This fight took maybe two seconds. Maybe less.
Not sure if these fucktards knew what they were getting into. They forced this game, though, which meant I got to set the rules. Sucks to be them. I stole their cuffs and, with a few additional love taps to encourage cooperation, cuffed them all together — wrists to ankles — and added a few zip ties from my pocket to keep it all interesting. The result is they looked like a piece of performance art sprawled there in the icy cemetery grass. None of them were able to talk yet, so I picked their pockets, taking IDs, wallets, key rings with car and handcuff keys. I ripped the curly wires out of their ears and patted them down to reveal small-caliber throwdown pieces strapped to their ankles. A glance showed me that the guns had their serial numbers filed off. The kind used during accidental or illegal killings and then planted on the deceased to build a case for resisting arrest. Wonder if that’s what they’d had planned for me.
There was no one around, so I pulled out my cell phone and made a call. My boss, Mr. Church, answered on the second ring.
“I thought you were on vacation,” he said by way of answering.
“Me too. Listen,” I said, “remember a few years ago when some federal mooks braced me while I was visiting Helen’s grave? Well, it must be rerun season, because three of them tried it again. Same place.”
“What’s the damage?” he asked.
“I think I tore a fingernail.”
“Captain…”
“They’ll recover,” I said, and gave him the details, including reading off their names. “You have any idea why this happened?”
“Not yet. Get clear of the area and then find a quiet place where you can sweep your car with an Anteater. Then go to ground and wait for my call.”
The line went dead. The Anteater was a state-of-the-art doohickey designed to find even the best active or passive listening system.
Speaking of my car, I could hear muffled barking in that direction. My big white combat shepherd, Ghost, was supposed to be sleeping in the car. He was up and clearly felt as cranky as I did. Lucky for the goon squad that I left the dog in the warm rental car or they’d need a lot more than ice packs and some career counseling.
I pocketed my phone, then dug an earbud out of my trouser pocket and pressed it to the inside of my outer ear. It looks like a freckle. I put the speaker dot on my upper lip by the corner of my mouth. Then I squatted beside Lurch, who was semiconscious and trying to muster the moral courage to give me another death stare. I patted his cheek as a warning, which he chose to ignore.
“You better like Gitmo, motherfu—” Lurch began, and I patted his cheek again, this time hard enough to dim the lights on Broadway.
“Whoever told you that you’re good at this is not your friend,” I said. “Whoever sent you made a mistake. You came at me here— here—which is an even bigger mistake. Be real careful that it doesn’t cost you more than you can afford to pay, feel me?”
He almost said something else, but didn’t. He was handcuffed to two guys who were probably supposed to be top-class muscle. I’d handed all of them their asses and hadn’t worked up a sweat doing it, so my friend here was probably having a come-to-Jesus moment. His eyes looked wet and his gaze slid away. I picked up the tooth he’d lost, showed it to him, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
“Now,” I said calmly, “tell me why you were ordered to arrest me.”
“Look, I–I mean they didn’t…,” he stammered. Then he took a breath and tried it again. “The word came down to bring you in and not kiss your ass doing it.”
“Who cut the order?”
“My supervisor said it came straight from the top,” said Lurch. “Straight from the Oval Office.”
“Listen to me,” I said quietly. “I can give you a pass for fucking with me. You’re following orders. Stupid orders, but orders. I don’t hold grudges for that kind of thing. But you came here. You came to where someone very special to me is buried. Of all the places you could have come, you made it this place. That’s on you. You’re the crew chief here and you could have waited until I was done and walked out of the cemetery. You didn’t. That crosses a line with me. I don’t forgive that. So, listen very closely and believe me when I tell you that if I ever see you again — here, or anywhere; I don’t care where it is or why — I’m going to kill you. I’ll make it hurt, too, sparky, and I’ll make it last. Now, look me in the eye and tell me that you understand.”
I leaned back and let him take a look. He did.
“Tell me,” I said.
He licked his lips. What he said was, “I’m sorry.”
I punched two of his front teeth out. One fast hit. He fell back so hard his head bounced off the turf.
“I didn’t ask for an apology,” I said without raising my voice. “Your apology doesn’t mean shit, because you already crossed the line. I asked you to tell me you understand.”
He started to say something. Don’t know what, but he bit down on it with the teeth he had left because it wasn’t going to be what I wanted to hear. He was crying now; nose running and fat tears rolling down to mingle with the blood smeared around his mouth and on his chin.
“I…” He stopped, coughed, tried again. “You won’t… see me again.”
“Tell your dickhead friends, too.” I straightened. “And tell whoever sent you that this isn’t over. I’m going to pay someone a visit. Tell them that.”
He nodded but did not dare say another word. There are times you can trash talk and times when you need to consider how comprehensive your healthcare plan really is.
The sun was trying to burn through the clouds and the birds were watching silently in the trees. I almost said something else to him, but left it. If he didn’t get it now, then he was unteachable. So, I left him there with his buddies, cuffed in a tangle.
I took all of their personal belongings and weapons back to my car. As I got in, Ghost gave me a deeply reproachful look, as if to say that he couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes without me stepping on my own dick.
“Not my fault, fuzzball,” I said.
He seemed to read something in me that changed his attitude from high anxiety to wanting to comfort another member of his pack. He’d never known Helen, but he knew this place. He nuzzled me with a cold nose and whined softly until I bent and kissed his head. There were tears burning in my eyes.
They should never have come here. Those motherfuckers.
I started my car and drove over to where a big Crown Victoria with federal plates was parked. I got out and casually slashed the right front tire. I used Lurch’s key to pop the locks, but a quick search showed that the vehicle was clean. No warrants, no nothing other than drive-through coffee. One cup was untouched and still hot, so I took it; but one sip revealed the awful truth that it was decaf. I poured it over the front seat and dropped the empty cardboard cup on the floor.
Ghost and I drove away at a casual speed. If anyone saw me they’d think I was calm, cool, and composed.
Was I scared? Yeah. I was absolutely terrified and, sadly, that was not a joke.
INTERLUDE ONE
Valen Oruraka was deep inside a dream of chase and escape.
He was aboard a smuggler’s submarine, running from something unspeakable. The more he ran, the longer the hull was, stretching out before him like an endless road. Room to run, sure; but he could never seem to run fast enough. When he turned to look over his shoulder it was closer. Always closer.