by Michael Todd
“I don’t think we can afford that,” Kennedy said and shook her head firmly. “Not if you intend to keep that million and a half locked away for a rainy day.”
“Why not?” Monroe asked. “I mean, look around. We have nothing but space.”
“It’s about more than space,” the other woman replied tersely. “They’ll want a cut. With the amount of money needed to run the generators and fill the vehicles, our profit margin has taken a hit. Add one more person, with all the supplies, salary—can we afford that?”
“Well, like Courtney said, we have more than enough space,” Sal said after he’d considered the question for a moment. “Anyone and their grandma knows how expensive it is to live in the Staging Area if you aren’t on the government’s payroll, so anyone who wants to work for themselves would be able to take a pay cut if they come out here. They’ll have a place to live, supplies, and a team to work with that gets them into the Zoo regularly. I think we can afford that.”
“Yep,” Kennedy said with a slight edge to her tone. “Look around for a mercenary who’s willing to take a pay cut. Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” Sal said with a grin.
“I was sarcastic.” She rolled her eyes.
“I know.” He chuckled. “I merely decided to assume you were optimistic.”
Courtney laughed as Madigan shook her head.
“Speaking of personal expenses,” Sal continued once it was clear that particular conversation was over, “I say we head out and get a little something to drink.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Kennedy said.
Summer in Russia needed to be filmed and put in all the movies and TV series to make sure that everyone remembered exactly how bad it was to stereotype. Of course, everyone knew what winter was like. There were movies, anecdotes, and all that garbage about how an army should never invade Russia in winter, but to be fair, those people had a point.
They merely forgot why people invaded Russia in the first place. It had to be the kind of people who really enjoyed the sun and the opportunity to acquire a good tan. It got hot enough in some places that you could fry eggs on the sand of several lake beaches. If you liked the sun, come to Russia in the summer.
He didn’t like sun. Sometimes, he thought that was the only reason he’d taken the job of computer programming. There were a number of reasons, of course, one being that he liked an office job where he didn’t have to answer phones or serve people. It was a reason that he often forgot until the moment he stepped outside and felt the humid and dense heat that came with the summertime in St. Petersburg.
He hated dead drops, he hated going out in places where there were too many people, and he definitely didn’t like the fact that he only did this in his free time. As much as he disliked the places where his job took him, it felt that he somehow made a difference. More of a difference than managing the security firewall in some corporation or another, anyway.
He dropped the SD card into a small trash bin and walked quickly away from it with his hands tucked into his pockets and his hoodie lowered against the glaring sun that wouldn’t set for a couple more hours.
As he made his way back to his car, his phone buzzed. He slipped into the driver’s seat before he retrieved it. Thirty-five thousand Euros had been added to his online bank account, and a message confirmed the payment.
Appreciated. Keep up the good work, pay same as always. Info on the metal extracted and processed from the Zoo will see payment bonused by twenty percent.
The man shrugged. There wasn’t much information on any metal extracted from the Zoo, but at this point, very little would surprise him about that place. He messaged a will do and replaced his phone in his pocket. It was a burner, but he preferred to destroy his pieces somewhere safe.
Either way, he had enough money to pick up a new one before he went home.
Sal leaned back in his seat. It wasn’t an easy thing to do considering that the bar stools didn’t have much in the way of backs. Still, he managed it by keeping his hands on the bar top and used the motion to stretch and groan gently.
“Look,” he said finally, “I’m sorry that the whitepaper doesn’t have the information you need, but I can’t simply put stuff in there that isn’t supported by cold, hard evidence.”
“Look,” repeated the man dressed in the suit with a decidedly lawyer-look about him, “my client doesn’t mind having facts in the whitepaper. But with certain indications from the views as they are, there are certain details that must be emphasized, even if the investigation into those details is still ongoing. Merely a mention. That’s all he wants.”
“I can add the studies of how these critters produce the acid from their own systems, but it will have to include all the studies we’ve done on the reptiles,” Sal said. There was a fully scientific name for the little beasts, but it was over ten syllables long and he wasn’t sure he would be able to pronounce it correctly. He was a perfectionist when it came to things like that.
“So what?” A third voice entered the conversation, which originated from a man a few stools down. “Did you get paid to do other kids’ homework in high school too? Simply hearing you guys talk about the same bullshit over and over makes me want to blow my brains all over this damn bar.”
“I’d take it as a kindness if you didn’t,” said the bartender, a new girl with the look of former military.
Sal glanced around as he wondered who the man had spoken to and then realized the obvious. “Oh, he’s talking to me?”
“Yeah, I’m talking to you, you useless lab geek,” the man muttered and moved to where Sal and the lawyer were talking and draped his arm over the shoulders of the latter. “I bet you needed the girls to protect you too. What in the hell are you talking to this little priss for anyway?”
It took the lawyer a few seconds to realize that the last sentence was directed at him. “Because this man is the best at what he does.”
“Best?” the man scoffed and shook his head. “At what? Poking needles? Crossing T’s and dotting I’s? Please, if this guy’s the best at anything, I know that I can do it better than him.” He turned and addressed the rest of the bar. “Write me some papers? Check. Shoot a gun? Double check. Pay me the big bucks, baby, and I’ll do anything you need.”
