Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End

by Cook, James N.

  I stood and walked over to them, kept my face neutral, hands in my pockets, and made a show of assessing their appearance.

  “What’s with all the black? You two going to a funeral or something?”

  Gabe grinned. It was not for the faint of heart. His face was scarred from too many battles and dark from long years spent in the sun. The incisors were a couple of millimeters too long, giving him a distinctly wolf-like appearance. Sabrina started grinning as well, and I was struck by how alike the two of them looked, lupine teeth and all.

  “Hadn’t planned too,” Gabe rumbled. “But the day is young.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. My face split and I walked toward Gabe with my arms open.

  “Bring it in, you big bastard.”

  Gabe squeezed the breath out of me for a second or two, then stepped back and smacked me on the shoulder. “Damn good to see you, man.”

  “You too.”

  I turned my attention to Sabrina. “Who’s this? Where’s your daughter? I thought she was coming with you.”

  “Fuck you, prick,” Sabrina said, still grinning.

  “Oh, there you are. It’s hard to recognize you when you’re not hurling obscenities.”

  She threw her arms around my shoulders, kissed me on the cheek, and cheerfully said, “Eat a dick.”

  “Atta girl.”

  I herded them to my table where Allison was waiting. As she stood up, Sabrina rushed over to embrace her. The two clung to each other for a few seconds, and then Sabrina stepped back.

  “Holy crap,” Sabrina said, running her hands around the sides of Allison’s belly. “There’s a baby in there.”

  “Blame him.” Allison jabbed a thumb at me. “I do.”

  Gabe stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed Allison on the cheek. She reached up and ran a hand down the side of his face.

  “I like the GQ look,” she said. “Very handsome.”

  “Thanks. Elizabeth likes it too.”

  “How is she?”

  “Good. Busy.”

  “Well, she’s a US attorney now. I imagine she would be. Is she coming to see us?”

  “Tomorrow,” Gabe said. “She’s in court today.”

  The big man tilted his body to the side and looked around Allison’s back.

  “Who’s this little fella hiding behind you?”

  I looked down. A tuft of brown hair and wide blue eyes were visible around Allison’s leg. The rest of Little Gabe was hidden from view. I held out a hand to him.

  “It’s okay, buddy. These are my friends.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Little Gabe let me pick him up. Sabrina put her hands up to her mouth.

  “Oh my God, he’s so cute.” She reached out a hand and touched his hair. “Look how much you’ve grown. You’re not a little baby anymore.”

  My son eyed her warily and laid his head on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” Sabrina said. “Did I scare him?”

  “No. He’s just shy around people he doesn’t know.”

  “Hey, little fella,” Gabriel said. To my surprise, Little Gabe sat up.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “He talks!” Sabrina said, her voice almost a squeak.

  I laughed. “Jeez, kid. This is a side of you I’ve never seen.”

  She shrugged. “I love babies.”

  The blue eyes swiveled in her direction. “I’m not a baby. I’m Gabriel.”

  She nearly melted into the floor. “My name is Sabrina. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  Before she could turn into a puddle of goo, I pointed at big Gabe. “Do you know who this is, son?”

  He shook his head.

  “His name is Gabriel too. He’s my best friend. I named you after him.”

  The little guy brightened. “Your name is Gabriel?”

  “It is, just like yours.”

  “Dada gave me your name?”

  My friend beamed. “Yes, he did.”

  “Oh.” Little Gabe went quiet, his child’s mind coming to grips with this new revelation.

  “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I’m starving. Let’s order something.”

  I carefully maneuvered Little Gabe into his booster seat and then pulled out a chair for Sabrina. She sat down with much more grace and elegance than I was expecting and even said thank you. When she caught me staring, she said, “What?”

  “You have manners now?”

  “Elizabeth taught her,” Gabe said. “She’s coming along.”

  Sabrina cut her eyes at her father, but he ignored her and sat down.

  I took my seat just as the waiter arrived. He poured water for Gabe and Sabrina and handed out menus.

  “Any recommendations?” I said to Gabe.

  “The ribeye is fantastic.”

  “Ribeye. Damn. Can’t remember the last time I had that.”

  “Life is short. Enjoy it.”

  I opened the menu and found a piece of card stock inside. The writing on it was done by hand in elegant, flowing script. The message stated that Columbian roasted coffee was now available.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  Everyone looked at me.

  “What?” Sabrina asked.

  “I guess I’m not Walden’s only customer.”

  Sabrina looked confused. “Who?”

  “Jake Walden. Caravan merchant. He’s supposed to be delivering four-thousand pounds of coffee beans to Hollow Rock. I hope he isn’t skimming.”

  “He’s not,” Gabe said.

  I looked at him. Of course he knew who Walden was. All roads led to the Springs, and if a caravan came through town, the Blackthorns almost certainly had men guarding it. Gabe, being one of the company’s highest executives, would know all about it.

  “How much was he hauling?” I asked.

  “A lot more than two tons.”

  I thought that over. “Heard of any other merchants coming through with coffee?”

