Too Wylde (23 page)

"Did you know him?"

"Yes. Jimmy?"

"What?"

"I did something for him."

"What did you do?"

"He asked me load something on the
internet."

"What was it, Lizzy?"

"A drive. Some kind of program."

I sighed. "Okay. We'll talk about it later.
Did anyone see you do that? What computer did you use?"

"The one in back. The lounge. The girls, but
I don't think any of them know what it was. And I gave him back the
drive."

Deon looked at me in the rear view mirror.
"Plan B, oke."

"Yep," I said. "Plan B, all the way and then
some."

Old Hippy with a Silenced Pistol

Had his knife out and cut the old man's
clothes off. Shirt, pants, underwear, tossed aside to one of the
other men huddled in the van, who began to tear the clothing apart.
Old Hippy opened the old man's mouth, used the knife to look under
the tongue, inside the cheeks, lifted the belly fat to look in the
folds, rolled him over and inserted the knife, cut open the anus to
a mild explosion of gas and loose feces, used the tip of the knife
to prod in it.

"Don't open him up in here," one of the other
men said.

"It's not up his ass," the old hippy said.
"Unless he swallowed it, it's either in his clothes or he really
did give it to that fucking stripper."

"We got eyes on her and that fucking PSD. How
the hell does a stripper get a PSD? Those guys were pros! What the
fuck is that?"

"Not in the clothes," the other said. "What
about the wheelchair?"

"Could have been, but I didn't have time to
drag that out, too," the old hippy said. "Where are they running
the girl too? Maybe whoever's paying for that PSD is paying for it,
and her, out of our money."

"Not ours," one said.

"Close enough. We got fat bank coming. Pull
over, let's dump this shit and get back on the girl. Here is
good...."

The driver pulled over and the men in back
dumped Tony Po's body and his clothes in the mouth of an alley,
then drove off."

"We got two guys on a bike tracking them,
vectoring in the other cars," the driver said, head tilted as he
listened to the radio traffic on his head set. "They're going to
put up a Raven in a minute, get you real time from the drone."

"Good," the Old Hippy, whose work name was
Shane, just like the old-timey time movie, given to him by a guy
he'd been through school with who used that expression all the
time...

Mr. Smith, aka Hank

Put the last of the Pelican cases into the
back of his latest Cherokee. Later model, so there was some minor
difference in the back compartment, but his cargo still fit in
there well enough to suit him. He ran his situational awareness
check with his scanners; all good to go. A few laptops, plenty of
cell phones, routers, satellite TV. Nothing directed at him or his
handiwork. He took out another control box, custom made his very
own self, touched it and watched the circuits light up, rows of 4,
all green for good to go. He hit the safe and watched the LEDS all
go red.

M'kay. Happiness.

He got in the car and drove off. Bit of a
ruckus down and around in Hmong town right now; lots of people
doing the what the fuck dance: when in danger or in doubt, run in
circles, scream and shout. So, as the good Machiavelli had said in
his epic discourse THE PRINCE: The only means of security that are
sure and lasting are those you see to yourself. In other words, no
back up.

If you want it done right, do it
yourself.

Off he went through the late night streets.
Easy enough. Not like he hadn't done this a timey time or two.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a
beautiful day in the neighborhood, won't you be mine, won't you be
mine...

Pulled into a spot right in front of Votron
Electronics. So what to do?

He got out, plugged the meter, looked at the
sky. Wouldn't be long till light, but this building wasn't going to
be full with staff till mid-morning. Take out the building, take
out the servers, night staff, security, probably a few
all-nighters, but you don't get the big cheeses who wouldn't come
in till their staff had been in, started the coffee, brought in the
bagels.

There were other possibilities. He'd been
slipping a bit, lately, and he still had to account to the Bosses
about this whole thing, gunfighting in the street with the tertiary
target he'd been assigned to. Not looking forward to that.

He jingled the change, looked down the block
and took a stroll. Starbucks, probably deserted this time of night,
but a coffee would be in order. Still line of sight, too.

