Sharks, Matt Rogers [shoe dog free ebook TXT] 📗

‘Of course not. None of this is normal. The way they’re treating it, it should be front page of the Review Journal.’

‘It’ll never be front page of anything.’

‘Then it’s lucky we’re around to keep people accountable.’

‘You honestly think we’ll see anything?’

‘Won’t know for sure unless we try,’ Slater said. ‘You got someplace to be?’

‘Not currently. I think we cleared things up today, don’t you?’

Slater nodded knowingly.

They’d tied up a few loose ends that same morning.

Slater had personally executed a judge — Alastair Icke.

He didn’t exactly seem crippled with guilt about it.

But that train of thought opened up another topic King hadn’t addressed. ‘How are you and Alexis?’

Slater scrunched up his face.

King said, ‘Noted.’

‘We’re okay,’ Slater said. ‘In the grand scheme of things. It’s just … you know.’

King knew.

Alexis Diaz, Slater’s life partner, was now a killer. A week ago she’d defended their home in Las Vegas from a forced invasion. Violetta had mopped up most of the attackers, but one man made it upstairs, and Alexis beat him to a pulp to save herself, then shot him in the head. A few months ago she was a paralegal in New York City, with a small apartment in the Bowery and a comfortable life. Then she’d met and fallen in love with Will Slater, and the rest unfolded exactly how he’d expected.

King said, ‘You’re beating yourself up about it, aren’t you?’

‘I can’t help but think I corrupted her.’

‘Or set her free.’

‘It’s hard to see it that way.’

‘Of course,’ King said. ‘It’s hard to kill.’

‘What if she’s not a killer?’ Slater said. ‘What if she wanted to come with us on this journey, and I said “yes” despite knowing full well I shouldn’t have, and she wound up in that impossible situation because I didn’t have the guts to cut it off. What about that?’

King said, ‘If you’d interfered, you’d be making her decisions for her.’

Slater shook his head. ‘A family member comes to you and says they’re thinking of becoming a hard drug addict. You tell them not to. That’s not making their decisions for them. That’s being a decent human being with an iota of common sense.’

King scanned the darkened lot across the street, watching the cops shuffle in the gravel, stamping their feet on the ground to warm themselves on this uncharacteristically cold evening. ‘I’ve been in this world so long I’ve almost forgotten what a decent human being is.’

Slater followed his gaze. ‘Touché.’

‘So you’re saying it’s rocky right now?’

Slater kept staring out the windshield. ‘She’ll be okay. She’s going through the emotions right now. It’s like a bad hangover. Like waking up from a nightmare and realising, “I did that. That was me.”’

‘She did it for the right reasons.’

‘Don’t we all?’ Slater said. ‘And look where it got us.’

King said, ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.’

Slater said, ‘We have that much in common.’

They both watched as a new squad car screeched to a halt at the scene, lights and siren off.

A tall stocky lieutenant levered himself out.

He was nervous as hell.

King smiled in the dark. ‘Here’s trouble.’

2

In the training room, a timer blared.

The fifth five-minute round, finally over.

Alexis fired a final right hook into the heavy bag, spraying a fine mist of sweat off the leather, then collapsed. She fell onto her back and sucked in air until she felt her heart rate inch back down to normal levels.

She finally understood what Will Slater had figured out long ago.

She always thought she’d known why he worked himself to the bone, exhausting his body day after day in the pursuit of betterment. It was to survive, she’d told herself. It was so he could gain confidence in the mad world he operated within. Just as King did. She’d been privy to their daily routines for months now, and the level of discipline they showed in all areas of their lives had inspired her to inch her own life toward that unattainable goal.

But there was another side to it for Slater.

He was troubled. Always had been, always would be. His memories — traumatic and bloody — stuck with him more than they did for King. Slater thought about what he’d done far more, judged himself harder, wondered if it was all worth it. In the past, to shut those thoughts in a box, he’d drank them away. Drowned them in alcohol. Then the night Alexis met him he’d gone cold turkey, and since then he’d taken himself to a new level, training like a man possessed without the crutch of booze to fall back on.

Because it’s the same thing.

When you’ve given your all to physical exercise, it’s hard to think about much at all afterwards. Same as drinking, but the former is a whole lot better for you than the latter. All that’s left to do is adjust your habits so one becomes routine instead of the other.

She was managing.

Just.

She mopped up the mats, showered and changed. Always an ice-cold shower, always without complaint. She’d initially thought King and Slater were different breeds of human, to be able to handle any of this madness. They’d somehow been born with their wires connected differently to others. They could take pain without complaint, avoid pleasure similarly.

Now she realised no one starts out that way.

It had always been their choices.

It’s up to you.

That mentality made the other stuff a little easier to cope with. Namely the fact that she’d killed a man a few weeks ago.

She went downstairs. Violetta was in the kitchen, preparing a post-dinner snack of collard greens and superfoods. She looked up when Alexis came in. The corners of her mouth were tilted up. Bemused about something.

Alexis said, ‘What’s up?’

‘Were you an athlete in college?’

That’s out of left field, Alexis thought. She said, ‘I ran track.’

‘Did you play any contact sports?’

‘No.’

‘You should have.’

‘You’re skirting around something. Get to it.’

Violetta paused, ruminating. She poured a splash of fat-free dressing on the salad and stirred it through, her movements hypnotic. Then she said, ‘I’ve always kept myself ready.