compact figure rotating over the chair, he banged down on the intercom.
“What do you want?” he shouted.
“The Colonel is here to see you. You asked him to come in ASAP.”
“Tell him to come back later.”
“As you wish.”
Mel leaned back. Control trickled back over him. He owned them, not the other way around. That was important to remember. His mind floated free for a few precious seconds, idling on that chick that came on to him at the bar the other night. He cast her image aside and punched the button. “Never mind, send him in.”
“You want to see him?”
“Yes. That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“I’ll send him in.”
The man who walked in was either the toughest ex-armed forces bad guy ever to darken Mel’s doorstep, with bulging biceps and a trim flattop, or an extremely camp gay man from San Francisco’s Castro district, with a wide handlebar moustache and oversized belt buckle. Theater went with his every step, and it was impossible to know whether he was ever serious. For those many that had doubted, however, a significant number found out that he was ever so earnest. Mel, however, had never doubted, having served with him in the Navy SEALs.
“Colonel,” Mel said, looking at his friend. “Spit it out.”
“How nice to see you, sir,” the Colonel said. “Excellent weather we’re having here.”
“I’m worried things are getting out of hand. Money spent; results not what they should be.” Mel eased his weight in the soft leather chair, anxiety draining out his fingertips. He just need to kick Colonel’s ass a bit and they’d get it all under control. “I’ve got the entire Democratic Party up my ass trying to stop the piracy situation, and pretty soon I’ll be paying them instead of you.” He cracked a knuckle.
The Colonel strode to one of the floor to ceiling windows and stared keenly into the distance for several seconds. “The op’s been harder than it looked. These kids are careful, like military careful, and we’ve only cracked about half. But they work like a cabal.” He looked over at Mel, who nodded impatiently. “So what’s happening is this: we neutralize one, and the others pick up the slack. It’s a competition to get to the top.”
“Neutralize?” Mel didn’t like the sound of the word.
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“We strip them of their hardware and break some bones. Tough love.” The Colonel laughed hard at his own joke. “They won’t be back.”
Mel let it slide. He’d never really wanted to know what was being done with his quarter million dollars, he just knew it left plenty of dough behind, which he desperately needed to invest in other, more ‘productive,’ ways.
The Colonel continued. “We’ve got some inside action and a serious round of surveillance.” Again the Colonel laughed, enjoying a private joke. He walked towards Mel’s desk and landed his heavy frame in a chair. “I’m staying on a generalized level here, but I get the feeling you ain’t comfortable. Am I reading the wind here correctly?”
“Look, we have to get the op wrapped up, and you made it clear you could do that, but something’s not right. That’s the feeling from where I sit.” The anxiety returned. Mel chewed his lip and barked. “You have to close this down in two weeks, and I expect it to be done.”
“That’s not exactly possible.”
“Make it possible.” Mel dismissed his visitor. Something wasn’t right at all.
Arrange
As the bus passed Boreal Ski Resort, a browning series of gently sloped hills at the very top of the Donner Pass, Andrea’s cell phone vibrated. Her pulse raced.
“Hello?” Instinctively she looked around.
“Hello. This is Code.”
“Yes. Thank god. I’ve been waiting.”
“Sorry. I had to buy phone. And I’ve been traveling around. It’s not quick.”
“Yes.” She felt nervous talking to this anonymous person, probably trusting her life in him. She took a deep breath and dug her nails into the arm rest. She’d formulated the words over the last hours. She simply had to trust. “I’ll meet you at the Blue Water Grill near Union Square at 11:30am exactly.”
“Which day?” She could hear nerves jangling his voice. At least he was scared too, she thought.
“In three days. Be super careful. You might be under surveillance.”
“Don’t be worried. No one knows where I am.”
“I am worried. They want to kill me, and they want to kill you.” True or not, he needed to know this was serious.
“Oh,” Code gasped. “I guess I knew that.”
“We can’t speak again.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anything about the DN List?” Instantly she regretted the question. “Don’t answer. Not on this line.” She’d said too much. “I’ll see you in three days.” She clicked the end button, turned off the phone and removed the battery. She couldn’t risk them tracking her further. No tracks. A thought passed through her head. Did he know that squelch was dead?
