Warning Shot

by Dustin Stevens

  “What did she want this time?” Snapper asks. Like Ringer, his hand is curled around a beer, though no more than a centimeter is missing from the top of it.

  His features set in a glower, Ringer stares at the table before him. He lets the question linger a moment, feeling the acrid taste on his tongue, before flicking his gaze up to Snapper.

  “Same as always. Stir shit.”

  Left deliberately vague, he allows either of the men to press for further comment. When neither does, he leans back, catching both in his periphery.

  “I guess she called in someone else to finish the old lady.”

  “You shitting me...?” Snapper begins.

  “Why?” Gamer snaps, his voice forceful enough to draw over a few glances.

  Not wanting to start any more rumors, to give the appearance of discord with his remaining deputies, Ringer glares at Gamer. He holds the pose a moment, making sure his point is made, before saying, “My guess is because Byrdie made such a mess of things. She probably hired Linc in the first place because she wanted things done quietly.

  “When he disappeared and we couldn’t deliver, she looked elsewhere.”

  It is obvious there is a litany of responses Gamer wants to fire back, but after being stared down a moment before, he lets them pass. With both forearms resting on the table, he clenches both fists, the slabs of either arm seeming to swell in size as more sweat rises to the surface.

  He squints out between fleshy cheeks and forehead, his beady eyes just barely visible.

  “That all?” Snapper asks, pulling Ringer’s attention back in the opposite direction.

  “No,” Ringer replies. “She also told us to stand down on the house. Whoever she brought in needs to get access so he can figure out where to look next.”

  The news does nothing for Gamer’s mood. He hisses, “Bitch” out between clenched teeth, just barely loud enough to be discernible.

  Not bothering to glance back his way, Ringer keeps his focus aimed toward Snapper, watching the man work through it.

  “She’s giving up on them ever returning there?” Snapper asks.

  Once the bleeding from his hand had ceased, the initial venom aimed at Teller had subsided and he’d been able to focus on anything beside imparting physical harm, Ringer had had the same thought.

  “Seems like it,” Ringer replies. “Looks like the fire under her ass has been turned up higher, and this all needs to go away now.”

  Nodding once, Snapper mulls things for a moment. Ringer waits, letting him do so. Already he has a plan for how things are going to proceed. Something he started working on while still on the phone with the woman.

  Even put into motion by placing a call the second he was done talking to her.

  In the wake of how things went down with Byrdie though, he wants Snapper to ask the right questions. He wants to give the appearance of it being a joint decision, something they all come to together.

  “What did you tell her?” Snapper asks.

  “Told her to go to hell,” Ringer replies. “Said there was no way we were backing down, not with Clady still out there and the women being one of the most obvious ways we have of getting to him.”

  Shifting only his eyes, Snapper asks, “And how did that go over?”

  “Exactly like you’d imagine,” Ringer replies. “Exactly like a woman that walked in here holding a damn pistol would respond.”

  “Bitch,” Game mutters a second time, this one a bit louder, with an extra edge.

  Again, Ringer can’t disagree, though he doesn’t bother turning to voice as much. Right now, his focus is on Snapper, trusting that the man will get where he needs him to be in due time.

  There’s a reason one is there to serve as the brains and the other as muscle.

  “She got pissy,” Snapper reasons, “and then what did you tell her?”

  “At first, I got pissy too,” Ringer replies, “but then I backed off. Told her we would do as requested and pull back.”

  Gamer’s breathing grows louder. The table tilts almost imperceptibly as he presses his mass down atop it.

  For Snapper’s part, his eyes widen slightly, though he says nothing. As close to asking why as Ringer knew he would get.

  “I figured at this point, it’s time somebody turned the fire up on our ass, too. We’ve been letting everybody make the calls this last week. Doing nothing but reacting.

  “I figure it’s time we become a little more proactive. Maybe we go pay her new hire a little visit, go through the house and find our own heading once we’re done with him.”

  Snapper’s face remains stolid as he stares back at him. Meeting his gaze for a moment, Ringer turns to face the other side, the exact reaction he was expecting already spreading across Gamer’s face.

  “I think it’s time the Wolves win one here, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sack of In-n-Out sits on my lap in the same exact spot it has been for more than twenty minutes. Top still twisted downward, most of the scent that was previously permeating the paper bag has faded. Same for the warmth that was still present when I first assumed this position, the passage of time and cooling night air both pulling it away.

  Seated on the lower bench of a picnic table alongside the empty concrete shell of a swimming pool, I lean back against the tabletop behind me. Letting the wood rest against my shoulder blades, one arm is spread out to the side. One foot is raised to the opposite knee.

  After dropping off Inina, the three of us had made our way back out into the desert. Along the way we made two quick stops, the first at a Wal-Mart to allow us all to pick up various provisions. Food stuffs, toiletries, some socks and underwear and a few more pieces of clothing for me.

  The second was at In-n-Out, Valerie making the suggestion, saying it would be good to eat something hot that didn’t come out of a microwave. Reasoning that was sound, my unopened meal now sitting in my lap is more a consequence of the day’s events than any sort of pickiness.

