Kill the King (3 page)

Tyler didn’t
move or make a sound. He couldn’t make out the size of this
skinhead, but from the sound of his voice he was most likely big,
angry, and drunk. The skinhead loudly taunted his unknown prey from
behind the beam of orange light that shone on the edge of the alley
where he stood.

“Come out, come
out, or I’ll blow your little nigger house down! You can’t hide in
the darkness forever, boy! Do you think I’m afraid of the dark?
Huh? I’m talking to you, nigger! I know you can hear me!”

The skinhead’s
taunts went unanswered.

“Time’s up,
nigger! I’m coming in there, and when I get my hands on y—”

The brick
hurled at his face shut him up immediately. It hit him right
between the eyes, the impact so strong it set him back several
steps back. The skinhead remained standing but was dazed from the
shot. His eyes were caked with dust and his nose gushing blood as
his rocked brain struggled to grasp what had just happened. He
clumsily stumbled with a hand stretched outwards, looking for a
wall to lean on. He was maybe two steps away from succeeding before
the alley darkness hurled another brick at him once more, this time
hitting him in the ear and dropping him hard onto the sidewalk
outside the alley. He lay face-down on the asphalt, motionless and
with blood dripping from his ears. Another voice could be heard
nearby, as well as the familiar sound of hurried jackboots making
frenetic contact with the street.

“Jesus Christ!
What the fuck?”

Goddamn it. .
.

Tyler opted to
escape this time around, not wanting to push his luck with his
brick-tossing skills. He couldn’t make it more than half-way up the
fence before a thin metal rod made contact with his ankles. The
fall on the asphalt below was so hard he nearly blacked out from
the impact.

The second
skinhead was older and scrawnier but his homicidal rage more than
made up for it. He straddled Tyler’s chest as he pushed a tire iron
onto his windpipe, his eyes wide with hate. In a desperate attempt
to stay alive, Tyler managed to writhe and squirm enough to free
his arms, and pressed his thumbs as hard as he could in the corners
of his assailant’s eyes. His thumbs got wet as they dug into the
thug’s corneas. The skinhead wailed in agony and let go of the tire
iron, prompting Tyler to let go of his grip and grab the weapon as
he staggered back to his feet.

Tyler had no
choice but to finish the job. Leaving him would not go on without
retaliation, and mercy was something the Fourteens did not have in
abundance. He kicked and stomped on the thug to keep him down. With
every hit the skinhead wept and pleaded with Tyler to stop. For a
brief second Tyler hesitated. . .then finished him off with a
savage strike behind the head with the tire iron. The skinhead no
longer moved. A feeling of unease crept into Tyler’s gut once the
adrenaline wore off. Murder was always an occupational hazard in
this line of work. . .and yet, this time it wasn’t so easy to shrug
off as a necessity.

I must be
getting soft.

Tyler then
scaled the chain-link fence and ran towards the cemetery, climbing
a short birch tree to reach the other side of the gates. He fell on
a raked pile of moist leaves and lay there in exhaustion. He could
hear two motorcycles zipping back and forth in the street behind
him. . .no doubt these were the Fourteens on bikes, scrambling
madly all over the neighbourhood in search of whoever killed their
fellow brothers. No such luck would come their way, and eventually
their engines faded into the distance. Some payback was surely in
order, but that would have to wait for another day.

Tyler lay on
the pile of leaves for several minutes. His face and hair were
covered in sweat and his muscles ached so badly he could barely
move. If it weren’t for his chest heaving hard enough to keep him
from making a sound, he might have laughed.

Home, sweet
fucking home.

****

Dawn wasn’t far
away, and Tyler still had more walking ahead of him before he could
consider himself home free. St. Jude’s was for the dead after all.
The living were only visitors here, and even the nicest guests
could overstay their welcome. It was time to leave.

Tyler felt safe
and calm as he strolled through the vast resting place. The giant
birch trees and weeping willows swayed gently back and forth from
the cold breeze. It felt good to walk on grass again. It was in
this tranquility that Tyler could be alone with his thoughts.

