The King's Game

THE KING'S BET

A dead body was found in an alley in the Spanish Harlem with a bloody wound where the bullet entered the body. An apartment was found with the dead man’s name with a threatening letter. A stash of meth and cocaine was found with a particular signature. A scared man was found as the weak link in the powerful criminal empire. A king was found in his throne amongst the latino criminal minds.

Backed with concrete evidence and strong witnesses, the cops finally had the upper hand on the drug cartel since the Latin King case from back when the detectives were just starting up in their careers. With Detective Finnegan leading the heavily-armed charge, a team of cops rushed the nightly playground of the drug lord Alejandro Vasquez, and brought the King down.

But ever since Vasquez had come into suspicion, it had felt wrong. Vasquez was a rising political rock star, praised by thousands of workers and hispanics. He was campaigning, building power to take a seat in the City’s government. The people saw him as a good man working for the poor, trying to give them a fresh start, and could not comprehend that he could be the criminal mastermind behind the Latin Kings, the “King” himself. This case was supposed to bring him down for good, show the people who he truly was, but the FBI ordered full nondisclosure on the case. They were going to use Vasquez as a key to getting an advantage against other hispanic cartels in the country, and they weren’t going to lose this lead by advertising all their steps.

Finnegan had argued, of course. So did his captain, Hicks. But they were blinded by the prospect of winning this endless war with the drug cartels, and did not listen.

This secrecy made the detective feel uncomfortable.

He was even more disturbed by the King’s reaction. He was calm. Too calm. As the police knocked down the door, as the detective knocked him from his seat, as he pushed him to a wall and cuffed his wrists, Vasquez didn’t say a word or made a move of protest. He came willingly to the precinct. He walked calmly into the cell as the grated door locked behind him.

And so they have come to a standstill as Finnegan waited for the FBI to take the drug lord away, and the drug lord waited for the people to take the cops away.

“Whatever you think you have on me,” Vasquez said from his prison cell. “It’ll mean nothing.”

“Nothing?” Finnegan repeated, a little surprised. He leaned against the wall opposite to the cell and crossed his arms. “Look at where you are. You’re stuck in a jail cell until the FBI comes and gets you. You’re going away for an eternity.”

Vasquez did not falter. “All of that won’t matter.”

The day before, Peebles was at a bar. He needed a drink, a break in middle of another crazy case against the Latin Kings. Last time, the case felt like a battle, a war. This time, it was a chase, a wild-goose chase. Admittedly, he was not a detective back then, but he couldn’t help but feel that it was all going to lead to something very, very bad.

So he welcomed the distraction that alcohol gave him. And he was all the more delighted, and surprised, when a girl began a conversation with him. Peebles was surprised to find that they clicked instantly. He felt happy, unwound by the company and the alcohol.

“You think that just because I am now behind bars that the empire will fall apart,” Vasquez said. “You are delusional, chico. The empire is built on family. We share the same flesh and blood. We will stand together, even in my physical absence. We will never crumble.”

“We will find a way to break you down, one by one, with the fullest extent of the law,” Finnegan snarled. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Vasquez scoffed. “You need to understand that there are things that the precious law can’t touch. You cross the line, you put your life in our hands.”

Peebles was practically skipping when he came into the precinct the next morning, for the girl, Agatha, had given him her phone number and invited him for a lunch date. After the armed charge against the Latin Kings that morning, Peebles had washed himself of the dark serious faces and replaced his rush of adrenalin with a spoonful of boyish excitement. He bounded across couple blocks to join his date at the small Mexican restaurant.

He saw as he walked through the doors, the beautiful girl from last night already sitting at a table, waiting for him.

“Look, Detective, look now,” he pointed with his chin towards the muted television screen in the room next door, flashing a news channel. A correctional officer watched intently as the screen panned across a mass of people gathered in East Manhattan to protest the arrest of their hero. “Look at them scream, look at them cry, look at them fight. I am a martyr.”

“You are not,” Finnegan hissed dangerously. “You’re a murderer. You’re the King of a criminal empire that has ruined hundreds of innocent lives.”

“That’s what you know. But they don’t know, do they? They can’t. You are limited, and my saintliness to the people is preserved. Think about it this way: you wouldn’t have had a riot on your hands if you didn’t arrest me so quickly, so rashly.”

“It was not rash. The amount of evidence against you is overwhelming. I don’t care how fast it was, the weight will crush you.”

“Will it?”

