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Authors: Eric Samson

Tags: #mafia, #crime and criminals, #organized crime, #existentialism, #neonoir, #gangs and drugs, #neonoir fiction, #murder and betrayal, #murder and crime

Kill the King

BOOK: Kill the King
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Kill The King

Eric Samson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015, Eric
Samson

Smashwords Edition,
License Notes

Thank you for
downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property
of the author,a dn may not be redistributed to others for
commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book,
please encourage your friends to download their own copy via
Smashwords. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer

This ebook is in its
entirety a work of complete and utter fiction. All characters and
events described in this ebook are the product of the author’s
imagination. Any resemblence to any actual people and real events
should be dismissed as mere coincidence. Furthermore, the opinions
expressed by the fictitious characters throughout this ebook were
created for dramatic effect and do not reflect the personal
opinions of the author.

****

To my beloved Xiao
Fang. Thanks for all your patience and support.

****

DAY ONE

Life in a
maximum security correctional facility was something that most
convicts could get used to if given enough time. That was the only
thing they had in abundance here. The one place no inmate could
ever get used to however was the Solitary Confinement Unit—or the
Block
as the resident convicts called it.

Everyone feared
the Block. Even the most hardened inmates dreaded the mere thought
of spending time there. No one ever came out the same. It was in
one of these special cells where destiny would find Tyler Kwan.

This was not
his first time spent in the Block. There was no reason for him to
count all the times he did before. That kind of math was as
irrelevant as it was to keep tabs on the amount of years he had
been doing time. . .or worse still, how many years he had left
before he could find himself on the outside.

What was the
point of counting anything in this place? What difference did a
year make in this hellhole, let alone a dozen more? Time was for
busy people with lives to live and things to do. Time was not worth
caring about when you had nowhere to go, and especially so when
you’re stuck in the Block; no windows, no clocks, and no
communications with the outside world, save for a small slit in the
middle of a thick iron door. It was where bad food on a cheap metal
tray got shoved through by a large hairy hand stuffed in a cheap
plastic glove. The fluorescent bulbs from high above buzzed and
flickered but never shut off. Days and nights became one and
neither in the Block.

The Block was
purgatory with a small cot and a tiny metal toilet. Every day it
was the same thing: nothing today and more nothing tomorrow. The
following day would yield nothing yet again, and so on and so on
for as long as they deemed fit. There was no sense of time in a
place devoid of things to do to pass it. The Block was nothingness.
If you stayed long enough in the Block, you became just that:
nothing
.

Only Tyler’s
thoughts remained strong enough to keep him sane for at least the
time being; thoughts of regret and hate. Regret for doing the
things he had done throughout his lifelong commitment to crime, and
regret for not doing enough before fate did him in. Hate for the
world that forced him to live this life he could only avoid for so
long before it inevitably reeled him in. Above all, hate for the
Block that every day tightened itself around him, crushing him ever
so slightly without fail. Every day the Block squeezed him just a
little harder.

Every day Tyler
dreamt of death and destruction; he dreamt of dying and his soul
escaping the walls of the Block forever. He dreamt of collapsing
the walls that entombed him through the sheer power of his anger
and loathing. He dreamt of burying every pathetic creature—both
lawful and unlawful—that inhabited this oppressive structure. He
dreamt dreams of ending a waking nightmare.

Nothing. .
.that’s what we are. We are nothing here. We might as well just
disappear.

At long last, a
reprieve had arrived. The door that trapped him shut had finally
been open. A wiry man with thin blonde hair and a beak-like nose
stood between Tyler and a parody of freedom. In his hands were some
fresh clothes. He didn’t bother to introduce himself.

“Take a shower
and put this on. After that, you’ll be given a meal and escorted to
the warden’s office. You have one hour and not a minute more. You
are not to speak a single world to anyone for the duration of this
hour. Are we clear?”

Tyler was
suspicious and confused, but nodded to indicate understanding of
his strict instructions. Anything that got him out of the Block was
worth a try.

“Good. See you
in an hour.”

****

Fifty-eight
minutes had elapsed before Tyler made it to the Warden’s Office,
with two armed guards in tow from a few paces behind. His orange
prison uniform had been replaced with casual civilian clothes,
though the reasons why were never explained to him. It felt odd on
him to wear a shirt with buttons in front, blue jeans, and black
running shoes. These were clothes for humans of value—not
convicts.

Another guard
had been waiting for him and knocked on the office’s large oak
doors to notify the office’s occupants of Tyler’s arrival. A large
buzzing noise emitted from the door before it creaked open, and the
guard motioned Tyler to enter the room. The doors clearly
identified the room’s occupant with a large bronze plaque:

Dr. Wilhelmina
Nieuwendyk

Warden’s Office

The Warden’s
Office was neat and meticulous in appearance but not as opulent as
he had expected. The rumours told among inmates were that the place
had huge expensive pieces of antique hand-carved furniture, plush
carpets, giant stained-glass windows and a lavish bar. No such
thing appeared in the real office; there was only a large teak desk
littered with documents and a laptop, as well a few leather chairs
scattered about. It didn’t even have windows.

Behind the desk
sat a tall thin woman. Her sandy blonde hair was tucked away in a
strict bun, save for a few straw-like strands that protruded near
the edges of her hairline. Her face was pale and with strong
chiseled cheekbones, and lips far too red for her complexion. Her
clothing had a certain aggressive, masculine appearance about it;
the justice system was a man’s world and she was not going to let a
whiff of feminine vulnerability get in her way. This was an
individual who knew the value of appearance when holding a position
of authority, and this appearance screamed
Power Above All.
She was busy at her desk, her head hunched over as she browsed
through several thick file folders.

