Charles nodded and watched him go, leaving him alone with Thor.
“Okay, bud,” he said, “we’re going to show all those non-believers that you can be an asset to this team.”
The puppy wagged his tail.
He considered the dog. “I don’t think you could be used as a tracker. I’m not sure you have the pedigree for it. But that’s all right. Seems we never really have enough information to even perform something like that. No, I think you’ll be a guard and attack dog.”
Thor barked, the noise loud for such a young animal. Men who were milling around turned and glared at the unapologetic American.
“We’ll start with the basics. Sit,” he commanded, turning his hand palm down, and pushed it toward the ground.
Thor looked at him, his head cocked to the side and ears flopping. Then, he sat.
Charles blinked at him in surprise, then grinned. “Good boy! Let’s try this now. Stand.” He flipped his hand so it was palm up and moved it upward.
Thor stood, his tail wagging.
“Good, Thor! Good! This is going to be easier than I thought. All right, let’s try something else. Sit.” He repeated the hand motion he’d used before. The puppy sat. “Now, stay.” He held his hand out, the palm toward the dog.
Thor sat still for two seconds, then raced toward him, trying to jump up at his hand and barking happily.
“Well,” he said, “it would’ve been weird if you’d gotten that one on the first try too. Let’s try this again.”
He worked with Thor for the rest of the day, teaching the dog basic commands until he could get most of them on the second try, if not the first.
“Get the leg humper off me,” Booker growled, shoving Thor away. He was trying to apply the medicated cream and Thor was trying to eat it.
“He wasn’t humping your leg,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. He called Thor to him with a snap of his fingers, then made his hand motion for him to sit. The dog sat.
Booker watched their interaction. “You’ve been working with him for two days now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s pretty damn good.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
Booker rolled his eyes. Then he looked around the container and frowned. “Where’s Roo?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“Did you see him yesterday?” he asked, his frown deepening.
“Not really. He came back to get some clothes yesterday, but he didn’t say anything. What do you think he’s doing?”
“I don’t know. Think he’s found himself a bird?”
Charles gave him a blank look.
“Oh, right. American. You think he’s found himself a chick to bang?”
The man shrugged. “Haven’t seen a lot of options around here. And besides, who would want to get with that? It’s not like the women here don’t have plenty to choose from.”
“True,” Booker said. He stood from his cot. “I’m going to get a drink. Wanna come?”
“Yeah, I need to get out of this container and talk to some humans.”
They left Thor behind and went to the bar. They sat at their normal table in the corner and started in on their beer.
A man walked in. They recognized him as one of those who’d bought them the pitcher of beer. He spotted them and dropped into the empty chair at their table.
“Hey, fellas,” he said.
They gave him a nod in return. The man ordered himself a beer, then two more for Charles and Booker.
“Didn’t get to properly introduce myself before,” he said, taking a swig. “I’m Jackson.”
“Booker. That’s Charles.”
Jackson nodded. The teammates exchanged looks. He was clearly drunker than either of them was.
“You guys’ve got some balls,” the man said, ordering another round. “Still can’t believe you fuckers brought back one of those three-headed things. No one wanted to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Cheers to you.” He held up his glass. They clinked their pint glasses with his.
Charles took a small drink of his beer, then saw Booker was doing the same. “Oh, what the hell, we’ve got nowhere to be,” he muttered and drained his pint glass. “Bottoms up, Booker.”
The men drank together and talked about the firing range and the latest rumors of which communist countries had nuclear weapons. Jackson dominated the conversation, the other two offering him encouragement.
“Let me tell you something, this system is a real mindfuck. You’ve gotta be sleeping with someone or doing some serious ass-kissing to get any good missions,” the man said. He waved his arms around vaguely. “You don’t do that, you don’t get anywhere. You just get shit jobs. You can stand outside a dispatcher’s door all you want, but jobs handed out there are a joke. The good stuff you get called in for.”
“Seems like an unfair system,” Booker said. He was five beers in and nearly as drunk as Jackson. Then again, he was a bit of a lightweight.
“That’s what I’m saying,” Jackson said. He leaned over the table, motioning for his companions to do the same. “Listen, you gotta play the field here. If you don’t, you aren’t going to get shit. One of these dispatchers—what’s-his-fuck, yeah—has a thing for vintage skin mags.” He leaned back from the table and kept going, hiccupping now. He folded his arms over his chest and looked full of himself. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” He tipped backward.
Charles, although he was almost as drunk, realized that if the man went back any farther he’d fall over. He hooked a foot around the bottom rung of the chair and kept him in place.
“Then there’s the other thing no one probably told you about. Scavenging.”
“What’s that?” Booker asked.
“Finders keepers, losers weepers. Gear and weapons get abandoned in the Zoo all the time. You come across something and can successfully carry it out, it’s yours. Granted, it has to have been abandoned by its former owners, but don’t expect everyone to operate on such moral grounds,” Jackson said with a shrug.
“So, we find something, we can take it home? Just like that?” Charles asked.
