by Jake Bible
“A what?”
“A kiss,” Max said. “Take some bark off one of those pines by his head. That’ll get his attention.”
“What if you miss and hit him?” the hippie asked. “Dude, you’ll blow his head off.”
“Then I won’t miss,” Max said and slowly squeezed the trigger. Max watched through the scope as pine bark sprayed the man’s covered face. “Just a kiss.”
The man stopped, looked at the hole in the pine tree, then turned and looked directly at Max’s position. Then he flipped him the bird.
“Dude,” the hippie said, “the guy is flipping you off.”
The guy lifted his other hand and extended that middle finger as well. Then he did a little dance, turned, and yanked his pants down to show Max his bare ass.
“Bro,” Shane said over the radio, “see that tattoo? I know that ass.”
Max looked at the tattoo on the man’s left ass cheek of a gorilla with its middle finger extended. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“See if you can find him on the radio,” Max replied.
“I already found you two,” a voice crackled, “been listening to you for the last hour.”
“Hey, Uncle Vinny,” Max said.
“Hey, Uncle Vinny,” Shane echoed.
“Hello, boys,” Thorne replied. “Sorry for the drop in, but something just came across my desk and I thought you’d be interested. Where can we talk?”
“Can we use your cabin?” Max asked the hippie.
“Yeah, sure,” the hippie replied, “but what about the lesson?”
“I think you’ve got the hang of it for today,” Max said. “You stay here and come in when it gets dark.”
“Oh…sure,” the hippie frowned, “by myself?”
“Yes, by yourself,” Max scoffed. “What? You need a babysitter?” He stood up and brushed himself off then looked down at his rifle. “Take care of her. You scratch it and they’ll never find your body.”
The hippie laughed then stopped abruptly when he saw Max’s face.
“Right, dude, not a scratch,” the hippie said, “not even a smudge.”
“Good,” Max smiled and picked up his pack. He put the radio to his mouth. “There’s a cabin one click over that hill at your two, Vinny. We’ll meet you there.”
Max handed the radio to the hippie.
“Should I call if I get in trouble?” the hippie asked.
“What trouble are you going to get into?” Max laughed. “No, you call when you’re coming in. That way we don’t shoot you.”
The hippie stared at Max for a minute. “Man, you are too intense. Fucking take some bong hits when you get to the cabin. Chill.”
“Wish I could, dude,” Max said, “I really wish I could.”
Max nodded at the hippie then took off. He was halfway to the cabin when his brother, Shane, appeared at his side. The Reynolds brothers were nine months apart and almost looked identical, both six feet tall, 175 pounds, with yellow-blond hair, green eyes, and freckles across the nose. But there was one easy way to tell the difference between them- Max was missing his left ear and had scar tissue running from his scalp, down his neck, and onto his shoulder. The brothers had fun in the SEALs using their similarity to their own advantage. At least until an IED (improvised explosive device) in Afghanistan changed Max’s looks forever.
Shane was allowed to accompany his brother home to recuperate, and when their time was up, they opted out of another enlistment. Max had lost much of his hearing on his left side and had become increasingly jumpy due to stress, insomnia, and the occasional flashback. He preferred not to drive anymore because he saw IEDs everywhere, even in small town Northern California. He once slammed to a halt in an intersection and jumped out of his pickup truck, with his 1911 drawn, and nearly took the head off a co-ed that had dropped her backpack on the curb across the street. Later, he told his brother all he saw was a Taliban fighter, not a hot girl in cut-offs and a tank top.
Shane did the driving from then on out.
But, being Navy SEALs, they couldn’t just sit on their asses at desk jobs. While in Afghanistan, they became close with some of the natives, including an older man that cultivated cannabis for a living. Being California boys, born and raised, the Reynolds knew quite a bit about weed. They learned a ton more in Afghanistan. Especially about the business side of it all.
They learned how cut throat the business was quickly, and spent some time showing the farmer how to protect his crops with some simple countermeasures. They spent some time training the man and his sons on how to create a sniper hide so they could watch their crop and spot poachers. The crop had already been raided by poachers twice that year and they were losing their livelihood.
