Barrel of Monkeys

by Tymber Dalton

  But when my time comes, Hannibal, you will be begging me for mercy.

  And she would give none.

  Not a single ounce of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I wonder if I’m a sociopath.

  Gia thought this as she drove toward the station.

  Yes, she’d undergone routine, periodic psych evals as part of her job. But shouldn’t killing those thugs have left her with…

  Something? Some crisis of conscience, beyond guilt over Nick’s death?

  Anything?

  She felt nothing over the other men’s deaths. No remorse over the men she’d personally executed.

  Then again, maybe some of what she went through as an MP had already hardened her soul and accomplished that feat long before her almost fifteen years as an LASD deputy.

  When Gia returned to the station, Mike immediately found her. “We have a problem, Chief.”

  Yet another person calling her that when it was the last thing she wanted to be. “What now?”

  “The National Guard kids don’t want to bury their guy here. They want to take him back north.”

  She closed her eyes and counted to three. “Are they aware it’s summer in California? Not like we can stick him in the freezer like a goldfish.”

  “Um, yeah, tried to tell them that.”

  Think, Gia. “Okay, get him in a body bag, at least. And get the other guy into a body bag, too. Then run over to Marlowe’s, near the medical center. Tell them it’s an emergency and you need a transport coffin. Maybe they’ll have one. If not, get something. Take one of the National Guard guys with you, and a truck.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Was I not clear?”

  “Um, they’ll want me to pay, don’t you think?”

  “Then sign whatever they put in front of you as a duly sworn representative of the LASD. Just don’t tell them we’re clearing out of town in a day or so.”

  “Oh. Okay. What if there’s no one there?”

  She’d started to turn away. She turned back. “Then break in and take something. And make sure there’s not someone already in it if you do.”

  As he left to do that, she headed for the office again. Her office.

  Well, only for a little longer.

  She finally had to lay the Baynes family picture facedown on the desk. She couldn’t bear to look at it. Baynes was dedicated. He wouldn’t have just up and left his family. If he didn’t make it back, it was because he couldn’t make it back.

  One of her deputies knocked on the open doorway as she prepared to log in to the computer system.

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh, Chief? Just wanted to let you know that two of those three guys have records. No outstanding warrants, though.”

  “For what?”

  “The one just for petty shit. Shoplifting, a public intoxication, and a forgery.”

  “Which one was clean?”

  “The Army guy.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Misdemeanor sexual battery. Conviction, but he had an arrest for felony sexual assault last year where the charges were dropped because the victim disappeared.”

  Answers that question.

  She sat back in her chair. “Who else is here in the station besides you?”

  “Carlisle and Ambrose are floating around here somewhere.”

  “Okay. Anything on the cell feed from the three of them?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “The Army guy stayed out of it. Sat on the far side of the cell despite the other two trying to pull him into their little chat. The other two are planning on trying to stay together once we let them loose, ambushing a family with kids or someone who’d be easy to threaten and take their stuff, and then haul ass after doing some burglaries.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He nodded. “And the guy with the petty arrest record was the one making the suggestion.”

  That helped her make up her mind about what to do with them. “Okay. Give the two oldest National Guard kids keys to a marked squad and handcuff keys. Make sure they’re armed. Cuff the Army guy. Tell them to drop him down south at the junction, and he can find his own way from there. Tell them to keep him farking cuffed until they’re letting him go, and make sure one of them stands back with his weapon and covers the other.”

  She thought about that and realized she didn’t want another death on her hands if she could avoid it. “Scratch that. Have them deliver him to our deputies down at the roadblock, let them take Army guy and release him. Order the Guard kids straight back here after they deliver him.”

  “Okay. What about the two with records?”

  “We’ll deal with them shortly. Anything from the cell with the other two?”

  “Nope. They haven’t even messed with the drunk guy in there. They just sat down and are waiting. The one guy, the big black guy? He said something about despite their skills they wouldn’t be busting out of here, and not wanting to get shot.”

  Hmm, smart men.

  “Can you please bring me a PortaScan?” she asked.

  “Sure. You going to talk to them alone?”

  “I’m going to have them stick their hands through the access hole. They try anything, they can sit in there until the apocalypse is over or hell freezes, whichever comes first.”

  “Can I ask why you don’t want backup?”

  “Because I think they won’t talk with a lot of witnesses. I think they’re military. Active, not National Guard.” What she didn’t want to add was her suspicion that they might be more than just military. Maybe they were special ops. If they were, they definitely wouldn’t talk around her people.

  “Then let me get you that scanner.”

  “Thanks.”

  While Gia waited, she finished logging in to the system. The situation looked even worse than just a few hours ago. Death estimates had taken a meteoric rise, now well over the two million mark.

  How the hell do you even count that many bodies?

  Even the anthrax attack last year had killed less than ten thousand. Sickened more than that, and triggered a panicked mass exodus from the LA basin, but the deaths had been mostly limited to people in the locations where the terrorists had simultaneously released the agent. For months after, in Santa Clarita, they’d had a reduced crime rate and calls for service due to the drop in population.