I have only
seven days to kill the Man who Refuses to Die. I have to break the
one rule that must never be broken. I have to betray Marko. Of all
the people in this world, why did it have to be him?

The bitter
reality began to set in and it made his blood run cold. Many had
tried to kill Marko Boreta and all of them wound up dead. .
.
painfully
. The seemingly impossible odds were bad enough;
having to betray a man he deeply respected only made the burden
that much harder on his conscience.

“
It is noble
to forgive the blood.” That’s what Marko would say in a time like
this. Don’t kill for a shameful reason, and avoid vendettas—the
blood feuds. Vengeance makes us monsters, and forgiveness makes us
men. . .but would Marko forgive the blood this time? Could he ever
forgive me for what I have to do? Could the Family forgive the
blood?

Tyler reached
the end of the gates on the opposite side of the cemetery. This was
safe turf, and the gates were so low on this side he only needed to
raise his legs to leave the place. By then, he had reached his
decision.

Every day spent
in the Block was a taste of death. I died every day in there, only
to wake up the next day and die again and again. I’ve died enough
times. If it’s Marko’s turn do die, then so be it. I’d rather take
my chances and try to kill the devil himself than spend another day
in hell. I will kill him—kill Marko Boreta. May he forgive the
blood.

Tyler felt
satisfied with his choice and made his way for his next
destination. Only one person he knew would still be up this late at
night, and it wasn’t too far away on foot.

Her name was
Gloria.

****

Tyler treaded
through another grimy, dimly-lit area before he reached Gloria’s
neighbourhood. Her low-rise apartment building was nondescript but
easy enough to find—a john’s preferred haunting ground. Her lights
were still on, including the red bedroom light she used to let
prospective clients know she was available. She had a good system
going on. Tyler stood still in front of the building for a moment
to brush his hair back with his fingers and dust off his jacket.
Were he not so inept at showing emotion, he might have smiled.
Instead, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

I’m back,
Gloria.

His knocks went
unanswered at first. They were meant to be discreet so as not to
wake up the nosy neighbours, but they were not hard enough to be
noticed. Tyler waited for several quiet moments before knocking
again, harder this time. He didn’t want to appear too eager and be
mistaken for a rude and impatient john. She didn’t like those kinds
of men.

“
Lo
siento,
I’m not seeing anyone else for the night. You can come
visit me tomorrow night, okay?”

The sound of
her voice shook him to the core. It had been so long since he last
heard it. She sounded exhausted, yet after so many years it still
felt as soft as silk. Her accent was delicate and tickled his ears.
Her words were kind and warm, even to a stranger who just wanted to
pay for her body. It sounded as if she really genuinely cared about
the stranger she spoke to from the other side of her door. And yet,
she still wouldn’t open the door. Tyler momentarily found himself
at a loss to speak. . .if he told her it was him, what could
possibly make her believe him?

“Are you still
there? Don’t be mad, okay? Just come see me tomorrow and I’ll make
you feel so much better, I promise.”

Tyler then
remembered the special knock they had between them. They used it
for late-night visits like this. He wondered if he still remembered
it right.

“Hello? Are you
still there? Why don’t you say something? You’re starting to—”

Knock, pause,
tap-tap-tap.

Silence.

Knock, pause,
tap-tap-tap.

The many locks
of the door were hurriedly clicking open, one after the other. The
door slowly creaked open as a dainty, nervous hand crept from
behind it. A pretty, tired-looking woman stood in the doorframe.
She stood immobile, unsure if she were dreaming. Her eyes shone as
her hands reached for her quivering lips.

“Hello,
Gloria.”

She wrapped her
arms around his ribs and buried her head in his chest, tightening
her grip as she sobbed. Tyler stiffly caressed her shoulders and
rested his chin on the top of her head. Her hair smelled of sweat,
cheap perfume and cigarettes. She smelled just the way he
remembered her.

“I thought I’d
never see you again. I thought you might be dead.”

She kissed him
and returned to her tight embrace. They still hadn’t left the
doorway.