Once stateside again, the Reynolds realized they could take those same lessons and apply them to the medical marijuana growers in Northern California. It may have been legal, but it was still a dangerous profession. The growers not only had to deal with poachers that wanted to rip them off, but the cartels were sending men up to torch fields and root out the competition. Then there were the local corrupt cops that came by to snag some free weed and hassle the growers.
A well placed round between the boots made everyone, from poachers to cartel muscle, think twice about approaching the field. Word spread and the Reynolds were the new, cool thing in the cannabis culture. Their experience in Afghanistan had paid off, in money and weed, something they acquired a taste for in Afghanistan. Both being snipers, they always looked for a new edge, and weed was it. Contrary to popular belief, weed didn’t impair mental or physical reactions. In fact, in the hands of the right person, it boosted both.
The Reynolds began setting records for distance and accuracy while in the field in Afghanistan. They, of course, kept their secret “technique” between themselves. The head shed would not have been happy to find out that two SEAL snipers were as high as the mountains that ringed the Afghanistan border. That wouldn’t have gone over well.
“What shit has hit what fan?” Shane asked. “Not like Vinny to drop by.”
“You think Sis is okay?” Max asked. Sis was the nickname of their cousin, Kinsey. Not having a sister of their own, they named her that when they were young; it followed Kinsey up through high school, into the Marines, and even at BUD/S training.
“Probably not,” Shane shrugged, “that girl is a fucking mess.”
“Mostly her fault,” Max said, “if you believe what they say.”
“What they say is bullshit,” Shane replied. “She wasn’t on speed. No way. Not Kinsey.”
“You ever know Sis to admit failure?” Max said. “I haven’t. I wouldn’t have put it past her to look for an edge to get by in BUD/S, and then SQT.”
“Still don’t believe it,” Shane said. “Maybe in BUD/S, but in SQT? She was home free.”
“You still think it was a conspiracy? The brass refused to let a girl get through and get assigned to a Team?”
“Makes more sense than her taking pills,” Shane said.
“I don’t know, bro,” Max said. “Then why fall apart like she did if she didn’t already have a problem? That girl is a walking pharmacy now.”
“Like we should talk,” Shane said as he lit up a joint and handed it to his brother.
“Different,” Max said after taking a hit, “completely different.”
“Not to the brass,” Shane said. “We got lucky we never had to piss. We’d have been booted before the cup had cooled.”
“Jesus, you girls make more noise than a ten-cent whore on a Saturday night,” Thorne said from the ridge just above them. “Is this what you teach your degenerate, stoner clients?”
“It’s called flushing out the prey,” Max smiled as he double timed it to his uncle and gave the man a huge hug. “It worked, right?”
“Hey, Vinny,” Shane said as he caught up and got his own hug in, “what the fuck’s up?”
“Let’s step inside,” Thorne said, his eyes scanning the area, “a little privacy is good
.”
“There’s no one out here,” Max said.
“That’s not quite true,” Thorne smiled, “I’ll show you when we’re done talking.” He glanced at the lit joint in Shane’s hand. “Still on the wacky grass, huh?”
“What can I say, Vinny,” Shane smiled as he took a hit, “I’m a hopeless junkie just looking for a fix. Gonna rob an old lady later and take her pension so I can buy more of the pot and get high. Then I’ll go on a murder spree. It’ll be crazy, daddy-o, crazy.”
“Smart ass,” Thorne said.
They all walked into the cabin, taking their sunglasses off in perfect unison. Each took a seat at the small table by one of the dirt crusted windows. The Reynolds watched their uncle and waited for him to start.
“I got a call from your favorite ex-cousin-in-law,” Thorne said. “He needs an extraction Team. And he needs it now. I thought of you two.”
“Ditcher called?” Shane asked, using the nickname they gave Darren Chambers when he and Kinsey divorced. “What’s that bastard need with an extraction Team?”
