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

articles, all of them brief and devoid of flowery prose. They were informing the public of sentences, after all. They had to be short and sharp.

King found the right one.

He got what he was looking for from the headline, but he opened the article and scrolled through it anyway.

Just to make sure.

He lifted his eyes off the phone.

Slater could see it on his face.

King said, ‘Possession with intent to distribute, and it was felony weight.’

Slater raised his eyebrows.

As if to say, Come on.

King said, ‘She got eleven years.’

Slater bowed his head. King knew Slater couldn’t help himself, and admired it. Slater hadn’t even met Josefine Bell, knew nothing of her troubles aside from the story King had passed on, but still the man felt deeply for her. Probably due to all the injustice he’d seen first-hand.

He didn’t need to know her.

But she’d been destroyed by a system rife with flaws.

And in the end all they were here to do was make a few things right before their time was up.

Their failure was staring them in the face.

That didn’t mean the war was over.

Neither of them spoke for a while. There was a mutual understanding that neither wanted to go inside, so they stood on the porch and watched the street. There were situations rapidly unfolding out there … out in the dirt and grime of the city. Away from the bright lights.

Slater said, ‘Heard from Violetta?’

King shook his head and pointed at his swollen face. ‘I’ve been busy.’

‘I was just wondering if she called.’

‘No.’ King paused. ‘Have you heard from her?’

‘Alexis did. On the phone she mentioned Violetta got herself a meeting with the DA.’

King nodded. ‘That was the plan.’

A pause.

Slater said, ‘Should we…?’

‘She can handle herself.’

Slater nodded. She sure could. He’d seen it first-hand.

Alexis, though…

He feared for her. She was only a month into this journey, only recently separated from civilian life. She could shoot straight, and she could hit pads harder than when she started, and she could keep a cool head under pressure, but the world out there was a different beast entirely.

He counted out each second that passed. Each one reminded him she wasn’t back yet.

They ticked by, on and on, endlessly.

King said, ‘Maybe we should—’

Their phones started shrieking, one by one.

First King’s, then Slater’s.

There was the tiniest delay between each, but Slater’s stomach had already dropped by the time he heard his own speaker join the chorus.

His blood ran cold.

He turned his palm, tilting the screen to face him.

King was doing the same.

Slater froze. It was the panic response, alright.

But it wasn’t Alexis.

It was Violetta.

Slater looked up.

King was staring at him, urgency blazing in his eyes.

They sprinted for the Bentley.

29

Thirty minutes earlier…

If this was a subtler operation, Violetta would employ caution.

She’d pull up a mile out from the DA’s office and proceed on foot. In her old job she’d have scouts to scope the area, all of them tier-one Special Forces operatives, before she even thought about moving in herself.

But time was of the essence.

And King and Slater had taught her the accuracy of the old George S. Patton quote:

A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.

So, with full knowledge that there were eyes — and probably guns — trained on her, she pulled into the parking lot of an unassuming commercial building. It was four storeys tall, with black reflective glass windows covering the whole exterior. It was indistinguishable from an ordinary office complex. There was nothing impressive about it whatsoever.

She got out, felt the sun on the back of her neck. The lot was deserted. She braced herself for the shot that could very well come, but she knew it was pointless. She wouldn’t even be aware if she took a direct hit. The bullet would enter her skull and snap her out of existence before she’d even figured out it was bouncing around in there, turning her brains to mush.

She made for reception. There was no reassurance of a gun in her clutch or in a holster at her waist. She had a role to play, and that meant unabashed confidence. If she claimed to be an all-powerful matriarch from a distant land, it’d ruin the illusion if she showed up paranoid to meet Gloria Kerr, armed to the teeth. Kerr’s staff were going to strip her of weapons before entering the meeting no matter what, so it was best to show up without any in the first place. Otherwise the dynamic changed. She’d seem more vulnerable if she turned up and had to be alleviated of her firepower.

So no guns.

She walked right in and approached the big wooden reception desk. Behind it sat three staffers. Any one of them could be in the know, or perhaps none of them were.

Violetta stared daggers at the young man in the middle and — re-adopting the accent — said, ‘I am here to see Gloria Kerr.’

He managed a nervous glance into her eyes, and didn’t seem to like what he saw, so he looked straight down at the folder in front of him and began flicking through it with a trembling finger. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your name, ma’am?’

Violetta stood in silence.

Eventually he looked up, his left eyelid twitching. ‘Ma’am?’

‘She is expecting me.’

‘If I could just—’

‘Go inform her that I am here,’ Violetta demanded. ‘It is in her best interests. I will not—’

‘Chase!’ a deep voice shouted from a spiralling staircase off to the side of the reception area. ‘Leave it. We’ll take it from here.’

The young guy — Chase, it seemed — looked over and nodded his understanding like a loyal puppy dog. But that didn’t seem to be enough to cool his nerves, so he pushed the swivel chair back a couple of feet, physically separating himself from the strange woman.

Violetta understood.

He was an intern — a kid, really — who had his head screwed on straight. A kid who’d seen many odd happenstances take place in this complex, and was now