by Tom Fowler
He needed to paint. Tyler looked at the clock on the wall and counted down the hours until he could leave.
Tyler set a large pizza on the kitchen counter. He’d clocked out a little early from the shop, and after the second time Smitty called him a jumpy bastard, he figured it was time to pack it in. The security app threw alerts to his inbox several times, and once to text, but it turned out to be the mailman. At least the USPS vehicle came through clearly on the camera.
Lexi padded downstairs and smiled when she saw the white cardboard box. “Good call, Dad.” She got two plates out of a cupboard and used one to hold two slices of pepperoni. “You’re home a little early.”
“Yeah.” Tyler pulled a beer from the fridge. He held it up so Lexi could see it; she shook her head. “If you go in early, you get to leave early. Besides, not sleeping well took a toll on me.” Tyler joined his daughter at their square kitchen table. “I’m not sure I was doing much good there today.”
“If I were home, I would’ve taken a nap before lunch,” Lexi said. “Philosophy was boring. I probably dozed in my chair a couple times.”
“You saw the alerts come in?”
She nodded. “If those assholes roll down this street, we’ll know about it.”
Tyler didn’t respond. He busied himself devouring his first slice of pizza. It didn’t escape Lexi’s notice. “What’s going on?” she asked, setting her slice down and crossing her arms.
“We’re having dinner. I’m also having a beer.” To accentuate this point, Tyler took a long draught from the bottle.
“Don’t bullshit me, Dad. You’re up to something.”
“Fine.” Tyler wiped his mouth and leaned back as much as the wooden chair would allow. “I want you to stay with your grandfather for a few days . . . until this mess blows over.”
She glared at him. “Seriously? Did you run this by him?”
“No,” Tyler said. “I’m sure he’d love seeing someone under seventy on campus, though.”
“You’re really going to send me away?”
“Think about it. The cartel knows about me, so they also know about anyone connected to me. You’re easy enough to find because you live here. Your grandfather’s a little harder to get to. The place has a security gate. Guards. Cameras. Sure, they could shoot their way in, but it’s not a good tactical play.”
“And if they do,” Lexi said, “Grandpa has enough guns to hold off a whole regiment.”
“Exactly.” Tyler nodded. “If they come for me here, it’s only me. You’ll stay safe, and you can be mad at me all you want, but keeping you out of harm’s way is my first job.”
Lexi uncrossed her arms and took a deep breath. “You’re probably not my favorite person right now, but I get it.”
“Good. I want you to take the Patriot laptop, too. We’ll probably need to figure out a few more things along the way.”
They each ate half the pizza. Tyler pushed his plate away when he finished. He couldn’t have forced another crumb. Lexi broke the silence by asking, “Why don’t you and Grandpa get along well?”
Tyler let out a dry chuckle. “How much time do you have?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he said. When Lexi’s stare told him she wanted an answer, Tyler put up his hands. “There’s a lot to unpack. The biggest answer is I think he felt I was a disappointment.”
“Really?” Lexi frowned. “How?”
“He’s tried to tell me all service is good, but I know he wanted me to go into the navy. I would have been the third generation to do it.”
“Why didn’t you?” Lexi said.
“It’s kind of a lame reason.” Tyler paused and shook his head. “I get seasick. Always have.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m not a big fan of flying, but I can manage it. Put me on a boat, though, and it’s all over.”
“Wow. I had no idea.” Lexi grinned. “Now I know why you never wanted to go fishing.”
Their phones vibrated. A no-frills email showed a car passing the first camera. Tyler’s hand went to the M11 on his hip. Lexi fetched a shotgun from the living room. Both their texts went off a few seconds later. The same car approached the end of the street. Tyler moved beside the window and peeked out. The vehicle stopped at their neighbors’ house. New homeowners. Tyler didn’t remember their names.
A lone man got out, dropped something off on the porch, and drove away. Tyler relaxed. It served as a reminder they couldn’t let their guard down until the cartel was no longer a threat.
15
While Lexi packed, Tyler sat in his spare bedroom-turned-studio. A fresh paper waited for him. When he first started therapeutic painting, he tried to force a certain image or design. Eventually, he learned to trust the process. His subconscious would tell him what to draw. It sounded like psychobabble the first time Tyler heard it—and it still did if he thought about it—but he couldn’t deny it worked.
He picked up a wide brush, closed his eyes, and took a few calming breaths. When he opened them again, he mixed some colors and painted an ominous blue sky at the top. Using black, he drew the outline of a squat building on the right and a ribbon of road on the left. Tyler rinsed his brushes and waited for another bolt of inspiration.
A thin brush helped him trace the outline of a car, then a figure. He spent several minutes and a few different shades filling everything in. When Tyler finished, he felt mentally drained but also like he unloaded a burden he’d been carrying around. He left the room while everything dried. Lexi assembled a roller bag, a bookbag, and a laptop case near the front door. She rinsed her reusable water bottle in the sink. “I’m still not happy with you,” she said as she dried the metal cylinder.
“You’ll survive to be unhappy with me another day,” Tyler said. “It’s what I care about.”
