask Frank another question but Frank cut him
off.

“You know my
secret, Tyler. Now I want to know about yours. I don’t believe for
a single moment that you got out on parole. There’s some shady shit
going on, and I want it all on the table. Why don’t you tell me all
about it? I’ve cleaned up my soul a bit. . .how about we do the
same for yours? It might do you some good. Besides, I’m going to
die tonight anyways. . .who’s going to know?”

“You wouldn’t
believe me if I told you. I can barely believe it myself.”

“Try me.”

Tyler emptied
his glass and refilled it, then lit a cigarette. He puffed a few
drags in deliberation before answering. What was the harm in
revealing a secret to a dying man?

“I was released
on the condition that I kill Marko Boreta. If I fail they will
track me down and send me back to solitary confinement. I have
seven days to do it. . .I’m going on five days now. Today I’m going
to kill you. Tomorrow I’m going to kill him.”

Frank howled
with laughter. It was hard enough to induce him into a fit of
violent coughing. His eyes were wet and his face turned red.

“Sweet fucking
Jesus, you’re in such a world of shit! You have no clue of what
kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into. No
fucking
idea!
Things changed while you were gone, Tyler. If you haven’t already
figured that out by now, then there’s no hope for you, pal. You
came back storming in as an agent of chaos, but soon the world will
align itself back into order and swallow you whole. In twenty-four
hours from now it’ll be business as usual again. . .you just won’t
be a part of it.”

Frank raised
his glass in a mock toast.

“To the
notorious Marko Boreta, the
Man who Refuses to Die
. . .and
to the treacherous Tyler Kwan, the Oriental scoundrel who will
betray him! To Caesar and Brutus, and life’s cruel ironies! Cheers!
Sieg Heil!”

Frank laughed
hysterically at the absurdity of it all. He looked fearless in the
face of death. Tyler was not nearly as amused.

“Yeah, maybe
you’re right. . .but tomorrow’s problems are mine. Tonight belongs
to you. I think we’ve played this game long enough now. Are you
ready to go, Frank?”

Frank stood up
and hobbled towards his coat rack to fetch his bomber jacket. It
was old and stained and adorned with vulgar patches. Weak as he
was, he struggled to zip it even halfway up.

“Yeah. . .I’m
ready now.”

Tyler opened
the door, inviting Frank to take the lead.

“Good. Let’s go
outside. I’ll make it quick and easy,
I promise.”

“Thanks. I hope
Marko makes the same promise to you tomorrow.”

****

The doors
popped open without warning. Khaled and the two young sentries
waiting outside had not expected to see this man being led outside
at gunpoint. It seemed impossible. This couldn’t have been Frank
Metzger, founder and leader of the most hated and feared gang it
the city. Not Frank Metzger;
The Aryan Scourge. The White
Terror. God’s Avenger.

Never could
such a strong and powerful vanguard against the plague of the
impure ever be held hostage in this way. . .and yet there he stood
before them, pallid and feeble and resigned to his fate. The
youths, having never seen him in person until then, were
crestfallen at the sight of him. They had expected the hero of the
oft-retold stories of his past exploits; the chiseled, fearless
general leading the army of the righteous. A sad, pathetic mockery
of that hero was all that remained. He looked so sad and pitiful. .
.
so human.
The short fat kid’s lips quivered and looked
about ready to burst into tears. He mustered all of his strength to
stand up to his leader’s assailant.

“Leave. . .him.
. .alone!”

Khaled struck
the youth across the face hard enough to break his snout-like nose.
He staggered in a daze and crashed his head on the flagpole before
keeling over. The tall boy attempted to make a run for it but was
no match for Khaled; the big man tackled him with ease and then
viciously pummelled him for good measure. Metzger screamed at
Khaled, begging him to stop.

“Stop it!
Please, stop! They’re just kids!”

Tyler kicked
Frank behind the knees, forcing him to fall hard on the patch of
gravel they stood on.

“That’s right,
Frank. They’re kids, and tonight they’re going to die. Does that
upset you? Tell me, then. . .how many young boys have you and the
Fourteens killed in your night hunts all these years? How many will
die on
tonight’s
night hunt? Huh? How many, Frank?”

Frank said
nothing. The reality of his misdeeds had only now come to light. It
broke his heart to be forced to watch his own kind endure the same
treatment that they had inflicted on others since the very first
night hunt. He knew Tyler was right.

“Spare me the
bullshit, Frank. It’s too late to be a pious man. It’s too late to
change our ways. It’s too late for any of us. We turned our backs
on redemption a long fucking time ago.”

Khaled picked
up the tall boy by his belt and carried him back to the front
entrance, dropping him face down on the gravel. The boy could
barely move or breathe, let alone fight back.

“No survivors,
right?”

Tyler looked at
Frank’s distraught face before answering. Frank’s eyes pleaded with
Tyler to spare the boys, but Tyler’s steely gaze let him know that
this was not the night for mercy. The Fourteens would have been far
less merciful had their roles been reversed. They were going to be
the first casualties of the war to come. There was no turning
back.