Sal didn’t want to make a sexual innuendo about this man, but he had literally asked to be made fun of. Either way, he was about a foot taller and sported almost fifty pounds more muscle than Sal. As much as he’d progressed, he wasn’t sure that he could take a man like this on, no matter how drunk he was.
But he was really asking for it.
“Well, that’s a mighty high claim,” a woman’s voice drawled from behind him. Fingers traced up his back and sent chills up and down his spine. Madigan only drawled when she was half-drunk and in the mood to mock someone.
“You know I can back that claim up,” the man said with a grin. “All night long.”
“Oh, is that right?” She tilted her head and perched her chin on Sal’s shoulder. “I happen to know that this man right here can out-drink you all night long, so that’s one thing you’ll never be better at than him.”
“Fuck that,” the man growled and leaned in closer. “How much are you willing to bet that you’re wrong about that?”
“What I’ve got between my legs is what I have to bet,” Madigan purred. “No way will I give you any money.”
“I’ll take it,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be sure to ruin you for all other men, too.”
“Well, Sal here has already done that for me,” Kennedy said with a grin and ran her fingers up and down Sal’s neck. “And if he drinks like he fucks, I don’t think you’ll have the chance anyway.”
The man looked flustered but nodded quickly and sat on the stool next to Sal with a determined expression.
Sal turned to face Madigan, but she pressed her lips to his before he could say anything.
“What the fuck have you gotten me into?�
� he asked once she pulled away.
“As much trouble as I can,” she whispered and kissed the tip of his nose. “You have been licking Madie, right?”
“Yeah, but—oh,” Sal said when he suddenly realized that she meant the blue goop he extracted from his flowering plant called Madie. “Yes. Yes, I have.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” she said with a grin. She kissed him on the lips again before she turned him to where the bartender had already poured a couple of shots of the new Russian vodka into a pair of glasses.
“The rules are,” the man said and eyed the clear liquid in his glass, “no regurgitation, no pausing, and no falling asleep. Loser pays the bill and winner has a nice long night of plowing the sergeant.”
“May the best man win,” Sal said with a nod, picked his own glass up, and raised it to the group that had already assembled to watch the contest. He downed it in a single gulp.
Sal shook his head. He wouldn’t ever learn to like this stuff, but if it meant he could put an arrogant bastard in his place, he could tolerate it for the moment. He simply wasn’t sure how effectively the goop would prepare his body to process this much alcohol.
Five shots later, Courtney slipped into the bar and immediately wondered what all the commotion was about. Too many people milled around for her to have a clear view, and when she saw Madigan sitting at an empty table, sipping at a beer glass, she decided that the easiest way to find out was to ask her.
“What’s going on?” she asked as she plopped down beside her.
“Oh, Sal and some asshole have a bet about who can drink the most,” Madigan explained and grinned over the rim of her glass.
“Oh?” Courtney asked with real curiosity. “What does the winner get?”
“A night with me,” the other woman replied. She tilted her head coyly and a sneaky smile played on her lips.
“What? That doesn’t seem like you—oh,” Courtney said as the penny dropped. “And when Sal wins…”
“I guess I’ll have to deliver unto him his winnings,” Madigan said and took another sip of her drink.
“You sly bitch,” Monroe responded, although she didn’t really mean it as an insult. “I want to be you when I grow up. That’s some devious shit.”
“It comes from being in the military,” her companion responded with a chuckle. “If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying. You simply cheat the other side, is all.”
Their conversation was cut off by a roar from the crowd that surrounded the bar.
“Fifteen,” Sal said with a grin. “You’re looking a little tipsy there, friend.”
“Bullshit,” the man slurred but he gripped the bar top to keep himself from falling over. “I can do this all fucking night.”
“Suit yourself,” Sal said with a shrug. “I don’t have all night, though, so…bartender?” The woman turned to them with a fresh bottle of vodka in hand. “Do you mind lining up five glasses for us?”
She nodded with a smirk, placed ten glasses deftly on the bar, and filled them quickly without spilling a single drop.
He felt a little woozy but considering the amount of alcohol that they had consumed, he wondered why he wasn’t on the floor already. Maybe Madigan was right about what the goop could do for the processing speed of his liver.
“You have as many as you can,” Sal said with a smile once the bartender had finished filling the glasses.
“No, you go first,” the man muttered and his face looked flushed. “I’m not stupid. The first man on the floor loses.”
Sal shrugged. He felt more than a little arrogant. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was the fact that both Madigan and Courtney watched him with real interest. He took the first glass and tossed the contents quickly down his throat, flipped it, and slammed it down. Three glasses later, there wasn’t so much as a drop of vodka on the bar top. Sal took care to let his tongue flick into the last glass to make sure he’d gotten every last drop of the spirit before it joined the rest.
The crowd cheered wildly when he put it down, but his challenger stared at him with wide eyes. The man turned to where Madigan was seated.
