by Ric Beard
Though they’d expected the truck to stay overnight in the city, Sampson’s people seemed to have different ideas. By the time they’d pulled into range of the tracker Sean and Lexi had attached to the vehicle, it was already exiting the gate. After glancing only briefly at the tracker blip on Moss’s clover-shaped handheld, Sean had nodded and informed him of the truck’s destination.
After all, it had once been his place.
He surmised that the truck had gone inside, its crew having traded in legal goods to acquire money, then routed outside the city to trade in the drugs that were controlled by the OK City government. This mode of operation was very familiar. The fact that the rendezvous point was the warehouse he’d used at the unintended end of his smuggling career also tipped Sean off as to who might be using it. Last time he’d been inside, he’d been trading gems for cash and a specially equipped truck he would’ve used to smuggle contraband in and out of the city for those affluent customers who didn’t venture outside the walls, even just this far.
In retrospect, it’d been a stupid idea.
He’d never used that truck, though, because the man who’d traded it to him had ratted him out to the OK City authorities. Now, standing on a worn fire escape about 100 yards from the warehouse, he spied that same bastard.
Gone was the comical cowboy outfit Carson had worn during their last business exchange. Its replacement shimmered like a silk version of a kung-fu master’s garb. A stiff half-collar surrounded the neck of the silvery garment with a slit cut into the front.
“Asshole took my place,” Sean grumbled. He wagged a crooked finger at the building. “I worked for weeks clearing that shit hole out, paid a pretty penny to have guys leave the city—at a premium, mind you—to sweep it out. ‘Used it one time for a deal, and the bastard I was dealing with is—” he thrust his finger with each word, “—down-there-right-now, doing his dirty business in my place.” He tapped his chest with his thumb to accentuate the latter.
“We’re not here for revenge,” Moss said. “You get that, right?”
Sean felt a scowl cross his face, as Lexi’s voice rang inside his head.
Grow up. Not everything is personal. Keep your mind on business.
“But if we run into trouble and he just happens to get caught in the crossfire…”
“Stone. Unless we can get inside and do our business there, it’s likely your friend is going to be gone by the time the truck rolls past. You sure it’s going to come this way?”
“For one thing, he is not my friend. For another, this is the only way it can come unless they’re going to drive that big rig across a bunch of hard, rockier terrain.” The rectangular light painting the grass and asphalt outside the warehouse folded down on itself as the bay door was closed. “On the other hand, did you say you’d rather do this from the inside?”
Moss raised a barely-perceptible eyebrow from beneath his black hat. “You have a way in?”
“My friend, a good smuggler always has an escape hatch. C’mon.”
“Watch your footfalls,” Moss whispered.
“Yeah, yeah. You sound like Lexi.” Sean tiptoed carefully onto the metal stair leading up the back wall of the warehouse behind a partition that separated the cargo storage from the main loading area. Though he talked a big game, he felt his neck pulsing as he winced with each step.
When they reached the upper landing, he poked his head above the thin wooden panels that covered the lower halves of the rails and peered down.
Sean recognized a few of Carson’s usual entourage standing near the door. His interest was piqued by the OK City military-issue pulse rifles over which their hands were folded because last he’d seen these goons, they’d been carrying private weapons. Eyeing the guy with a barrel chest and thick beard that hadn’t existed last Sean had seen him, he was reminded of his itchy trigger finger.
I wouldn’t mind putting a hole in him, while we’re here.
It wasn’t likely to happen. As Lexi would’ve remind him, the truck was the mission and it was likely Carson would vacate first. That’s how he operated. His paranoia kept him healthy and he would see walking out of the warehouse and into an ambush by the people he’d just dealt with as a rookie mistake. Besides, he was the type to conduct said ambush.
Traitorous ass.
“We should take them down,” Moss’s whisper trickled into Sean’s earpiece.
“Wait,” Sean whispered. “I thought you wanted to stick to the truck.”
“Only because I didn’t want a lot of flashing light this close to the city getting us tagged by a border drone. But in here? We could set off a bomb and no one outside would be the wiser. If they’ve come this far, they’ve probably got quite the load in there. Why not cut off the supply?”
Sean eyed the thick walls and the metal cargo door as he calculated Moss’s words.
“Because Jenna wants to withdraw what she thinks will be thousands of people.”
“Shit. Well, sometimes you have to make hard choices and, if Lexi and Sasha have already started your phase two, I don’t think these runs will be happening much longer.”
“Right.”
He jerked when Moss flicked a loose glove onto his shoulder. “Looks like you’re going to get your revenge, after all.” Shoving his fingers back inside the glove and pulling the bottom with a snap, he flashed Sean a raised eyebrow.
Sean stared down at the figure in the oriental outfit and listened.
“Sorry, my friend,” Carson’s familiar voice said below. “The price has gone up. It’s fifty grand.”
A bulky man wearing body armor Sean suspected had come from trades inside the city, answered. “That’s robbery! Last month it was only forty! What’re you trying to prove, Carson?”
Carson’s men shifted their weights and their weapons simultaneously, setting off a similar shutter in the other group.