  A week ago, when I’d first met with Mallory Rueben, I had asked her to grant me access to their office. After learning what we did from Mike Lincoln out in the desert, I couldn’t imagine there being anything in her personal life that would make her a target.

  Of the two of us, I was the one with enemies. A career spent as a SEAL meant I had been places. Seen things. Done things.

  Things that others had no doubt taken exception to. Would have a reason to hold a grudge over.

  Not my Mira, though. Not the woman that had gone to college on a racquetball scholarship and adopted her dog from an animal shelter. Someone that made a point to visit her mother frequently and still looked out for her kid brother even long after he’d become an adult himself.

  That left only her professional life, which was the direction I started looking. But even at that, I never actually believed it. It was just something for me to be doing. Some way to avoid dealing with the nonsensical act in the park that night.

  She was a social worker that spent her days trying to secure aid for the poor and indigent. Never was she one for making waves. Not once did she deal with the police or get her name in the paper or her face on the news.

  Yet, somehow, with every step I take, with each little bit of new information that is uncovered, such a thing becomes more and more likely.

  And with it rises my confusion, reaching a level now that almost matches my anger and my frustration, all of it coming together in a way that leaves me unsure of what to think.

  Or where to direct my energies at any given moment.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  The voice causes my heart rate to rise just slightly, though I give no outward indication. Merely turning my head to the side, I look over to see Valerie standing with her arms folded. Around her shoulders is wrapped a towel from the motel bathroom, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  So lost in thought, I hadn’t even heard as she approached. More than twenty-five yards across dirt and gravel, and I
had failed to even pick up a sound.

  Maybe it is a good thing my days with the navy are now behind me.

  “Please,” I say, peeling my arm away from the tabletop. Dropping both feet to the ground, I move a few inches to the side, making room as she settles down beside me.

  For a moment, we both merely sit and stare. With the sun just beneath the horizon, a smudge of orange and purple and pink rises before us. The breeze pushes by in small puffs, lifting stray grains of sand.

  “Not hungry?” Valerie asks.

  Flicking my eyes down to the sack still on my lap, I feel one corner of my mouth peel back. “I’m waiting until after my swim. Don’t want to get cramps and drown.”

  A single crack of laughter passes from her. Pressing both hands into the bench seat of the picnic table, she leans forward, craning her neck to peer into the hollow concrete tub.

  “When was the last time you think that thing held water?”

  Peering back over a shoulder to the motel behind us, I reply, “Well, the place looks like it was built in 1965...so, maybe, 1966?”

  Another bit of laughter passes over her lips as she pulls back to her previous position. Leaning against the tabletop as well, she draws the towel acting like a shawl tight around her, gaze locked on a parallel tract to my own.

  “You know we can’t stay here forever. I was able to claim a family emergency and get time off last week, but it can’t continue indefinitely.”

  More than once, I’ve thought the same thing. In truth, I’m surprised she’s waited so long to voice it.

  A week before, we had never met. Hiram and I had shown up on her doorstep and asked to talk for no other reason than we had seen a phone number in my wife’s planner at work.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was locked in a battle with one of the Wolves and they were being ripped from their home. All their possessions, their routine, all of it pulled away, replaced by being holed up here.

  “I know,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry. I know you must be feeling like a prisoner by now.”

  In my periphery, I can see her glance over before turning to face forward again.

  “I don’t mean that, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Taking a moment, she pushes out a long sigh. “I mean, earlier in the week, yeah, it kind of felt that way. I was mad at you and them and this whole situation.”

  Again, she turns to look my way. “But not anymore. The things that have happened this week. I don’t know how you keep going. We haven’t had a fraction of the same done to us, and we’re already going crazy.”

  I can see her continuing to look at me for several more seconds before eventually dropping her gaze down to her lap. After she does so, I give her another moment, waiting until I know she has said all she wants to before speaking.

  “We have this thing in the SEALs called the 40% Rule. Pretty straightforward, the idea is that when your mind first tells you you’re done, your body is actually only 40% of the way there.”

  So many times, I’ve heard that damn maxim over the years. Starting basically from the first day of training, it has been rained down from various instructors, used with all sorts of verbal enhancements.

  “In the beginning, it sounded just like noise. The sort of thing they’re supposed to tell us to make us push through. After a while though, you kind of start to believe it.

  “And a little longer after that, you actually see that it’s true.”

  If one needs further proof of as much, they need look no further than my last couple of days. Three nights ago, I stood and watched my house burn to the ground. Last night, Swinger and I put two Wolves in the hospital.

  Tonight, I met with a woman named Inina who stood with tears in her eyes telling me about her best friend dying of brain cancer.

  All of it touching back to the death of my Mira ten days ago.

  By all accounts, I should have been done that night in the park. My mind, my body, everything I am, all told me right then to just quit.

  Yet, somehow here I am.

  “I know this week has been hard,” I say. “I know living in this hellhole hasn’t been easy. I know being around me, seeing me show up with various bumps and bruises, keeping odd hours, must have you on edge all the time.