  “Supposed to be another shipment in two weeks.”

  “From California?”

  “Yep.”

  “Damn. How are the Colombians getting it here so fast?”

  “Merchant freighter. Small one.”

  I pondered the implications of that. “Where are they getting fuel?”

  “Ethanol,” Gabe said. “Make it themselves and convert the boat engines to run on it.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  Gabe shrugged. “Same way as everything else, I imagine. Scavenge and improvise.”

  I put the card down and closed the menu.

  “The coffee any good?” I asked.

  “I like it.”

  I looked at the waiter. “I’ll have a cup of coffee, and the ribeye and roasted potatoes. But could you bring the food out a little later?”

  “Of course,” the waiter said.

  Everyone else ordered. Gabe and Sabrina both got the ribeye as well. Allison ordered pancakes for her and Little Gabe. The kid got maple syrup, and Allison asked for peanut butter and a side of pickles.

  Sabrina squinted at her. “Peanut butter and pickles?”

  “If you ever get pregnant,” Allison said, “you’ll understand.”

  “Yeah, that’s a negative.”

  Gabe glanced at his daughter but said nothing.

  The food came for everyone but me. As promised, the waiter brought my coffee first and gave me time to drink it. I did so slowly, evaluating the flavor. Two tons of the stuff was on its way to my warehouse in Hollow Rock, so it was only prudent to sample the goods. It was not bad. Not as good as some I’d had before the Outbreak, but a damn sight better than herbal tea brewed from whatever non-poisonous weeds people could scrounge up. If the Colombians kept producing and shipping this stuff, I might be looking at a whole new line of business.

  “Hatching a plan to be the next Starbucks?” Gabe said, reading my mind like he always did.

  “How’d you know?”

  “You’
re staring at that coffee like you want to kiss it.”

  “Maybe I do. Haven’t had any in years.”

  A strange look crossed Gabe’s face. “Funny. You’re the third person to say that to me today.”

  The good-natured expression was gone, replaced by his usual brooding scowl.

  “Something bothering you?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, “We’ll talk later.”

  I nodded, not liking Gabe’s tone. He had mentioned during one of our calls a couple of months ago he was doing freelance work as a consultant for the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force. I had advised him against it, but he had assured me his involvement was strictly advisory. But knowing Gabe the way I did, it was not a leap to assume he was more entangled in the city’s intrigues than he had let on.

  Not for the first time in our long friendship, I wondered what kind of trouble Gabe had gotten himself into.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gabriel,

  Western Estates Hotel

  Over lunch, we caught up.

  Allison talked about the baby. It was a girl. I knew that already—Eric and I talked once a week via satellite phone—but I acted impressed anyway. She planned to have the baby here in the Springs where the best medical care money could buy was available. I told her that was a sound decision.

  Eric explained to Sabrina about his business interests in the Springs, and what he hoped to accomplish while he was here. Sabrina nodded her head in the right places and made encouraging noises, but I could tell she was not really interested.

  When Eric ran out of things to say, Sabrina told him about the Department of Homeland Security training program she had been selected for eighteen months ago. She had another year of training left to go, after which she would be paired with an experienced agent who would evaluate her performance in the field. If she passed the mandatory twelve-month probation period, she would be assigned to a field office and begin a career with DHS as a federal emissary.

  “Wait,” Eric said, looking up. “You mean…”

  “Black card, baby,” Sabrina said, smiling.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “And you started training when you were fifteen?”

  “Yep.”

  “Jeez. That seems kind of young, don’t you think?”

  Sabrina laughed. “Not anymore it isn’t. All the acronyms are doing it. DHS, FBI, ATF, DEA, Marshals…hell, even the CIA is recruiting people that age.”

  Eric looked offended. “But why? Why kids? Aren’t there enough grownups around for them to prey on?”

  “They’re desperate,” I said. “They want career agents, people who will stick around for the long haul. That’s a lot more likely if they recruit kids and wow them with the promise of excitement before they have a chance to pursue other interests.”

  Eric looked at me. “Please don’t tell me you approve of this.”

  I could feel Sabrina’s glare as I answered. “Not in principle, no. But Sabrina will be a grownup soon, and there are a lot worse careers out there than federal law enforcement. Besides, she’s a lot smarter and more mature than you and I were at her age. She can make her own decisions.”

  Eric obviously had more to say, probably something to the effect of how dangerous it was to be a federal agent these days and how wrong it was to recruit teenagers, but he held it in. I was grateful. It was territory Sabrina and I had discussed at length, and I was not in the mood to endure yet another argument on the subject. And besides, it could have been worse. At least she did not want to join the Army. Or the Blackthorns.

  After lunch, Eric and his family retired to their suite for baths and some well-deserved rest. I pledged to come back in the morning at 9 o’clock and introduce Eric to my boss, Tyrel Jennings. The two were set to discuss a strategic alliance between the Blackthorns and Great Hawk Private Security. I had my reservations about how that meeting would go—the image of two mountain goats stubbornly bashing their heads together came to mind—but I told myself to stay positive. If nothing else, my old friend Lincoln Great Hawk would be there to keep them from killing each other.

