Ciphers, Matt Rogers [a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT] 📗

‘No offence,’ Slater said. ‘But that was never going to reassure us.’

‘I didn’t expect it to,’ she said. ‘It sure as hell doesn’t reassure me. I’m not responsible for the NYPD.’

‘I can’t blame them,’ King said. ‘I’ve been taking matters into my own hands my whole career. Hell, we did it in Nepal. They just want to help.’

Violetta said, ‘I’ll send an info dump to both your phones en route to the Bowery. Go on foot. It’s the fastest way. It’s gridlock out there.’

‘We know.’

‘Move fast. Breach the building, find whoever has the ability to reverse all of this, and make them do it. Seem simple enough?’

Slater didn’t respond.

King didn’t respond.

She said, ‘You’ve pulled off harder tasks before.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Slater said. ‘Because you don’t know how hard this is going to be.’

‘Go,’ she said. ‘No wasted time.’

Slater shifted the weight of the duffel bag, feeling the reassuring bulk of the MP7 within. He noticed Violetta’s eyes linger on King, and his on hers. He turned away. He could rib them all he wanted, but in the end it was extraneous. They cared deeply for each other, and he’d almost had the same thing with an operative named Ruby Nazarian.

She wasn’t around to reassure him now.

He tightened his grip on the bag and reached for the lobby door. Bracing himself against the cold, the wind, and the dark.

Turned back. ‘Ready?’

King nodded.

No words.

Just action.

He threw the door open, and they left Violetta behind in the lobby, striding fast for the Bowery.

36

‘You got money, then?’ Samuel said as they reached the Grand Army Plaza.

Ordinarily bathed in dull streetlight, even in the middle of the night, the plaza was now shrouded in shadow. Dark, empty and soulless. The Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Arch speared a hundred and thirty feet into the air, dwarfing everything in sight, but Rico saw it only as a mammoth silhouette against the night sky. He staggered underneath it, aiming for the intersection beyond, suddenly unnerved by the darkness behind him.

There wasn’t a civilian in sight, and if there was anyone in the vicinity, they were keeping a low profile. Probably for the best, given the blackout did nothing but aid predators in places like this. Rico’s mind wasn’t on that. Anyone tried to approach and intimidate him, he’d fuck them up. He still had the reassuring weight of the Glock in his hand, but even if he didn’t, he’d be oblivious to the short-term consequences.

The perks of overindulging in illicit substances.

Samuel said, ‘Did you hear me?’

‘What?’

‘You got money?’

‘Yeah, I got money.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Don’t tell me you don’t have money.’

‘Nah. Never have, never will.’

‘You were a powerful family. That sort of wealth doesn’t just go away in a—’

‘I wasn’t shit,’ Samuel hissed. ‘I had the family name. But I was always the fucked-up one. Nobody said it to my face, but everyone knew. I was the outcast. The psycho. You’d think that’d drive me away from the rest of the family, but nah, they had their uses for me. That’s the worst part, you know? They’re the big bad gangsters, but I’m the troubled one cause I like killin’. I figured there shouldn’t have been anything wrong with that. Not after what I knew about their businesses. But I ain’t kept a part of their businesses. Not now, not ever. They come to me and say, “Hey, we need this guy killed,” and I’d go right along and do it. And I wouldn’t even get a “thank you.” I was the puppy dog, you see. Do this, do that, you’ve got no conscience, you can get it done for us. I thought, when we all fell apart, that they’d just leave me alone. I thought, even if they came back and wanted me to do things for them, I’d be smart enough to say no. So I just started keepin’ to myself and doing what I felt like doing, not what someone else is telling me to do. But I ain’t ever been the smart one. They came back, just like I thought they would, and they convinced me, real easy. And it’s not like anything changed. Still kept out of the business. Still kept away from the cash. Still the outcast. Still stigmatised. So I ran. That’s why I’m here, Rico Guzmán. Cause I’m doin’ something for myself for the first time. What do you think about that?’

It was a lot to process. A tirade of epic proportions, no doubt spurred on by Samuel’s first encounter with a certain fine white powder. Rico strolled quietly beside the wide-eyed kid as he let out all his bitterness and hostility toward his family, and when Samuel was done Rico couldn’t help but relate to parts of it.

He told Samuel that, in no uncertain terms.

‘I’ve never been a killer,’ Rico said. ‘I’m the opposite. No one’s ever trusted me enough to put a gun in my hand. I’m the young idiot. The liability. But my family treats me the same as yours does to you. I’m kept away from the secrets. I’m not told a thing. I want to be. Maybe … maybe if I killed like you do … maybe they’d take me seriously.’

Even in the dark, Rico saw Samuel’s eyes light up.

‘Fuck them,’ Samuel snarled. ‘Fuck your family. And fuck mine. But I sure do like this killin’ talk. I done a lot of it these last six weeks. A whole lot of it. But never because I wanted to. I was only doing what I was told. But … you want the truth?’

‘Yeah,’ Rico said, and took another gulp of whiskey from the flask he’d funnelled the remainder of the bottle into. ‘Yeah, I want the goddamn truth.’

‘I liked it a whole lot more when I watched you do it.’

‘You mean — before?’

‘Yeah,’ Samuel said, a wide grin on his face. ‘When you shot that guy. I could see it on your face. Plain as day. It’s new to you. It’s novel. It gives you an