‘You know what they say,’ the guy said. ‘West is best.’

  ‘Are you Ryan?’

  ‘The one and only. Liam?’

  King extended a hand, and Duke shook it.

  King said, ‘I thought you would have sent one of your boys.’

  ‘You’re new,’ Duke said. ‘And I’m careful, brother. You never know — there might be something kinda shifty about you that one of my boys would be too stupid to pick up on. Pays to be careful.’

  He winked.

  ‘Sure does,’ King said. ‘I can attest to that.’

  Duke jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Car’s this way.’

  They set off, weaving through freshly arrived passengers hunched over phones or scouring their surroundings for rental car hire signs.

  Duke said, ‘Thanks for coming all this way.’

  King had studied the email chain meticulously, so he knew exactly what Alonzo had and hadn’t communicated to Duke.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ he said. ‘You know I was planning a trip to Cali anyway.’

  ‘Bet it can’t hurt to make some extra cash while you’re here.’

  King nodded. ‘Cash never hurt. Any way I can get it.’

  ‘You’re speaking my language.’

  Duke led him through the car park to an open-topped khaki Jeep Wrangler with modified suspension and oversized tyres. The epitome of California cool. Duke rounded the hood and got behind the wheel, and King threw his duffel in the rear seats and got in the passenger seat. Duke was tapping away at his phone, firing off a couple of messages, but as soon as King closed his door the man fired the 4x4 to life.

  King said, ‘Emerald Bay, right? That’s where you live?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Duke said. ‘Job’s tomorrow night, in case you forgot. You can crash with us for a night. We’ve got room.’

  ‘I Googled the suburb,’ King said. ‘Some of the houses I saw … figured you’d have room.’

  ‘I do alright.’

  ‘Am I ever gonna find out what the job is?’ King said, playing it off with a wry smile. ‘You know … what we’re moving.’

  Duke stared for an uncomfortable amount of time. King faked squirming. It served him better for Duke to think he was the one in charge, that he controlled the narrative. Really, King could deal with awkward silences like clockwork, but a careless arms dealer from New York might not be so socially competent, so he fidgeted in his seat.

  Duke said, ‘In due time. What’s the rush?’

  King shrugged. ‘Couldn’t care less. Just thought it might be important.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Conversation petered out. Duke had yet to drive out of the parking spot. One hand was on the wheel, and his other elbow rested on the centre console. He’d twisted to face King, to size him up.

  Duke reached for the keys in the ignition and twisted them back to their original position.

  Killing the engine.

  The silence got uncomfortable.

  Duke said, ‘You’re in good shape, yeah? Hit the gym a bit? That’s not gonna cut it out here. Alright?’

  King kept fake-squirming. ‘What’s the deal, man? I thought we were cool.’

  ‘We’re very cool,’ Duke said. ‘But I went through the dark web to find a helper for a reason, brother. I need someone I can trust absolutely.’

  ‘You can trust me absolutely. Swear.’

  ‘I know I can,’ Duke said. ‘Because if I think you’re getting untrustworthy, I might give One Police Plaza in New York an anonymous tip about a certain apartment you’re leasing on Staten Island under a false name. An apartment you’re using to stockpile guns with no serial numbers.’

  King clammed up.

  He used the mind body connection he’d honed in his early Black Force days to drain the colour from his face.

  Duke nodded and said, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How the fuck do you know that?’

  Because you took Alonzo’s bait.

  That’s why.

  Duke said, ‘I’m good at research. That’s why you’re here, buddy. Because I have leverage on you. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.’

  ‘Right,’ King said.

  ‘So what I’m getting at is,’ Duke said, firing the car to life again, ‘I’ll tell you what I want to tell you, when I want to tell you it. Don’t ask for more than you need to know.’

  ‘Got it,’ King said. ‘I’m sorry, Duke.’

  ‘Play by the rules, and keep your mouth shut, and you’ll get paid. No problems.’

  King nodded, staring at his feet.

  ‘And I pay handsomely,’ Duke said.