“Shit,” Sean whispered. “They might do the job for us.”
Moss’s black hat ticked upward in an otherwise imperceptible nod against the shadowy setting behind him. His gloved had slipped away from his sidearm.
Carson raised his own hands. “Hey, let’s all keep calm, here, buddy. Try to keep a Zen outlook on this, hey?”
Zen. Jesus Christ. Last time it was ‘pardner;’ this time it’s ‘Zen.’
An image flashed in his mind of his last meeting here. ’What the fuck, man? It’s Sean! Don’t be so goddamn trigger happy.’
The man poked Carson’s chest as he spoke. “We ain’t payin’ fifty, mister.” Sean cringed.
The bearded shithead wiggled his rifle as a reminder of his presence. Carson grabbed the larger man’s finger and held it in place.
Sean had to press his cheek against the cool rail above the wood panel to hear Carson’s response.
“I know this is only the second time Sampson has sent you, so I’m going to forgive this one time. When I let go of your finger, you’re going to pull it away and nod your understanding that if you ever touch me again, you’ll be appropriately aerated. Don’t let my stature fool you, sir. I will wind you up like a crank and watch you spin.”
The guy in the battle armor took a step back before Carson released the finger. His bald head shone in the truck’s headlights as he swiveled to look at all the guns now leveled lazily in his direction.
Baldy nodded curtly.
White teeth appeared in the dim light as Carson’s trademark, off-putting, gentleman’s grin appeared.
“Good. Now, it’s fifty, or I can go explain to Alexandra you lost interest, and you can go back to Sampson with that handful of cash and no stimulants.” He shrugged. “Take a minute to think about it, man. I’ll wait.”
Carson strolled up the concrete ramp and conferred with his men. After about a minute, the man spoke.
“We’ll do fifty. But we’re going to look for a different supplier.”
Carson chuckled. “Good luck with that, man. Only other place you can get the shit is from the city, itself. And their powder
sucks, my man. Besides, who you trying to con? I know you don’t make decisions. Hell, the way you keep raising the prices of those vegetables and all that polished metal you bring into the city, you’re still getting off at a profit.”
The warehouse went silent.
“What?” Carson said. “You think we don’t know what you sell, who you sell it to, and for how much? Goddamn, son. Who is it you think you’re dealing with? I work for Alexandra Bingham, my man. That puts me second in a chain where all the other links dangle beneath me. I whip it out to take a piss, and it has to trickle a long way before it reaches fucks like you. You want to cry over ten grand?”
“Man, I don’t like this asshole at all,” Moss whispered.
“What’s not to like?” Sean asked with a grin.
Moss’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent chuckle.
“I’m gonna slide over to that end, and we’ll catch them in a crossfire. Fire once, move a little ways down, and wait for me to fire before you settle. We’ll switch off. I’ll distract, you take them down.” He winked. “I guess you can start with your friend, but use low power. Zero casualties.”
Moss paced silently through the darkness of the upper level and looked back at Sean.
“Ready?” Sean asked.
“Use low power,” Moss said in response. “We’re sending messages, not funeral rigs.”
Moss nodded, stood, and fired.
Here’s a guy with an itchy trigger finger.
The thundering report of his weapon was almost deafening, even in the closed, wide space. Sean tipped to the side and thrust his hand out to stop from falling, as if the sound wave had slammed into him. It occurred to Sean in a fleeting thought that someone who snuck around in the shadows and moved like a ninja had no business with an ear-shattering hip mortar like that, but when he saw the result below, the thought evaporated.
The men scurried like a bunch of rats and, though Moss had intentionally missed, he could tell by their disoriented swaggering, the report of the weapon had done its job. Sean turned his eyes toward Carson, but he’d vanished.
“Dammit,” he muttered.
Pulse flashes ripped through the air and sparked off the aluminum walls behind Moss as Sean raised his rifle and fired. He caught Itchy mid-stride between the ramp and the truck, and his leg folded underneath him as the pulse bolt illuminated his fatigues at the calf. He landed hard, and Sean readied the finishing shot.
“Move first!” Moss barked in a whisper through his throat mic.
Sean ducked to make his move just as flashes erupted from below and tracked over his head. The panel where he’d been standing exploded and wood splinters rained down.
Shit, that was close!
“That’s why I wanted you to move, Stone! So they’d focus on me!”
As he moved to his next position, the roar of the banger caused him to wince again.
“That fucking thing is loud!” he barked.
“That’s why I’m using it.”
“You could’ve warned me, dude.”
Moss chuckled in Sean’s ear piece as another pulse round zinged overhead.
He’s laughing in the middle of a gunfight. What must his life have been like on that OK City special forces team?
A cacophony of sound filled the air as the fire from below reflected the inspired determination of the men with the low ground. Staying low, Sean duck-walked in Moss’s direction and sighted a gap between two panels. When last he’d been here, the door on the warehouse had been a manual monstrosity on rails, but now he noticed it opened from top-to-bottom, and as it slid quietly open, Sean questioned for a brief moment if this was the same warehouse at all.
Carson put in solar panels and added an automatic door. Business must be good. Makes sense, he said he actually works for Alexandra now, instead of contracting. Kiss-ass.