  Only recently had those slowly risen again as people began returning to the region. If not for that, the death tolls now could have been a lot worse. Experts estimated the LA region had permanently lost over a million residents in the wake of the anthrax attacks.

  It was bad enough they’d lost nearly three hundred deputies and LAPD officers, in addition to almost two hundred LAFD and other first responders, to anthrax before they realized what they were dealing with.

  Hence why she now had Mike assigned to her station, the Academy doing its best to pump out new recruits as fast as they could to backfill the severely strained force.

  I’m tired of this.

  A wave of exhaustion, not just physical but mental, emotional, and spiritual swept over her. Slumping in her chair, she stared at the screen, overwhelmed. She knew the numbers translated into flesh and blood citizens.

  The US had never seen a disaster of this magnitude before.

  No one had.

  Well, North Korea had, but they certainly hadn’t had time to dwell upon it. Not when most of them had been vaporized.

  Then there were places around the globe where Kite was devastating the local populations. India, Pakistan, Indochina. Even Australia wasn’t immune to the virus, reports of it spreading along the north and west shores surfacing at an alarming rate. Mexico City had picked it up from a plane from Colombia. Parts of Brazil had gone dark. Sections of Europe were being impacted.

  The UK had closed its borders, their military forcibly sinking or downing all ships and airplanes who attempted unauthorized landings. They’d even closed the Chunne
l, installing a thick concrete barrier to prevent anyone from coming through.

  New Zealand and Hawaii, so far, seemed unimpacted. So did Iceland and Greenland. Islands in the Caribbean and Pacific. It was only a matter of time, however. Their isolation would only protect them for so long, and eventually they would have to weigh needing supplies from the outside world versus the risk of bringing Kite to their shores.

  Why am I even trying?

  There would always be assholes like the two she now had to dispose of, who would prey on the helpless and innocent. No, she hadn’t been under any illusions when she became a cop. Her stint as an MP taught her that much. She knew the world was a dark place, but that the light tended to overcome everything eventually.

  Now, she didn’t even have that to hold on to. Kite didn’t care how good or evil a person was, young or old, rich or poor. It was a nondiscriminatory agent of death.

  He returned with the scanner. “Here you go.”

  “Just put it on the desk.”

  He did. “You sure you don’t want backup?”

  “Watch on the monitors. If you see anything, come running. Otherwise, let me do this my way.”

  “Okay. You’re the chief.” He left her alone.

  She filed a quick status report with the system, wondering if it was even worth it.

  There might not be anyone left to read it.

  She left out information about their current guests. There would be no more paperwork. It was a waste of time and effort, and it wasn’t like anyone would be filing Internal Affairs complaints against any of them.

  They were well past that point. She still felt zero remorse about killing the guys after the firefight. They’d mowed down poor Nick Edison without a second thought, and likely would have killed all three of the guys from the car, and the other two, if Gia and her men hadn’t shown up when they did.

  Then again, those guys had farking grenades, and a lot more ammo they hadn’t even tapped yet. They likely would have outlasted the truck guys even if we hadn’t shown up.

  After logging off, she grabbed the fingerprint scanner and headed to the holding cells. She’d had them put the two men with the drunk, because he was at the farthest end. She’d wanted plenty of separation between the two sets of prisoners.

  As she walked past the two remaining guys from the truck she didn’t bother looking their way, even though they were standing at the cell door window and trying to see out. They called to her, pounding on the window as she walked by.

  After realizing they weren’t going to stop, she turned, walked back to their holding cell door, and drew her service weapon, pointing it at them through the access port. “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”

  The men jumped away from her, clutching at each other. Then she realized they were both trying to use the other as a shield.

  Fucking cowards.

  The assholes were little more than a waste of precious resources. Then again, people like that usually didn’t benefit society. Once they descended into the bowels of criminal behavior, there was rarely a return to civilized, law-abiding lives. They simply became better criminals, realizing that the return on investment for the risk could pay off.

  And if they ended up in jail? That meant they got fed, air-conditioning, and medical care. They’d do their time, be released, and start all over again, only smarter for having socialized with other criminals during their incarceration.

  Rehabilitation was a joke. Unless you caught a kid early, got them training and help and scared the piss out of them by locking them in an adult ward overnight, even they were usually beyond help by the time they turned eighteen.

  Adults, unless their crime was one of desperation because of a starving family or sick relative, were nearly always turned into better criminals by their jail time.

  God, when did I become so jaded?

  She reholstered her sidearm and walked down to the last cell. The drunk was still snoring, facedown, on the floor.

  The other two men, sitting on a bench and appearing relatively relaxed, looked up at her arrival.

  “He give you any trouble?” she asked, tipping her chin to indicate the drunk.

  The black guy smiled, broad and beaming. Damn, he was cute. Really short hair, like maybe he usually shaved his head and it was growing back now, and built like a farking tank. The other guy was a cutie, too. Blue eyes and brown hair and while muscular, he looked more like an athlete than a battering ram when compared to his partner.

