Kill the King (15 page)

Money. I have
to get the money. I’m not going back! I need the money. Money.
Money at Gloria’s. Never betray. Money. Gloria. Money. Run. I’m not
going back! Run away. Gloria. I love you. Money. Gloria. Goodbye.
Money. Marko. Run away. Kill Marko. Money. Khaled. I’m so scared. I
love you. Gloria. Money. The Block! I’m not going back! I need
money. Fuck you. Fuck everyone. Fuck you! Money. I need money.
Mama, are you there? Mama? Mama! Why? Where did you go? Marko.
Money! Gloria! I need money! I have to run away. I’m so scared.
Someone help me! I’m not going back! Help! Mama, I’m scared! I love
you, Gloria. Money. Gloria!

On and on he
ran in body and in mind. He raced against time. He raced against
fate. He raced against death itself. It was a race that he could
not win no matter how hard he tried. Destiny had a cruel lesson in
store for him.

It was not the
comedown from the coke high that got Tyler to stop, nor was it his
burning lungs or his swollen, bleeding feet. It was the smoke that
stopped him; a thick, black trail that stood out in the morning
sky. The choking, foul stench was unlike anything he could ever
remember smelling before. It made his eyes water and stung his
nostrils. It made him sick to his stomach; had he eaten anything
that morning, he would have retched all over the sidewalk.

His heavy
panting subsiding, Tyler walked closer towards the source of the
smoke. By the time he had gotten a block away from the scene he
noticed a small gathering of onlookers; some held one another in a
tight embrace, others wept and wailed. Tyler suspected it must have
been the scene of a huge accident or at worst an act of mass arson.
It was only after working his way through the increasingly large
crowd to get to the source of this commotion did he realize that it
was so much worse. Not even the darkest crimes of his past, nor the
darkest nightmares of his psyche, could ever prepare him for the
wretched scene that lay before him.

The thick, foul
smoke had been coming from a stack of car tires doused in gasoline.
They had been lit after being placed over the neck of an
unfortunate victim. The unfortunate victim was a woman. One half of
her face had already been consumed by the fire. The other half
showed clear signs of a vicious beating; her orbital bone was
broken and several teeth had been knocked out. A wad of cash had
been stuffed in her mouth, as if her cruel death had not been
enough and such an abject humiliation was necessary to drive a
point home.

Tyler shook his
head side to side over and over, as if merely denying the reality
of this living nightmare would be enough to make it go away. At
last, his grief overcame him and he moaned in despair. He punched
the asphalt until his knuckles bled, stopping only to scream at the
sky. No one needed to tell him who the poor woman was, entombed in
a coffin of burning rubber. . .she was still wearing her purple
hospital scrubs.

A kindly old
woman from the crowd approached Tyler and pat him on his back, then
caressed him tenderly in a way only a mother could.

“My boy, I’m so
sorry. Did you know this poor young woman?”

Tyler nodded,
rested his head on her shoulder and moaned.

“
Gloria.
Her name is Gloria.”

****

A drink. A
smoke. Another drink. More drinks. A few lines of coke. More
drinks. Vomit. Tears. More vomit. A couple of smokes. More drinks.
Tears. Sleep.

****

Cigarettes. An
eight-ball. A drink. Pacing back and forth. Another drink. A pack
of smokes. Another drink. A few more lines of coke. More smokes.
More pacing back and forth. More smokes. An idea. A phone call.

“Khaled? Yeah,
it’s me. I don’t know how else to say this. . .Gloria’s gone.
Someone killed her.”

Tyler’s voice
was frail and raspy. He spoke slowly with Khaled, who was just as
overcome with grief. Their conversation was awkward and fraught
with long silent pauses.

“I’m sorry,
Tyler. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for all I’ve done. I loved her. .
.I really did. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry. .
.”

Tyler gripped
the phone tightly as he listened to Khaled pouring out his
feelings. There was still some resentment left over in his
heart.

“You’re right
to be sorry, Khaled. . .”

Tyler paused to
stifle his anger. He took a deep breath and adopted a more
conciliatory tone.

