Ghosts, Matt Rogers [reading the story of the .txt] 📗

It’s a crazy world we’re in, Slater thought.

Then Alexis piped up.

‘There’s got to be a million holes in that cover-up,’ she said. ‘Especially if he truly was the Clark County Sheriff. Most of the force would simply remember him.’

‘Which supports my theory that it was a rush job,’ Violetta said. ‘Thrown together haphazardly by a man who thinks he’s above the law.’

‘I can work with that,’ Alexis said. ‘I’ll get actual details tomorrow.’

Slater turned to her.

His first instinct was to shelter her, but he threw it away as the impulse it was. It was ludicrous. She didn’t need protecting. She was a civilian, but he’d been one once. They all had. There’s always a life before … whatever the hell it was they were now. Every day, she put up with the fact that his extracurricular activities involved putting his life on the line.

He could do the same.

So instead of, ‘No,’ he said, ‘How?’

19

With the limo hidden in the garage and their location untraceable, the night passed without incident.

King didn’t waver from his night-time routine. He stretched out — more sun salutations to ease the tension of having killed four men an hour previously — then took a handful of supplements containing herbs (Valerian root, chamomile, jujube), immune system support (krill oil, L-Lysine, Vitamin C, Selenium), and minerals (calcium, magnesium, iodine), as well as spirulina and chlorella. Some of them probably worked, and some of them probably didn’t, but it took him seconds to swallow the pills and he’d vowed long ago to try anything to extend his longevity. So far, the philosophy was paying off.

He sure didn’t feel his age.

He monitored his own mood, but there was nothing to report. No intrusive thoughts. No paranoia. No uncertainty.

Just a deep disgust at how a small subsection of the world operated, but that came with every job.

The next day would bring answers. Some big, some small. Hopefully they’d add up to reveal a solution.

When he went to the bedroom, Violetta was already there. Sitting up in bed, a pillow against her back, the laptop in her lap. Still scrolling, still typing.

As King pulled his shirt off, he said, ‘You’re going to impersonate a crime boss, aren’t you?’

She looked up and stared at him. Her blue eyes blazed. She shut the laptop and put it aside.

‘Sometimes I think you can read my mind,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘We think the same. I’m just working with the information we have.’

‘I’ll throw money around at one of the casinos,’ she said. ‘I’ll do all the right things. Someone will approach me. If I play it right, Kerr will take the bait.’

He could have said, That’s a long shot.

Most would.

But he’d been around for long enough to know it would work. Humans are social creatures. They believe what they see right in front of them. They make mistakes. He’d just proven how easily Gates had accepted two total strangers into his world. Sure, if Kerr was deep in murky waters she’d be more careful about her inner circle — given her public position — but criminals have to take risks. It comes part and parcel with the life.

King said, ‘If this all works, it’s going to kick off a shitstorm.’

‘Then you’re right at home.’

He smiled.

‘Come here,’ she said.

They made love, slow and intimate, their faces inches apart. King’s mind didn’t wander.

How could it?

He slept soundly, and the next day he peeled himself out of bed at five in the morning. He walked naked to the en suite, took an ice cold shower, then went downstairs and took himself through an extended yoga routine. He opted to stay away from the rigid running and shooting routine of weeks past, mainly because there was a high likelihood of Gates using whatever muscle he had left to trawl the affluent suburbs surrounding Summerlin. In hindsight King should have fed him a suburb on the other side of Vegas, but he’d been fixated on expediting the process and getting the gangbangers out of the picture as fast as possible.

So he decided not to be unnecessarily stupid by getting himself spotted before they could go back to Wan’s. He still made sure to jack his heart rate up for close to an hour of exercise and left the yoga mat stained with a puddle of sweat. But he didn’t hit the bag. He didn’t lift weights. He figured there’d be opportunities to practice combat on real bodies before the day was through.

Slater, it seemed, had similar thoughts.

King intercepted the man in the kitchen, still coated in perspiration from an unspecified morning workout. Slater had fixed himself a breakfast of eggs, spinach, avocado and goat’s curd on toast, and was halfway through demolishing the mountain of food heaped high on his plate.

King eyed the meal. ‘Filling up the tank?’

Slater smirked. ‘Might need it later.’

King followed suit.

Alexis came down as they finished scrubbing the dishes. She’d dressed strategically for what was to come. A revealing summer dress, with a bra underneath that pushed her breasts up and accentuated the cleavage.

Slater said, ‘I like where your head’s at.’

She shrugged. ‘I figured it can’t hurt.’

‘No,’ Slater said. ‘It sure can’t.’

King might have laughed in different circumstances, but he knew there was truth to it. Her exact target was still up in the air, but it’d almost certainly be a guy, and he’d almost certainly be a junior officer.

Sometimes, operational strategy was just that simple.

Violetta took longer to get ready. When she came down, twenty minutes after King and Slater had showered and dressed, she was barely recognisable. She’d caked herself in liquid foundation that made her look paler than usual, and applied bright red lipstick and heavy eyeliner. She’d pulled her blonde hair back sharply, putting it in a tight bun. She wore outlandishly expensive designer-wear — a stark white skirt and suit jacket, and a neatly pressed black business shirt underneath. There were extra flourishes — ten-thousand dollar earrings, a Dolce & Gabbana clutch, and a razor-sharp diamond hairpin holding the