He reloaded and placed the weapon in the ballistic holster under his left arm, then pulled on his jacket. He took his extra clip and slid it into the spare magazine slot on the holster, reeled in his target and policed his area clean. He knew no one would bother to look at the casings too closely. There were thousands of them in the area, and it would take more than a cursory examination to notice anything different about them anyway.
Jason crumpled up the target and tossed it into the trash can, then started walking toward the front of the building, where Miller sold guns and other sporting goods. Just as he reached the door leading into the shopping area, he brought himself up short. Even through the heavy sheet metal, he could hear the sound of raised voices.
Cautiously, he eased open the door wide enough to slip through. The voices were clearer now.
"Just give us the money, man, and we're outta here. No muss, no fuss." It was a young man's voice.
"Do it now!" another voice yelled. "Stop fucking around, old man!"
"I'm doing it," Jason heard Miller say. "I have to turn on the computer first. I already shut it down for the night. The cash drawer won't open unless the computer is on."
"Oh, freakin' bullshit, man," the first voice said.
Jason eased his way up one aisle, cut sideways, then began working his way forward. What kind of idiot would choose to rob a gun shop? he wondered. Miller had to be armed or have a weapon behind the counter. Why wasn't he fighting back?
"Look, you owe us, man, and now you're gonna pay up. Stop with the excuses."
Jason was finally close enough to peer over a large stack of shotgun shells that were on display. The two men talking to Miller both looked to be in their twenties. The one with the calmer voice held a revolver in his hands, while the screamer was carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Both of them wore gang colors, which meant that they were at least used to the idea of violence, if not used to doing it themselves. Both of them had various tattoos and piercings — anonymity was not a part of their world.
It didn't matter to Jason what Miller supposedly owed them; what they were doing was robbery.
He decided to play it straight and see what happened. Room 59 agents weren't supposed to get involved in this kind of thing — they were supposed to be invisible — but he wouldn't let a good man die or be robbed for no reason. Stepping out from behind the display, he pulled out his wallet and kept his head down. "Hey, Jim," he called. "What do I owe you for tonight?"
"What the fuck is this?" the screamer said. "Don't move a freakin' muscle!"
Jason stopped in his tracks. "Whoa," he said. "Easy, kid. I don't…hey, I don't want any trouble."
"Too late for that, man," the first guy said. "It found you."
Jason risked a glance at Jim, saw his hand easing toward the underside of the counter and gave a slight shake of his head. "It usually does," he said, putting his wallet back into his jeans. "Are you boys giving my friend Jim here a hard time?"
"Ain't none of your damn business. Don't move, don't get hurt. We'll finish up what we gotta do and be on our merry," the calm one said.
Jason went still. He turned his gaze on the calm one first, then the screamer. "In exactly thirty seconds," he said, his voice low and deadly, "I'm going to kill both of you. And not in a nice way, but in a slow, painful way." He kept his hands out, palms open and visible. "Or you can leave and never come back. It's up to you."
"What the fuck you talkin' about?" the screamer said. "I'll shoot you down, man, and sleep like a baby."
"Twenty seconds," Jason said.
"Man's crazy," the first guy said. "Got a death wish or something."
"Fifteen seconds," he said. "Your time is running out, boys."
"Just give us the damn money, Miller!" the second guy yelled. "Your boy done took out a loan to pay for his habit, and since he's not around no more, you get to pay up."
Miller's eyes met with Jason's. "Fuck you," the shop owner said. "My boy died because you got him hooked. If anyone owes, it's you."
"Guess they both want to die," the calmer man said.
"Wrong again," Jason whispered. In the blink of an eye, he had the Glock free from the holster and he fired a single round into the forehead of the kid carrying the revolver.
He fell over dead, the back of his head a gaping, gory hole.
"Grinch!" the screamer said, then turned his rage toward Jason. "You fuckin' said thirty seconds!"
Jason shrugged. "I lied," he said, bringing the Glock around. "Drop the gun, kid, or you'll be just as dead as your buddy Grinch."
Jason watched as the boy considered his options, saw him make his sad decision and begin to raise his shotgun. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the Glock spoke twice more, and the boy dropped the gun and began to scream in earnest. His knees were gone and he writhed on the floor, crying and bleeding.
"Jesus," Miller said.
"He doesn't have much to do with this kind of thing," Jason replied. "Lend me your belt."
"What?"
"Your belt," he snapped. "Unless you want that boy to bleed to death."
Miller whipped his belt off and handed it over.
Jason kicked the shotgun away and knelt down by the wounded boy, using Miller's belt and his own to make tourniquets on each leg. "Shut up," he snapped as the boy continued to scream and moan. "You could be dead."
"You fucker," the kid said. "You shot us both. You killed Grinch and my legs are all messed up. I'll never walk again. You said you'd kill me."
"I lied about that, too," Jason said. "Besides, walking is a privilege, you know. By the time you get out of prison, who knows what kind of shape you'll be in."
"Prison?" the kid said.
Jason stood up quickly, then turned to Miller. "You carry the Glock 17 model?" he asked.
"Sure," he said. "Why?"
"Get me one," Jason said. "With a loaded clip. Be quick."
Miller was moving on automatic pilot, but he did as Jason told him. Jason took the weapon and jogged back to the range door, firing the weapon three times. Then he brought it back to the shop owner.
"Take this," he said, handing it to him. He glanced around. "Do you have video surveillance of any kind here?"
The man shook his head, still stunned. "No," he said. "Never figured on anyone trying to rob me."
"I don't suppose," Jason said. "Listen, Jim, I've got to get out of here and fast. As soon as I'm out the door, you call the cops and tell them what happened…but leave me out of it. Don't mention my name or my involvement." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into the other man. "I was never here. They came in, tried to rob you and you defended yourself, got it?"
"I…I got it," he whispered, looking at the carnage. "Who…who are you?"
"I'm nobody," Jason said. "I'm a ghost."
"A ghost," Miller said. "You're pretty good in a fight for a ghost."
Jason laughed quietly. "That wasn't a fight," he said. "That was just practice."
"Jesus," Miller said again. Then he added, "The boy will talk."
"Probably," Jason said. "But he's loaded on drugs — crack or meth probably — and they'll never believe him. Just stick to your story and give them the Glock, okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "Okay."
Jason turned and moved for the door.
"Hey!" Miller called.
Jason stopped but didn't turn around.
"Thank you," he said. "Thanks for saving my life." He sighed. "They got my son hooked on meth and it killed him. I couldn't get him to stop, couldn't save him no matter how hard I tried."
"That happens sometimes," Jason said. "You can't save everyone."
"Well, you saved me, so thank you. My son is dead, but I still…I want to live."
"You're welcome," Jason said as he stepped out into the night.
The parking lot had only a few vehicles left in it and was poorly lit, but Jason found his own brown Volvo without any problems. He moved quickly, knowing the police could arrive any moment. He hit the remote unlock button on his key tab before he got to the car, skipping his usual quick walk around to ensure that no one had managed to get inside. It was always unlikely, but he never took chances with his safety. Now was the time to get moving.