  Both men stood. The black guy was a couple inches taller than the white dude, and he was apparently in charge. “Naw,” he said. “Just snoring a little. I think he might have pissed himself at some point, but we kept an eye out to make sure he didn’t puke and aspirate.”

  She liked that answer. Better, she liked the confident tone he delivered it in. Not quite cocky, but without a hint of condescension, either.

  “Thanks. So what’s your name?”

  “Omega.” He hooked a thumb in the other man’s direction. “This here is my partner, Echo.”

  She was shocked that a little, tiny part of her felt a pang of disappointment. “Ah.”

  Omega laughed. “Not that kind of partner. We’re straight.” He finally walked over to the door and she realized just how much she had to crane her head back to look up to meet his gaze.

  Holy hell.

  “So what needs to happen next, ma’am?” he asked.

  Again, no condescension. More like military deference, once again reinforcing her gut instinct about them. “You’re going to turn around, arms behind you, and stick your hands out that access hole there. I’m going to fingerprint you and then we’ll see what happens.”

  “I’d prefer we didn’t get printed.”

  Of course it couldn’t be that easy. “Sorry, but I didn’t ask your opinion. You going to do it? Or do I need to get a couple of guys in here to tase your asses?”

  “We’re on a mission. If you take our prints, it could put everything in jeopardy.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, buddy, the world as we know it is coming to an end. You are, frankly, not my highest priority.” She shrugged. “Sit in a cell all night. I don’t care.” She started to walk away.

  “I heard you’re in the market for a new demolitions expert,” he called out.

  That stopped her in her tracks. She backed up and met his brown gaze through the glass. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “The two who brought us in. They were talking in the front seat. Brilliant plan, by the way. But if that kid who died was your only explosives guy, you’re going to either need a new plan, or a new guy.”

  “Then start talking.”

  “How about a little quid pro quo?”

  She honestly couldn’t tell if the guy was full of shit or not. “How about I remind you you’re the ones locked in a holding cell, soldier.”

  One eyebrow arched up.

  Damn he was cute.

  “You former military?” he asked.

  “I was an MP. Two years in Manila, two in Alaska.” He didn’t need to know about her three months in Guam. In fact, no one outside the military, or outside of the Pentagon, knew about that.

  Echo laughed. “How the fark you land yourself in Alaska?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t fuck a guy and nearly ripped his balls off.”

  Both men winced, giving her more than a little smug satisfaction.

  “Okay,” Omega said. “So then you know about military protocols.”

  “You could say that, yeah. Been a while since I was in. Got out when I was twenty-two. Went in right after high school.”

  “So how long you been a deputy?” Echo asked.

  “Fourteen years with LASD.” She laughed. “I’m a captain promoted to station chief as of this morning. You believe that shit?”

  “Not that this station will be around much longer,” Omega observed.

  “You got that right. I’m guessing three days at the most. If we’re damn lucky. And that’s doubtf
ul.” She studied the men. “So you’re what, special ops?”

  “Ever hear of the SOTIF program?” Omega asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s only been around four years, so I doubt you would unless you have friends who are still in. It’s a grueling process. People on SOTIF teams make the former special ops teams from the different military branches look like pussies by comparison.”

  “Now you have my interest,” she said. She knew he was stalling her, but if he was talking, she’d listen.

  “Special Operations and Tactical Infiltration Force,” Omega said. “There are at least ten teams of twenty, that we’re aware of. Not our job to know all of it. Our unit designation is SOTIF1.”

  “Guess that makes you guys extra special, huh?”

  “You could say that. And we were doing recon to get our unit out of Altadena when we ran into those jokers and their little makeshift roadblock.”

  “Your unit?”

  “The rest of our guys. And some special cargo.”

  “More grenades?”

  He smiled. “Time for that quid pro quo to kick in. Then we’ll talk some more.”

  “Well, until I can take your prints and prove who you are, you ain’t going anywhere.”

  “Even if I can point you to not one, but two highly skilled demolitions and explosives experts?” He’d held up one finger and ticked up a second as he talked.

  That gave her room for pause. “You two are demolitions experts?”

  “Not us. But two of our guys in our unit are, yes.”

  “And how do I know you ain’t just blowing smoke up my ass?”

  “You still got phone or sat-phone here?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Then take down these numbers.” He rattled off a series of digits she had to scurry to write down on her notepad, including a security access code. “Ask for Bubba. He’ll probably pretend he doesn’t know who or what the hell you’re talking about. But then you say, ‘Need a confirmation about a worker bee.’”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on, seriously?”

  “Seriously. When he asks you what hive you’re with, tell him you’re a free-range drone in serious need of a honeycomb. Say it just like that. He’ll give you a number to call. Be ready to write it down because he won’t repeat it. When you call that next number, tell the man on the other end who you are, including your badge number, your former enlistment number, all that good stuff about yourself. He’ll probably say he’ll call you back. Be ready to take his call if he does that, because you don’t want to keep him waiting.”