“There were
many times when I wished I was.”

****

Gloria poured
more rum into Tyler’s glass. She lit a cigarette as she sat on her
kitchen counter, watching him knock back another drink. He’d
already gone through half the bottle by then. She knew from their
long past that she could not ask him about his business affairs,
and hence did not ask him how and why he got released. When
consorting with men like Tyler Kwan, ignorance was bliss. Looking
the other way saved her from a world of trouble. Likewise, Tyler
never inquired about her occupation. It was an unspoken arrangement
they had between one another.

Despite the
damp cold outside she was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a tank
top; clothes that were easy to advertise with and easy to take off
when needed. She rocked her hips from one side to the other, slowly
and enticingly like a pendulum. She placed one hand on her bare
thigh and squeezed it gently while girlishly playing with her long
brown hair with the other. She was off the clock, but with Tyler it
was personal time. He meant everything to her, though far be it to
anyone but her that he even deserved such time and affection.

“Are you
hungry, Tyler? I have some good chorizo in the fridge, or I can
make you an omelette if you like. How long has it been since you’ve
had something good to eat?”

Tyler drained
the remainder of his glass of rum. It was strong and sweet-tasting.
He let the last gulp slide down his throat with a hearty burn. He
then put down the glass and wiped his lips with this thumb, and
stared at her intently. He was hungry indeed, but food was not his
priority.

“Not as long as
it’s been since I last touched a woman.”

Gloria giggled
and chirped something to herself in Spanish before placing her hand
on her heart, playfully pretending to swoon in flattery. She slid
off the kitchen counter and climbed onto his lap.

“
Dios
mio
. . .you always know how to say the
loveliest
things
to me. That is the best sweet talk you have ever given me! Please
catch me before I faint! Will you catch me,
mi amor?”

Tyler gave her
a laconic half-smile. “Only if I get to choose where to carry
you.”

True to her
word, her act came to the grand finale and she fainted in bliss.
Tyler carried her out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.

****

Gloria lay her
head on Tyler’s bare, sweat-glazed chest. She tried to listen for
her paramour’s heartbeat, but none could be found. She would have
to use her imagination to find the warm pulsating sound she had
hoped to find.

“My love, did
you ever think of me when you were away?”

Tyler’s face
remained expressionless. His poker face was very hard to read, and
it had always served him well when it came to matters of survival.
He had a hard time shutting it off. The truth was that he did not
in fact think much of her while he was locked away, least of all
while holed up in the Block. In the darkest, most wretched places,
it was better not to dream of the things we could never have again.
That kind of yearning destroys the soul. It was better to detach
yourself and avoid the sorrow of longing. It was the lost loves
that cut the deepest wounds.

“Every
day.”

Gloria wiped
one last errant tear from her cheek before gently kissing Tyler’s
ear and falling soundly asleep. The bed was warm and smelled of
other men. Tyler’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling, hoping he
could find the solution to all of his problems up there if he
stared hard enough.

One day already
down and six more to go. All I have to do is betray the one man who
ever loved me like a son. All I have to do is kill a man who can’t
be killed.

Tyler’s sense
of foreboding was strong and found little success in letting his
guard down long enough to find sleep. A world of horrors lurked
just around the corner.

Never
betray.

The words
echoed in his mind again and again. They haunted him to no end.

Never
betray.

“Wake up,
asshole.”

Those were the
first words Tyler heard on his first morning as a free man, and he
hadn’t even opened his eyes yet. He sleepily stretched his arm and
reached in Gloria’s direction but only caught her pillow. She was
out of bed already; most likely assuming her daytime duties as an
orderly at the hospital. Tyler had no choice but to wake up.

When his
bloodshot eyes opened, he noticed a familiar sight standing by the
bedroom’s doorframe: a tall, solid brute of a man sporting an
expensive watch, gold chains wrapped around a neck as thick as a
tree trunk, and a leather jacket so large that it could easily
drape over two men of Tyler’s size. He held a cup of coffee in one
hand and a plastic bag in the other.