“I know.” She filled the bottle using the cold water dispenser in the fridge. “I’m sure Grandpa will be glad for the company. I don’t expect I’ll have a good time, but it’s just temporary.” She smirked. “When we both survive this, I’ll tell you how much of a jerk you were to send me away.”
Tyler walked into the kitchen, and they embraced. “Take care of yourself, kiddo. If the worst does happen, listen to your grandfather. He probably has defense plans for just about any scenario. Hell, I’m sure the security director there blocks his calls.”
Lexi giggled. “That sounds like Grandpa.” She picked up the smaller bags, and Tyler carried the larger one. They loaded everything into the Accord. Tyler figured she took it because charging the Tesla wasn’t a guarantee, but he was glad she logged some miles on the car they restored together. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.” He waved as Lexi backed out of the driveway and took off down the road. Tyler walked back inside and returned to his upstairs mini studio. He never focused on what he painted as it was happening, but the results always fascinated him after the fact. A stormy sky dominated the top of the paper. A short building looking a lot like Smitty’s filled the right side. Behind a sports car, a giant lay dead, his blood running into the nearby street.
Orlan said they would meet again. Tyler knew he’d be ready.
Lexi put her stuff in her grandfather’s extra bedroom. It was even more spartan than the rest of the unit. A double bed, a small dresser, and a nightstand—all the same boring medium brown—were the only items in the space. Even the closet was empty. Most people used a spare room to store boxes and piles of extra crap. Not Zeke Tyler. He didn’t own extra crap to begin with.
“Will it work?” her grandfather asked.
Lexi smiled. “It’s fine.”
“Your dad could’ve phoned me, you know. I would’ve said yes.”
“You know him,” she said.
“His whole life.” He paused. “What happened? You talked about some cartel when you called.”
“Yeah.” They walked to the living room, which served as the main area of the condo. It joined a small dining s
pace and average-sized kitchen, and Lexi figured the place touted the “open concept” layout she saw on every home renovation show. Down the hall were the two bedrooms and second bath. The flooring looked like authentic hardwood, and whoever painted the unit did so recently and well. Her grandfather hadn’t put up many decorations. A few family photos and some navy memorabilia were it. “A woman dropped off some car at the shop where Dad works.”
“Figures this is all over a woman,” her grandpa said with a chuckle.
“I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Your father was a bit of a skirt chaser before he met your mother.”
“Gross, Grandpa.” Lexi fought a losing battle with a shudder at the thought of her dad being a player. It was a long way from the man he was today. Once she pushed past that, Lexi remembered her mom’s last email. She needed to reply at some point. Despite leaning against going earlier, she now thought she might as well. Maybe it was lingering anger at her father for shipping her off here. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t seen her mother in a long time. “The girl was really into cars,” she said. “The problem is her boyfriend got pissed she took it there. She ended up dead, he and dad got into it, two guys got shot in the shop, and now the cartel knows who Dad is.”
The old man nodded. “Your father’s always had problems letting things go.”
“They murdered a woman for no reason.”
“I know,” he said. “It wasn’t your dad’s problem until he made it his problem, though. People get killed over dumb shit all the time.”
Lexi frowned. “I’m beginning to think I should go back home.”
Her grandpa waved a hand. “No, it’s probably better you’re here. I didn’t mean to upset you. You have dinner yet?” She nodded. “All right. I didn’t have anything planned for tonight. Just going to watch TV.”
“I think I’ll do some homework.” She offered a small smile. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
A grin split the old man’s face. “Sure thing. If I don’t see you before I turn in . . . good night.” He stood, and Lexi heard his knees creak. “Oh, in case anything happens, there’s a shotgun under your bed.”
“Of course there is,” Lexi said. She returned to the second bedroom. Without a desk to work at, her laptop earned its name while she sat on the bed. Lexi opened her mother’s most recent email and typed a reply.
* * *
Mom,
I’d love to see you. The next few days probably won’t work, so maybe we could do sometime next week? Let me know, and I’ll schedule something.
Love,
Lexi
* * *
Her father said she could do what she wanted with her mom’s invitation, but she knew he’d prefer she not go. It felt a little petty, but Lexi liked the thought of making him angry over something.
Héctor gathered his men in the living room. He took a color printout of John Tyler’s face and taped it to the wall. “This man cost us two of our own. He’s our target.”
“Let’s get him!” Rodolfo said.
Héctor put up a hand to calm his younger cousin. “Before we do, I want everyone to know what’s going on. We cannot take this man lightly. Besides killing Pedro and Patricio, he was an American soldier for a long time. He’s dangerous.”
“Look how many of us there are.” Rodolfo stood and started counting.
Héctor cut him off. “I can add, cousin. Sit down. If you talk again, you can go back home.” Rodolfo scowled, but he sank onto the couch. Héctor affixed a second paper to the wall beside the first. “This is his street. He lives in Baltimore. There’s one way in and one way out. We can surround his house with a six-man crew and take him out.” Héctor paused. “He has a daughter.” A few of the men smiled and perked up. “She’s not part of this. If she ends up a casualty, so be it, but no one is to go after her unless you have to.” The enthusiasm dampened as quickly as it rose. Héctor grinned. “If you capture her, I don’t care what you do with her. Or how often.” It was amazing how quickly morale returned to the ranks.
