Lawrence

The average person in Lucidea is said to witness, at the very least, two murders during their lifetime. Lawrence was somewhere in the early twenties. The first one was his mother, stabbed during an attempted robbery. The second, his little brother, shot in a gang war. The third, his fifth-grade teacher, killed in a school shooting. The rest, well, the rest was a blur, really. Oh yes, and most recently, Jeremy Calico from Accounting.

And considering his company, that number showed no signs of slowing down.

“What’s got you so down, Larry?” Mr. Roland prodded with a playful punch.

Before he could open his mouth, Patricia strangled his hand and answered, “He’s never been on a plane before, sir. Mr. Blackwater is simply afraid of heights.”

She got a man killed and she’s not even flinching. Just how many times has she done this before?

“Huh, is that right? Well, don’t you worry, Larry. If the plane goes down, we’re going down with you. Haha!”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded humbly.

The rest of the trip passed in idle conversation and a creeping fear of getting murdered at a moment’s notice. Or as Lawrence knew it, a slow afternoon. Having spent most of his life in office buildings, Lawrence wasn’t exactly built to withstand the desert heat. In the few minutes between getting off the private jet and boarding their air-conditioned car, he came damn close to passing out.

“So, what do you know about the city of Noor, Larry?”

“I… I read a brochure, sir. It said that they don’t allow modern technology into their cities.”

“That’s for the commoners. You’re traveling with the VIPs, Larry. The rules aren’t meant for the likes of us.” Mr. Roland took a deep breath as he looked out of the car’s window at a nomadic couple walking in the midday sun. “Although, I do wish to change that someday. Bring all of Lucidea’s tech to this part of the world. That’s why they got rid of the Treaty, didn’t they? So, we could share what we have and create a better world, together. Which is why I need to become President, Larry. If we don’t do something, that bumblefuck Norton’s gonna drag us back to the dark ages.”

Lawrence felt Patricia’s nails dig into his thighs. He tightened his knuckles and smiled through the pain. “Is that why we’re here, sir?”

“What? Oh, no. No.” He emphasized the last “no” with a hint of aggression. “Today’s all about countermeasures. That bastard wants to destroy his own country? Well, not on my watch. But I can’t do it alone. We need more allies. I gotta call in all the favors I’ve got if we’re to win this war.”

“War, sir?”

“Yes, Larry. Consider this an official declaration. He might’ve drawn first blood but we’ll be the ones to end his tyranny. Can I count on you?”

Can he count on me? Can I even count on myself?

Before he could open his mouth, Patricia responded, “You will always have our undying support, sir.”

Kill me. Just kill me already.

Mr. Roland gave them the smile usually reserved for VVIPs and media persons. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Do they expect me to just move on after what they did yesterday?

Despite his best efforts, Lawrence reached the city alive and well. Their car was brought in through a secret passage south of the city, possibly to maintain the illusion that their ruler cared for tradition.

Miss Layla Yousef. The Demon of the Desert and interim dictator of Noor. Lawrence recalled the files he’d read on her the night before. Apparently, her father, General Pathan Yousef, had taken over the city by force. She got the throne from him and since then, controlled the region with an iron grip. Word was that she was as stunning in court as she was fierce on the battlefield.

Lawrence wondered how she’d treat them as their vehicle was escorted into the royal palace. Even the brochures he’d seen didn’t do justice to the scale of the castle. Once owned by the royal family, the place had since been converted into a military compound.

“Are those… guns?” He squinted at the soldiers stationed beside the iron gates of the palace.

“Like I said.” Roland smiled devilishly. “Rules are for the commoners only.”

Despite the rampant militarization of the rest of the estate, the throne room was left mostly untouched. Built during the early days of the invasion, King Suleiman II had designed a castle fit for a ruler of the largest nation in the world. Back when it was still intact, anyway. It boasted architecture designed by the finest craftsmen in all of Wadin, was decorated with gemstones as old as the country itself, and was graced by a throne of pure gold, fitting for the ruler of the Golden City.

Mr. Roland was seated in an armchair opposite the throne. “Miss Yousef,” he said. “I was saddened to hear of your father’s passing. I offer you my deepest condolences. He was a great man.”

“Justin,” she spoke in a silken voice as she took her seat atop her throne. “Let’s cut to the chase. It’s not like you to show up out of the blue. Something big has happened and now, you need my help. Am I correct?”

Mr. Roland responded with a hearty laugh. “Haha! It’s always fun to tango with you, Layla. Except, you’re wrong. This time, you’re the one who needs my help. That is if you want your precious city to remain yours in the near future.”

