Kill the King by Eric Samson Page B

here
was Khaled. We don’t know the combination anyways.”
    Metzger
breathed a sigh of relief and stored the briefcase away in a nearby
closet. With that out of the way, he pulled out a bottle of German
liqueur out of a mini fridge and poured two large shots into
frosted glasses.
    “It’s been a
long time, Tyler. Prison life seems to have treated you better than
I thought it would. Care for a drink?”
    Tyler nodded
politely and pulled out from his shirt pocket a fresh pack of
cigarettes, though not his own brand that would have offended his
host. They quietly shared a few shots and cigarettes, their silence
only broken by Metzger’s sporadic coughing.
    “You comin’
down with something, Frank?”
    Metzger spat a
glob of phlegm into a handkerchief and gulped another shot before
answering the question.
    “Yeah, just a
cold or something like that I guess. Nothing serious. Don’t worry,
the glasses are clean.”
    Some cold. .
.
    He wasn’t sure
if it was from not having seen him in so many years, but Frank
seemed pale and emaciated. The stubble on his face and head looked
gray and soft, and despite the room’s cooler climate he was still
sweating.
    “Nice speech,
by the way. Very moving.”
    The gaunt
skinhead smirked in amusement, then let out a few more coughs
before pulling out another cigarette from Tyler’s pack and lighting
up.
    “Well, we’ve
lost two brothers just last night. The boys downstairs would think
much less of me if I didn’t provide a eulogy for our new martyrs.
Race and politics and war all go hand in hand, Tyler. Truth be
told, it seems an odd coincidence that we lost two men on a night
hunt, and you of all people just so happen to pop into town at the
same time. That’s a bit strange, don’t you think?”
    Tyler shrugged.
“We live in strange times, Frank.”
    Frank knocked
back another shot. “Well anyways, I’m sure you have more pressing
business to tend to so I won’t keep you here any longer than
needed. Tell Mr. Boreta that I’ll send someone over first thing
tomorrow morning to return the briefcase.”
    Tyler finished
his drink and made his way out the door. Less than halfway down the
corridor, Frank popped his head out from the office door and
whistled at Tyler.
    “No one opened
the briefcase, right?”
    “No one.”

    ****

    Khaled was
eating a large burger with one hand while holding a drink (and the
steering wheel) in the other. He often ate when he was
agitated.
    “That was a
fucking long delivery, my friend. What took you so long? I
don’t like hanging out with those assholes.”
    “We talked.
That’s all. Frank looks ill.”
    “Oh yeah? Huh,
that’s news to me. I haven’t seen him in a few months. Most people
don’t see him these days. Mackay’s been taking over most of the
boss work. I hate him, Tyler. I fucking hate him.”
    “Yeah, well, no
one likes Ron MacKay. That doesn’t make you special. He’s a very
dangerous man. You don’t do three tours of duty in one of the
darkest places on Earth and come back soft. Did you see how they
all behaved around him? The way they forced themselves to laugh at
his jokes? The way they cheered his every word? They don’t like him
and they don’t respect him. They’re afraid of him. Each and
every one of them, Khaled. Fear makes weak men obedient. If I
hadn’t stopped you from getting your hands on him, we’d both be
fucking dead and buried by now. We can’t have people getting mad
over dumb shit like that. That’s how wars get started; wars that
are easy to start but never really end. We don’t need that shit
hangin’ over our heads. . .you got me?”
    Khaled finished
his burger without talking.
    “You know what,
Khaled? Just drop me off here. It’s just a few blocks away and I’ll
walk home. I need a bit of air.”
    Khaled pulled
over as instructed.
    “Are you sure?
It’s getting a cold outside, my friend. Your jacket’s a bit thin
for this kind of weather.”
    Tyler walked
around the car to speak with