“No survivors.
Make it quick.”

Khaled turned
his attention to the fat boy. Two heavy stomps were more than
enough to inflict a massive skull fracture. Frank screamed and
cried out. The tall boy fared much worse by comparison; with him,
Khaled decided to send a message to the Fourteens. In a feat of
ungodly strength, he grabbed the boy by his belt and slammed his
face against the lair’s iron doors like a battering ram. The first
strike broke his nose and knocked out his teeth. The second strike
knocked the boy unconscious. The third strike cracked his
vertebrae. The fourth strike painted the doors with blood and
shards of bone. Content with the statement he made, Khaled tossed
the body away as if it were an empty trashcan.

“Alright,
that’s enough. I think they’ll get your point. Now get over here
and give me a hand. We need to tie up a loose end.”

****

“You know
something, Tyler? You’re right. You were right all along. We’re too
far down the rabbit hole to be saved. There’s no turning back for
you and me. No redemption for us. The hell that awaits us isn’t
built in a day. No. . .it’s built brick by brick, bone by bone, day
by day. Now it’s my time to live in the house I’ve built. I’m going
home,
Tyler. . .I’m going home. I’ll be sure to save you a
spot for tomorrow night.”

The giant flag
had been lowered and wrapped around Frank’s abdomen like a harness,
and its massive chain turned into a makeshift noose. Every other
flag, banner, and book belonging to the Fourteens was stacked in a
pile on the lair’s driveway. Frank stood on his toes to stay alive
just a little longer.

“If you have
any last words, now’s your chance.”

Frank licked
his lips and grinned.

“If you think
killing me will make you a hero, then you’re not nearly as smart as
I thought you were. Killing
him
won’t make you one either.
But no, I think you’re smart. . .just weak in the heart. Did you
notice that I never asked you
why
you came to kill me
tonight? It’s because of what happened to that
whore
this
morning, isn’t it? Right? The one that got lit up like it was
fucking
Dia de los Muertos?
Am I right, Tyler? Am I
right?”

There was no
answer.

“Aww, come on.
. .tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t go
through all this trouble because of her. You
can’t,
right?
Ha! You fucking pussy! Ha!
Tyler Kwan,
a man on a rampage to
avenge some dumb brown whore! Ha! Tell me. . .when you saw her face
burn off, did she smell like burnt tac—”

Khaled pulled
the chain up a foot higher to shut him up. Tyler intervened and had
Frank pulled down back to his toes. Frank’s face had already turned
to a shade of purple. His eyes were bloodshot from the chain’s
unyielding grip around his neck.

“You’re right,
Frank. That’s why I came for you tonight. Her name is Gloria. I
loved her. You had her murdered to get back at me. . .for Glenny,
for Pruitt, and for your own lover who betrayed you.”

Frank let out a
weak, petulant laugh. He could barely breathe but he had just
enough air in his lungs to antagonize his enemies one last
time.

“No. Not us.
Someone—”

Khaled seized
hold of the chain and roared in fury with every pull until Frank’s
head reached the top of the pole. His legs danced in the air while
Tyler and Khaled watched from below. Tyler sprayed lighter fluid on
the pile of flags and literature and set it ablaze. Khaled smiled
at the sight of the bonfire.

“Do you think
Frank can see it from up there?”

Tyler looked up
high and noticed that Frank’s legs were still dangling, albeit
slowly. He took one last quaff from Frank’s bottle before tossing
it into the flames.

“I hope
so.”

Khaled laughed
and gave Tyler a pat on the back. “Come on, my friend. Let’s get
the fuck out of here before they get back. Marko needs to know
about this.”

They climbed
into the car and sped away. From the passenger mirror, Tyler caught
a glimpse of the blaze before it faded into the distance behind
them.

Goodbye,
Frank.

“Don’t worry
about Marko. I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. He and I have a lot to
talk about.”

Tyler spent his
morning on the rooftop of his low-rise building, watching the world
wake up. Autumn was almost over and the sun did not provide much
warmth anymore. It did however shine brightly, bathing the dreary
skyline in a pretty orange glow. It had been so many years since he
last saw the sun rise. That in itself was enough to satisfy him.
For all he knew, it may very well be the last one he’d ever
see.

He was
finishing up his breakfast of stale beer and cigarettes when he
noticed a small group of children frolicking at a park just across
the street. It was such a dismal place for kids to play; the sand
was littered with cigarette butts and crushed cans, the swings were
filthy and squeaky and the slide was covered in rust, yet somehow
the children seemed oblivious to their decrepit surroundings. Their
little cheeks were red from laughing as they played silly games in
the cold wind. Their joyful, innocent antics reminded Tyler of his
mother and those happy times they shared shortly after they had
left their troubles far behind in Japan. Those moments were so
meagre, so faint, and increasingly hard to remember lucidly, yet
they remained all the same so very precious to him. She had left
him with so little to cling to; he had nothing left but dying
memories and sad songs he no longer understood. Even the weakest,
murkiest flash of the past seemed better than nothing at all.