Miss Yousef raised an arm and all three of her guests were presented with a glass of wine. “Continue.”

Roland raised his glass to the air. “Ah, dear Layla. You know how it is with the people. They need their illusion of safety. Once that is shattered, they become difficult to control.”

“Quit speaking in riddles,” she commanded. “Don’t forget your position, Justin. You’re in my country now.”

Mr. Roland clicked his tongue and shook his head with disappointment. “Always the showboat. Don’t flatter yourself, love. You barely control a city. And even that’s about to slip from your grip unless you listen to me.”

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Lawrence observed the gilded room with unease. The soldiers appeared ready to plunge their spears into his throat. He looked to Patricia for reassurance but she seemed to be lost in thoughts of her own.

“What are you babbling about, Roland?”

He breathed in the aroma of his wine, sipped from the glass, and smiled. “Mmmm! The liquor of Noor is exquisite as always. But I digress. There’s a certain someone in your city. You don’t need to know who he is or why he’s here. What you do need to know is that unless he’s stopped, your city will be reduced to ashes.”

“I’m sure my soldiers can handle one measly person.”

Mr. Roland barely controlled his laughter. “I’m sure they can. But here’s the thing, I need him alive.”

“And why’s that?”

“That is my business and my business only.”

“You expect me to put my faith in you when you’re unwilling to do the same. Do you take me for a fool?”

“I’m simply asking you to cooperate for our mutual benefit.”

“Blind faith is a fool’s gambit. I will not have you make a mockery of my rule. I can get this person on my own. And you, you can very well, flock off back to your ivory towers.”

Mr. Roland raised his voice as he got up from his seat with a smile reserved for shareholders trying to throw him out of the company. “Miss Layla Yousef, do not forget who gave you that throne in the first place. Do you honestly believe your father could’ve taken over Noor on his own? Without my weapons?”

Layla Yousef retreated in her seat with a look of pure disgust. “I only do what is best for my people. As a leader, it is my solemn duty to-”

He gestured for her to keep quiet. “Your incompetence as a leader is no courtroom secret. Do you think I haven’t heard of all the terrorist attacks? Your people are on edge. One or two more incidents like that and they will lose faith in the system. And you know better than me what people without faith can do.”

Miss Yousef’s soldiers didn’t take kindly to that last remark. In the blink of an eye, their spears were directed at his throat. For anyone else in the world, that would’ve been the end. But this was Justin Roland. Even with the blood dripping down his neck, the big man maintained his defiant smile. He stared down their leader without saying a word. After a minute of complete silence, Yousef gave the signal. The spears were withdrawn.

“What do you need?” Miss Yousef barked. The softness had left her voice.

“Now, that’s more like it.” Mr. Roland took his seat with a victorious smile.

The discussions went on for another hour and a half. Most of the battle jargon went right over Lawrence’s head nor did he try to listen or understand. The important parts, as he’d gathered from the very little attention he’d paid, were that Mr. Roland wanted a lot of soldiers in a very specific place. In the end, Miss Yousef had no choice but to comply. Lawrence could swear she was glaring at him the entire time.

Once the discussion concluded, the trio was escorted to their individual rooms. Despite their leader’s temperament, he had to give them credit. The sheer splendor of even the guest rooms of the palace made him feel like Roland was phoning it in.

He had scarcely settled down on his bed when he felt an arm over his shoulder. “Larry?” The voice made him jump so high he nearly hit the roof.

“Oh, sir, what are you doing here?”

Mr. Roland offered him an uneasy smile. “So, how are you liking it here?”

“Oh!” Lawrence was taken aback. “I’m okay, sir. Just a bit on the warm side, is all.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Not at all like our country, is it? Larry, I’ll be honest. I’m not that good at small talk. Is it okay if I act plain with you for a moment? Just you and me. Man to man.”

Fuck! Did he bust me already? Lawrence breathed and perspired like a man who’d just run a marathon. With an ungodly amount of effort, he managed to expel the words from his throat. “Certainly, sir.”

“I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday. It was a messy business and I’m sorry you had to see that. You see, Larry…no. I can’t tell you. It’s for your own good.”

“What is it, sir?” Lawrence tempted fate despite warnings from his higher brain.

“No.” He shook his head nervously. “You dip so much as a pinky into this quicksand, it’s gonna pull you all the way in. Sink you to my level. Try to keep your hands clean while you still can.”

“I… I shall do my best, sir.”