  Outside the hotel Sabrina hailed a wagon, kissed me on the cheek, and told me she was going back to the academy to catch the afternoon close quarters combat class. Today they were focusing on pistol fundamentals and she did not want to miss it. I hugged her and told her to be careful, and as her wagon squeaked and rattled away, I tried not to feel too sad at the thought of her growing up and leaving me. We had only just gotten to know each other, and my heart was nowhere near ready to let her go. Having already missed her childhood, the prospect of not being there for even more of her life made me feel old, tired and used up.

  I had expressed these feelings to my wife a few months ago, and after hearing me out, she had said, “Gabe, I think you’re missing the point.”

  “What point?”

  Her thick, wavy hair fell down her shoulders as she sat up in bed to face me. “That you should be grateful. That you’re incredibly lucky to have spent any time with your daughter at all. Do you have any idea how many people there are who would kill for just one more day with someone they lost?”

  A few seconds passed before I responded. “You’re right. You’re always right. I should be grateful.”

  Elizabeth kissed me gently and said, “Love is the hardest thing in the world, Gabe. It opens you up and makes you more vulnerable than anything else ever could. And sometimes it hurts. But would you trade one second with Sabrina to spare yourself that pain?”

  I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

  “Exactly.”

  When Sabrina disappeared from view, I hailed my own wagon and rode in silence to BSC headquarters. As usual, there was a pile of work on my desk. I was glad to see it. I sat down in my chair, picked up a pen, and attacked the papers.

  It was all routine stuff. Procurement needed to replace equipment that was worn out or broken and needed approval before spending company funds. I reviewed the list and signed for the purchase order. Next was a memo from Hadrian Flint, the company’s chief operating officer. The head of security for company headquarters was retiring, and he wanted my input on who to replace him with. I gave him two names and offered to sit in on the interviews and buzzed my secretary. She took the envelope and said Hadrian was out for the day, but she would put the letter on his desk.

  I spent another hour looking over accounts receivable. There were hundreds of names on the list: private citizens, corporations, small businesses, caravan partnerships, etc. The Blackthorns provided security to half the city and many places beyond. Most of the accounts were current, but some were behind. I wrote a memo to the bean counters on the third floor and gave them a list of senior Blackthorns to get in touch with. Our men would try to collect on the accounts, and if they did not meet with success, would notify the parties affected that until their account was current, we would no longer be providing services. If that happened, the senior Blackthorns would notify the bean counters, who would notify me, and I would reassign our people to other jobs. And there were always other jobs. More people wanted to hire us than we had trained personnel to accommodate. Hence Tyrel’s willingness to work out a deal with Centurion National, formerly known as G&R Transport and Salvage, formerly known as Eric and me trying not to starve to death. I still held a minority stake in the company, and my share of the profits had made me wealthy enough that working was optional. I had even briefly considered retiring, but that idea had died a swift death. What would retirement even look like for me? What would I do with all that free time? Unable to come up with an answer that did not make me want to hang myself, I decided my day job was just fine.

  The intercom buzzed, and I looked up from my desk and answered it. “Yes?”

  “It’s five-thirty, Mr. Garrett.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall. “Thank you, Holly.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.” The intercom clicked off.

  I closed the
file lying on my desk, dropped the finished items in a basket by the door, placed everything else in a filing cabinet, grabbed my coat, and headed out.

  *****

  The bar was called Sundowner’s, and it was designed to look like a prohibition era speakeasy. I liked it. The owner kept the lighting dim and made sure an uninterrupted stream of jazz crooned softly from overhead speakers. That alone would have been enough to earn my business, but the waitresses were pretty, the bartenders were competent, privacy was respected, and the drinks did not cost an arm and a leg. If I needed a quiet spot to be alone, or, as was the case tonight, a comfortable place to have a private conversation, this was my preferred venue.

  Kaminsky was ten minutes late. I didn’t mind. He was a busy man. A blast of cold followed him in, and after a few seconds of searching, he spotted my booth, walked over, took off his jacket, and sat down on the bench across from me. One of the waitresses took note and approached our table.

  “Hi, I’m Alana. Can I get you two a drink?”

  Stan looked her over. I could not blame him. The waitress was tall, young, slender, and gorgeous. I imagined she did well in this place.

  “I’ll have a Springbok IPA,” Kaminsky said, referring to a local brew.

  The waitress looked at me. She had short curly hair, her skin was a deep shade of brown, and her eyes were like pools of gleaming midnight. I reminded myself I was a married man, not to mention old enough to be her father, and ordered a Stall’s Reserve.

  “Be right back.”

  Kaminsky watched her go. “Did girls look that good when we were young?”

  “Can’t remember,” I lied. “Too long ago.”

  Kaminsky smiled ruefully. True to her promise, Alana returned a less than a minute later with our drinks.

  “Anything else?”

  “Good for now,” I said.