“. . .but let’s
not talk about that right now. That’s not why I called you. I’m
calling because I need to ask you to do something for me.”

Tyler hesitated
before continuing. It was a lot to ask of him. Khaled prodded him
to continue.

“What is it. .
.
my brother?”

“I need your
help. I have a plan but I can’t pull it off without you. I need
you. . .
brother.”

Neither spoke
for several seconds. Tyler waited for Khaled’s answer.

“What kind of
plan?”

“A very
bad
one.”

Tyler could
hear Khaled’s breathing grow tense on the other end.

“What are we
gonna do?”

“We’re going to
make a statement.”

****

“Are you sure
you know what you’re doing?”

They had just
entered Fourteens territory and were on the way to their lair. It
was well past midnight and the air had gotten much colder. It was a
bad night for cruising along uninvited in enemy territory.

“Have I ever
let you down before, Khaled?”

The large man
said nothing. He was feeling tense enough as it was. The news of
Gloria’s murder did not bode well with him. The grief had given his
voice a croakier sound, as if speaking had become an exhausting
task.

“You have to
trust me on this.”

Khaled’s face
twisted and contorted into a grimace. His massive teeth could be
easily heard grinding into one another, even with the radio on.

“I have a very
bad feeling about this, my friend. This is so fucked up.”

Tyler rolled
down the passenger side window and lit a cigarette. He
double-checked the briefcase he was holding, making sure that it
was locked nice and secure.

“You have to
trust me on this. We don’t have much time. Now, turn off the radio
and slow down a bit. We’re almost there. Let’s see how close we can
get without them noticing.”

Khaled did as
instructed, albeit reluctantly. “I still think this is a bad idea,
my friend.”

“It
is
a
bad idea, Khaled. That’s why it’s gonna work.”

****

“I have a
special delivery for your brave and honourable leader. Nice flag,
by the way.”

The two
skinheads on sentry duty outside their lair’s main entrance did not
know how to react to Tyler’s statement. If it were anyone but Tyler
and Khaled standing before them this late into the night, they
would have taken it as an open provocation and responded in the
usual custom. They exchanged nervous glances with one another. Both
no doubt wished they were somewhere else at the moment. Anywhere
else.

Tyler flicked
his cigarette in the direction of the giant flagpole that stood a
few feet away from them. The colossal swastika flag that flapped on
top was raised high enough to be seen from several blocks away. It
openly dared the entire district to challenge their newfound
ascendancy.

“This is the
part where you open the doors.”

The two guards
were obviously not among the highest on the pecking order. They
couldn’t have been older than sixteen at the very most. The tall
gangly one with the acne-riddled face fidgeted and averted his
eyes. The short, soft-looking one hemmed and hawed an evasive
non-answer about it not being the right time for a delivery. Tyler
raised his hand to stop the kid from stammering any further.

“Look. . .do
you see this briefcase? It contains important things for a certain
Mr. Frank Metzger. You know this person, right? He’s expecting this
to be delivered to
him,
by
me
. Do you know who I
am?”

“Tyler
Kwan.”

“That’s right.
And this large man behind me? What’s his name?”

The
soft-looking youth took special care not to mispronounce it,
speaking in a slow and measured pace.

“Khaled. .
.Sha. . .ra. . .bi.”

“Correct. If
you know our names, then you know we’re not some know-nothing
gangbanging thugs. We’ve got shit to do and you’ve wasted enough of
our time as it is. Do we have to open those doors for you?
Something tells me that your lilywhite brothers won’t think it very
funny when they find out a
gook
and a
towelhead
let
themselves walk in like they owned the place. Do you think
Ron
would find that funny?”

The tall boy’s
eyes darted in every direction other than directly in front of
him.

“Um, uh,
there’s like, no one inside except for Mr. Metzger. Everyone else
is, like, out on patrol.”

“I couldn’t
give a
fuck
if they’re on a night hunt or not. Now listen
carefully, because I’m only gonna tell you this one last time. .
.be good little Aryan boys and do your fucking job. Either we go
through those doors behind you, or Khaled will make sure you boys
go
through
the doors. What’s it gonna be?”