He nodded sagely. “Just like that.” He finished the beer he’d been nursing with a belch.
“Listen, fellas,” he said. “This’s been great. But I gotta get going. I’ll see you around.” He pushed back from the table and staggered to the door, humming a tuneless melody to himself as he went.
The two men watched him go.
“Where the fuck is that bleddy asshole?” Booker growled.
“What asshole?” Charles asked, frowning at his empty beer. He raised a hand for the waitress to bring him another.
“Roo. That bleddy wanker’s been missing for too long and he just missed that good gouge. What the fuck is with that? You don’t think he’s cheating on us, do you?”
The American raised an eyebrow. “Cheating on us? Really, Booker? I think you can calm down about it.”
He smacked his palm onto the table. “I don’t want to calm down about it.”
“Fine. Don’t.”
“Listen,” he said, leveling a finger at him.
Charles moved the finger out of his face. “It’s rude to point.”
“Listen,” he said again, bringing his finger back to point at him. “What can the tosser possibly be doing? He’s been weird lately, and don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. That prick better not be getting any ideas into his thick head about jumping ship. Do you think he’s a team player?”
His companion gave a noncommittal shrug. “He’s good in a firefight.”
“Answer the fucking question, Charles.”
“You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“What’s the point, Booker?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. He stifled a yawn.
“The point is, we need to make sure he isn’t backing out on us. We’re a team, goddammit. We’re a team and we need to stick together. That’s the only way this works. We have to go find him.�
�� Booker stood abruptly. His chair clattered to the ground behind him.
Charles stood too. His chair remained upright. He followed Booker out.
“Where do you propose we find him?” he asked as they stumbled into the night.
Dan was on his way to the bar when they ran into him.
The Brit grabbed Dan’s arm. “Hey, you seen Roo?” he asked.
The man shook him off. “No. I haven’t seen your friend. Man, you two are shit-faced aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Well, good luck finding him.”
The two men wound their way back to the container, asking anyone they ran into if they’d seen Roo. Most of the men told them to fuck off and that they didn’t know who Roo was if they answered at all.
Booker paced outside the container, muttering about the best place to find their missing companion. Charles clamped his hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
“I know,” he said, “let’s use Thor.”
His teammate raised an eyebrow. “Thor?”
“Sure! Like a bloodhound.”
“I thought you said he wasn’t a tracker.”
He had, in fact, come to the conclusion that the dog wouldn’t track. But he was drunk and hadn’t remembered that. “Screw you, man. He can be whatever he wants to be.”
His friend held his hands up. “All right, all right. No big deal. He can be a bloodhound. Let’s go get him.”
Thor was in the converted container, chewing on a boot he’d found somewhere. It didn’t belong to any of the three men, so they weren’t worried about it. Charles grabbed Thor by his knotted parachute cord collar and shoved him at a pile of Roo’s dirty laundry.
“Find Roo,” he commanded.
He released the collar and stepped back. Both men stared at the puppy as he smelled Roo’s things. Then he turned, his nose to the ground and tail up, and took off out of the container.
“Bleddy hell, it is a bloodhound,” Booker said. “Didn’t think that would work.”
“I told you he could be anything he wanted. He’s smart. He’s adaptable. He’s a survivor.”
“Yeah, okay, Charles. I get it. Now, let’s follow the dog before we lose it, too.”
The men stumbled along behind Thor as he smelled his way through the camp. After a winding trail—with Thor often pausing to let the drunk men catch up with him—they found themselves in the Lampton compound, creeping amongst the Humvees.
“I think something’s wrong,” Booker said in a loud whisper.
Charles frowned. “Yeah, I hate to say this, but I do too,” he replied in an equally loud murmur.
They followed Thor past the largest building that housed the armory and research labs. He scampered around the pole building, and the men followed him. As they rounded the last corner, they were met with six rows of squat, utilitarian buildings that were clearly used for housing. Each was numbered and had a nameplate tacked to the front.
They paused at the beginning of the first row of prefabs. Thor kept trotting along, not bothering to pause for them to catch up.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” the Brit said.
“I’d have to agree with you there.”
“We can’t just leave Thor here. He’ll give us away.”
Charles tried the snapping method he’d trained Thor on the day before. The dog ignored him.
“We’ve gotta get out of here. I’m sure this area is patrolled,” Booker said.
He pulled on Charles’ arm, then both men froze as a prefab four down opened, warm light streaming into the pathway almost illuminating them.
Roo emerged from the prefab, adjusting the waistband of his pants. He stretched upward and cracked his neck. The door shut forcefully behind him, making him chuckle.
Thor barreled around the building and collided with his legs, barking happily.
He knelt and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Hey, buddy. What’re you doing way over here? Let’s both of us get back before those idjits realize we’re missing.” He straightened and started to strut back toward the converted container. Thor bounced around his feet as he walked. Roo whistled a jaunty tune as he sauntered. He was walking through the fleet of vehicles when his teammates emerged from the shadows.
“Jesus!” he hissed, grabbing his chest. “What the fuck, you guys?”
