Kill the King by Eric Samson Read Free Book Online Page A

He knocked back his
drink and dragged the briefcase to the middle of the coffee
table.
    Fuck it.
    The thought of
escape was enticing enough to let his fingers slide up and down the
combination lock’s jagged discs. A click here, a click there. One
notch moved up, one moved down. The digits kept changing but the
result remained the same: nothing.
    “Come on. .
.”
    Tyler spoke out
loud to the briefcase in the way a frustrated gambler would berate
a slot machine. His anger and desperation began to rise as he
continued to fiddle with the combination lock. One sequence after
another, and another, and another. . .and still nothing. Tyler
tried one last random combination before angrily conceding defeat.
He slammed his fist on the coffee table, discouraged.
    “Fuck!”
    Tyler made a
beeline to the liquor cabinet to pour another drink and crack open
another pack of smokes, hoping that it would settle his nerves a
bit before he could give it another try. As soon as he grabbed his
lighter there was a loud knock at the door.
    “Open up, my
friend! We’re running late!”
    The gravelly,
accented voice was unmistakeable. Khaled had arrived but was behind
schedule, as was his habit. Tyler hurried towards the door to open
it, but noticed from the corner of his eye that the briefcase had
in fact opened after all. He froze, unable to see what lay inside
from where he stood. All he could see was the outside casing
flipped open.
    Tyler remained
static as Khaled continued to knock, but quickly snapped out of it
once he heard the clinking of metal coming from the outside. Khaled
had his own set of keys and was on his way inside in a matter of
seconds. Tyler dashed towards the briefcase, slammed it shut and
returned all the numbers to zero, hoping that he remembered the
last sequence right. As soon as the last digit was returned to its
original position, Khaled hastily entered the room.
    “You don’t
answer the door, asshole? We’re late!”
    Tyler tossed
the briefcase in Khaled’s direction, forcing him to catch it
awkwardly before it could touch the ground. Khaled cussed in
Arabic, clearly displeased with Tyler’s gesture.
    “You should
have answered the door, and you should have just handed me the
briefcase.”
    Tyler holstered
his pistols and zipped up his jacket. “I knew you had a set of
keys, Khaled. And besides. . .what do you expect is inside? A
bomb?”
    “Whatever.
Let’s just go already.”

    ****

    “Do you
remember that fight we had?”
    Tyler rolled
his eyes, annoyed and uninterested. He didn’t like to reminisce
like Khaled did. Tedious small-talk was never his strong point.
    “Yeah.”
    “Well. . .”
Khaled paused, waiting for Tyler to contribute to the conversation.
“What do you remember about it?”
    Tyler flicked
his cigarette butt out the passenger window as they stopped at a
red light. “I had to fight you for five minutes if I wanted to be a
Dead Boy.”
    Khaled smiled
as he shifted gears once the light went green. “Yeah, that’s right.
I was already a Dead Boy for a year or two by then, and I brought
you in. Me. You had to fight either me or Big Black
Joe.”
    “Yeah. Big
Black Joe. Blacker than coal and bigger than a phone booth. Teeth
like broken glass.”
    Khaled
snickered and gave the dashboard a slap. “Big Black Joe. . .head
like a fire hydrant and fists like wrecking balls. Biggest nigger
on the block! But. . .”
    Khaled
hesitated before continuing. “. . .why’d you pick me instead of
him? He was bigger but I was stronger, and I was your friend.”
    Tyler shook his
head, irritated by the question’s premise. “Don’t be so raw about
it. Joe would have killed me. He don’t want no crackers
n’ chinky-ass motherfuckers joining in. At least I had a chance
with you.”
    “But I did beat
your ass hard, Tyler. Admit it. I fucked you up good. That’s why
you—”
    “—what. . .gave
you a couple of chicken scratches? Big deal. You were a big boy,
Khaled. It was nothing.”
    Khaled