Héctor pointed at the Google Maps photo of John Tyler’s street. “Two vehicles. Three men in each. Danilo and Videl, you head it up.” Both men nodded. They were experienced operatives. Some of the younger guys might fly off the handle and get too eager about kidnapping a pretty girl. Danilo and Videl would keep their eyes on the target.
“Get ready,” Héctor said. “I want you to roll out in fifteen minutes.”
16
Later in the evening, Tyler sat in his bedroom and sent Lexi a text to ask how everything went at her grandfather’s. They’d be a good pair. Zeke moved to an active adult community a few months ago, and he’d basically enjoyed the run of the place ever since. Maybe he sought an audience. Tyler didn’t inherit his father’s extroverted nature, but he’d seen plenty of people drawn to it over the years. Lexi, by contrast, would be happy to stay in her room, do schoolwork, and listen to music.
If the worst happened, Zeke picked a condo he knew would be easy to defend, and they were both good shots.
Tyler’s phone vibrated. Lexi replied. We’re fine. Enjoying a couple beers after shooting a dozen cartel lackeys. How are you? He smiled and shook his head. She’d gotten the morbid sense of humor from him.
Tyler typed a response. I hope you took care of at least half. Your grandfather is 75. Don’t make him work too hard. His phone vibrated again. Too fast for another text even considering Lexi’s thumb speed. The security app sent an alert. Tyler looked at the feed. Two Jeep Wranglers, their tops open on a pleasant fall evening, drove slowly down the street. Each showed two men in front plus another standing in the back.
With guns.
Tyler slipped a bullet-resistant vest over his head and strapped it on. He turned off the lights in the room and then crouched at an open window facing the street. Another buzz from his phone. The lead Jeep’s headlights passed the pole with the second camera. Tyler picked up the M4 carbine he’d left in here earlier. A suppressor protruded from the muzzle, and the weapon was in semiautomatic mode. He activated the night vision scope and surveyed his adversaries.
All looked to be men in their twenties or thirties. The drivers didn’t have any guns drawn. Each front-seat passenger held a pistol, and the two in the back both carried handguns, as well. They were likely going to fan out and surround the house. Not a bad tactic, and six men could cut off all reasonable avenues of escape.
Tyler didn’t plan to give them the chance.
The Jeeps slowed to a crawl. They remained about a hundred yards away. No one inside seemed to be in a rush to get out. Tyler sighted the lead driver, then his passenger. He avoided the rear vehicle’s headlights on the way to the second wheelman, then the second front-seat passenger. Their lips moved. They were probably confirming the plan.
In the army, rules of engagement tied soldiers’ hands in some cases. Don’t fire unless fired upon. Don’t engage without authorization. Here, Tyler felt no such constraints. These men came to kill him, and he would get them first. Simple. The way it should be. Tyler emptied his lungs, put the first driver back in the crosshairs and fired. The man’s head snapped rearward. Tyler moved the gun slightly to his left. A muffled report sounded, and the second guy slumped over dead, too.
By this point, the rear driver’s face showed he knew what was going on. Tyler sent a bullet screaming into it an instant later. The passenger turned to his now-dead compatriot in horror, and then Tyler put a shot into the side of his neck. Four bullets, four dead men. Total time: about two seconds. Not bad for someone who’d never been a sniper.
Panicked voices in Spanish came from the street. Tyler stayed low, carried the M4 downstairs, and exited the house via his side door.
With their drivers dead, the Jeeps remained in place. Tyler switched off the night vision scope and advanced to the crabapple tree in his front yard. He peeked out from it. Nearby driveways sat empty. If the neighbors were out, this would be easier. The two surviving men had a conversation Tyler couldn’t u
nderstand, but their voices conveyed panic and uncertainty. Someone probably told them they’d surround a house and shoot one man inside. An easy job. Not much chance of something going wrong.
Tyler learned a long time ago how no plan survives contact with the enemy. He was ready for them thanks to the cameras, and now two-thirds of their contingent bled from bullet wounds to their heads and necks. “Night not going how you planned?” Tyler called down the street.
Both voices quieted. “Screw you, old man!” one of them hollered back. “We’ll kill you.”
“There were six of you a minute ago. If you’re going to scare me, you should’ve done it before I killed four of your friends.” They didn’t say anything. “If you two don’t want to join them, turn those Jeeps around and get out of here.”
“Come out, you coward,” the other one said. He got off a couple shots which died in the dirt before the tree. Tyler frowned. His suppressed M4 wouldn’t alert anyone. The handgun fire could draw attention he didn’t want.
The two survivors were close to three hundred feet away. Their pistols could hit a target at this range, but they’d need to be good shots. Based on what Tyler just saw, he didn’t think they had it in them. Still, he wore a vest. His weapon was good out to five hundred yards. He exhaled, stepped from cover to the right, and put down a volley of suppression fire through the front Jeep’s windshield.