The doors
opened. Tyler strolled into the empty warehouse, briefcase in
hand.

“Khaled—stay
out here and babysit these little peckerwoods. You’re from
Palestine, right? Maybe the three of you can talk about your common
hatred of Jews for a while. You might even become best friends by
the time I come back.”

Khaled crossed
his arms and scowled. Tyler gave him a knowing look.

“I won’t be
long. . .
trust me.”

****

Metzger was in
the middle of scribbling on a notepad when Tyler arrived. He looked
frail and exhausted. Tyler casually took the seat facing Metzger at
his desk.

“You waltzed in
here without any prior warning on a night when there’s no one left
here to protect me. You’ve even brought a nondescript briefcase to
make it look like you’re here on official business, just to make
sure you don’t look too suspicious. Very clever. Call me crazy, but
I can’t help but suspect that you’ve come here to kill me. Does
that sound about right?”

Both men
exchanged weary, knowing glances. Murder was always an occupational
hazard. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

“We both know
the answer to that. I thought we could maybe talk a bit first.”

Metzger sighed
in resignation and tossed his notepad away into the nearby waste
bin. He then reached for the mini fridge and poured two shots of
that German liqueur he always had at the ready.

“Fuck it. I’ve
been living on borrowed time for too long anyways. At least I can
have a few drinks in good company before I go. It’d be nice to talk
to someone who can carry a little conversation. . .I have a lot of
brothers but very few friends. That’s the cross we bear for the
life we live, right?”

“Don’t I know
it. . .”

They clinked
glasses and downed their drinks. Metzger refilled them
immediately.

“Shit, how
about we do a little
quid pro quo?
I tell you a little
something, you tell me a little something. No bullshit. No lies.
Only the truth. Do you mind humouring me a bit before I go?”

“You’re not the
first one to try to stall me.”

Metzger
snickered. “Come on, Tyler. Just humour me a little. I won’t fight
it when it’s time to go.”

Tyler stared at
him intently, then shrugged in acquiescence to Frank’s request.

“Alright,
fine.
You start.”

Metzger smiled
and emptied his glass. “Pruitt and Glenny. . .it was you, wasn’t
it? I can’t imagine it being a coincidence that they end up dead
one night, and you show your face in town the very next day.”

Tyler knocked
back the shot and refilled both glasses himself. “Yeah, it was me.
They chased me into an alley and I had to fight my way out. There’s
not much else to it.”

Metzger groaned
and drank some more. He was displeased with hearing Tyler’s
matter-of-fact explanation, yet had no rebuttal to offer on behalf
of his dead brothers. The truth had come out at last. There was no
need to bother elaborating any further on the matter. The Fourteens
would have to carry on without him. Vendettas were no longer his
problem.

“Okay, my turn.
. . . I knew from the start that something was wrong with you. You
look sick and broken down because your meds aren’t working out for
you anymore. Do your brothers know that you’re dying?”

Frank drank
some more before answering. His face was already reddening.

“Oh, they all
know I’m sick—I can’t hide it, as you can plainly see—but only
MacKay knows that I have AIDS. That’s why he’s. . .”

“I think the
word you’re looking for is
blackmail
. He wants to take over
after you die. He’s keeping quiet about your secret so long as he
gets to take over after you’re gone. Is that what you’re trying to
say?”

Metzger downed
another shot and refilled. His gaze turned downwards towards the
drink, swirling it around in the glass in contemplation.

“Yeah. That’s a
good way of putting it. You know, that’s not how we play quid pro
quo. You’ve just asked me two questions in a row. I’m supposed to
have a turn too.”

Tyler’s palm
struck his forehead in a display of mock apology, and they both
shared a light chuckle. They clinked their glasses together and
drank some more.

“So, did you
kill Mosley too? One of our boys found him floating around in the
storm drain this afternoon. He was there on the night you killed
Pruitt and Glenny. Did you kill him to cover up your tracks? I
wouldn’t blame if you if you did. . .that’s what I would have
done.”