They both stepped out of their Ford sedan holding compact pistols.
HKs. Top shelf stuff. Frankie must’ve provided them with the weaponry.
The fact they were openly wielding sidearms made Frankie do a double take. He addressed them together. ‘What the hell are you two doing?’
One of them shot a mean side-eye at King, then Slater. ‘Just precautionary. We heard some shit.’
Frankie seemed irate. ‘Where’d you hear shit? What shit?’
‘Carter texted us.’
‘Recently?’
King thought, Doubt it.
‘Nah. Couple hours ago. He was on the way to a job. Said there were two new guys in the crew. Said he didn’t like them. Didn’t trust them.’
Frankie shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear a fucking word about Carter. Him and Vic and Marcus skipped town.’
This was news, apparently.
The blondes stiffened.
One of them said, ‘Did they?’
The other said, ‘All three of them?’
The first guy didn’t hide his suspicions anymore. He locked his gaze onto King. ‘How convenient.’
King said, ‘You got something to say?’
‘Big talk from the new guy.’ The man turned to Frankie. ‘You got some nerve letting him run his mouth, call the shots.’
Frankie said, ‘He doesn’t call the shots.’
‘Don’t seem that way. Could kill ’em right now, Frankie. Shoot ’em dead right here. I got a suspicion it’d be an eye for an eye.’
King didn’t move a muscle. Sized up angles, trajectories, felt the weight of Carter’s Glock in his belt. He imperceptibly inched his hand back, freeing himself up for a quick draw, if it came to that. But all the reflexes in the world don’t mean anything when you’re standing directly across from two hostiles with their guns already drawn. No matter how fast or accurate King was, they’d see what he was doing and get an instinctive shot or two off. Wasn’t worth dying here in a gym parking lot for the sake of his own ego, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Slater going through the same mental calculations.
For King, it wasn’t even so much about his own fate.
Danny was in the way, and he’d get caught in the crossfire.
A new dynamic became apparent. Frankie had a choice to make. He couldn’t be sure about King and Slater, not fully, but he either had to trust them or turn on them. A hazy middle ground was no longer going to cut it.
Either trust or war.
Time to decide.
Frankie faced the blonde brothers. ‘Listen to me. I’ve cleared them. I know they can be trusted, and I know Carter’s a traitor. If that ain’t good enough, then get back in your car and drive away and find another gym, find another job. Or put your guns away and stop being hotheads.’
King made sure his eyes didn’t widen, made sure not to show any reaction. He hadn’t expected that. He was sure Slater hadn’t either. There was no proof that Carter was a traitor, nothing but their own word.
Frankie had fallen in line, chosen trust.
It seemed to disarm the new guys, but they didn’t let their guards all the way down. It saved their lives. If they put their guns away as instructed, King and Slater could draw in a heartbeat and shoot them dead, shoot Frankie, too. Then it would be over. But they didn’t. They looked at each other and shrugged and the first guy said, ‘Alright. We’ll work with ’em. But we’re keeping our pieces out. Don’t wanna get backstabbed. That good enough for you?’
Frankie said nothing.
The second guy said, ‘Fine if it isn’t. We’ll drive away.’
Frankie said, ‘It’s fine. Jason, Will, this is Bobby, Kit.’
The first guy nodded at the name Bobby, and the second at Kit.
King said to Frankie, ‘You got any more?’
‘Nah,’ Frankie said. ‘This is it. But after tonight we’ll have to rebuild.’
King had to stop himself smiling at the confirmation.
Frankie’s phone rang. He fished it out and swore before he answered on speakerphone. ‘Heidi, I have my men together. We’re getting started now.’
Her voice came back enraged, barely contained. ‘You’d better take care of Choi first.’
Frankie froze. ‘What?’
‘A couple of my men spotted him crawling around his neighbourhood, trying not to be seen. He’s still alive. Don’t you ever fucking lie to me again.’
Frankie looked up from the phone, stared daggers at King and Slater.
The lot grew deathly quiet.
54
Calculations made in the blink of an eye.
If King drew his gun, Frankie would recognise it as Carter’s, and that’d be that. In milliseconds he tried to figure out whether any of this was still salvageable, or whether they’d all need to shoot each other with Danny there in the mix, unarmed.
Slater drew his own weapon, the HK45 Tactical from the motel, before King needed to make a decision. Frankie wouldn’t recognise it. Petr and the Russians were a different crew, unconnected.
Tensions hit their peak when Slater brought the gun into view but he kept it aimed at the ground, hanging by his side. ‘I’m not gonna shoot. But what the fuck is this, Frankie? We getting played?’
Bobby and Kit were statuesque.
Danny had no idea what was happening.
Frankie held the phone tight, staring at the HK45, but Slater’s performance was stellar. Just the right inflections in his questions, the hint of betrayal, the seemingly genuine confusion.
Frankie said, ‘You lied?’
King matched Slater’s acting chops. ‘We killed a guy. An Asian guy. You trying to tell me he was someone else?’
Heidi heard all this over speakerphone. She sighed. ‘Sort your shit out, Frankie. And get on top of this. I have one of my guys tailing Choi but he’s
