The three of them walked side by side, Ryker in the middle, back the way he had just come from, past the café where moments ago he’d been sitting. His empty glass and the money he’d left remained on the table.
‘Where are we going?’ Ryker asked, glancing at each of the men in turn.
‘Just walk,’ the one on his right said. Not the whistler. It was the first time this one had spoken.
‘Your boss went the other way. No offense, but I’d rather be speaking to him than you two chumps.’
The insult got Ryker nothing more than a grunt. They carried on in silence, away from the marina, into the narrow streets of the town that surrounded it. There were fewer and fewer pedestrians out and about all the time. Soon the street they were walking down was deserted, barely even a murmur could be heard of the hubbub behind them.
The man to Ryker’s left turned.
‘Down here,’ he said, moving into a cramped lane.
Ryker glanced over his shoulder as he stepped behind him. Then he stopped just inside the lane when he saw another two men already there, waiting a few yards ahead.
He was grabbed from behind. Two men. The one he’d walked with plus one other? They twisted his arms behind him and marched him a few steps further forward. He struggled against the hold but the grip was strong and purposeful.
That was fine. For now.
Ryker scanned the group gathering around him. The three men in front, plus the ones holding him. Five in total. The three crowded around Ryker in a circle, their hands down by their sides at the ready. No weapons in sight. One of the reasons why Ryker hadn’t already jumped into action and fought them all off.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Ryker said.
The man who’d whistled at him stepped forward.
‘We don’t have to. We want to.’
He threw a fist into Ryker’s belly. He’d tensed his abs to protect himself but it was still a strong and painful blow. The blow of someone who knew how to fight.
Perhaps this wasn’t as straightforward as he’d hoped.
‘You should have brought some weapons,’ Ryker said through labored breaths. ‘You’re going to need them.’
‘Weapons?’ The guy smiled as he looked at his friends. ‘We don’t want to kill you. We want to break you. We’re gonna turn your body to mush.’
His balled fist flew forward again. Into Ryker’s belly again. Then a shot to the kidney. Then another. Ryker concentrated on the pain. Channeled it deep within. Focused on it as much as he could, tried to turn it into energy and fight that could explode back out of him.
Another gut shot knocked the wind from his lungs. His body went limp.
Five on one. But only one was taking the shots. Ryker was sure the others wouldn’t stand by. They’d all want in.
Sure enough a few moments later and the grip on Ryker’s arms relaxed. One of the men behind flinched as though he was about to shove Ryker to the ground. Ryker peeled out of their grip, grasped the man’s arm, spun around, and dragged the man’s arm downward as he twisted. He threw his knee up as he yanked down harder and the man toppled over Ryker’s leg and was heading for the ground.
The man hit the deck and Ryker stomped on his leg. Crack. That was him done. Four to go.
But the other four weren’t just waiting around for their turn. They all descended on Ryker at once. He took a blow to the head. He ducked and spun and sent a crushing uppercut. Another man down and out. Three to go.
A blow to the kidney again. So hard it sent tears straight to his eyes and a wave of pain rushed through his body.
Ryker swung his elbow back, made a solid connection. Swiveled and delivered a punishing hook which caught the guy there in the temple. He went down. But not out. Ryker was too disorientated for it to be a killer blow.
One of them jumped onto Ryker’s back. Grasped him around the neck. A tight hold. Choking. Ryker’s eyes bulged as he tried to breathe. He bucked and went to toss the guy over his shoulder, used his elbows to try and strike him, but the man held on tight.
Ryker raced back. As fast as he could. Slammed the man up against a wall. Did it again. Again. Finally, the hold on his neck loosened. Ryker grabbed the arm around his neck and threw himself forward. This time it worked. The man holding him went head over heels, over Ryker. Both of them landed on the deck. Ryker’s fall was cushioned. The man landed with a horrific smack on his spine.
His arm flopped next to him. He was out of this fight.
Two left.
A flying foot caught Ryker full-on in the face. Blood spurted from his nose and his lip. He reeled back, scrambled to his feet. The two remaining fighters were both in front of him. One of them was Mr Whistle. The other was the guy Ryker had already floored with the hook. He looked woozy and wobbly. Mr Whistle was snarling.
They both charged forward at Ryker. Probably the stupidest thing they could have done. Fueled by anger rather than good sense.
Ryker went for the groggy guy. Grabbed his arm as it flew through the air. He twisted the man around, using him as cover. Lifted his knee and arced his foot forward – a front kick that at least helped to fend off Mr Whistle. He twisted the arm into a hammerlock. Pulled until he heard the snap. Shoulder dislocated. He lifted his elbow and drove it down into the back of the guy’s neck. He crumpled.
One left.
Mr Whistle.
But he was a quick mover. Literally flying through the air toward Ryker with a spinning kick aimed at Ryker’s head. Ryker could do nothing. The connection was solid. He was going down. Somehow he had just enough focus to avoid crashing headfirst, though his forearm scraped painfully on the tarmac as he landed in a heap. A boot to the groin caused Ryker to see stars but he fought against it.
He turned over. Grabbed the flying foot as it headed for his face for the killer shot. Ryker burst up. Pulled the foot with him. The guy had nowhere to go. He toppled back and Ryker added insult to injury by following him down to the ground. He landed on top, and the man groaned and winced in pain. His eyes rolled. A pool of red circled out from underneath his head.
Blood dripped from Ryker’s face onto the man’s. He was still conscious, but he wasn’t getting up in a hurry.
‘Where is he?’ Ryker said.
The man shook his head. Or was it just rolling?
‘Tell me where your boss is.’
Nothing. Ryker fished in the man’s pockets. Wallet. Phone. Key. Not a car fob. Just a basic key with the word Yamaha engraved.
‘What’s this?’ Ryker asked. ‘A motorbike?’
The man shook his head again as he murmured incoherently.
Ryker thought for a moment.
Got it.
Ryker used the man’s thumb to open the phone. Scanned quickly through the call and message list.
‘Gerardo?’ Ryker said. ‘That’s your boss?’
A slight twitch in the man’s eyes. Good enough for Ryker.
He pocketed the phone, then got to his feet. He looked around the fallen men. Two were out. The others were awake and glaring, clutching the stricken parts of their bodies. Ryker thought about searching them all. Then he heard a siren pulsing over the rooftops.
Who had called the cops? It didn’t matter. He was done here.
Key in hand, it was time to go and find his boat.