Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits

by Felicia Watson

  I wished that were true. The peace part. With all of my heart.

  The wind around the trailer park hissed in my ears and teased the loose hairs at my neck. I peered carefully at the dark chasm under Junk’s trailer, which was the only hiding place I could imagine, though you’d have to be pretty small and have a damned strong stomach to crawl about under there….

  When the noise finally came, I admit that I was unprepared for it. I was prowling around like some kind of macho hero, but in all honesty, my mind was far away in both time and place, seduced by the memory of so many things. Aromas of cooking food in Niall’s kitchen; the rustle of clean sheets in the bathroom cupboard; the muted sound of the evening traffic outside the Westbridge block. The pictures he once had on his wall, black and white sketches of a place he used to live, long before his time with the Team. Laughter at our favorite TV comedy show. The feel of his thick, soft hair snagging between my fingers as I ran a hand through it to pull his head toward me….

  I remembered so much more of that apartment than just the bricks and mortar. The same bricks and mortar that had been blown up and left as a devastated mess. I let my attention drift for a few vital seconds just as a dog finally started barking somewhere beyond Junk’s trailer. Was it Dylan? I saw a sudden burst of movement from behind the trailer, and I turned to cover it, but maybe I was just a little too slow. Maybe I was just a little too blinded by the angle of the early sun reflected on the metal plates of the roof.

  Whatever the reason, I never saw any sniper or any gun. I heard a low whistle and that strange whine you sometimes get from a gun that hasn’t been oiled for a while. There was a breath of new wind by my left ear and a distracting flash of brightness.

  Then the shot hit me, and I went down on my knees.

  I remember thinking what a fucking moron I was, not to have sensed the danger. I remember wondering whether Junk was okay, and—even more stupidly—whether the dog was. I remember thinking that people made a hell of a fuss about gunshots, because surely it didn’t really hurt much at all, just a scrape across my flesh and a tearing of my shirt….

  Then the pain flared through me like a hot brand, and the thinking faded swiftly to black, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of disgust.

  Stupid, fucking stupid idiot.

  Tuesday 10:56

  “TANNER?” THE voice was sharp and it hurt my head to listen to it. “Dammit, Tanner, open your eyes and answer me.”

  “Fuck off,” I said, but all that came out of my mouth was a fuzzy mumble. Pissed me off, because I really wanted to get that message through to the person who’d dragged me from my comfortable rest. Because consciousness was far from comfortable. My head hammered and my eyes burned inside the closed lids. It felt like someone was trickling the contents of a boiling kettle down the left side of my body, and judging from the anguished complaints of my nerve endings, this was while someone performed what felt like open-heart surgery on me, fairly clumsily and equipped only with fire tongs. Oh—and without anesthetic.

  I knew the real meaning of “feeling like shit.”

  The voice faded out of my consciousness for a while. I thanked God for that, not that I’ve ever had all that much credit with him. I think some tears rolled down my cheeks, what with the pain and all. Fuck. How embarrassing.

  Then I seemed to be waking again. The pain was duller, though no less uncomfortable. There were a couple of voices in the background this time, and gradually the words became clearer.

  “He’s conscious but he needs to open his eyes, we need to know how badly he’s hurt.”

  Niall’s voice. Nice and strident, of course. God forbid he should make allowances, even as my whole body felt like it had been spiked open to the elements.

  “Fuck off,” replied someone else who wasn’t me. But I admired the sentiment—and the courage. “Who the hell are you to tell him what to do? Fuckin’ suspicious that this all happened just after you turned up.”

  “What the hell do you mean?”

  I peeled an eye half open because, despite my pain, this sounded damned interesting. I could see two blurry figures above me. Guess I must have been lying down; I seemed to be indoors, too. Where was I? My trailer? Someone else’s trailer? On the banks of the Nile? I thought I recognized the unintentionally retro decor of my own living room, but gave up trying to work it out, and concentrated instead on my companions. One of them I already knew was Niall. Turned out the other one was Junk himself. He’d lived on this park since he was a kid; in fact, his mom still lived a few trailers away, and they were surrounded by plenty of other relatives of assorted shapes and sizes, like I might have mentioned before. Junk was the patriarch of the site; his word was wisdom and law and punishment all rolled into one. I liked him a hell of a lot. Think he tolerated me in return.