  He craned his neck to reverse out of the spot, and then floored it for the parking lot’s exit. As they picked up speed, and the wind lashed his dreadlocks, he said, ‘That’s what you gotta learn, brother. All about what happens up here.’ He tapped a long spindly finger to the side of his head. ‘All that muscle you got — it’s just for show.’

  King nodded again, this time even more sheepishly.

  Duke seemed to get off on the power trip. It made him comfortable. Out of nowhere, he said, ‘You heard of Donati Group?’

  ‘Yeah,’ King said. ‘I have.’

  Hook.

  Line.

  Sinker.

  44

  Slater’s first strike — with the butt of the Glock — broke the guy’s nose.

  For a couple of seconds after that, it doesn’t matter if you’re a tier-one soldier. You might as well be a common civilian.

  Because your septum swells and your face puffs up and involuntary tears make your eyes water and your vision blurry. Not to mention the disorientation of the pain. Slater had broken his nose a few times in the field. It never gets easier. You never get used to it.

  He smacked the Beretta out of the guy’s hands and grabbed his skull in one palm and smashed the side of his head into the door frame. Which put him damn close to unconsciousness, and Slater used the hesitation to spin him around and use him as a human shield. He stormed into room 730 with the Glock pressed to the side of the guy’s head, and he kicked the door shut behind him, sealing the petrified maid outside, out of harm’s way.

  Slater faced the room.

  He said, ‘Guns down. Right now.’

  At least the rest of Violetta’s intel had been truthful. There were five of them. The guy with the broken nose who’d stepped out first, and four other men spread across hastily erected folding tables around the beds, hunched over laptops, seated in front of an assortment of guns — some disassembled, some not. Two had been watching the screens when Slater stepped in. The other two had picked up weapons of their own, a fast response to the noise of the maid fiddling with the door to 732.

  Too fast.

  They’d been warned in advance.

  Slater’s blood ran cold, and the last shreds of trust he’d formed now fell away. Cynicism washed over him, and truthfully he liked it. He hadn’t been built to rely on others, and now it felt damn good to sever all allegiances. Now, he cared about no one but himself and Alexis.

  Violetta could burn, as far as he was concerned.

  Right now there was a more imminent problem on his hands.

  Namely, two more Berettas aimed in his direction.

  Slater said, ‘Don’t be fucking stupid, boys.’

  ‘There’s backup on the way,’ one of the men said.

  ‘No,’ Slater said. ‘There isn’t.’

  They didn’t answer.

  Slater said, ‘I can wait here all day. And all night. And all the next day. I won’t budge an inch. Not even a hair.’

  They stared at him, gazes furious, but the atmosphere in the room was ice. All six occupants — Slater included — were the elite of the elite. They lived and breathed combat. But there were levels.

  Slater said, ‘One of you is going to make the first mistake. I guarantee it. Anyone reaches for a phone, or looks like they’re going to pull a trigger, I’ll pull this one. Your buddy will be dead. You want to live with that?’

  ‘You’re dead if you do that.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Slater said. ‘Maybe you don’t hit me with the first shot. Maybe you hit him. I’ve got a shield and you two don’t. I can have a bullet in each of your skulls in a second flat. You want to play that game? You think it’s worth the risk?’

  ‘We put our guns down,’ the same guy said, ‘and we’re all dead.’

  ‘You have my word I’ll let you live.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I don’t feel like killing you. You’re not bad people and neither am I. But I’ve got the jump on you here, so that’s just the way it has to go.’

  ‘You won’t make it out of the city.’

  ‘I think I will.’

  They kept staring.

  ‘Guns down,’ Slater said. ‘Now.’

  They thought about it for a beat. Slater tightened his forearm around the human shield’s throat. The guy grunted in pain. It helped expedite the process.

  The two men with Berettas put them down.

  Slater said, ‘All of you lie flat on your stomachs.’

  No one moved.

  Slater cocked his head. ‘I really don’t have time for this.’

  They complied.