“Thank you for
arriving on time, Mr. Kwan. Please take a seat.”

Tyler walked a
dozen steps towards the lone austere chair that faced her desk and
sat. Several minutes of silence had passed as she continued to read
the documents presented to her at her desk, with the same thin man
he met before standing vigilantly right beside her. The chair was
rigid and uncomfortable, and it was clearly apparent that this
chair was purposely used for inmates only. Tyler noticed the ornate
mosaic displayed on the floor tiles beneath his feet; the image was
that of an
Anima Sola
, a woman chained to flames that
engulfed her from beneath her naked body. Her gaze was sorrowful
yet dignified as she held her shackled hands upwards, waiting to be
released from purgatory. This image was not chosen to decorate her
office floor by accident. Finally, the warden sat upright in her
chair and turned her gaze to Tyler.

“Mr. Kwan, I
must say your file is quite an interesting one. Considering the
fact that you’ve been involved in criminal activities for nearly
your entire life, this is your first and only time you’ve ever been
incarcerated. This is especially unique when taking into account
your predilection for violence.”

“I have a
predilection for violence?”

The thin man’s
face reddened in anger. “We ask the questions. You will not utter a
word unless you are prompted for a reply. Until that time comes,
you will keep your
fucking mouth shut
. Are we clear on
that?”

The warden
tenderly placed her hand on his left arm in the manner a mother
would to soothe a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum. It
looked oddly sexual yet maternal at the same time. The thin man
straightened his tie and stood quietly.

“You will have
to excuse his bluntness, Mr. Kwan. You’ve probably noticed by your
previous run-in with Mr. Rickards that he is temperamental and
impatient. He is the Main Unit Manager of this penitentiary and the
job keeps him high-strung. Now then. . .what was I talking about
again?”

Her demure gaze
in his direction seemed to indicate that she was waiting for a
response.

“You mentioned
my predilection for violence.”

The warden
flashed a toothy, self-satisfied smile. “Good. You’ve been paying
attention. Now, as I was saying. . .you have an extensive history
of violence, both in your criminal activities and as an inmate.
You’ve been in and out of the SCU on several occasions, and before
springing you out just over an hour ago you’ve been in there for
nearly
ten
consecutive months. I have in my hands over a
dozen documented incidents of violent altercations with prisoners,
and almost the same amount of altercations with prison staff.
You’re a dangerous man, Mr. Kwan. Dangerous men spend time in the
Block. The very dangerous men
stay
in the Block.”

Dr. Nieuwendyk
waited a moment to let those dark words sink in. “Are you starting
to see what I’m trying to convey to you?”

Tyler slowly
nodded. The warden nodded back, content with being in control of
the conversation.

“Good. Now
then, on to the more pressing matter at hand. I need to consult
with you about a certain person of interest. What can you tell me
about a man named Aleksander Dobroshi?”

Tyler waited a
few seconds before answering. “I’m afraid I don’t know this
person.”

“That’s
unfortunate. I thought you might know something about him. Well
then, what about Mehmet Berisha, or Hashim Laika?”

Tyler
shrugged.

“Alright then,
what about. . .”

She struggled
to read the next name on her list, taking care not to mispronounce
it. “Konstandin Kuçedra?”

“I’m sorry Dr.
Nieuwendyk, I’m afraid I don’t know any of these—”

His sentence
was halted by a large file folder thrown at his face by the angry
thin man. The manila folder hit him on the nose before tumbling off
his lap and onto the floor, spilling its contents over the
Anima
Sola
mosaic.

“Don’t toy with
us, you lowlife.”

The warden
again patted him on the arm as if he were a petulant schoolboy. He
took another step back behind her chair, clearly flustered.

“You disappoint
me, Mr. Kwan. I expected you to be a bit more honest than that. You
and I both know that all of these are the aliases of one man;
before you found yourself here, you had been serving as one of his
closest confidants for well over a decade.”

The warden
shared a wry, malevolent smile. She had done her homework.

“Look, I’m not
asking you to tell me his actual name. In fact, he’s had so many
aliases over the years that we don’t expect you to even know it
yourself. We certainly don’t know it for sure. . .but you certainly
know the name that most people have been calling him for the
longest time, don’t you? Tell me that name.”

Tyler sat still
and silent.

Never betray.
The one rule that must never be broken. Never betray.

“Is that the
spectre of
honour among thieves
that’s haunting your
conscience, Mr. Kwan? If you think your loyalty will do you any
good here, you are sorely mistaken. That only works in the movies,
I assure you. In the real world, silence makes enemies. You don’t
want to be my enemy now, do you?”

Tyler’s glare
was as hard and as unmoving as a stone. His lifelong endeavor in
criminality gave him plenty of time to practice it. The warden’s
prim face turned sour.

“Listen to me,
Mr. Kwan. I don’t think you’re aware of the severity of this
situation. At the mere snap of my fingers I could have you tossed
back into the SCU for as long as I want. . .even
indefinitely
, if I so wish. The difference to me is only a
few extra pages of paperwork to sign your life away. You’re still
quite young, and could be looking at fifty years in the Block.”

The last
sentence resonated deep in the core of Tyler’s very soul.

“Yes, that’s
right Mr. Kwan.
Fifty years
. . .perhaps even more. You will
disappear into the darkest pit that I can dig up, and not a goddamn
person will notice. No one gives a
fuck
about you, Mr. Kwan.
No one
.”

BOOK: Kill the King
3.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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