“Just try not to do anything dramatic. You don’t wanna attract the attention of the wrong people. I like you, Larry. You’re a good man. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Lawrence.

“Well, that’s all I had to say. Just take care.”

Mr. Roland disappeared behind the door, leaving Lawrence feeling like someone was repeatedly stabbing him in the back. He never liked his job at Blink. Least of all now, when he was, at any moment, never more than three seconds from a brutal horrific death. And yet, he felt bad for the big guy. He was half certain it was a brain lesion making him think strange thoughts before an untimely demise. But the feeling was there.

He, Lawrence Blackwater, the biggest backstabber in the history of backstabbers, felt bad for Justin Roland.

Did he ever do anything to harm me? Was he ever unfair to me? The reasonable part of his head attempted to suffocate this ridiculous idea but it refused to die. Why am I protecting the people who treat me like garbage? What have they ever done for me? His reasonable brain began to see the logic. Do I really need more money when I already have a job that most people would die for? I already make a killer wage at Blink. “Carry on,” his brain commanded. Why am I scared of someone like Trent when I’m second fiddle to the richest man on the planet? His brain fell silent, contemplating the notion. “I see. We believe that-”

Before his brain could reach a conclusion, Patricia’s bitter voice pierced his eardrums. “Lawrence, get the fuck out here right fucking now!”

Lawrence half-sprinted and half-tumbled his way to find Patricia toting a gun in the middle of the hallway. Her eyes were choked full of tears.

“Car- Patricia, what is it? Are you okay?” He took a hesitant step toward her.

“I’m finishing that bastard off right fucking now and you’re gonna help me.”

“W-what? Mr. Roland? No, you’re… you’re not thinking straight. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s no time to talk anymore, Lawrence. This is our best shot. Don’t you get it? We’re out in the middle of nowhere. No security. No cameras. And we’re in the palace of that bitch who fucking hates his guts. There’s not gonna be a better chance. We gotta do it!”

Lawrence raised his shivering arms in a disarming gesture. “H-hold on, now! What’s the big rush? Aren’t you going to wait for Trent to finish his operation?”

Patricia punched the wall next to her and glared at him with madness in her eyes. “Trent is dying. Did you know that? My Trent is dying. Do you even care? Huh, Lawrence? A few weeks, and… and he’ll be gone. Just like that. Do you really want him to spend his last days scouring the globe like a madman? Is that what you want?”

“He’s dying? I-I had no idea, I swear!”

“Of course, you didn’t. He didn’t even tell me until it was too late. Like he always does. This, Lawrence, this is the least I can do for him. So, either help me or stay out of my way.”

At that moment, for the first time in his life, Lawrence decided something for himself. He planted his feet, crossed his arms, and spoke with the boldest voice he could conjure. “No.”

Patricia slapped him across the face with such fury it left a bright red mark on his sickly complexion. She held the gun against his temple and whispered, “I was not asking for your permission, you moron.”

Under normal circumstances, that would be the end of the rebel phase for Lawrence. Today, however, was different. For the first time in his life, Lawrence had reached a decision on his own. It wasn’t pushed down on him by his friends or family. It wasn’t made for him by the people around him. He had decided for himself. And I say this with zero ambiguity: he had no intention of letting anyone take it away from him.

“You are not killing, Mr. Roland,” he spoke with even greater confidence.

With a sudden twist of his body, Lawrence dodged her aim and gripped the gun with all his might. “I am not letting you kill him.”

Despite his inferior physique, Lawrence managed to put up a decent fight. Patricia struggled to free the barrel from his skinny but surprisingly sturdy fingers. She struck him with a powerful blow over the back but he remained still as a rock. “Let go, motherfucker! You’re ruining everything. Traitorous bastard!”

Without thinking, Lawrence dug his teeth into her palm. Patricia howled in pain before punching with such power that she shattered his glasses. “You fucking bit me! You fucking dick piece of shit!”

Lawrence smiled as she held her bloodied palm with her free hand. “Game over.” He smirked, pointing the gun in her face.

Overcome with rage, Patricia tackled him to the ground. “You’re not getting away with this, you bastard!”

She wrestled Lawrence for control of the gun with such blind fury, she didn’t even see where his finger was positioned. All it took was one misstep. One accidental pressing of the trigger with the full weight of her hands.

A bullet was fired, and Patricia, better known as Caroline Winters by those who loved her, was no more. Her bleeding carcass lay atop Lawrence as he passed out on the floor. Even in death, she stared at him with contempt in her eyes.