Silent Death (Cryptid Assassin Book 2)

by Michael Anderle

  "What do you mean? What kind of rewards are we talking about?"

  "Based on what we charge to repair suits of armor like that, adding ten thousand should get you a commission, right?" He paused to run the numbers mentally. "Let's say ten percent of the added profits, which would be a thousand dollars added to your paycheck once we’ve finished the mech."

  "Can it really be that easy?" She looked decidedly cautious as though she expected a catch.

  "You have a new job, now," Taylor said. "Upselling is always something that helps a fledgling business, as long as we're not too greedy about it. The guy on the line—my guess is that it was Collins from the Jokers merc company—took the news easier when it came from you, and I think that's something we can exploit."

  "Exploit?"

  "Maliciously," he confirmed.

  "I… Well, thanks, I think." Vickie considered the whole episode and gave him a look of frank surprise. "Not many people I know would believe in a stranger like you do."

  "Well, I believe you want to redeem yourself in Banks' eyes. And I believe that you believe her when she said your first misstep would be your last and that she wouldn't be able to save you from the Zoo after that. With all this in mind, it seems only fair to give you a clean opportunity at redemption and make sure you know your efforts are appreciated."

  "Thanks. You know, again. It's nice to be involved in something I actually care about."

  "Which reminds me," Taylor said. "What the hell did you do that made people threaten to send you to the Zoo for, anyway?"

  She shrugged evasively. "Who the hell remembers?"

  "You," he stated bluntly. "And especially because it only happened about two weeks ago?"

  "Like I said, my head is an attic that needs to be cleaned regularly so it can store information that's actually relevant to my life."

  It was clear that she was pulling his leg, and while he was curious as to what she might have done, he wasn't curious enough to continue to dig into her life. What she did was on her mind and her conscience, and she was already dealing with the consequences of it. If she wanted to talk about it, that would be her call to make, not his.

  He at least had something to think about when he refocused on work. Bobby joined them soon after, and a productive day ended with one of the suits finished and ready to ship out. The remainder would most likely be in shape to ship out over the next week or so.

  Obviously, they would have to focus on the rush order when it arrived the following Tuesday, but that was something they would address when it actually happened although they’d make the necessary adjustments to their timeframe once they received full details. The order email would come soon, and with it, the first acceptance of their changed policy regarding rush orders.

  "Did you pick up the parts we ordered?" Bobby asked as he settled beside the mech they were finishing.

  "What parts?" Taylor glanced at the man and narrowed his eyes.

  "The parts we ordered," his friend repeated. "The ones we need to replace in the hydraulic system in mech number four?"

  He could almost hear a clock tick inside his head. Everything he’d heard sounded familiar, but he needed a few seconds to put the pieces together.

  "Shit, I really need coffee." He stepped away from the suit and cleaned the grease from his hands.

  "You know the shop charges to hold the deliveries, right?" Bungees raised an eyebrow.

  "Right, I know. I know." He checked his watch hastily. "And they should close in about an hour and a half, so I think I'll go there now. Are you guys good to work until I get back?"

  The mechanic gave him a thumbs-up as he snatched Liz’s keys up and headed out to where she was parked. Thankfully, the truck was large enough to transport the crates with the parts they needed, which meant they didn't have to rely on delivery drivers, whose rates were always too high along with the risk that the merchandise might be fucked up on the way.

  Taylor pulled Liz out of the garage and into the parking lot before he drew his phone from his pocket to find the address to the shop in question. It was a business that sold parts for a variety of mechanical devices, and those they didn't have in stock could be ordered from manufacturers all across the country.

  It was the only place locally that sold what they needed, and he was still adjusting to the way Vegas was built so relied on his phone to find his way around the city.

  His gaze flickered upward, alerted by an inherent instinct that something was very wrong.

  There was never much traffic on the street in front of the strip mall, and most of the cars that were parked in the area tended to be stripped for parts within days. Seeing an intact sedan out front was enough to secure his attention.

  But the two men with the vehicle immediately upgraded curiosity to concern. One carried what looked like a couple of coffees and his friend inside the vehicle gestured impatiently for him to hand one over.

  He couldn't put a finger on what it was about the two men that bothered him, but there was something there that pushed a warning bell and it wouldn’t go away.

  The one in the car pointed at where he sat in Liz and watched them. After what seemed like a panicked exchange between the two, the one outside reached into his coat and drew a Glock from an under-arm holster.

  Taylor could hear the protests from the man in the car—or maybe he only thought he could—but there was no time to think about what they might be discussing. They didn't mean well, that was obvious enough. He ducked behind the dash a second before gunshots were fired from across the street.

  The world around him exploded in glass and he covered his head instinctively. Adrenaline kicked into him, shoved his heart into overdrive, and filled his mouth with a foul taste as he stretched toward the glove compartment. He was licensed to carry in the state of Nevada but honestly, he'd never thought he would need access to a gun while on an innocuous trip to collect parts. Most of his shooting was done from behind a mech suit.