His heart positively jumped when she had placed a gentle hand on his. He could feel a definite connection, a sense of friendship and agreement. He knew it was too quick to judge, but perhaps there was a thing to “love at first sight.”

When a calm silence fell between them, both of them staring into each other’s eyes, Peebles could feel her anticipating it. So he gave it to her"he leaned over the table and placed a kiss on top of her lips and was still surprised to find that she did not only let it happen, but fully kissed him back.

“If you think you’re going to just walk free from this place, you’re just as delusional,” Finnegan said. “Whatever they say, the truth is"you’re a criminal. You’re a murderer.”

“The truth,” he retorted dramatically, “is nothing but perception. Do you think reports and files make up the truth? No, the truth is decided by the mob. And what the public sees is a man from a humble beginning searching for a humble fate, a man that has lived in the tenement buildings, a man that has seen the poverty, a man that will rise in fame and power to help the poor, a man that will stand for the underdogs. That’s what I am to the world. A saviour.”

Finnegan scoffed.

“And how does the world see you?” Vasquez continued. “A detective who got caught up in the chase, who got a taste of glory in the past Latin Kings case and wanted more, who made impatient, rash decisions, who made a mistake and locked up a good, innocent man for an act he surely did not commit. That’s who you are. That’s the truth. And there’s no changing the truth.”

Peebles did not protest when Agatha invited him back to her place a couple blocks away. Finnegan can surely be glad of a couple hours of his absence. Peebles let her lead him by the hand. He knew what this meant. He knew it was escalating quickly, but others have had one night stands. It couldn’t be too bad.

But he should’ve suspected something when she locked the door behind them, when she took off his belt with his holster and handcuffs. He was blinded by the lust, the anticipation. When he saw a change in her expression, going from gentle and soft to sinister and creepy, he thought it was just the prospect of sex. But she was not taking off her clothes. She was pulling out her revolver. She was pointing it at him.

“Sit. Still.”

Finnegan was getting ready to lash out at the drug lord’s provocation, but Captain Hicks rushed into the room in search of him. His face was pale and his expression was a mixture of horror and fury.

He said through gritted teeth, “Detective, you better see this.”

* * * * *

THE KING'S BLUFF

It was an email.

Detective Finnegan clicked open the video message.

Shot on a shaky camera, Finnegan could barely make out the neat, clean apartment as the camera was clumsily turned around to face an otherwise pretty girl, except the smile on her face was nothing short of demonic. She seemed to be relishing the moment, staring into the lens as if making this video was an important triumph.

“Detective James Finnegan,” was the first thing she said. Her voice was high, squeaky, hysterical. “Look! Look!” She swivelled the camera to reveal a chair in the middle of the room. Duct-taped securely to it was Peebles, his hair a mess and his clothes looked as if he got into an intense melee. He wore a nasty, red cut across the cheek.

“Yes, I have your partner. Sweet kid, really.”

Finnegan felt a flash of anger. She must’ve manipulated the innocent, childish Peebles into a trap. Finnegan’s frustration came in equal parts from Peebles’s insistence on being so innocent, so naïve all the time, and from the disgust at how someone would take advantage of someone who was so perpetually happy and naïve.

In the grainy video, Finnegan spotted his partner’s fingers. They were clenching and unclenching in a pattern"ten fingers, beat, nine fingers, over and over again. 10-9.

“Wouldn’t it be such a shame if something were to happen to this cute little guy?”

As the detective watched, the woman drew a knife in her hands and cut open his sleeve. Then, slowly, methodically, she slid the blade down his inner forearm, drawing a clear trail of pain and blood as she went. He grunted and screamed through the duct tape, pain exploding and multiplying with every millimetre, every millisecond she extended the cut. When she finally stopped, he slumped in his chair, tired and aching from the burst of excruciation.

Finnegan’s jaw dropped slightly in horror. He could almost feel the pain his partner must’ve been feeling. He felt a fresh bubble of anger brew inside him.

She turned the camera back to her face. “That’s just the beginning of his pain and torment, Detective, if you do not release our King. Listen to the mob, give them what they want, release Vasquez"before it becomes,” an infinitesimal breath, “nastier.”

Finnegan felt his breath get shallow.

“Give us our King, Detective. All hail the Latin King!”

She squeaked a deranged laugh and the video screen went black. In replacement, a written message, along with a phone number that was sure to be untraceable, popped out as a post script: “Look and memorise quickly. Left you a present, might want to log off.”