Walked in. Nobody in the place, but a
half-asleep barista who jumped when he saw Smith's face. Mouth open
to say something, caught himself.

"What can I start for you?"

"Oh, I'd just like some water and a place to
sit down for a bit. And maybe a small brewed decaf?"

"Yes sir."

The kid was young, but a good size, just
about the same height though lighter than Smith. The kid was
careful to not stare at him as he poured a tall glass of water with
ice and lemon, and then put a small cup of decaf next to it.

"Is the decaf fresh?"

"Yes, sir. We brew it fresh every hour."

"Starbucks. Just like clockwork." Smith paid
for his drinks, dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar, sat down by
the window and stared out, ignored the kid. For now.

Drank his coffee and thought dark
thoughts.

Nina and Nico

Her hands on the wheel, picture of the
operator at work. Nico said, "It's been a hell of a day."

"Night is young," she said.

" Be dawn pretty soon."

"Not for this dick head."

"Where we going?"

"Not where they wanted."

She turned off J Street, past the Starbucks
where a single figure sat inside, hat and coat pulled tight around
him, and pulled up behind a new Cherokee in front of a three story
building with a fancy-schmancy sign on it that said Votron
Electronics.

"What the fuck?" Nico said.

"OGA's digs," Nina said. "We're gonna do some
enhanced interrogation here."

"Nina, this isn't my thing. Not what I signed
up for."

She turned to him and got dead in his face.
"Listen to me and listen good. That fucker back there in that car
killed a lot of people. This is how we get things done. We'll get
what we need, and then you can have your due process back, got it?
Once he goes to them, it's not our problem anymore."

"Whoa, okay, cool down, will you? You never
cut me in on what you're doing."

"I'm too busy getting shit done. Are you in
or not?"

"In."

"Let's go, then."

Mr. Pham and his men got out of the Hummer,
pushed the girl along and two of them carried the wounded man.

"This way," Nina said. She bounded up the
stairs, hit the buzzer, held it down. The door buzzed back, and she
held it open. "Let's go." She scanned the street; nobody around,
just the one car in place
weird place, must be an OGA car, but
why would they park there and not in the lot? worry about it
later...
and they all piled through the door.

Inside, at the top of the stairs, Carol the
OGA Chick stood with two burly security types.

"Up this way, through here and into the
back," she said crisply. "We're ready for you."

And up the stairs they went....

Mr. Smith, aka Hank

Watched the sudden flurry of activity out
front with intense curiosity. Did the bosses know this was going to
happen? Did they have somebody watching him right now? Were they
tracking his payload? Or was this one of those Random Finger of God
moments that seemed to be coming on him fast and furious?

His gut told him this was a decision branch.
Now or never.

"Hey son," he called to the barista.

"Sir?"

"You want to make a hundred dollars?"

"What?"

"Look, I know it's just you here, but as you
can see, I have a medical condition, and I forgot to put change in
my meter. It's worth a hundred bucks to me not to have to get up
and go do that. Will you do it? Just take you less than a
minute."

"I can't leave the store...."

"Look around, there's nobody here but you and
me. Think of it as a bathroom break, but you're getting paid. Here,
I'm not bullshitting." Smith held up a crips $100 bill and a
handful of quarters. "Do an old sick man a favor, will ya? Please.
I'm in some pain and I need time for my meds to kick in."

The kid went back and forth about it, then
came around and said, "Where's your car?"

Smith pointed down the block. "There, see
where that Hummer is?"

"Yeah."

"Cherokee, right there. Here's my key fob,
would you bring me the pills on the front dashboard, please?"

"Okay...if anybody comes in, tell them I'm in
the bathroom."

"You bet. Just hit the key fob, it unlocks
the door." He handed the kid the $100 and the quarters, and he was
out the door at a light jog. Smith gave him half way to the car
before he got up and walked out the side door, pushed the button
his box and watched the lights go green, then hurried around and
put the Starbucks between him and the street, started walking away
as fast as his scarred legs could carry him.

