Edison stood from his chair. “Then we have a deadlock regarding banishment. By the established rules and procedures of the Nirvana Code of Conduct, I will now cast the deciding vote. It is hereby declared that Summer Lane will be given one more chance to conform before she is banished permanently.”
Krista fired back at the ruling. “One more chance? This has to end, boss. We can’t keep going down this path.”
Edison banged his gavel on the desk, using added force with each strike. “The Council has ruled. However, given the unanimous guilty verdict regarding ongoing rule infractions, some form of reprimand must be forthcoming.”
Krista didn’t hesitate with her response. “Since the violations involve curfew and security, then I invoke my right as head of security to decide on sanctions.”
Edison nodded. “That is within your purview.” He looked at the council members seated at the table. “Does anyone object?”
No hands went up.
“Then it is so declared. Security Chief Krista Carr shall render sanctions once Summer is found and returned. We shall reconvene at that time for adjudication.”
CHAPTER 10
Stanley Fletcher kept his eyes low as he fast-walked a narrow trail through the mask-wearing team of welders in Simon Frost’s compound.
On the left, the heat from a squad of torches warmed his skin. On the right, the high-pitched whine of grinder wheels rang in his ear, their friction sending a flare of sparks across his path.
The fabrication of new weapons and upgraded vehicle armor was well under way, and none too soon. Breaches had been mounting across their territory, sending the ire of his boss to an all-time high.
The last thing Fletcher needed was his short-tempered leader stepping closer to the proverbial cliff, but that’s exactly what was happening.
Fletcher’s primary focus would now be containment on all fronts, testing his ability as second-in-command. If he failed even once, he knew his job would be withdrawn with extreme prejudice. The kind of prejudice that begins with the tip of a blade and ends with a pool of blood. His blood. He’d been witness to such firings before and today might not be any different.
He closed the door behind him and walked through the next room, where two men sat at a counter covered in supplies and equipment. This area was all about powder, priming, dies, presses, and brass casings, bringing high-powered rounds back to life—7.62 rounds, mostly.
When Fletcher arrived at the closed door to Frost’s office, he took a deep breath with feet frozen, wondering if Sergeant Barkley would be attending this meeting.
His mind ran through a flash of memories involving previous run-ins with the sergeant. Each instance zipped by in fast-forward motion, heightening his apprehension.
There was only one officer besides Simon Frost who was protected and completely untouchable. Beyond reproach. Sergeant Barkley was that officer. Fletcher needed to keep his temper in check and not let the sergeant get him off his game.
While Fletcher was tasked with carrying out Frost’s orders, Sergeant Barkley was the only one Frost actually trusted, a scenario that Fletcher knew all too well, but one he accepted. It was better than not being part of Frost’s compound, wandering the frozen landscape alone.
“I can see your shadow below the door, Fletch,” Frost yelled from inside his office. “Are you coming in or not?”
Fletcher sucked in a purposeful breath, realizing he may have already pissed off his boss, simply for taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Not a good start. He turned the knob and walked in. “Sorry, chief. Got distracted for a moment.”
“You really need to relax, Fletch. You’re one of the few I don’t have to worry about,” Frost said from his refurbished barber’s chair—red in color with white upholstered trim. Sergeant Barkley sat next to him on the floor.
Frost bent down and ran his hand across Barkley’s back, just as Fletcher’s eyes met the sergeant’s.
Barkley’s scar-covered snout went into a snarl, showing a bank of impressive teeth. Drool dripped as his growl went from low to high.
“Easy boy,” Frost said to the blonde German Shepherd, who was now standing on all fours. Like his owner, the ratty dog hadn’t had a bath in ages. Barkley’s teeth were yellow, the same as Frost’s, making them look related in more than one respect.
They say dogs resemble their owners. In this case, the old adage fit perfectly. Both were junkyard mutts with short tempers and a mean streak that could turn most men into mush.
Fletcher didn’t know what was worse—a growling meat eater who never barked or one who drooled excessively. The animal could fill a water bowl in seconds with the foam oozing from his mouth.
Frost grabbed the sneering machine by the collar and yanked him back. The choker was strong and unbreakable, made of interlocking steel chains—the same symbol that everyone in Frost’s compound had tattooed on their necks.
“Sit, boy! Now!” Frost snapped.
The dog followed the command, planting his haunches on the floor. The animal’s eyes never left Fletcher’s, but at least the growling had stopped.
Frost laughed. “I’m not sure what it is, Fletch, but I don’t think Sergeant Barkley likes you very much.”
Fletcher wanted to say something derogatory about the mangy animal but held his tongue. Dogs can sense changes in tone, mood, and intention, not just with their owner, but with guests. Guests that might end up as part of an unprovoked attack.
Fletcher swallowed a lump of saliva, forcing it down his throat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Status report.”
“Patrol three came up empty.”
“I thought they had it covered?”
“That’s what I was told as well. Apparently, they failed to contain the breach.”
“Damn it. Another failure. This can’t continue, Stanley.”
“I know, sir. I’m on it,” Fletcher answered, loathing the fact that his boss just called him Stanley. He’d tried to hide that name from everyone in the compound, but somewhere along the way, it leaked out.
“Who’s running that team?”
“Slayer, sir. You put him in charge last month after we had those issues with Gronk.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. My mind must be slipping.”
“You’re just busy, sir. It happens.”
“Good thing I have you to keep the ship in order.”
“I do my best,” Fletcher said, knowing what his boss would want to discuss next. “Slayer is on his way. They just pulled up a few minutes ago.”
Frost didn’t react to the statement, his eyes pinched as he stared at the floor.
Fletcher wasn’t sure if his boss heard the words. He was about to repeat them, but Frost spoke first. “Doc said the refinery won’t be ready until next week, if you can believe that shit.”
“Thought it was supposed to be today.”
“You and me both, brother. I think he’s slow-walking the upgrades just to boil my balls. He’s still pissed about Shaw, I think.”
“Well, you didn’t have a choice with her, sir. She had to go.”
“Yeah, maybe. Sometimes, my temper gets the best of me.”
Fletcher could feel the tension rise in the room. So could the dog, whose teeth were showing again under a twitching upper lip.
Time to change the subject. “As for the meet tomorrow, boss, I figure two full teams ought to cover it.”
“Everyone needs to be on their toes, Stanley. Edison might talk a good game about hating violence and all, but I don’t believe that nonsense for a minute. Especially when it comes to Carr. She’s just itching for a fight. I have a sense about these things.”
“We’ll be ready, sir. Count on it,” Fletcher answered, holding back a grin. This wasn’t the first time his boss had used that exact phrase.