A cold shiver went through Finnegan as the meaning of the message soaked through him. Wide-eyed with horror, just as Hicks had been, Finnegan quickly turned to the captain and croaked quietly, “We need to evacuate the precinct. Now.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Just then, every single computer screeched an angry beep and displayed a big “VIRUS DETECTED” across the screen. The virus burned through the firewall and took control of the network. Every computer was raised to full volume and a deranged laugh, identical to the one from the video, boomed from every speaker. “Run, Detective, run!” the voice screamed in joy.

“Now,” Finnegan repeated. This time, Hicks didn’t throw up a protest. He called for an evacuation and everyone, with the convicts being escorted by a team of policemen, was rushed out of the building. Not a minute after Detective Finnegan stepped outside, bringing up the rear, the precinct exploded.

The bomb went off the on the top floor, but the explosion was violent enough to blow the entire roof off and shatter every window. The building was turned into a fireball. Smoke rose from the angry red flames. The infrastructure held up and did not cave in to spread the fire through the entire building, but they had planned for this. The sprinklers activated, but did not spray water. A lethal acid gas filled the building, and the cops were forced to flee from the area.

Firefighters were on the scene within minutes. Some, equipped with gas masks, went in to treat the fire. The fire was put out, but it would take hours for them to take care of the gas.

Finnegan was left stranded. Peebles had signalled him: 10-9. Repeat Message. The intention was clear"show the public the video and the Vasquez’s public image would be shattered. But how could he repeat the message when he couldn’t access the network. Even he could, the virus surely took care to destroy all digital traces of the email.

But across the mass of confused cops, he saw Vasquez, still under tight security of dozens of policemen. It was far from a royal flush, but Finnegan could turn it into a winning hand. It was all about strategy.

* * * * *

THE KING'S HAND

Detective Finnegan waited in the fog.

He had picked out this location for the exchange for a reason. Surrounded by tall buildings, the lot was hidden from plain view. Coupled that with police clearance and a thick artificial fog, there was very little chance of being seen. That said, the detective turned on a small fan and cleared a small space untouched by the fog. This would be where they exchange the prisoner for the hostage.

He felt Vasquez twitch uncomfortably. His wrists are handcuffed tightly, his mouth was taped with the strongest duct tape, and his arm was being held in the detective’s strong grip. Every time he moved, the detective would squeeze his arm painfully, making sure to hit the pressure point, numbing his arm slightly.

When Vasquez was told that he was to be exchanged, to be given over that easily to Agatha, he did not believe it. He’s seen the detective, he’s seen how smart and cunning he was. The drug lord had narrowed his eyes in suspicion, knowing that there must be a catch… there must be… But he had no choice but to follow along with the plan, whatever it was. Perhaps he could warn her somehow"Agatha could be very thick sometimes. Knowing her, she would run at the opportunity without stopping. She would take precautions, of course, but she would not suspect foul play.

He would not let her weakness become his downfall.

“Stop right there.”

Agatha emerged from the fog and stepped carefully into the clearing. Peebles was taped around the mouth and wrists. He was being pushed along in front of her with jabs from the revolver in her hand. Her expression was fierce, but there was hate and distrust all over her face. Vasquez grimaced in disappointment"those were products of fear.

“Two can play at that game,” Finnegan said, unholstering his Glock and setting its muzzle on the back of the King’s neck before Agatha could react. She let out a little yelp and had to stop herself from pulling the trigger.

“Hand him over,” Finnegan demanded. He knew the girl was scared out of her wits. She was definitely deranged, but he could see that she was easily shaken too. She was submissive. He would only have to show her where the power lied.

“You first,” she snarled.

Or, she might be smarter than he’d thought.

They stood still, staring each other down, trying to will the other to submit. The tense silence only escalated until she jabbed the gun harder into Peebles’s sides and hissed, “Now.”

“And what?” Finnegan said. “Expect you to let Peebles go, just like that? We know who you really are, and we could expose you, and ruin all your plans. Do you really expect me to trust you to let us go that easily?”

She laughed. “We don’t need to kill you, Detective. Who do you think you are? You are not the great voice that everyone trusts and believes in. You are only a detective, not a very popular one right now at that. Your claims will not affect our plans.”

“It won’t be just me, trust me,” Finnegan said in a whisper. “Once I have my partner back, I will bring you down with the fullest extent of the law. The entire precinct will be on you, and we will tell everyone about your secret. You think Vasquez is some great politician? You really think he’ll make the City a better place for everyone? Let me tell you something: he won’t. Because he’s nothing but a dirty old drug dealer that cares for no one but himself.”

