Monsters by Matt Rogers (bill gates books to read TXT) 📕

That was a small mercy.

Slater stepped forward and cocked his elbow and twisted at the hips. He tensed his glutes as he spun, turning his whole body into the strike. The point of his elbow whipped through the air faster than the eye could see.

It detonated off the side of Carter’s head.

Carter crumpled where he stood, knees collapsing inward, and he fell forward onto his face on the concrete with no one to catch him. There were several bone-chilling cracks all at once as Carter’s face broke. He spread out in a starfish pattern on his stomach, limbs splayed, and he didn’t get up.

Choi stared, mouth open, no doubt convinced he was dreaming.

Even the meatheads froze at the sudden violence.

Not even breathing heavy, Slater said, ‘Choi, stand up and get behind us.’

Choi didn’t move.

He started hyperventilating. The panting breaths formed an uneasy rhythm, interspersed with the traffic noise from the overpass. King could see one of the meatheads — the one who’d tried to make peace with them in the van — considering making a lunge for Choi. The second guy had his focus fixed on King and Slater, which was the right move. He’d correctly identified them as a serious threat.

Slater said, ‘Choi.’

A little more demanding.

It spurred the small man into action. He stood up shakily and hurried forward, darting between their shoulders. Slater unconsciously moved to the left as Choi passed, and King mirrored his action by stepping to the right. They sealed the gates, putting Choi behind them, out of reach.

The second meathead jabbed a finger. ‘Give him to us and walk away. Know what’s good for you.’

Slater said, ‘Can you cut the dramatic bullshit short and come do what you need to do?’

The first meathead said, ‘We’re armed.’

‘Pull your gun, then.’

Hesitation.

Quiet.

King said, ‘We sized you up when we met you. Those jeans are real tight. You’re not hiding a piece in them.’

Slater said, ‘Carter was armed.’

They all looked down at the man. His mop of blond hair was stained crimson, a puddle of blood around his head increasing with each passing second. The holster resting against the small of his back was visible below the hem of his shirt, which had ridden up his torso when he fell. A Glock pistol sat in the holster, fearsome and tantalising.

Slater looked up at the first meathead, who was more insecure than his counterpart and therefore vulnerable to persuasion. ‘Go for it.’

He did.

He ignored the trickery, the reverse psychology, and simply did what Slater had requested. It was the right move, and he almost made it. He threw himself down to one knee and lunged for Carter’s motionless body. Carter had fallen face-first toward the meatheads so the guy had to scramble over his upper back to get to the holster. He dropped his other knee onto the back of Carter’s skull in his haste, and on the slim chance Carter was still alive, he wouldn’t be for long.

He reached the holster. Got his sweaty palm on the hilt of the Glock. His red skin flushed brighter, veins pumping.

Slater timed the lunge to perfection, and right when the meathead scrambled into range he stepped forward and kicked him in the face.

It snapped his neck back, severe whiplash jarring the neck muscles, and the kick itself broke his nose and jaw in the same action. He fell back away from Carter, and Slater stepped over the blond man and stomped down on the meathead’s ribs, rendering him immobile.

The last man standing instinctively assumed a fighting stance.

Lead leg light so it couldn’t be kicked into immobility, hands up, chin down.

All the right things.

Slater noted the man’s preparedness and simply stepped aside. When he moved, he revealed King, who’d reached down and taken the Glock from the holster.

The second meathead’s face fell.

King shot him through the forehead.

Lowered his aim and put a bullet in the other meathead’s skull, then another through the back of Carter’s.

Just to be sure.

45

King put the gun in the back of his own waistband and he and Slater fell automatically into clean-up mode.

They each hauled one of the meatheads’ corpses into the van’s cargo bed, then worked together to peel Carter off the sidewalk and throw him in too. Blood covered their hands by the time they had finished, all three bodies out of sight. Choi stood there shaking, unable to take his eyes off the macabre sight. It was clear that watching made him sick, but he couldn’t look away.

Dark red stains still coated the sidewalk in the absence of the bodies, but neither King nor Slater had any intention of hanging around at the crime scene to pressure-wash the evidence away. Instead they slid the door closed and made for the front compartment. When Slater looked through the driver’s window, he saw only two seats. He grimaced. Turned back to regard Choi. The slight man still shook uncontrollably, jackhammering despite the evening’s warmth.

Slater only needed one look at him.

He said to King, ‘Choi can sit up front. But at least turn the damn light on for me.’

He rolled the sliding door open again and disappeared into the darkened space, his only company the corpses. When he shut the door from the inside King got in the driver’s seat and found the switch that lit the back, the one Carter had killed earlier. Two slaps on the other side of the partition wall let King know it had worked.

King started the van, then reached over and opened the passenger door from the inside, pushing it outward. It revealed Choi frozen solid on the sidewalk, considerable bloodstains at his feet.

King said, ‘Get in.’

Choi said, ‘What just happened?’

‘I’ll tell you. Get in.’

Choi put his head down, walked forward and dumped himself in the passenger seat before he could get cold feet. He started to cry. King had to lean over him to pull the door shut. Choi didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to do it himself. King threw the van into gear and peeled away.