Sean scanned the floor. There’d been nine men down there a moment ago, and he counted five on the floor. A dark hand extended from a gray silk sleeve holding a small pistol, raised over the engine block of the truck, and fired blindly.
The cowards always talk the biggest talk.
Sean looked toward the opposite side of the truck to find one of Carson’s men slipping beneath the scaffolds, right beneath Moss.
Raising his weapon and peering through the sight at the lumbering figure, Sean saw him raising his gun to aim upward. Sean fired, but the blue pulse was a moment too late as Carson’s guy took a step forward. When Sean saw the flash and heard the pulse bolt in reply, he dove into the corner at the top of the stairs.
“We’ve got one beneath us,” Sean said into his throat mic.
“Yeah, we can’t get to the rest from here. I’m gonna drop a stunner on the other side of the truck.”
Sean moved in a crouch as he responded. “What the hell is a stunner?”
“Stun grenade. Really loud.”
“Louder than your gun?”
“Makes it sound like a cricket song. Takes their legs out.”
“Why didn’t you use that in the first place?”
Moss shrugged. “What fun would that have been?”
Sean sighed.
“You got noise cancellation on your ear pieces?”
“Yeah.” Sean fell into position with his back to the cinderblock wall and level his rifle at the stairs. He pressed the earpieces deeper into his canals.
“Fire it up,” Moss said. His head tilted. “And then plug them with your fingers, anyway.”
The ear pieces connected to the frames of Sean’s SmartGlasses via thin wires. Tapping his glasses, he read the display and tapped four times to the sound settings.
“Ready?” Moss asked.
“Not yet, I’m fiddling with the menu.”
Moss grunted impatiently and fired the hand cannon again.
When he found the setting for noise cancellation, he tapped, pushed the earpieces deeper into his canals, and looked up just as a camouflage hat atop a big round head appeared at the top of the stairs. He raised the rifle just as the man’s eyes came into view. Sean sneered as he fired.
The pulse slammed into the man’s forehead, and a flurry of blue light streamed throughout his face like electric worms. The left eye seemed to grow in its socket and then popped like a balloon, sending white fluid down his cheek as he flailed backwards and rolled down the stairs.
“Gross,” Sean said.
“You kill him?” Moss asked.
“Um, yeah. Sorry.”
“I guess it was either him or you. I wouldn’t want to face your sister if it’d been you.”
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever—“
“Grenade away,” Moss said. Sean looked over in time to see the man in black drop and cover his ears, eyes pinched closed beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.
“Stunner!” Someone yelled from below.
“Shit! Out of my way!” Someone he assumed was Carson yelled.
Sean covered his ears just as a loud roar filled the room and seemed to shake the building. A surge of vibration rang through the wall at his back, causing Sean to shiver furiously, and he rolled away. When his eyes flickered open, the black figure was at the top of the steps making his way down. Sean forced himself up against the strange energy coursing through his bones and followed.
Sean found Carson in the opposite corner of the warehouse, far enough from the truck that he wondered how he got there. As he approached the huddled figure, he heard pulse reports and looked over his shoulder. Moss was firing at the disabled men sprawled about the floor.
“I think you got them, chief,” Sean said.
“Better safe than sorry. I’m just stunning them.”
Sean looked to Moss’s hands and saw a strange weapon, black of course, that seemed to loop over the back his hand and had a short, fat barrel. A strange, yellow flash emanated from it as a pulse caused one of the men on the concrete floor to jerk.
“You have the neatest toys.” Sean turned his attention back to Carson. The smal
ler man was writhing and grunting as he tried to turn over. Sean raised his rifle.
Sean looked over his shoulder to find the man in black standing so close it caused him to jerk.
“Goddammit!” Sean said. “How do you do that?” He dropped his hunched shoulders. “And would you please stop it?”
Moss shrugged.
Sean peered down just as Carson’s pushed himself up against the wall behind him. Leveling his rifle at his former business associate’s chest, he watched for the inevitable realization to cross his face. To his surprise, he felt a smile creep onto his.
“Hello, traitor.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A SECOND COAT OF PAINT
22
As her eyes blinked open, Jenna raised her hands to block the blinding strip lighting bearing down on her from the ceiling above her cubed jail cell. When she turned her head away from the offensive glare, she jerked. Her captor stood on the other side of the glass, wearing green pants. But, on top, he wore a purple version of what pop culture had once called a wife beater. The color seemed out of place in the dingy room and adorning what she saw as a filthy man.
Jenna took deep breaths to trample down the sudden adrenal rush at the sight of his piercing eyes, staring down at her.
He wore a wide, yellow-toothed grin, probably because of the way she’d jumped when she spotted him.
Creepy bastard.
Her stomach grumbled.
In an effort to recover her pride, she raised her arms in a long, high stretch, as if his intrusion was par for the course.
Jenna sat up and pressed her back to the glass wall behind the bench bolted to it.
“You think you might feed me at some point? Or don’t you do that for your prisoners around here? I mean, that’s what I am, right? I slept here against my will, so that’s what I’d call it.”
