Ciphers by Matt Rogers (ereader with dictionary .txt) 📕

had a lot,’ Slater said. ‘Is that what you wanted? Can you even tell that it’s affecting me?’

‘No, I can’t. But I’d say that’s because of your tolerance level. That doesn’t make you any less drunk.’

‘Cut the bullshit and tell me where you need me.’

‘What makes you think I know?’

‘You’ve spoken to Violetta, I’m sure.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘Get back home,’ King said. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘In the lobby? I’m not taking the stairs for no good reason.’

Great minds think alike, King thought.

He said, ‘There’s an emergency generator in the building.’

‘How the hell do you know that?’

‘I don’t. Violetta told me.’

A pause, then a laugh. ‘What would we do without her?’

‘Who knows,’ King said. ‘Where are you?’

‘Palantir. At least, I was.’

‘I thought you said you were having a quiet one.’

‘I was. Got carried away.’

‘That seems to be a recurring theme.’

‘Host an intervention for me later. What do you know about this? What did Violetta say?’

‘Not a whole lot. But she said enough.’

‘It’s bad, right?’

‘It has the potential to be.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘Any craziness happening where you are?’

A pause, then Slater said, ‘I nearly got into a fight with the son of a drug lord. It would have got ugly real fast. But that was before the power went out. Nothing of note has happened in the last ten minutes.’

King said, ‘Christ. Just make it back home in one piece.’

‘Yes, sir. Anything else?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Is this why she had to stay back at work?’ Slater said. ‘You told me dinner got pushed back so you were going to train with Rory. Did she know this was coming?’

King hesitated.

He hadn’t considered it.

He said, ‘I don’t know. I’ll find out.’

‘She couldn’t tell you over the phone?’

‘As you can imagine, she’s dealing with a lot of issues right now.’

‘Is she meeting us in person?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’re probably going to be needed.’

‘We are needed. I just told you that.’

‘Right.’

The hints of inebriation, slipping through the cracks in the façade.

King said, ‘How fast can you sober up?’

‘I’m already sober. But I’ll buy a bottle of water on the way home.’

King shook his head, flabbergasted. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Practice.’

The line went dead.

He put the phone back in his pocket and left the alleyway, stepping out onto 83rd Street. A churning sensation rippled through his gut, and he paused and placed his hand on the nearby brick wall to steady himself. It wasn’t the beer. He could handle much more than a single pint. And it wasn’t the fact that he and Slater were needed. Sure, that meant violence and chaos, but that was to be expected in this line of work.

What really worried him was the scope of the blackout.

He didn’t know much about contingency plans.

He just knew everything would go to hell if this lasted too long.

And if Violetta had known something was coming, then that meant it was pre-planned.

It meant it was deliberate.

King set off into the city streets, pushing through throngs of pedestrians waving their phone flashlights around like they were at a rave. The piercing glare of stationary headlights cut through the gridlock traffic. Without functioning traffic lights, the city had come to a standstill. It all combined into an uncanny atmosphere, like nothing he’d ever seen before in Manhattan.

A sea of pinpoints, the white artificial lights like specks against the greater backdrop of the dark city.

Unnerved by how alien it all felt, he broke into a jog toward the Upper East Side.

14

Rico Guzmán wasn’t having a good time.

There were a number of reasons, and if he put some conscious thought into dissecting exactly why he felt so terrible, he might have had a touch more self-awareness. But conscious thought didn’t get a vote. It was dark and chaotic and he felt like shit. He had a throbbing headache, and blotchy purple bruising had formed on his neck, and the overbearing sensation of disorientation had him in its grasp.

To make matters worse, he no longer had his Colt, and he definitely didn’t have the trust of his bodyguards.

Which made him angry.

He stood out the front of Palantir, surrounded by the sicarios, who were doing a respectable job of pretending they were window dressing in suits and not trained stone-cold killers. Better for the general public to think they were some rich kid’s unnecessary security rather than a cohort of assassins tasked with protecting the precious son of the esteemed Guzmán patriarch.

Rico pushed a pair of fingers into his closed eyes, trying to thrust the headache away.

It achieved nothing.

He blinked hard and said, ‘What is this shit?’

There weren’t many people around. His rich scion friends from Mexico were twiddling their thumbs in the corner of the alleyway, and all the girls had seemingly vanished like magic. No reason to hang around when the power was out and the usual luxurious hedonism couldn’t be maintained. The fridges weren’t running, so the Dom Pérignon was getting warm. They’d bailed at the first opportunity.

One of Rico’s bodyguards said, ‘The power’s out. Might be affecting the whole city. The networks are down, too.’

Rico lifted his gaze. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me.’

‘The last part.’

‘The phones. They don’t work.’

‘So you can’t call my father?’

‘That’s right. He won’t be happy when we miss our check-in, but he’ll understand later. This blackout will make the news. If it lasts any longer, it might make international headlines.’

Rico didn’t hear any of what the man said after, “That’s right.” The pain needling behind his eyeballs receded. Only temporarily, but it went away for long enough to clear his head. And that’s when he recognised the opportunity. Possibly the last he’d ever have to disobey, to be reckless, to have fun.

Because in truth, this life was wearing on him. Pleasure meant nothing if you had too much of it. When he was younger he thought all the “money doesn’t buy happiness” talk was bullshit. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined it might get old to drink and do drugs and have sex with beautiful women — but it could, and it had.