Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

There was nothing in them.

He extended a finger on each hand, put them both on top of the chair back, well out of harm’s way, and swivelled the whole thing around.

Exposing another SIG Sauer P226 resting in a polymer holster glued to the wood.

King said, ‘Duke thinks of everything, doesn’t he?’

‘I wasn’t going to use it, man.’

‘That’s why you went and hid behind the Eames chair. So you could not use the hidden gun attached to it.’

‘I swear,’ Quinn said.

‘I don’t care that you wanted to protect yourself, Quinn,’ King said. ‘I do care if you lie to me.’

A long, uneasy pause.

Then Quinn said, ‘I’m sorry.’

King shrugged. ‘I’m not the one who needs your apology.’

‘Who does?’

King looked around. ‘Whoever you’re going to have to explain this to.’

‘Fuck,’ Quinn said, putting his face in his hands. ‘Oh, God, man. I…’

‘You didn’t know it would be this way?’

Quinn lifted his gaze. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

‘I’ve heard that before. Let me guess: Duke roped you into all of this, it was his idea, you only saw dollar signs, you didn’t think about the consequences of your actions, you didn’t think about the cargo you were transporting, or where it was going, or whose hands it would end up in. You didn’t think. Blah, blah, blah.’

Quinn bowed his head again.

King said, ‘Am I on the right track?’

Quinn shrugged.

Speechless.

King said, ‘Do one thing for me.’

Quinn’s eyes flared with hope, despite the fact he could see three of his closest friends’ brains splattered across the mansion’s walls.

King said, ‘I’m going to leave now. There’s nothing stopping you finding a phone and alerting whoever you know at the port about an incoming unwanted visitor. They could probably assemble some manpower and pull the container off its plug before I make it there. They could feasibly hide it.’

Quinn stared, sheepish, clearly disappointed King hadn’t let him off the hook.

King said, ‘If that container isn’t there, I’ll come back and murder you. Even if you’re in custody, I’ll find you there, too. Actually, you know what … I won’t kill you straight away. You’ll wish you were dead.’

King finished his spiel and stared at a broken man. Quinn was pale, shellshocked, hunched over, remorseful, guilty, terrified — every negative adjective, really.

He wouldn’t be speaking to anyone.

‘Okay,’ the man said, still struggling to put a sentence together. ‘So what do I do?’

‘You take care of Cal and Vince. I’d wager they’re heavily concussed. You make sure they don’t drop dead before the cops or the ambulances get here.’

‘Isn’t that… your job?’

King raised an eyebrow. ‘Because I’m a cop?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Not quite.’

‘Then who are you?’

‘You’ll have plenty of time to come up with theories in prison.’

King turned, satisfied, figured he’d leave it there.

Then he reconsidered.

The path of least resistance was a bad rule to follow in day-to-day life, because it led to trading short-term comforts for long-term unhappiness, but on a mission it was best to make things as effortless as possible. There was no point passing up an opportunity staring him right in the face.

So he turned back and said, ‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind. You’re coming with me.’

54

King led Quinn downstairs at gunpoint.

The guy had zero combat experience, and was scared out of his mind, but King remained diligent regardless. Sometimes, stupidity results in the most brazen actions.

Take Aaron, for example.

As they descended the giant staircase, King said, ‘What the hell was that, anyway?’

‘What?’

‘Aaron got himself killed to give Duke a slightly higher chance of survival. That’s some serious selflessness.’

‘Aaron … wasn’t … all there,’ Quinn said. ‘You know, mentally.’

He took giant pauses between words, as if he still couldn’t comprehend what had happened. It had to be a fever dream. There was no way a hired helper had revealed himself as an elite combatant, killed half of Quinn’s friends, and left the other two potentially brain-damaged.

King said, ‘He looked high.’

‘He was high,’ Quinn said. ‘Every hour of every day. First thing he did when he woke up every morning. For him it kept … the demons at bay.’

King waited for Quinn to elaborate, letting the silence draw out. He knew Quinn would cave first.

Quinn said, ‘He was schizophrenic. He was like a … Rain Man type. You saw how good of a shot he was. He gets, you know, obsessed with things. Sort of hyper-focused. But he was irrational. Duke made him do all the risky shit, because he’d do it every time, no questions asked.’

‘Sounds like Duke was a real stand-up guy.’

Quinn shrugged. ‘He hurt some people. Helped some others.’

‘You’re saying he was Robin Hood?’ King said. ‘Take from the rich, give to the poor?’

Quinn tried to ignore the opulence all around them, but couldn’t. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Yeah,’ King said. ‘You’re damn right “not exactly.”’

‘What about you?’ Quinn said. ‘What the hell are you made out of?’

‘Huh?’

‘Duke shot you three times. You barely flinched.’

King undid the top two buttons of his shirt and parted the material to the side, allowing Quinn to look over his shoulder and see the armoured plating underneath. It was a Modular Body Armor Vest, utilised by a wide range of Special Forces operators due to its mobility and light weight.

Quinn couldn’t believe it.

‘How the fuck did you get that through airport security?’ he said.

‘I didn’t,’ King said. ‘It’s Cal’s. It was hanging on his desk chair. Remember I told you not to turn around.’

‘Oh,’ Quinn said.

King shoved him out the entrance archway and steered him toward the jeep.

‘You drive,’ he said.

Quinn got behind the wheel and King got in the passenger seat, keeping the barrel angled at the man’s face at all times. Quinn reached out and took the wheel in both hands.

They trembled.

King said, ‘I’m not going to kill you.’

‘You are,’ Quinn said. ‘Or you would have left me back there.’

Fear swirled in his eyes.

King slapped him across the face, and then used the same hand to tilt Quinn’s chin toward him. Turning his face to the sun, which made him squint and drew beads of sweat from the corners of his