Read Online Kill the King by Eric Samson - Free Book Online

Khaled outside the driver’s side
window.
    “I’ll be fine.
I just need to clear my head a bit. You can spend the night at
Gloria’s house if she’s up for it. Tell her that I have some work
to do and I’ll see her tomorrow, will ya?”
    Khaled looked
puzzled and stammered “You, uh. . .you sure about that?”
    “If she’s up
for it, I’ll look the other way for tonight. I want her to be
safe. Just get it through your head that this won’t be a regular
thing, and this doesn’t change things between you and me. Got
it?”
    Khaled rolled
up the window and drove away.

    ****

    Tyler lied. His
place wasn’t a few blocks away. Khaled was getting too nosy and he
didn’t want him to stay over at his apartment for the evening. He
had a briefcase to steal and a mentor to kill.
    Tyler pulled
out his flask and took a swig of vodka. His muscles still ached
from the previous day’s incidents and the walk helped alleviate
some of the spasms he had been silently enduring all day. The vodka
helped him forget that Khaled was right—his jacket was too
thin for this kind of weather. He had forgotten how much colder it
got by sundown.
    Tyler walked
onwards as he contemplated his situation. It had been almost
twenty-four hours since his arrival, and still no concrete plan had
been fleshed out. Marko needed to die, but now the mysteries
surrounding the contents of the briefcase complicated matters more.
Whatever was inside, it must have been something valuable.
    So I guess it
wasn’t a bomb after all. What could it be, then? Dope? Money? Guns?
An important message? If it was nothing important, then why did
Frank care so much if someone looked inside? Why did Marko insist
that I hand it to him?
    Tyler let his
eyes wander around as he continued his stroll, too pensively
engrossed with the possibilities. He hoped he’d maybe see something
pretty to lighten his mood, but everything around him looked so
grim. So many shops and eateries had been boarded up and their
brick walls slathered with illiterate graffiti. The street’s
potholes had gotten bigger and deeper, and only one of every three
streetlights seemed to be in working condition. A faint aroma of
sewage and diesel fuel lingered in the air. Few people seemed to be
walking or driving as soon as dusk hit, save for disreputable
people such as him. Tyler wasn’t sure whether the neighbourhood had
turned for the worse while he was gone or if it had always looked
this way and he just hadn’t noticed it before.
    Tyler sat on a
nearby park bench to give his sore feet a quick break. He was no
longer used to walking such long distances. He pulled out his flask
for another quaff. The burn in his empty stomach felt oddly
comforting.
    “Hey man, got a
smoke?”
    Tyler looked to
his left and saw a solid-looking hoodlum approaching. He looked to
be in his late twenties and wore a dirty bomber jacket and torn
jeans. His nose was swollen and he consequently spoke in a nasal
voice. Right away, Tyler noticed him as one of the two punks that
Ron had beaten up.
    “Go ahead. I
won’t bite.”
    Tyler handed
him a kretek, which the skinhead lit with his own zippo. He puffed
a few drags and coughed violently before spitting. His saliva was
slightly reddish in hue.
    “Goddamn! What
the fuck’s in these black cigarettes? Motor oil? This shit’s
gonna kill you, man.”
    Tyler had
another drink before lighting one up for himself. “I don’t know.
Ron will probably get you before the smoking does.”
    The hooligan
groaned and spit out more phlegm. “You saw that, huh? Yeah. . .this
ain’t my day. Anyways, I’m glad I’ve found you. I gotta ask you
something.”
    Tyler didn’t
like where this conversation was going but remained seated. He
didn’t want to provoke him.
    “What’s
that?”
    “Well. . .” He
paused to butt out the cigarette with his Doc Martens. “I need to
know the combination for that briefcase.”
    He reached into
his pockets and pulled out a pair of gloves, and lurched