  “But I can’t help but feel like we’re finally getting somewhere. Like after all these days, all this stuff with the Wolves and everything else, we’re finally drilling down to where we need to be.”

  I don’t know how or why I think this, but after speaking with Inina, hearing about what happened to Dr. Hoke, I have to. I have to believe we’re building toward something. That there is somewhere to aim this mix of emotion filling me beside just inflicting more physical harm.

  A couple of feet away, Valerie flicks a quick glance, barely meeting my gaze before shifting back to face forward. Nodding once, she seems to consider adding something before letting it go. Pushing herself to her feet, she takes a couple of steps forward, silhouetted by the last gasps of color in the sky behind her.

  “I only met her once, but she was nice. I – we – both liked her.” She drifts a step to the side, dragging a toe across the gravel lot. “I bet you guys made a great pair.”

  The oppressive summer heat had finally subsided to a level that could be deemed as tolerable, though the interior of the barracks were still warmer than I would have liked. Forced inside by a late-afternoon downpour, the air was a touch cooler than it had been earlier in the day, though we all knew the moment the rains stopped humidity would instantly spike again.

  A cycle we had all been through a dozen times, none of us too enthused to see it play out again.

  Stripped down to a pair of boxer shorts and a plain undershirt, I sat on the back end of my bed. Feet extended before me, my shoulder blades were pressed flat against the painted concrete block of the wall.

  A desperate attempt to pull in a bit of the cool moisture from outside. One that, thus far, had done little more than make me sweat.

  Though it was possible that the darkened screen of my cellphone clutched tight in hand had something to do with it.

  “See, the way it works is, you tell the phone what to do,” Jeff Swinger called from nearby. “Not the other way around.”

  Without flicking my gaze to him, I felt one corner of my mouth turn upward. My grip on the phone grew tighter.

  “Exactly,” Wendell Ross chimed in, appearing at the foot of my bed. Towel draped around his neck, he gripped the ends in either hand.

  It was at least his third trip to the showers of the day impending. His own personal approach to trying to stem the omnipresent heat.

  “Don’t matter how long you sit and stare at that damn screen, thing won’t light up on its own.”

  A few feet back, Swinger appeared. Stripped bare to the waist, his entire upper body was bathed in sweat. Mixed with the heavy tan covering his skin, it served to make every ridge and striation visible.

  A man that had just finished another trip to the base gym and wanted people to know.

  Though, to be fair, if I looked like that, I would probably do the same.

  Sighing loudly, I made a show of tossing the phone down beside me. Lacing my fingers over my stomach, I replied, “Now how do you guys know I wasn’t just checking the College World Series scores? The Beavers are currently in extra innings with Vanderbilt as we speak.”

  Standing at the foot of my bunk, Swinger waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the beaver you’ve been staring at that phone thinking about for the last two weeks.”

  The comment managed to illicit a crack of laughter from Ross. A reluctant chuckle made my shoulders quiver as well as Swinger continued on, a mix of muttering and headshaking that was too low to be heard.

  Not that I needed to know the exact words to get the intent he was going for.

  Since seeing Mira outside the cinema that day, I was a little embarrassed to admit how often I had thought about calling her. The number of questions that had flitted across my mind, ran
ging from whether she was just being nice to if I had waited too long.

  “Seriously, how long has it been now?” Ross asked. Ignoring Swinger behind him, he kept his focus on me. Gone was the previous smile.

  Flicking my gaze between the two of them, I replied, “Fifteen days.”

  “Christ,” Swinger muttered. “Amateur.”

  Ignoring him completely, Ross continued, “She did tell you to call her, did she not?”

  I felt one side of my face scrunch. My head tilted to either side. “Sort of? Maybe?”

  The girl had made a point to say that her number was the same. And that I should get ahold of her at some point if I was around.

  But at the same time, it was also equally apparent that seeing me had taken her by surprise. There was nothing to say that she hadn’t just made the offer out of social grace. The sort of thing one old friend says to another.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Swinger said. Pushing forward off his left foot, he lunged forward. Tattooed arm extended before him, he dove for my phone still resting on the mattress beside me.

  Snapping myself up at the waist, I shot my hand out. Getting there just a millisecond before him, I managed to pin the phone to the top sheet.

  An instant after, his massive hand clamped around my wrist. Nose no more than a few inches from mine, he peered my way. The smell of gymnasium sweat filled my nostrils.

  “Call her.”

  “I will,” I replied.

  “Or I’m going to,” he added. Releasing his grip on me, he made a show of lifting his hand from mine. “And trust me, that will be a much different conversation than whatever you might have planned.”

  Again, I felt my mouth curl up slightly. “I’m about to, just as soon as you two move on and let me get to it.”

  Raising his palms, Swinger took a step back. “Okay then. You hear that, Wendell? Apparently, we’re cramping the man’s style.”

  A round of chuckles burst forth as Swinger took another step back.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here and let him work.”

  My smile lingered as I watched my friend turn, drifting off toward his own bunk. Doing the same beside me, Wendell waited until Swinger was gone before saying, “Seriously, though. You should call her.”