“There’s something you don’t understand, Detective. Alejandro Vasquez is our King. He is the Latin King. He takes care of us. He takes care of his people. Don’t you dare talk about him like he’s dirt,” she spat.

“He takes care of his empire, not his people.”

“It is one and the same,” she retorted. “His empire will spread. The Latin Kings will take the City, and make it the best it could be. Protected by the strongest, bravest men; organised by the smartest minds; this City will thrive.”

“On what? Crystal meth isn’t a business that can support a city.”

“We won’t need to sell our drugs anymore. We will have the entire city’s resources under us. We will make most of it.”

“We. A bunch of criminals, running New York City. That doesn’t sound so attractive to me,” Finnegan said acidly.

“The good,” she spat the word, “had their chance at control. It’s time for the bad to rise. It’s time for the criminal empire to rise to a criminal city. The Latin Kings will stop at nothing, hear me, nothing to take what we deserve.”

Finnegan drove the gun into Vasquez’s neck. “What you deserve is nothing less than a life in jail. You’re going to be locked up forever.”

She let out another laugh. “What makes you so sure, that you could do anything to keep us in there? We are more powerful than you realise.”

“Because I will hunt you. Because I will cleanse the City of your criminal empire. And because I’m recording this,” he added snidely.

He smiled inwardly as he watched her expression morph into one of absolute horror.

“What?” she breathed.

With his free hand, he lifted the collar of his coat, revealing a little microphone concealed underneath. “I have speakers set up in the street outside. I’ve been broadcasting this conversation to the entire city. I believe a fair number has accepted the police’s invitation to the party.”

“You’re done, Agatha. The King has revealed his hand. There’s no where to run.”

She stood frozen in place, unable to move a muscle. She had been stupid. She had allowed herself to reveal their secret. She did not think that the detective could play a trick like this on her. Vasquez felt a rising fury inside him. She had destroyed their plan.

She had destroyed his life.

Vasquez and Peebles moved simultaneously. The drug lord pulled away and rolled to the side, kicking his foot out from under him. Detective Finnegan crashed to the ground. Seeing Vasquez rolling away, he quickly pulled the trigger. The bullet bounced on the concrete a foot away from its target. Before Finnegan could shoot again, Vasquez quickly pushed himself to his feet and was lost in the fog.

Peebles had turned and smacked Agatha across the face with his duct taped hands. She was too shocked to use her gun. He quickly kicked it out of her hand and kneed her in the guts. She fell with a thud.

Finnegan had just gotten to his feet when he felt a kick to his back. He fell again, this time more roughly. He quickly rolled so that his arms were free to shoot. Before he could, Vasquez, who came back out from the fog, gave another kick, knocking the gun away. Finnegan gave no time for shock. He pushed his body back and somersaulted on his shoulder, unfolding smoothly onto his feet. But the two-second move gave Vasquez enough time to rear for another attack. He assaulted the detective with downward smashes with his cuffed wrists. While Finnegan’s arms were lifted up for defence, Vasquez took a jab at Finnegan’s belt, stabbing at his kidney with two fingers and neatly fishing out the handcuff key. With the key in his hand, the drug lord dodged to his side and disappeared once again.

Peebles had no time to waste. He struggled against the bonds but Agatha was already recovering. He had successfully ripped away the tape on his mouth when she grabbed for his legs. He kicked her in the face, but she was fighting back. He saw a free hand inch towards the revolver on the ground and stomped hard right on the knuckles. There was a nasty crack and he knew he had broken a finger.

She cried out in pain, but retaliated with even more ferocity. She rolled to her feet, gaining a more aggressive stance. She pushed off with her back foot, and launched herself towards the detective. Peebles struck her across the face with her elbow and she was knocked right onto the concrete, where she lay, panting hard. Peebles quickly scooped up the revolver and held it awkwardly, trying to get a good aim on her.

At that point, Finnegan unhooked a Swiss army knife from his belt and cut Peebles loose. When he saw the girl twitch, he made sure to point his Glock at her, cocking the gun loudly.

“Where’s Vasquez?” Peebles asked urgently, rubbing the adhesive off his wrists.

“Where we need him,” Finnegan said. He thrust the revolver back into his partner’s hands. “Watch her. I’ll be right back.”

Vasquez was running through the fog, hoping it’ll lead him somewhere where he can be safe…

He found a glass door. He tried it. Locked. Damn.

