Kill the King

By Eric Samson

How do you kill a man who refuses to die? Tyler Kwan has only seven days to find the answer.

To free himself from a lifetime of solitary confinement, Tyler accepted an odious offer: he must kill none other than Marko Boreta, the undisputed king the of the underworld. A man so cunning and dangerous, he's thought to be immortal. He must kill the man who brought him into a life of crime. . .and who loves him like the son he never had.

Tyler has only seven days to dive back into the criminal underworld and betray his mentor to save himself. A savage world of murder, treachery, and dark secrets lurks just around the corner. It will take him everything he's got just to survive it all. . .it will take him even more that that to kill the Man who Refuses to Die.

To win his freedom, Tyler Kwan must do the impossible: he must Kill the King.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Samson
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311891693

Eric Samson

Eric Samson resides in Ottawa, Canada.He's an editor and translator by profession, and an author by vocation. He's also a labour activist, a mental health advocate, and prior to the COVID-19 pandemic was also an amateur grappler in active competition.He's also a brain tumour surgery survivor.Follow Eric on Smashwords and on his Facebook author page.

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Kill The King

Eric Samson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015, Eric Samson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

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To my beloved Xiao Fang. Thank you for your patience and support.

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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."

Tyler maintained a stoic demeanor, but behind his calm face his teeth were tightly gnashed to the point of cracking under the pressure. The mere threat of this fate made Tyler feel the blood pulsing through his veins and the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat.

Fifty years. Fifty years in the Block. Fifty more years of the void. An eternity of nothingness.

"Now, I understand that this is a very stressing dilemma to you. . .either you give me what I want or I send you back to the SCU, but collaborating with me would earn you a death sentence if word got out. The big difference however is that if you give me what I want, you might indeed survive the consequences. If you do not give me what I want, the remainder of your life will be spent wishing you hadn’t made such a grievous mistake. Just to be fair however, I will give you a moment to think it through."

Never betray.

Dr. Nieuwendyk opened one of her desk drawers and pulled out a delicate cigarette case and a shiny brass ash tray. She lit a cigarette and puffed a few drags, her eyes fixed on her cornered prey.

Fifty years in the Block. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of living death.

"You have until the time I finish this cigarette to reach your decision. All I need