  His weapon was an older model M&P but more than reliable from the company his father used to swear by, and damned if he wasn't happy to see it. He chambered a round from the magazine quickly and flicked the safety off with his thumb. For now, he remained where he was, hidden behind the bulk of Liz's engine while the volley continued.

  His caution meant he wouldn’t be able to see what they were doing or if they had moved, but it was better than getting shot.

  Not by a huge margin, but for now, he could live with it—and hopefully live as a result of it.

  Taylor shifted to the passenger door and pushed it open while the shooting continued. He hadn't been able to see what kind of Glock the other man used. Being unsure of how long it would take him to reach empty was not a pleasant experience.

  "They could both be shooting at you now, for all you know," he grumbled, frustrated by the sense that he was trapped. He knew better than to think Liz's door would be sufficient cover for him, but it would keep him out of sight and that was sometimes all one really needed.

  A couple of holes appeared on the door and told him that he wanted to wait. He peeked up from behind the dashboard and when he saw that the man was reloading quickly, he pushed his arm up over the dash. It was his left arm and therefore wouldn’t have the best aim, but it was about time he delivered a little suppressing fire.

  "No, don't come out to see if I need help with the shooting," he snarked under his breath. "That would be too much. Seriously, let me handle all the fighting, as usual."

  Maybe he should call Bobby for help. The guy had a shotgun in there somewhere that could help.

  Unfortunately, he had no time for that now. The shooting was loud enough in the close confines of the vehicle that all he could really hear were his ears ringing after four shots. He could, however, see the other two men scramble for cover once they realized he intended to fight back.

  "That's right, assholes!" he roared before he stepped out of the passenger side, slipped the pistol into his right hand, and pulled the trigger a couple more
times. "I have a fucking gun too."

  The shooting started from behind the car again as one of the men tried to cover the other while the second attempted to start their vehicle. A sharp stab of pain and a splash of red touched Liz's black paint job to confirm that he had been hit but at that moment, he didn't give a shit.

  "You’ll have to try a little harder than that." He held the gun in a two-handed grip before he fired again and grinned when the man fell and shouted in pain before he was dragged into the car by his friend.

  "No you fucking don't. I ain't done with the two of you yet by a damn mile."

  He continued to pull the trigger until it merely clicked and, enraged as he was, it took a moment for him to realize that his gun was empty. The sedan accelerated away and the tires squealed in the almost overwhelming silence in the absence of gunfire.

  Although there were extra mags in the glove compartment, he wouldn’t be able to retrieve and load one before the car disappeared.

  “Fuck.” Taylor looked at his shoulder and scowled. "Son of a fucking whore."

  Chapter Eighteen

  It didn't look too bad although it stung like a bitch, but aside from that, there wasn't any indication that real damage had been done. The bleeding had already stopped, and while he didn't mind having a couple of new scars to impress the women, he was still too angry to think about this with anything other than a burning desire for vengeance.

  It wasn't long before the garage door opened, but no vehicles emerged. He snagged one of the extra magazines from the glove compartment and readied his weapon.

  While it was probably unnecessary, it would also be downright dumb to assume no one would return. Aside from the men who’d attacked him, he was a little surprised that the police hadn't already been called.

  Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Bobby who stepped cautiously from inside the strip mall with his shotgun in hand. He turned slowly, obviously trying to find some kind of threat for him to fire at.

  Having the man there was reassuring and he wouldn’t suggest he put the weapon away yet, but they were likely safe for the moment. He waved his good arm to call him over.

  Vickie peeked out from behind the door but wisely stayed away from any potential gunfire, unlike Bobby—although he wouldn’t criticize him for that, even though it maybe wasn’t the brightest move. Of course, the fight had stopped, so he had probably thought it through.

  "What the fuck is going on?" his friend demanded. His gaze continued to scan their surroundings to locate the source of the shooting. He scowled when he saw the gun in Taylor's hand and the blood. "You're hurt."

  "It’s barely a graze. As for the first question… I’d say someone attempted a drive-by but they were parked at the time. Besides, they weren't very good at it."

  "It looks like they did fine." Bobby examined his shoulder.

  "I'm fine," Taylor snapped and yanked himself away. "Liz, on the other hand…"

  "Fucking bastards." The mechanic growled under his breath and shook his head in disgust. "Did you get a good look at them? Maybe we can call Banks to see if she can't look into, find out who they are, and pick them up before they return for round goddamn two."

  He shook his head. "They were across the street and I only had a couple of seconds before they realized I'd made them and opened fire.” He pointed. “They were parked over there in a grey sedan but I didn't get the make or model, though. And they had coffee."

  "Coffee? Like…what? They needed to energize they went on a shooting spree?"

  "I think it was surveillance. When they realized I'd noticed them, they panicked."

  "Why would people case this place?" Bobby looked at the shop in confusion. "We're not exactly a prime target for robbery. Okay, the suits are worth a solid dime, but there aren't enough people out there who would want to steal second-hand suits. Or any of the other equipment you might have around here, for that matter."

  "If you say so."

  "Do you think they were associated with the criminal element you had to deal with before?"