  Not as tall as Niall, but a damned sight broader, and not one for bothering with first warnings. I knew they’d be a match for each other.

  Junk’s voice was very aggressive. Very. He didn’t take well to strangers.

  “You think we didn’t see you movin’ into Mac’s trailer yesterday, tough guy? A bunch o’ well-armed weirdos sneakin’ in at the crack o’ dawn like there’s good reason to keep out of everyone’s way. And now my dog’s shit-full o’ drugs and Mac is shot and all we got is a snivelin’ little turd who swears he had fuck all to do with it.” Even though I couldn’t focus very well, I could hear the venom in Junk’s gravely voice and see the threatening way he leaned over towards Niall.

  I waited for Niall to respond. Knew he wasn’t backward in coming forward.

  “And so where were you in all this? If that dog’s so excellent at protection, don’t you think that’s suspicious, too, that he’s conveniently out of the way at the first sight of danger? Something or someone must have led the gunman here. He knew his way around well enough that Tanner never saw him coming.”

  “Hey!” I gasped. They were talking like I wasn’t there. Like I’d needed saving, like some kind of newbie who’d failed his entrance exam for the Department…

  “Tanner!” There was a shaky tone to Niall’s voice that may have been because he was trying to get closer to me, but Junk’s large bulk blocked the way. “Don’t try to get up. You’ve been shot.”

  “I know.” I enunciated each word very carefully. “I guessed. The gunshot was a real giveaway.”

  “Fuck you, too,” he muttered, but he didn’t seem to put much heart into it.

  “Junk?”

  “Here, buddy,” the other man said, and now he swam further into focus. Broad, square face, with deeply creased, tanned skin and topped with a buzz cut of iron-grey hair. Bright, fierce eyes and some interesting scars on his neck and shoulders that I’d never really had the nerve to ask about. “You lost a mess o’ blood, and all over my fuckin’ shirt too. Now this other guy’s got some kind of death wish, sayin’ I had somethin’ to do with it. You’re in crap here up to your knees, Mac.”

  Niall wriggled finally in front of Junk, and now I could see him far more clearly as well. His eyes were steely. “Mac?” said his decidedly cool voice.

  I stared at his scowl and grimaced. “That’s me.” That’s what they called me here on the park. I mean, I didn’t deliberately create some new persona for myself, but that was what Junk had called me after I told him my name, and that’s what I became.

  I shifted painfully. Something creaked ominously underneath me, like a spring snapped. Yeah, that definitely sounded like my couch. I had a few questions I knew I needed the answers to, but I wasn’t sure what I should say in front of Junk. Amazing how the training is instinctive even in the face of agony, eh?

  But Niall seemed to pick up on my caution. He leaned a little closer to me and his voice was low and clear, cutting right across Junk’s complaints. “You’re in your own trailer, Tanner. I wouldn’t leave you outside, but we didn’t move you further than the couch. The bullet passed through the flesh of your upper left arm. There’s been some bleeding, but no major arteri
es were cut, nor is there any serious muscle damage. It needs a few stitches, but it’ll heal well with rest and the proper care. You must have twisted at the last minute to avoid the bullet, or else he was a poor shot.”

  Junk gave a loud, dry laugh behind him. “Dylan had his teeth in the guy’s ass. That’s kind of distractin’ for anyone’s aim!”

  I could see Niall’s face screwed up with irritation, and if I hadn’t been so racked with pain, I’d have laughed at the sight. Nice to see it in the context of some other poor bastard’s behavior, not mine.

  “Dylan’s the best, eh, Junk?”

  “Yeah.” Junk growled. Put him beside the large Rottweiler and sometimes you’d be hard pressed to see the difference. Same sharp, black eyes; same frown of suspicion towards strangers; same grim set to the mouth. But I’d never seen Junk’s teeth in anyone’s ass. Yet.

  “Is he okay?”