Starbucks Barista

Now why the fuck did I let myself get talked
into this?

Oh, okay. A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks,
and that poor old fucker looked like he was dying. Least I could
do.

Past the Hummer, past an unmarked squad car.
There was the Cherokee. Huh? Meter was almost full up, he plugged
in a quarter and it stopped at two hours.

Fucking Lake City. Gouge everybody for what
time they get.

He looked inside the Cherokee, raised the
fob, pressed it.

Guz

Liked his Wrangler. Not the best in a car
fight, too light, too unstable, but it was fine for knocking
around. Hands on the wheel, eyes cutting high on the windshield to
the side mirrors to the rear view, relaxed with that coiled tension
that gave him that little bit of extra speed in the moment.

Slowed for a sign, stopped.

Dodge Ram pickup idling, waved him on.

Guz pulled into the intersection slowly,
waiting for Deon to catch up, when he caught the movement in the
pick up truck bed, old trick, two shooters coming over the top, and
as he drilled in on them, a beige Ford Taurus came through the
intersection and caught Deon's Cherokee right on the front wheel
well, slamming it hard and crushing the well in around the tire
--

"Go!" Guz yelled, but then he read it, the
Cherokee wasn't going anywhere, and then round were ripping into
his shiny Wrangler

This is the last time I use my POV on a job,
by God, I swear it...

-- Out and running, HK 416 up and throwing
the go-bag over his head, thumbed it to full auto and give 'em the
SEAL wake up call, a mag or two on full auto let's establish some
fire dominance here and he opened up on the truck, driver first,
let's make sure they don't run away, the ASYM Precision rounds
tearing up the windshield and the driver, too, mag change, hit the
release, sideways flip to throw the mag free, slap in a fresh one,
hit the bolt release back on target, give 'em another one, just
like that, now the two in the Taurus out, advancing on Deon and
Jimmy, well, guess I got a bit to spare, and send two quick burst
their way, just to remind him that Guz was here and he was a bit
irritated with the damage done to his shiny Jeep, hard to convince
the insurance company that he just drove through a gunfight, one of
the two dinged and down, gotta love these AYSM bullets, gonna go
buy that guy a beer when this is all said and done, two targets in
his zone
c'mon Deon, c'mon Jimmy, let's get in the dance
time for another mag change, dropped one rapped in another slap the
bolt release and service and...

White light and what the fuck just
happened, grit of the concrete on his knees and then his head
bouncing in slow motion, oh man, I hate it when I get hit,
and
rolling over on his back, keep the shooter up, pain in the upper
left quadrant of his back, and that white van rolling into the
intersection, that old hippy with the silenced pistol running now
that Guz was down and the fight was on around the Cherokee, pulling
the trigger, nothing happening, diagnose the problem, solve the
problem, SEAL, double feed,
oh, great...
must have slammed
the mag when he fell forward, strip the mag out, can't find his
knife, stick your finger in there and see if that will work, bolt
snapped on his finger
Dang!
shook the loose rounds out,
pulled another one out, slammed it home, bolt home, pulled it back
just to check, okay, back in the game,
Can I stand?
checked
his legs, well, they're moving, blood running down his back, okay,
still functioning, pushed himself up with the buttstock of the 416,
nobody was paying attention to him
big mistake there, boys, you
never count a SEAL down and out unless you see his brains, and even
then, we're trained to run without them...
couldn't get all the
way up, that's fine, he shot pretty good from the kneeling
anyhow...
how the fuck did they get Lizzy away from Jimmy...shit,
he must be dead...
time to even the score then. He put the
sights on the closest one, with some kind of long gun, kill the
long guns first, and rolled the trigger, short three round burst
hey diddle diddle right up the middle of your back, take that,
dude...serviced him right purty and they were bundling her into the
van and that Old Hippy turned and...

...the skyline light up brilliant white, and
then the whole ground shook.

Now, I gotta say, if these guys got artillery
or close air support, this was most definitely not in my threat
briefing...