  Slid off their chairs. Slow and methodical, to show they weren’t going to lunge for a weapon. They knew better. Slater had no doubt they’d been provided with his case files. They knew of his genetic abnormality. It was probably the main reason they’d shied away from a Wild West shootout in the confines of the hotel room.

  Because, even though it was five on one, he would have killed at least three of them before they had the chance to put him away for good.

  And deep down in their cores, they believed him.

  He wasn’t a monster.

  Nor were they.

  They flattened themselves to the scratchy carpet and pressed their foreheads to the floor. Slater let go of the human shield, and trained the Glock on him, and the man sunk down to his knees without any further prompting. His nose had already swollen, inflaming his face beyond recognition. He pressed his forehead to the floor, too.

  Slater moved with purpose.

  He stepped forward, took careful aim, and pumped the trigger five times.

  Sending a suppressed round through the sole of each man’s left foot.

  The group writhed and moaned in unison, but they’d all live. Blood flowed, and the pain and nature of the wounds would render them unable to walk for the foreseeable future, but all five of them were trained operators, and they’d know to stem the bleeding and maintain pressure until emergency services arrived.

  Above the chorus of protests from the tactical team, Slater said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ one of them muttered through gritted teeth.

  ‘So you wouldn’t have followed me if I left you here alive?’

  ‘You … could have … restrained us.’

  ‘I did,’ Slater said. ‘The most effective sort of restraint. One you can’t slip out of. One that needs time to heal.’

  They fell begrudgingly silent.

  He said, ‘Consider yourselves lucky.’

  He returned the Glock to its polymer holster, turned and left the room before anyone in the group had the time to process that he was on the move.

  By the time they snatched their Berettas back up, Slater was a ghost in the wind.

  45

  Duke thrashed the jeep to its limits as they merged onto California State Route 73.

  Toward Laguna Beach and the small alcove of Emerald Bay, home to some of the most impressive real estate on the West Coast.

  King watched the man get cocky in real time. Duke had revealed the dirt he had on Liam Kingsley, and now he was über-confident. It made King wonder — is this all it takes? But when he looked at it objectively, it made sense.

  Few had the bombastic bravery to go straight into the field at a moment’s notice with little information or resources besides what resided in their own head. He’d done so, and, backed up by a flawless cover story from Alonzo, was now integrated with Duke and his crew. Now the fake Kingsley had just as much to lose as the West Coast gangsters he was helping.

  It takes serious effort to convince a seasoned criminal they’ve got all the leverage in the world, but when they’re convinced of it, lips loosen and compromising information starts to flow.

  Duke said, ‘An anonymous source reached out to me and my boys last week. It took some serious demanding to get them to reveal who they were representing, but I’m persuasive, so eventually they told me they’re from a hidden department within Donati Group.’

  King nodded. It made sense. It was the same principle.

  Donati Group wouldn’t have got in touch with Duke unless they knew he had something to lose, also.

  If either of them went to the cops, it was mutually assured destruction.

  So secrets were kept.

  Duke said, ‘There’s a certain container showing up tomorrow night that’s worth its weight in gold. They know I know my way around the port, and they don’t have people they can trust with illicit activity in Cali, so they figured I was the man for the job.’

  ‘Are they okay with me being here?’

  ‘They don’t know,’ Duke said. ‘It doesn’t concern them. My usual crew is seven, and I’ve worked with seven the whole time I’ve been doing this. I don’t like to change what isn’t broken. Roman got spooked two weeks ago and did a runner. Fucking scumbag.’

  ‘How’d Donati Group know you were dirty in the first place?’

  ‘There’s rumours,’ Duke said. ‘In the intelligence community. I’ve bought off the right people, so I hear the rumours before the law does. They’re not unsubstantiated. But there’s no way they can prove any of it. Donati Group, however, knew the rumours were probably true.’

  ‘And what are those rumours?’

  ‘That my businesses are fronts for the profits I make from distributing illegal goods out of the port. You know — drugs and guns and girls. I’m the middleman. I make sure things get where they’re supposed to go.’