Ninety minutes later, the bus stopped at the main bus terminal in Reno, Nevada. One hour break, the driver announced. Andrea nearly bounced off the bus, her legs desperately needing the stretch. Her lungs filled with crisp desert air, rudely laced with diesel fumes from the idling buses.
She roamed the dead and silent streets, wondering where the people had gone. She picked up a burger and munched as she walked. Her long legs brought her to West 3rd St, and there, right along the railroad tracks, in a dilapidated industrial building, she stumbled upon a gun shop. Andrea pushed through the cheap glass front door of “Ye Olde Gunne Emporium,” not quite sure why she was there. Inside, it reminded her of a fishing tackle joint she and her uncle would go to near Bakersfield before long afternoons throwing hooks into a pond. Which is really what it was, since they rarely caught any fish.
She looked around. Musty, with a faint smell of oil in the over-bright fluorescence. Glass counters of rifles, pistols, and shotguns lined one wall, while on the other side, hunting gear and military camouflage lay stacked on shelves over a counter bursting with knives.
She spied a well groomed man at the back, and put on her best countryside face.
“I could sure do with some help,” she said, with what she hoped was a Midwestern twang. A huge smile burst across her face. Her fingers plucked at the hem of her skirt. Acting class ftw!
The man cleared his throat. “Come a long way to pick up a weapon, have you?”
“Naw. Dad said I should pick one up sooner or later, so I could be protected.”
“You know what you lookin’ for?”
“Not really,” she said, looking deep into his eyes, suddenly blushing. What the hell was she doing? Would he really fall for this crap?
“I can help you with that.”
She looked down at the counter. A small pistol with an ivory handle and pink barrel caught her eye. “That one. It’s so cute!” And she meant it. She’d expected guns to look like the giant ugly black things that Arnold Schwarzenegger carried around. This one was more like an accessory. “Does it have a cigarette lighter inside too?”
The man laughed, twitching his hand at his moustache. “Blow your head off, more like. Nope. But it does the trick like any other gun in here.” He tilted up to look at her more closely.
She thought for a few moments. “I’ll take it.”
He unlocked the counter and put the tiny weapon in her palm. “Comes with full instructions,” he said, frowning, “including how to explain to the police why your boyfriend ain’t just sleeping.” A shocking deep laugh erupted from him, wiping the smile off Andrea’s face.
“Oh god.” Quickly she put the gun down.
“That’ll be ninety-nine dollars for the gun, fifty for ammo. Gimme an ID and you can pick it all up in three days.”
“Three days? I’m leaving town in an hour. I can’t wait.” A second late, she flashed her smile.
“Doesn’t matter how nice you are.” He leaned f
orward, and looked around the store. “Are you a cop?”
“Hell no.”
“I’m a true patriot, and that’s why I’m gonna do this. See, everybody has a right to a gun, and all these laws don’t change the Constitution one iota, right?”
“Right.” The look on his face made her teeth hurt.
“Now I’m no idiot and I don’t think you’re gonna do anything good with this gun, but there’s the Constitution.”
“I won’t hurt a fly.”
“Ha.” He fiddled his moustache again. “An extra hundred’s all it takes. I’ll file the paperwork. You were never here.”
“Ok—So, are you a cop?”
He stood still behind his counter. She could almost hear his tongue pushing up against his teeth. Very slowly he said, “hell no.” He handed her the gun, a box of ammo, and a pile of manuals. Under his breath she could hear him repeat “gimme the cash and I’ll let you dash.”
On the short walk back to the bus she wondered if she’d done the right thing. What would a gun do for her? The hard outline inside her bag felt reassuring and repulsive at the same time. She was carrying concealed heat, she thought, and laughed. Gimme the cash, and I’ll let you dash. Maybe that should be her motto?
Dorian dialed Richard South, his college freshman advisor, from outside a café near Wall Street. He used a calling card he’d had from Italy which he hadn’t used in two years. No way could he risk calling anyone he knew with his new cell phone. Someone would figure out the connection in seconds. Even though it was expensive to use the card, at least he’d be somewhere far away before anyone traced it to
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