She grinned and mouthed the words “like he fucks” to him. He gulped and steeled himself visibly before he took his first shot glass.
After his third shot, he had already splashed more than the equivalent a full shot glass on the bar top. He paused halfway through glass number four, slipped out of his seat, and spilled the rest of the vodka as he sank to the floor with a groan.
The crowd cheered again as Sal picked up the man’s final and still untouched glass and raised it to the crowd.
“To drinking like you fuck!” he said and slurred a few words before he threw his head back and let the burning liquid slide down his throat. A flurry of hands patted his shoulder and he pointed at the man at his feet. “The bill’s on him.”
The bartender grinned and winked as Sal turned and worked hard to walk in a straight line as he made his way to Madigan’s table. When he stopped beside her, he bowed dramatically.
“Your ride awaits, milady,” he said in a bad British accent and offered his hand. She grinned, finished her beer, and slid her hand in his. He guided her out of the bar and managed not to trip on the way.
Once they were outside, though, Sal’s bravado faded quickly as he stumbled and fought to keep his balance.
“Wait,” Madigan said with a challenging grin. “So you don’t drink like you fuck?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, vaguely aware of the fact that he most likely looked as though he fought both to stay conscious and on his feet. “I’ve only ever fucked to twelve, myself. I’d have to see if I can get you to twenty-one.”
“I’m fairly certain that I’ll need to lick some Madie myself if that ever happens,” she said with a grin and helped him to their vehicle. “I’ve drunk a fair amount, but something tells me that it’s probably best if I drive us home.”
“Good call.” Sal slurred his words. “Wait, how will Courtney get back to the compound?”
“We brought both JLTVs, remember?” Madigan started the engine and pulled out of the lot. He simply nodded, leaned back, and fumbled awkwardly with his seatbelt before he finally got it right.
It wasn’t long before they were back at the compound and in the apartment that Madigan had claimed for her own.
She slipped into the bathroom to freshen up. From the state that Sal was in, there was a fifty-fifty chance that he might not be awake when she got back to the bedroom. Still, she stripped completely because there was that fifty percent chance that he might be awake.
True to form, Sal was asleep on her bed by the time she emerged from the bathroom.
“Oh, well.” She dumped her clothes on her office chair and crossed to the bed to press a light kiss to his lips. “I guess you’ll have to claim your winnings some other time.”
There was no point in getting dressed again. She helped him into a more comfortable position and turned the lights off, climbed into bed, and pulled her covers over them. A little regretful, she curled up behind him, pressed herself against him, and closed her eyes.
Chapter Three
“Wait, so you need a mechanic?”
Sal nodded and leaned back in his seat. It was almost painfully hard to focus. He didn’t like to drink as much as he had the night before. Sure, there was the matter of the horrible burn, but the hangover the next day merely added insult to injury. He remembered little about what happened after he finished that twenty-first shot. He did remember the ride back and that he’d managed to drop down on Madigan’s bed, and that was it.
As it turned out, maybe having her drive them both back to the compound was a bad idea. Getting up the next morning was tough when his head screamed bloody murder and light became a continuous source of agony—which was worse when your compound was in the middle of the friggin’ desert. They had realized somewhere along the way that the shocks were shot to hell. All of them. When you dealt with a six-wheeler, that was
a nightmare. They’d had the vehicles looked at before they’d added them to the price of the compound and there hadn’t been a problem with the shocks. They were meant to traverse rough terrain. Of course, they were also meant to be driven carefully but, as Sal’s sore back and ass could attest, nothing of the sort had happened.
He would make sure to bring up the reckless driving with Kennedy when he got back. Again.
“You’d get some pretty sweet deals if you put your machines in the shop here,” the mechanic—a young man who went by the name Higgs for some reason—said with a chuckle. “What do you guys want a dedicated mechanic for?”
“Well, we don’t really want a mechanic,” Sal said and drummed his fingers on the desktop. “I mean, we do, but we also need someone who can fix our suits too, hopefully while we’re in the Zoo. We want someone with that kind of experience.”
“Oh,” Higgs said and scratched his head thoughtfully. “You won’t find that many around here. Maybe Gutierrez, who went into the Zoo a few times before joining up here.”
Sal leaned forward in his seat and immediately regretted it as his head pounded harder. “That’s all very well, but how good is he with the mechanical stuff? I mean, beyond the JLTVs and vehicles, how much technical knowledge does he have with the suits and stuff?”
“Him?” Higgs said and straightened from the leaning posture that he’d held for most of the conversation. “Oh, yeah, him. I guess he’s pretty good with the suits, wouldn’t you say, Hammy?”
“Huh?” One of the other mechanics, apparently named Hammy, looked up.
“You know—Gutierrez.” Higgs clarified. “He’s pretty good with the suits, right? You’d recommend the guy to repair them in a fix, right?”
“Him?” Hammy asked, frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded. “Oh yes, Gutierrez is the guy that I’d call to fix suits and the like on the go. Yes, I’d definitely call him.”
Sal narrowed his eyes. “Okay, you two are acting weird. Do you have any contact information for this Gutierrez?”