“He gonna rescue Flipper from Sea World?” Max laughed. “Or has a walrus been taken hostage by a pod of orcas?”
“Pod of orcas?” Shane asked. “You’ve been watching Animal Planet again.”
“Guilty as charged, bro,” Max said. “Don’t get me started about Whale Wars and Japanese whaling practices, man. Despicable.” He looked at his uncle and grinned wide. “Has Ditcher finally decided to put together his eco-warrior Team? I knew one day he’d get in with the granolas and go native.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” Thorne asked, looking over at the large three-foot bong by the wood stove in the corner of the cabin.
“The pot pays for the kettle,” Shane said. “We certainly don’t do it for the free weed.”
“But that is a nice perk,” Max said, reaching over and plucking the joint from Shane’s fingers.
“Do you mind?” Thorne asked, frowning at the joint. “This is serious.”
“So is this,” Max said, holding out the joint. “Goes for 5K a pound. That field back there will yield easily over 600 pounds per acre. That’s three million bucks an acre. Guess how many acres are in that field?”
“Okay, okay, I get the idea,” Thorne said, “doesn’t mean I agree with it.”
“Twenty-first century, Uncle Vinny,” Shane said. “Get with the program. Everyone’s smoking dope and getting gay married.”
“We would get gay married, but they don’t let brothers marry,” Max said.
“Except in Alabama,” Shane added.
“And no fucking way we’re moving to Alabama,” Max said. “Plus, I have a medical marijuana card on account of my hideousness.”
“And we’re not gay,” Shane said.
“There’s that,” Max agreed.
“Boys? Shut the fuck up,” Thorne said, smiling. “I always forget how exhausting you two are.”
“Then why come see us?” Shane asked.
“Because there are only a handful of men in this world that can shoot like you two,” Thorne said. “And as much as I may respect them, I can’t trust them like I trust you. And it’s Darren that’s asking, and he’s family.”
Despite having divorced their favorite cousin, the Reynolds still liked Darren. It took a lot more than a failed marriage to get on the Reynolds’ shit list. Darren was good people and they knew that.
“What’s the op?” Max asked.
“He has been approached to put together a Team for a company that solves problems,” Thorne said. “That’s all I know.”
“Not much to go on,” Shane said. “You think it’s legit?”
“Darren wired me the signing bonuses about an hour ago,” Thorne smiled. “I back checked the transaction and it’s legit enough. And that is quite a bit to go on, trust me.”
“So, no info other than Darren’s word? And some lame signing bonus?” Max said, shaking his head. “Not much of a sales pitch to get us to walk away from our business, Uncle Vinny.”
Thorne took out a small notepad and wrote down a number then showed the brothers.
“What’s that?” Shane asked.
“What you get if you say yes right now and come with me,” Thorne said. “Quadruple that per successful op and then add the same amount as a yearly salary if the Team works out.”
Shane and Max turned to each other, their jaws hanging open. Max took the notebook and looked at the number, even tracing it with his fingers. He handed it to Shane who repeated the gesture before handing the notebook back to Thorne.
“What kind of pack and prep time do we have?” Max asked. “We’ll have to cancel with clients. That’s not going to be easy. We’ll need that bonus right away so we can issue some refunds.”
“Bonus will be wired to your accounts within the hour,” Thorne said. “You can make cancellation calls once we’re on the road. As for pack and prep, you have an hour once we get to your place. We have to hit the road and be down to San Diego before 2000 hours.”
“San Diego?” Shane asked, giving his brother a look. “Why there?”
“Is that where the plane’s waiting?” Max asked, hopeful. “Any reason it couldn’t wait for us up here a little closer?”
“Yes, the plane is in San Diego,” Thorne nodded, “but that’s not the reason we’re going back there.”
“Ah, crap, Uncle Vinny,” Max said, “you have to be shitting me.”
“This is a bad idea, Vinny,” Shane said. “A very bad idea. Does Darren know?”
“It was one of my stipulations for taking the job,” Thorne answered. “I need to do something for her.”
“She’s not trained,” Max said.
