John Wick, Chapter 4: Si vic pacem

Author's Note: This is the fourth part of a new story collection by Darkpenn. It follows part 3, Alea iacta est. The collection begins soon after the end of the movie John Wick, Chapter 3: Parabellum.

4. Facio ut facias

1

"This man," said Akoni, "is a cousin of a friend of the brother of my second wife. He came to this country many years ago and now has a job as a waiter with the firm that does the catering for events at St Blaine Castle. Including the forthcoming one. He says he has something to tell us. What would that be, Kambili?"

"They will kill me if I say anything," said Kambili, who was sweating profusely.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I will kill you," said Akoni. "Did I mention that my second wife is my least favourite one? I will simply tell her that I was cleaning a gun when it went off, and you happened to be in the way of the several bullets that hit you. Or you could just take the money I have offered. It would be enough for you to buy a wife of your own."

Kambili swallowed. "Alright," he said. "I was in the room when some members of the High Table were talking to an American woman. About a man. A man called Wick. She was some sort of expert, I think."

"Ah," said Wick. "Was she slim, with black hair, and glasses?"

Kambili nodded. "I gave her some water," he said. "She seemed to know a great deal."

"Huh," said Cassian to Wick. "You know her?"

"We have met, briefly," said Wick. "She keeps the Wick file at Administration in New York. Clever woman, I think. She was the one that your brother put the bug on so we could find the place."

Akoni said to Kambili: "It is interesting about this woman but hardly enough to justify the money I am paying. What else to do you have?"

"They … they said they would be hiring more people," said Kambili. "More guards. Many. From London. For protection."

Akoni nodded. He handed Kambili a wad of bills. "May I suggest," he said, "that you get only one wife. Two or more is terrible trouble."

Kambili took the money and left, hurriedly.

"Useful to have an ear inside," said Akoni. "But they watch the catering firm too carefully to be able to get in posing as a waiter or cook. When I attend the High Table meeting to put my case, they will also check anyone with me. I cannot even have a bodyguard in the room, I am told."

"And that they are hiring more guards is not good news," said Cassian. "They will have every freelance gun in London. Not good news at all."

"Depends on how you look at it," said Wick.

2

They had locked Elizabeth in a bare little room, probably once a servant's room. Not a cell, but not much better. She sat there for a few hours, wondering how her life had reached this point, and then a man came and unlocked the door. He said there was food in another room, and took her to it.

There was another person, a woman with cropped hair, sitting at the little table. Elizabeth sat down and looked at the meal: bread, some sausage, some rice, water. She looked at the other woman; it took her a few moments to recognise her.

"Last time I saw you," said Elizabeth, "you were playing Queen Bitch, Ms Ex-Adjudicator. I see you have lost the high-fashion rig."

"Some things change," said the woman, as they began to eat. "Some things don't. You, for example, are still an insufferable little twat. I suppose I should ask why you are here, but actually I don't care."

"And I have no interest in telling you. I get that the High Table was not happy with you being so totally, completely, hilariously wrong about the death of John Wick. But why are you still alive?"

"There are procedures to go through. The High Table will discuss my case and make a decision about the exact nature of my termination. I do not expect that my demise will not be quick or neat. You, on the other hand, will probably be fortunate enough to get a bullet in the neck, since you are hardly worth worrying about."

"Lucky me. I suppose, since we are going to be spending our last hours together, you may as well tell me your name. I can't keep calling you Ms Ex-Adjudicator."

Ms Ex-Adjudicator hesitated. "My … name?" she said.

"Yes, you have an actual name, don't you?"

"Of course. It's just … well, I don't usually tell anyone."

"What, is it that bad?"

"It is."

"Tell me anyway."

Ms Ex-Adjudicator drew a breath. "I may as well, since we are about to die," she said. "It's … Trixie."

Elizabeth burst into laughter.

"And this is why I don't tell anyone," said Trixie.

"True, it doesn't exactly suggest threat and authority," said Elizabeth, wiping her eyes. "Well, Trixie, let me show you something."

She took the clip from her hair, allowing it to fall. Holding it so the two guards in the corner could not see, she showed the clip to Trixie. From the middle of the clip she drew a small, but dangerous-looking, stiletto blade. She returned it to its compartment in the clip.

"I spent some time in slam," she said softly. "Rule Number One: always have a shiv somewhere. And there is also this." She took off her glasses, as if to polish them. As she did so, she unwound a length of wire from one of the wings. There was a little handle at each end. Garotte. She passed it to the other woman, who slipped it into her pocket. "I assume you know how to use it," said Elizabeth.

Trixie nodded. "But we are in a castle surrounded by guards and soldiers. We cannot fight our way out with these little things. We are prisoners of the High Table. That is not something to be taken lightly."

"No we can't, but it might be enough to give us a tiny chance, when the moment comes. As for the High Table, today I watched some of them trembling at the thought of John Wick coming after them. I was surprised, let me tell you. Master criminals of the world, sweating to find the nearest exit."

Trixie smiled. "So now you know," she said. "Now you know that ninety per cent of the High Table is a sham. I've heard them bicker like schoolkids over a few dollars and bitch about who gets to sit where. They're so paranoid about one another they won't even have any guards in the room. None if it has really mattered much, as long as the Adjudicators keep the myth going. And until now the members have been completely removed from the action. They have become bureaucrats, stuffed with their own sense of importance. But Mister Wick is making it personal. The Bogeyman cometh."

They were both quiet for a while, finishing the meagre meal. Then Trixie said: "Do you think he has a chance?"

Elizabeth considered. "John Wick and whatever allies he can scrape up against an army of thugs, murderers and assassins?" she said. "Yes, I think he has a chance."

END (to be continued)