He was running out of options; he could go left, out into the street, but if Finnegan was telling the truth and the people have gathered to watch his downfall… He had to try it.

But his worst suspicion would come true. He emerged from the fog, panting and in rags. He saw the mob of people, who was crying out in protest seconds ago, come to a dead silence. A man in the crowd growled softly, “Get him,” but that was enough. The mob rose up in screams and shouts, and pushed their way through the line of policemen, trying to hold them back from brutally killing the criminal.

“We trusted you!”

“Dirty cheater!”

“Go back to hell!”

Vasquez had no where to go. The mob was pushing into a tight circle around him. He was stuck. They would surely close in and beat him to death. The greatest anger came from giving them hope, then taking it away, and all that anger was concentrated on punishing him right now, right here.

He jumped a good inch from the ground when the detective softly touched his shoulder.

“I think you better come with me,” Finnegan whispered into his ear. “If you care about your safety.”

* * * * *

THE KING'S DRAW

Finnegan returned the Latin King into the fog-surrounded lot. He radioed the men to disperse the crowd trying to get to the drug lord. The King would get his share of punishment from the law, not the mob.

The detective took back the key and cuffed together Vasquez’s wrists once they had found Finnegan’s police handcuffs on their way back. Just to make sure, he set his Glock close to the small of his back.

Peebles had Agatha kneeling in front of the muzzle of her own revolver. Her eyes quickly glanced up to meet the King’s but she quickly returned to staring at the ground. She felt her heartbeat quicken as the heat of Vasquez’s boiling anger reached her.

“You,” he snarled. “You messed up everything.”

Finnegan tensed, holding the gun still, preparing to break it up as soon as it got worse.

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You couldn’t help babble on. You couldn’t think. You’re worthless and you ruined my life!” he shouted. Agatha writhed in pain of the words. She was overcome with tears. Peebles abandoned watching the crying woman and pointed the revolver at the drug lord.

But he did not care. He carried on. “You don’t even deserve to live, you little b***h. I lost my life because of you!”

Vasquez spun on his heels, grabbing the Glock out of the surprised detective’s hand and aiming it at the screaming woman’s head.

“Don’t!” Peebles shouted, raising his revolver.

But it was too late; he had pulled the trigger. And the bullet burned through her brain, the note of her final scream still hanging in the air.

* * * * *

THE KING'S FOLD

The court would find Vasquez guilty of all charges, including the two homicides, use and selling of drugs, and fraud, among many other accusations about the King of one of the most powerful criminal empires of New York City. He would spend the rest of his life in segregated administration. He had lost his game, and justice was served.

Agatha was dead. She was taken to the morgue. Her face was released in the press as a victim of Vasquez’s rage after the incident. Her relatives were invited to see her, to perform funeral rites for her. She would be buried by her parents, two poor workmen in the East Harlem, whose deepest fears of losing her to those wretched criminals had come true. They would cry and scream, even more than the woman who had seen death approaching her.

Finnegan sat in the precinct as the night grew darker and colder. The building was still in shambles, the top floor still in the process of rebuilding. The acidic gas have been evacuated from the building and most of the damage have been remedied. Finnegan’s own desk was surrounded by boxes of damaged scraps. He had pushed them away to make enough space to do his paperwork for this case. He would have to make this especially good; FBI won’t be too happy about him revealing Vasquez.

Peebles, already bored with his own share of paperwork, rolled on his chair to his partner’s desk. “You know, after this,” he started, interrupting Finnegan’s work, “I’m never dating again.”

“Just don’t pick up girls when you’re drunk at a bar, Peebles,” he chuckled.

“But hey, even as a hostage, I helped you solve a case.” He threw his arms out as if in celebration. “I’m awesome. Who wouldn’t want to date me?”

Finnegan couldn’t help but snigger. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d rather pass on that.”

“I’m flattered you’d even consider that.”

“Don’t be,” he said quickly.

Peebles sniggered. “Sure. Just know, I’m single and ready to mingle.” He threw his partner a wink and rolled off back to his desk.

Finnegan laughed. It was the first, genuine, happy laugh for the day. He remembered how the first Latin Kings case, which had blown up in their faces and became a giant war between the cops and the criminal minds, had forced Homicide and Narcotics together. It had brought the fresh, new detective and a narcotics officer into a bond they will never forget. Finnegan was reminded of how the case had introduced him to a life-long friendship; perhaps this case had brought them even closer.

But nope, not enough to mingle with the single.

 

The End