“Bullshit she’s not,” Shane said. “She’s a fucking Marine.”
“She never saw action,” Max argued.
“Because she has tits and a twat, not because she can’t kick some fucking ass,” Shane countered.
“I agree with both of you,” Thorne said. “But she’s my daughter and I want her on the Team. Plus, it’s my job to know who is ready and who is not. She’s ready. Once we give her a little kick in the ass. As both of you know, there is no person on this planet faster and more accurate with a pistol. That girl was born a natural.”
The Reynolds couldn’t argue with that; they knew how many awards and contests their cousin had won over the years. Even with their SEAL training and experience, they couldn’t do what she could with a pistol. Put a .45 in her hand and she’d clear a room faster than a platoon with M-4s. But…
“She’s a fucking junkie,” Max said. “Let’s just lay it out there. Even if we could get her to go, she’s gonna have to detox. That ain’t gonna be pretty.”
“We?” Thorne asked. “So you’re in? And you’ll help get Kinsey?”
Without saying a word, the Reynolds brothers held a long conversation with nothing but eye contact and body language.
“Yes,” Shane said, “but you let us handle the detox. We dealt with our share of junkies in Afghanistan.”
“Plus, you’re her dad,” Max said, “you’ll crack.”
“I’m a SEAL, son,” Thorne frowned, “I don’t crack.”
“You ever detoxed someone?” Shane asked.
“No, haven’t had that privilege,” Thorne said. “Doesn’t matter though.”
“Yeah it does,” Max said. “Junkies will push every single button you have, then invent buttons and start pushing those. If you aren’t prepared for it, you’ll end up using along with them before they even get to the hard part.”
“I can take it,” Thorne said.
“No, you can’t,” Shane said. “It’s like when parents say you don’t get it until you have a child. You know that feeling, right?”
“Right.”
“Same thing,” Max said. “You ever see The Exorcist?”
“Of course. Don’t be an asshole,” Thorne said, getting annoyed.
“Think of it that way,” Shane said. “That de
mon in her will lie and say anything and everything to get a fix. You won’t stand a chance.”
“You have to trust us, Uncle Vinny,” Max said. “If you want us to help, then we do it our way.”
“Or you go get her on your own,” Shane said. “Which means never.”
“You know we’re right,” Max said, “or you wouldn’t have come to us first.”
“Or you would have cleaned her up yourself a long time ago,” Shane said. “How was she the last time you saw her? In an agreeable mood? How much money did she take you for? How many promises did she break? How many lies did she hammer you with?”
“Fine,” Thorne growled, “I get it.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Max said, “but you aren’t going to get it until you see it. What time do we need to be in the air?”
“2400 hours,” Thorne said, “wheels up a minute past.”
“Fuck,” Shane said, “that’s not going to be easy.”
“Never is,” Max said.
“Nope,” Shane agreed, getting to his feet. “We better move ass.”
“What about your hippie client?” Thorne asked.
“We’ll call him later,” Max smiled. “Didn’t you say he was about to have company?”
“Six non-friendlies are almost here,” Thorne said. “None spoke English, but didn’t look like migrants. Lots of tats and some heavy iron.”
“TEC-9s?” Max asked.
“Yeah,” Thorne nodded.
“Cartel,” Shane said. “Fuck. We can’t leave him to those guys.”
“Let’s make an example,” Max smiled, looking at his uncle. “Care to join?”
“I’d love nothing more,” Thorne said.
The three men left the cabin quickly and headed back towards where Thorne had parked his SUV. They were only a quarter of the way there when they spotted the six cartel enforcers that had been sent north to teach the hippie a lesson on who owned the weed trade. The men bumbled their way through the woods, crashing through the underbrush without a care for the noise they were making.
“City guns,” Shane whispered as he lay on the dirt about one hundred yards above the men. “Idiots.”
“You think that may be over doing it?” Thorne whispered as he looked at Shane’s rifle- a .338 MacMillan. It was second only to a .50 caliber in stopping power. Although many snipers argued it had the same stopping power with better accuracy. Shane was one of those that argued.