  Junk nodded. “Been drugged, I reckon. He’s still groggy. It’d take a fuck of a lot to keep him down. When I found him, he was comin’ around and fuckin’ angry. Rarin’ for revenge on someone.”

  “Found him? Where’s he been?”

  Now it was Junk’s turn to scowl. “Taken from the park, Mac. Fuckin’ dognapped. I’ve been lookin’ for him since early mornin’, so it must’ve happened damned early. The bastards who did it would’ve needed a van or somethin’. They’d’ve needed to know about dogs, too, because my Dylan don’t go with just anyone.”

  “Maybe with drugged food….” Niall caught the full blast of Junk’s look of utter contempt. He frowned, but he wisely shut his mouth again.

  “He takes nothin’ from anyone’s hand, ’cept mine.”

  “Or one of your family,” I said quietly, and they both turned to stare at me. “Or from me. Dylan responds to those he knows the smell of. I fed him last month, remember? When you had an… appointment… in town.”

  Junk’s mouth twisted grimly. Only he and I knew he’d been to meet a court date, and I wasn’t breaking his confidence. It had nothing to do with today’s little drama. “Okay. So maybe he was tricked. It’s possible. But he’s sharp, y’know? Not like humans. He don’t usually make a mistake about trustin’ folks.”

  “Where was he?” I was struggling to sit upright until Junk grabbed hold of my good arm and helped me up. He and Niall were standing either side of the couch, like guardian lions at the gates of my personal nightmare. Fuck, but every movement hurt! The pain zigzagged across my chest like a cheese wire through cheddar, and where my knees had taken the brunt of my fall, it felt like they’d been rubbed raw, right down to the bone.

  “In one o’ the warehouses the other side o’ the junkyard. I’d have found him earlier if he hadn’t been muzzled too. He ain’t hurt, but he’ll be cranky for a while, I can fuckin’ tell you.” Junk looked both distressed and furious. Dylan was as cherished as one of his kids, even when he had about twenty of the human variety too. Thank God no one had killed the dog. I wouldn’t have wanted to be this side of the state line when Junk’s fury was unleashed.

  Niall coughed. I didn’t remember him ever being that pale. Made me wonder if my eyes were still focusing properly. “The dog will be fine, you say. But Tanner needs stitches.” His words were fiercely bitten out, like he accused Junk of something. “And pain relief.”

  Junk looked from me to Niall. Then back at me. “Reckon that’s a ‘no’ to a hospital, right?”

  “No,” we both said, in unison.

  Junk grinned. “I’ll call Hans. He’ll deal with it. He’s a fuckin’ good doctor, but just one stupid mistake and they threw him out, no respect for all that skill. Dammit, everyone reckoned the old lady had outlived her time anyway… well, whatever, he’s out with the others, been lookin’ for Dylan with me. The call’s gone out that we found him. The other guys’ll be back soon.”

  “That’s where everyone is?” Niall sounded amazed. “Why the park was so empty? They’re looking for the dog?”

  Junk looked at him like he’d come from some other planet and not bothered to invest in a guide book. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching it. Guess Niall never had pets, himself; I never heard him mention any. “Yeah. We’re a community here, tough guy. We would’ve called on Mac, too, but I ain’t sure about you. Whether you can be fuckin’ trusted.”

  That looked like the final straw for Niall. “Back off!” He took a menacing step toward Junk. “If you’ve got any problem with me, you can bring it outside.”

  “Yeah?” Junk growled back and took his own step forward.

  “Shut the fuck up, both of you,” I said wearily. It’d been enlightening, seeing Niall play the territorial game with Junk, but it was exhausting too. “Niall, I trust Junk completely, as a friend. I don’t see how he could have been involved in anything that disrupted the park. Junk, Niall’s a… colleague of mine, so lay off. Besides, you don’t want to know about his right hook.” I winced, the sudden burst of emotion tugging too painfully at a weakened body. “Can someone fill me in on the bit about the sniveling little turd? Does that mean you caught someone out there?”

  “The dog—” Niall began.

  “Yeah, Dylan got him,” Junk interrupted proudly. “Teeth like ’n industrial clamp.”

  “Once he bit that ass, he never let go?”

  Junk grinned back at me. Niall rolled his eyes.