“No,” Booker said, all his earlier anger returning as he jabbed Roo in the chest, “you what the fuck.”
The Aussie tilted his head. “Are you drunk?”
“Doesn’t matter. What are you doing?” Charles asked.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” the American replied, chewing on his consonants.
Roo scrubbed the side of his face. “Honestly, I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say. Do you think we’re idiots, Demopoulis?” Booker hissed.
He winced. “Don’t call me that. Look. It’s nothing you need to worry about, especially not while you’re drunk.”
Charles shoved the other man out of the way so he could get in Roo’s face. “Where have you been, huh? Where have you been slinking off to? It sure as hell wasn’t ‘nowhere’ doing ‘nothing.’” Charles also poked him in the sternum a few times.
“I never said I was ‘nowhere,’” he grumbled, rubbing his chest.
“You bleddy wanker. You’re out here drumming up your own jobs, aren’t you? You were just waiting for your moment to dump us—put us in the wheelie bin and leave us on the curb, huh?”
Roo sighed and shook his head. Signaling his companions to be quiet, he turned and started walking back toward the prefabs. Stunned, they shuffled after him, Thor a silent shadow.
He led them quietly to the one he had exited and pointed at the marker tacked to the outside of the building. It read Shira del Mora.
“Holy fu—” Booker was unable to finish as Roo slapped his hand over the man’s mouth.
He dragged the two of them farther away from the prefab’s door.
“What the hell? Are you sleeping with her?” Charles demanded in a harsh whisper.
“How did that start? Why did that start?” the Brit asked at the same time.
“All in good time. Let’s get a drink—not that you two need any more, but I do.”
“Is she any good?” Charles wanted to know.
“How’d you get her to sleep with you? I thought she was too busy eye-fucking Charles to notice either of us.”
“Okay, assholes. She finds me very attractive, I’ll have you know,” Roo said. “Besides, I did it all for you.”
The others couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter. Roo dragged them away from the Lampton compound quickly.
“That’s a load of bull if I’ve ever heard it,” Booker said, practically cackling as he led them down the main thoroughfare.
Thor followed them into the bar. Other patrons eyed the dog warily, but one look from Roo and his two drunk companions had them turning back to their business. The Aussie ordered a pitcher of beer for the table. Thor settled himself under the table at the men’s feet, licking old food and beer stains from the floor.
“Here’s the truth,” Roo started.
“It better be the truth,” Booker interrupted.
“You can’t handle the truth,” Charles said. He slammed his fist onto the tabletop for good measure, grinning at Roo.
The Aussie rolled his eyes, then chugged the contents of his pint glass. “That’s my line, Charles. Jesus, you pricks are awful to listen to sober. Look, let me just tell you what happened. After that BS mission, I was so pissed, I decided I’d pay our little Israeli bad luck charm a visit and tell her off for blackballing us. I was going to convince her to undo whatever ban she’d put in place.”
“Yeah, sure. You were just going to convince her to do a little undoing,” Booker said sarcastically.
“Yes, you great idiot. Now shut up and let me continue. So, I go find Shira, and I start letting her have it,” he said.
Charles spat his beer
back into his glass. Roo pinched the bridge of his nose. Booker laughed.
“Can you please just listen?” Roo demanded.
His teammates put their hands up, laughing. “Sorry, sorry, continue,” the American said.
“Please,” Booker added.
“All right. Thank you. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was yelling at her and she was yelling back. I was getting angrier and angrier and she was working herself up too, then the next thing I know, instead of jumping at each other’s throats, we’re jumping down each other’s throats and we just sort of fall into bed.”
“Just like that,” Charles said flatly, although he was still trying not to laugh.
“Just like that.”
“I guess it’s true, what they say,” Booker said slowly.
“What’s that?” the Aussie asked.
“You know, how the tomato is called the love apple or whatever. Must be your complexion when you get angry.” He barely made it through his sentence before he dissolved into laughter.
Charles almost broke the table when he slammed his fist down, he was laughing so hard.
Roo rolled his eyes. “You’re both wombats.”
“All right, lover boy,” Booker said when he’d caught his breath. “Are you planning on shagging her still? What’s this have to do with taking one for the team?”
“Shira’s got a lot of…frustrations, shall we say, that she needs to work out. I’m simply helping her do that. I’m ingratiating the team to her, and maybe she’ll throw us a bone,” he explained.
“You’re the one throwing her a bone,” Charles muttered, then he and Booker snickered like schoolgirls.
Their companion downed another pint of beer and quickly refilled his glass.
“Think it’ll work?” the Brit asked.
“It’s worth a try,” Roo said with a shrug.
Booker rolled his eyes.
Charles studied Roo more closely. “Hey, you’re not wearing your itch cream?” he asked, noticing that his skin wasn’t orange and it still looked irritated.
“Yeah. Shira doesn’t like the smell,” he said.
“Doesn’t your skin itch?” Charles asked.
“Oh, terribly, but it’s worth it.”
Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1) Page 19