  ‘You confessing to me?’

  Duke rolled his eyes, and raised his voice above the wind whipping through the exposed cabin. ‘Why the fuck did you think I brought you here, brother?’

  ‘Because you were feeling generous?’ King said, deliberately sarcastic.

  Duke grinned. ‘Nah. Cause I know I can tell you whatever I want, and you can’t do shit with it. Or you go down, too.’

  ‘You are careful.’

  ‘Only way to be. Only way you can thrive.’

  King nodded.

  ‘God bless the Internet, hey?’ Duke said. ‘Gives me a way to screen hired help before I bring them in.’

  Gives you a way to get fed bullshit, too.

  King elected not to divulge that train of thought.

  Duke veered onto the Pacific Coast Highway, with the ocean on their right and trees and bushes on their left. The sun beat down on the back of King’s neck, and he took a brief moment to be present. The weather was good, and the wind on his face made him feel alive.

  He knew he wouldn’t get another opportunity to savour California.

  As soon as they arrived, he’d get to work. That never involved peace. Then he’d jump on a plane straight back to New York and do his best to sort out the Slater situation.

  And think about your own future.

  His life had never been more turbulent.

  Then the jeep flew through Crystal Cove and hit Emerald Bay, and any extraneous thoughts fell away.

  Duke pulled into the long curved driveway of a multi-million dollar house. Three storeys, a big balcony with a metal railing running the entire length of the second level, the whole thing propped up on the edge of a rise in the land. Prime real estate. Incredible value. The weather made it look like something out of a fantasy — gorgeous sparkling water, cloudless sky, hot sun, acres of land. Landscapers had installed a stand of tall palm trees in the dirt at the foot of the hill, with the fronds falling just shy of the house’s elevated foundations. The trees put the cherry on top of the idyllic setting.

  Duke parked next to a jet-black Maybach, both vehicles resting in front of a dormant fountain, and said, ‘What do you think?’

  King stared up at the house in false awe, even though his real abode back in New York cost four times as much. ‘I need to do crime on your level, brother.’

  ‘You’ll get there,’ Duke said. ‘You’re still young and foolish.’

  ‘Foolish?’

  ‘Look how easily I got dirt on you.’

  King shrugged. ‘Maybe I don’t care about that.’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘I trust you.’

  Duke looked over. ‘I appreciate that, brother. But don’t let anyone get the jump on you. No matter how much you trust them. I’ve got power over you now, you see? I can get you to do whatever you want for me, and if you refuse, I’ll feed the evidence I found to the cops. You ain’t got shit on me. Nothing you can prove, anyway. You see now? I don’t even have to pay you.’

  King fell quiet.

  Duke said, ‘You’re lucky I’m a stand-up guy.’

  ‘Appreciate it, my man.’

  ‘Come on,’ Duke said, opening the door. ‘Let’s go in and meet the boys.’

  King got out, keeping what Duke had said before locked in his mind.

  Drugs and guns and girls.

  Probably fentanyl from China for thousands of kids to overdose on, and rifles with no serial numbers for the cartels and gangs to shoot up innocents with, and sex slaves for the rich and powerful to use and discard.

  Ryan Duke facilitated all of it.

  With steely resolve settling over him, King followed Duke to the mansion. As he walked, he opted to make this as quick and brutal as possible.

  He didn’t have time for scum.

  46

  Slater handed over a fifty-dollar note, and Manuel palmed it.

  The chef ushered him through the kitchen of the ground floor restaurant.

  Slater strode past smoking grills laden with prime rib-eyes and bubbling vats of oil filled with fries, then dipped into the storage room out back and exited his building discreetly. He came out in a quiet narrow alleyway with minimal vantage points — just what he needed to avoid the snipers he knew would be trained on the lobby’s entrance. Dawn had broken, crisp and cool and grey. He had no bag, no possessions besides the passport, credit card, and gun. Despite all that, he was oddly free.