  “The sniveler?” I prompted.

  They looked at each other, then looked over to the archway to my kitchen. I turned my aching head and stared at a man I’d not realized was there at all. Possibly because he was trussed to the kitchen stool and gagged like a turkey for Thanksgiving and would’ve had extreme difficulty making any kind of original sound, let alone coherent words. The lower half of his face was bound by a large, tightly knotted scarf. It was one of Junk’s; he always wore an amazing array of brightly colored neck scarves, an unexpected sunburst of personal expression in amongst the habitual denim and leather. I stared at our captive, and frightened eyes met mine.

  It was Greg, Simon’s young assistant.

  I WAS momentarily speechless with the shock.

  Greg seemed to have stopped sniveling by now, as Junk had called his frightened whimpering. Or maybe it was the sore effect of Dylan’s bite marks in his butt.

  “Take off the gag,” I said hoarsely, in Niall’s direction.

  “In a moment.” Niall pulled up the card table beside the couch, and sat on it, facing Greg. He rolled his gun around in his hand, making it pretty damned obvious that he slept, ate, drank and possibly starred in wet dreams with it, until Greg’s fascinated eyes started to glaze over. Then, having made whatever point he wanted, Niall leaned forward and unfastened the scarf.

  “It wasn’t me!” were the young man’s first words. Sounded like one of the kids on the park after a baseball and cracked window incident. He looked a bit like a kid, too, his blond hair sweaty and tangled, his eyes wide and scared. He spat out some threads of cloth and the words tumbled out swiftly. “For God’s sake, Niall, it wasn’t me who shot him!”

  Niall’s lips were closed tight. I’d seen this “silent torture” strategy before. It was damned effective.

  “Look!” Greg cried, wriggling in his chair. “You’ve taken my gun already and checked it. It’s not been fired, has it? And did you find any other weapon on me?” I glanced over at Junk and he shook his head slightly. Obviously Greg’s Department-issued gun had been clean, and there’d been nothing else found on him. “Tanner!” Greg was casting that pleading look over to me, now.

  “Not a whole lot of other suspects,” I said softly. “And it’s not as if you were just passing.”

  Greg grimaced. “I know, I know. You were never meant to know I was here. Simon sent me, as extra security, you know? Jeez, I was just scoping out the place, wondering why the hell it was so quiet, when I saw something around the back of that trailer. But when I went to look, suddenly that dog leaped at me, attacking me!”

  “Something around the back of the trailer,” I repeate
d. I instinctively knew a firm approach would be the best way to unnerve a young type like Greg. I stared back at him, my gaze kept as steady as the throbbing in my arm allowed. Beside me, Niall slid his fingers up and down the gun barrel. Junk stared at the pair of us, obviously intrigued by the bizarre double-act.

  Greg started to stutter. “I tried to catch it—him—tried to see who it was. But just as I got close, I heard the shot, and saw someone run off. And then, like I told you, the fucking dog—”

  Junk growled, rather like the dog himself, and Greg flushed bright red.

  “What did you see, Greg?” That was Niall—a low but sharp tone. Like a fingernail dragging slowly down a stone wall.

  Greg looked panicky. “Not enough. God, if only I’d run faster… I think it was a guy. The figure was short and slim, but he ran like a man. There was just the one shot, then I turned to come back toward Tanner’s, then there was snarling out of nowhere and….” He swallowed, hard, his eyes going wide and flickering uncertainly towards Junk. He looked frighteningly young. I could see him tugging helplessly at the ropes around his wrists. They’d been tied by Junk, so there was no weakness there.

  “You were sent to watch Niall? To watch me?”

  Greg flushed. For the very first time, there was a flash of slyness in his expression. “I know, I thought it was odd too. Simon… well, he’s not always himself nowadays.” He suddenly seemed to think he’d been indiscreet, because the panic returned and he gabbled quickly, “No, forget that, of course, I wouldn’t say anything out of turn. He said Judith agreed to it. I was to come and add support around the trailer park, check out any strangers, you know.” He shrugged, and there was the return of his usual clear, naïve look. “You know what he’s like. How he worries. That’s Simon.”