“That was quick,” Lake said.
“They’re rookies at the game and they’re in a rush,” Jonas said. He frowned. “But I wouldn’t want to double cross them. These slopes are hard-looking people. Almost” Jonas paused.
“Almost?” Lake prompted.
“Almost like they’re military types. Soldiers.”
“Probably are ex-military,” Lake said.
Jonas frowned. “No, I get the feeling like they’re still military, like they’re a unit that’s trained together. Like you’d feel being around a Special Forces A-Team. Plus, the weapons they want are unique.” “Why do they want the weaponry?”
Jonas gave Lake a look. “Come on, you know I ain’t about to ask them that. Like I said, though, they’re in a hurry and because of that I did tell them they’d have to pay more.”
“How’d you get a hold of them?” Lake asked. He knew Jonas didn’t like the question, but he needed as much information as he could get.
“They told me they would call back and they did,” Jonas said.
“How’d they get a hold of you in the first place?”
Jonas frowned. “I don’t know and I didn’t fucking ask them. You want this deal or not? You aren’t the only dealer in town.”
“Let me see the list.” Lake took the Post-it note from the other man and scanned it. He saw what Jonas had meant by “unique.”
“Can you do that?” Jonas asked.
“Ingrams with suppressors are hot items,” Lake said. He looked up. “When do they want it?”
“Monday. They said they’d get back to me with a time and place.”
“I’ll have it Monday. Tell them eight hundred for each Ingram. That’s six thousand four hundred; five hundred a suppressor, four thousand; and a thousand per each six magazines, since I’m going to have do subsonic rounds. Total, sixteen thousand, four hundred.”
“My commission is ten percent,” Jonas noted. He slapped a bundle of money down on the table. “Earnest money. Five grand.”
Lake tucked the list into his breast pocket. He peeled a thousand off the roll, handing it to Jonas. “Okay, charge them twelve thousand beyond the down payment and you keep another grand when we finalize the deal.”
Jonas nodded and leaned back in the bench.
Lake’stared at him, waiting.
Jonas slapped his forehead. “Oh, yes. Your gun.” He reached down under the table and pulled up a paper bag. He started to slide it across, but froze as the door to the bar opened and three men walked in, dressed in black pants and windbreakers. “Shit,” Jonas muttered, leaving the bag sitting in the center of the table, between him and Lake. “Federal Task Force. They’re not supposed to come here. I’m fucking protected.”
The three men sauntered around the table of Patriots and came straight to the booth. “Hey, Jonas,” the leader said, leaning over the table. “What do you have in the bag?” He was a large man, hard-eyed in the way cops who’d spent a long time on the street were.
“It’s mine,” Lake said, pulling the bag over to his side. He checked out the other two agents: younger, college types who were following the other’s lead out of respect for his experience and age. Lake could sense the high testosterone level coming off the three agents. They were pumped and ready for action.
One of the younger men stepped up. He wore expensive glasses which didn’t match the black outfit. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Who wants to know?” Lake’s voice was flat.
The leader’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t intervene, waiting to see how both sides played it out.
“Federal Task Force,” Glasses said, holding up an ID.
“I can buy one of those in any surplus store in town,” Lake said. “And you have a foul mouth for a peace officer.”
“The badge is real,” Glasses said. “You want me to imprint my number on your fucking forehead,” he added, holding the badge close to Lake’s face.
Lake didn’t move. “I’m not impressed.”
“What’s in the bag?” the leader cut in.
“My dick,” Lake said. “Want to play with it?”
The Patriots at the table burst out laughing. They began making oinking noises.
“I’ll put your dick in the goddamn bag.” Glasses put his badge away and pushed up against the edge of the booth inside Lake’s personal space. He was too close, a result of poor training, Lake idly thought.
“Do you have a warrant?” Jonas had finally recovered.
The leader was tired of the game and he knew, as Lake knew, that Glasses had made a mistake. “Open the fucking bag, asshole.”
Lake sighed as he slowly stood, his shoulder brushing lightly against Glasses’s chest. “I don’t think so.”
The leader went for his piece instinctively and Lake’s movements went into hyper-speed. Glasses didn’t know what hit him as Lake’s left hand hit his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs and toppling him backward. Lake was moving, following the strike, his right hand extended, grabbing the leader’s gun hand as it cleared the shoulder holster. He squeezed hard and the gun dropped back inside the jacket, the man hissing with pain. Lake’s left hand slammed the man’s jaw, teeth smashing together with a sound heard throughput the bar, wiping the surprised look off the face. The leader went down, out cold.
The third agent was frozen at this unexpected turn of events. Lake spun, the back of his right foot catching the man on the side of the head and dropping him. The first man he had hit was still trying to catch his breath. Lake stepped over him and knelt on his chest. “You serve the people,” he hissed. “We don’t serve you.” He pulled the man’s gun out and tossed it away, then stood. “Next time, watch your language.” Lake sharply tapped him on the side of the head with his hand, middle finger knuckle extended, and he was out like a light.
Lake reached into his pocket and peeled off three thousand dollars. He slapped them on the table in front of Jonas.
“What did you mean you were protected?” Lake asked.
Jonas was staring at the three agents, then slowly swiveling his large head to look at Lake. “You’re fucking crazy, man.”
“What did you mean about being protected? From the feds?” Lake asked again.
“I got friends,” Jonas said vaguely: “Special friends who make these guys look like nothing.”
One of the other agents was beginning to stir and Lake decided he would have to delve into things at another time. “Later,” he said to Jonas as he picked up the bag and headed to the door, leaving those still conscious in stunned silence. As he walked out the door a couple of the Patriots began cheering and clapping. The smart ones followed Lake out the door and disappeared into the darkness.
Lake walked steadily, heading east, then north, for several miles, the pavement flowing under his stride until he hit the Embarcadero.. The cool night air coming off the water slowly seeped into him, throttling back the adrenaline flowing in his veins. He could have gotten the Hush Puppy from the Ranch supply without any problem, but getting it from Jonas helped his position with the man. Ideology aside, most people looked more favorably upon those they could make some money off of once in a while. Plus Lake wanted a gun that the Ranch didn’t know he had. He couldn’t explain that desire, but he had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. Lake followed the waterfront street until it passed under the ramp for the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.
A figure came out of the dark, wrapped in a long raincoat. “I don’t have much time. I have a plane to catch.”
“Nice to see you too,” Lake said. Randkin was the science expert for the Ranch. He was a short, compact man who moved nervously. He had long blond hair and wire rimmed glasses that framed a pinched face. Randkin always looked to Lake like he was constipated. He imagined having to work at the Ranch with Feliks looking over his shoulder all the time contributed to that.