Free Kill the King by Eric Samson Page A

decrepit
housing units, heavily-gated liquor stores, rusted cars, and fast
food joints that never had customers walking in or out yet somehow
managed to stay open for years on end. With the Perps wiped out by
the Fourteens in a bitter turf war not long ago, the whole area had
become a battleground for petty gangs scrambling for the last
breadcrumbs of territory they could snatch before the skinheads
inevitably come back to finish what they’ve started. Until that
day, the in-fighting would continue and Kibera Boulevard would
remain its main battleground.
    It was already
mid-afternoon and it would only be a couple more hours before
sundown; winter was just around the corner and every day was
getting slightly colder and darker. They had already been staking
out the scene for over an hour and still no sight of their target.
If they couldn’t catch him by nightfall, Finch could be as good as
gone.
    Tyler loitered
around in an empty parking lot while Khaled sat in the car parked
on the corner of an adjacent street. It was a good enough distance
to keep both within sight of each other but far enough to not
arouse suspicion that they were working together. Time was running
against them and they were forced to hatch the simplest of traps.
Finch had never met Tyler before so he wouldn’t suspect a setup,
and Khaled was hiding in a good enough spot to avoid being noticed.
They had to rely on the element of surprise.
    Tyler
chain-smoked an entire pack while surveying his surroundings,
waiting for his prey to arrive. He remained on alert not only for
Finch, but also for anyone else who may resent his presence. There
were far worse kinds of people to be wary of in this district.
    If the whores
and junkies were telling us the truth, this kid must have a death
wish. Kibera’s the worst kind of slum—black and old. The people
here are born poor and dangerous, just like their parents and
grandparents before them. Their kids will be the same when their
turn comes. The roots of poverty go deep in the ground here. They
have nothing to lose in this shithole.
    As Tyler lit
his last cigarette, he eyed a large black luxury sedan approaching
the parking lot. Tyler took a quick glance at Khaled’s direction
and spit some phlegm on the nearby curb. Khaled gave his headlights
a quick blink to show that he recognized the signal. The trap was
set.
    The car slowly
crept into the lot and parked at Tyler’s feet. The driver’s side
window rolled down as Tyler slowly crept closer.
    “Nice car. You
Finch?”
    “No. He’s in
the back seat. Hop in.”
    Tyler was not
expecting a second man in the car. The situation had already gotten
more complicated. He opened the passenger door and sat in the
backseat, where his intended victim sat waiting for him.
    “You
Finch?”
    The young man
had a droopy left eye that gave him a slightly mean look, but it
was plain to see that he was barely out of his teens. His auburn
hair was neatly slicked back and he wore an ill-fitting designer
suit. He reeked of almost as much cologne as Khaled did. Tyler
almost felt bad for him.
    “Yeah, that’s
me. Shane’s my ride. I pay him well. . .be nice to me and maybe
I’ll find some work for you too. What’s your name?”
    You poor,
stupid kid. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.
    “Doesn’t matter
right now. What are you selling?”
    The youth
squinted in apprehension. A straightforward question like that made
him suspect he was in the presence of someone who didn’t usually
buy drugs.
    “You sound like
a fucking cop, man.”
    Tyler’s tone of
voice became less cordial. “ No. I’m much worse than that.
Now, answer my question: what are you selling, kid?”
    The faint
screech of tires could be heard from nearby, and within seconds a
bright beam of light shone on them from behind. The driver flinched
from the sudden beam of light shining from the rear-view mirror,
and that was all the distraction Tyler needed to pull out a
switchblade and stick it in