  "It’s hard to say for sure, but I don’t see any other explanation." He scowled in the direction in which the vehicle had disappeared. "The guys I dealt with before were low-level thugs, iffy street talent recruited to try to deal with me the first time around. The second group wasn’t much better. These fuckers were… Well, I definitely wouldn’t call pros, but my gut says they’re at least a step above others. They were well-equipped and knew their way around a gun but weren’t experienced enough to not panic.” He sighed. “So…fucking hell, I don't know, but it looks like maybe whoever the boss is decided to up the stakes and bring in a couple of bottom-tier freelancers."

  Vickie ventured out from where she had been hiding and had apparently decided that everything was clear and no one would actually shoot at her. It was a fair assumption, of course, but Taylor would still have preferred her to remain inside for the moment.

  He didn't need the kind of hell Banks would throw at him if her pet project was wounded or killed in a gunfight.

  "Are you okay?" she asked as she approached and noted the bloodstains on his arm. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

  "I'm fine, dammit. Who the hell are the two of you—my parents?"

  "I hope my kid would be a little more appreciative of concern," she retorted. "You look like you're in pain."

  "I'm not in pain, I'm pissed the fuck off."

  "That's understandable." Bobby patted him gently on the shoulder. "Someone did take a shot at you, after all. Let's at least get inside and patch that wound up before it gets infected."

  "People have been shooting at me for a while now and that doesn't piss me off," he snapped, although he did begin to walk toward the strip mall. "Hell, most of them had a good reason to do so.” He waved the hand with the gun toward his truck. “No, I'm pissed off because they damaged Liz."

  "Yep, people will die for that." His friend cast an offended look at the vehicle.

  "Wait, you were shot at and what you're most pissed about is that they put holes in your car?" Vickie asked.

  "Truck!" Taylor corrected sharply. "And she has a name."

  "She does?" The woman paused for a second as she finally realized who Liz was and glanced at the other man for confirmation.

  "We call her Liz," Bobby said with a nod as they covered the last few steps to the garage, where he began to rummage around for a first aid kit.

  "That's….nice." Her tone said she really hadn’t reached any real understanding but was willing to run with it in the circumstances.

  Taylor shook his head, eased his shirt off, and inspected the injury more closely. "As far as I’m concerned, Liz is family, and if you fuck with family, you're asking to have your ass beat with a lead pipe until you piss blood."

  "Okay, you really care about the car—"

  "Truck," Bobby corrected as he returned with the kit he found and motioned for Taylor to take a seat.

  "Right, of course. Truck." Vickie’s expression finally settled into resignation. "You really care a lot about the truck, but shouldn't your focus be on calling the police?"

  "They won't do us much good," Taylor told her while his friend set about cleaning the wound. It wasn't that deep at all, barely a graze, but it began to bleed again when a sterilized cotton swab was pressed onto it. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath.

  "We could always give the feds a call." The mechanic kept both his gaze and focus on what he was doing. "Although it probably isn't the worst idea in the world to let the police know about what happened. The chances are that people have already called them to report gunshots."

  "And you're positive about that?" she asked and raised an eyebrow.

  "What am I, a police monitor?" Taylor knew his tone was abrupt but decided the circumstances warranted it. "How am I supposed to know if someone called them? My point is, if someone did call them, they're already on the way. If no one did, we can deal with it ourselves without the local cops interfering. Or, more realist
ically, filling the criminals in question in on how we can be dealt with more efficiently."

  "You're a little cynical, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle.

  "More than a little. But that's not the point,"

  "So if I were to offer you my services in using cameras to locate our attackers and hopefully identify them, would you have a snide comment about that too?"

  "I—” He looked up. “Wait, can you do that?" Taylor narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't supposed to be snide. I'm actually wondering."

  "Our cameras wouldn't have been able to catch much of anything across the street," Bobby said. "We tried when we first heard the gunshots, but they didn't show us anything other than you taking cover."

  "Yeah, Liz is far more durable than I am. Speaking of which, we should probably think about what kind of repairs we’ll have to put into her. I know the door, hood, and the windshield will need to be replaced. Did you see anything else?"

  "I think the passenger window needs help too," the mechanic told him. "There are a couple of bullet holes on the body which will be a bitch to buff out. It might actually be cheaper to simply buy new pieces and set them in. All things considered, I would think about going with solid steel to simply armor Liz at the same time—maybe even bulletproof glass for additional protection."

  "The added weight will fuck up the suspension and the mileage," he replied. "I never realized I would need to build me a fucking popemobile."

  "Hey, so do you not want me to take a look through camera footage to find the assholes who did this?" Vickie asked to draw the attention of the two men. "Or will you simply sit around and wait for them to come back? Maybe work up a couple of gift baskets? A barbershop quartet?"

  "I'm not sure what you're talking about," Taylor replied. "Didn't we establish that our cameras didn't cover the attackers across the road? I simply moved on from there to help the process."

  "Well, yeah, your cameras don’t cover the road." The woman rolled her eyes. "But there ain't no one talking about my cameras."