"The guy leaves the area every evening, but the chick doesn't. Maybe she's fucking McFadden but either way, it seems our weak link is the guy who goes home every night. The intel says he and our target go way back, so there’s friendship there and the redhead will want to avoid anything happening to him. But he comes in every morning, so we can simply sneak in after him."
Mike stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds like the beginning of a plan, anyway. If we get in quickly enough, they won’t have time to do anything before we secure the hostages. But you need to have that gunshot wound closed first. Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital to have this treated properly? I have some first aid training, but you might need an actual doctor for that."
"I'll be fine." Jon growled, shook his head, and pulled a fresh shirt on. "Doctors need to report any gunshot wound victim to the police and neither of us wants to have to try to explain this to them. Besides, it's barely even a flesh wound, although it felt worse when it actually hit me. Anyway, we have no time to waste, all right?"
"Fine. But I'm driving."
"That's probably for the best." He popped the vial of pills they had managed to find in the house into his pocket. "I don't want to be pulled over for a DUI."
Chapter Twenty
It was a long day and Taylor didn't like those. The work was supposed to be enjoyable and rushing about in an attempt to have everything done on a time limit was not pleasant.
There really wasn't much they could do to avoid the work, of course, even with his shoulder being too painful to move around much. Bobby had finally rushed out to pick up the parts they needed in his truck while Taylor and Vickie moved Liz into the garage to inspect the damage in a safe location.
Of course, there had been more than he'd expected. Rounds into the engine had caused considerable problems under the hood, and she would need far more work before she was functional again.
He’d cursed volubly during the inspection and wanted to start there and then. But Liz would have to wait because they still had orders that needed to be completed first. Once Bobby returned, the two men had worked for most of the afternoon and well into the evening. While the firefight and all its ramifications still weighed heavily on their minds, at the moment, there was nothing they could do but wait until Vickie had information for them.
If there was anything he had learned to do during his time in the Zoo, it was compartmentalization. Too many people obsessed over shit they had no control over, and that was the kind of thing that distracted you in the Zoo. Only idiots worried about shit they couldn't see and missed what they could see if they’d only remained focused on what was important. By the time they noticed, of course, the monster they should have worried about was already eating their ass…or hand, foot, arm…whatever.
The need to survive had quickly taught him how to set his feelings aside on a variety of topics at any given moment, at least until he could do something about them. For now, all he could deal with was working with Bobby to fix the mech suits.
Vickie had found considerable data in the meantime but none of it made sense to any of them and she decided to dump it all on Banks.
That woman would know what to do with it. For the moment, however, they wouldn’t get much else done, the work was finished for the day, and he had a feeling they all needed a damn drink after the day they'd had.
"I'll need a new car," he said as they locked the shop.
"I thought your heart was set on a motorcycle." Bobby looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You know, to complete the look of your new suit."
"Sure, that was the plan, but now that we're dealing with people trying to kill me, I don't exactly want to be caught out in the open with nothing between the bullets and me but a motorcycle, you know? And it looks like Liz will be out of commission for a while, at least until I can spare the time to get her up and running again, which means that since we're heading out to get drinks, I need you to give me a ride again, Bungees."
"I kind of knew that was coming," the man said. "I still wasn't looking forward to it, though."
"Look on the bright side. At least you'll have drinking company. Although you might want to think about taking a cab when we're done. Speaking of which, how old are you, Vickie?"
She looked up from where she still studied her computer screen. "Why do you ask? Are you starting to rethink that whole not-your-type statement?"
"I…well, it probably wouldn't be in your dreams, but no. The answer to that is no. You're still not my type and I hope you take that as the highest of compliments. I'm asking because we're going to get sloshed and since you've been a part of this whole episode, you have an invite to come drinking with us. Oh, and because you've been helpful in trying to track down the assholes who shot Liz—"
"And you. Don’t forget that," Bobby pointed out as they headed over to his car.
"Right, and me," he added and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the point is, the first round is on me and that's much less likely to happen if you're not allowed to drink."
"Well, I'm twenty-two," she replied. "So, there's no need to worry about that. I have an ID and everything."
"Awesome. Houston,” he called. “We have no problems. Now, let's go get us a drink."
"You sound very upbeat for a guy who narrowly avoided having his head shot off," his friend commented as they climbed into his truck. "Not that it's a bad thing, mind you, but still, a little upbeat."
"You know how it goes." Taylor settled into the back while Vickie climbed into the shotgun seat. "You get a little fearful for your life, the adrenaline pumps, and when all is said and done, you've survived and all that adrenaline needs somewhere to go. You celebrate having survived, then move on.” He considered putting the seatbelt on but decided death could throw the dice. “Isn't that how everyone reacts to having a scrape with death?"
"It’s hard to say." The mechanic eased out of the parking lot and onto the road. "For one thing, it seems like you've been involved in that kind of situation so often, you have dealing with the undesirable elements of escaping life-threatening situations down to a science. Which, you know, is great for you but probably doesn't apply to everyone."
"Fair enough. Vickie, how do you react to a near-death experience? Most people drink. Do you? Drink, I mean."
"Who doesn't drink?" she replied with a laugh.
Taylor shrugged. "Some people don't. It's a valid choice and I've learned not to assume anything. You never know when someone has a problem or they needed to quit, you know?"
"All right, that makes sense." She rubbed her fingers idly over her buzz cut. "And I've never had one, to be honest. I’ve never even been in a car accident before. Not that I'm complaining, of course. If we go with hypotheticals, though, I'd say that…yeah, it would probably mean a ton of adrenaline and feeling like you're immortal, so a drink with people who can bring you down if you go too far is probably the best scenario."
"Cool beans." He gave her a small grin. "I'm thinking Jackson's."
"Jackson's it is," Bobby said and continued down the still well-trafficked streets of the city. The nightlife in Vegas was something of legend and comparable only to the likes of New York, which meant it would be at least a handful of hours until the streets were more or less abandoned for the night. There was still a horde of sports cars and limos sandwiched in with the regular vehicles and trucks that needed to get from point A to point B.
Taylor wasn't a fan of the usual kind of nightlife. Even in his developing years, loud music and dancing had never appealed to him that much, although he pretended otherwise since it was what the opposite sex appeared to enjoy.
As of right now, all he really needed was a drink and company to ground himself again and all would be fine.
If Alex was working that night, so much the better.
It wasn't long before Bobby pulled into the parking lot and locked the truck before the three of them headed toward the door, where Marcus the bouncer was stationed.
&
nbsp; "Taylor, it’s nice to see you around again," the man said with a broad smile and bumped the proffered fist. "Bobby, right? And…I don't know this one."
"Marcus, this is Vickie, the newest employee in our little business.” Taylor gestured to the large man. "Vickie, this is Marcus, the best bouncer in Vegas."
"I think that if you were in the business, you could give me a run for my money," Marcus admitted. "Not an overly competitive run, but I'd still need to apply myself to it."
"That sounds about fair. Vickie, show him your ID to make sure you're cleared to drink in this establishment and we should be good to go."
She did as she was told and they were allowed to enter the building. He looked around and noticed more patrons seated than there had been the last time he'd visited. A baseball game played on the screens, which explained their numbers, and while he could see Alex behind the bar, it seemed like she was too busy to interact with them or do more than give him a simple wave.
"A sports bar?" Vickie asked and looked around. "Really?"
"It has great service, good drinks, and fantastic—okay, mostly good—food that tastes better with each drink." He pointed to the screens. "Sure, there's sports playing, but there's no need for you to focus on that."
They found a booth and one of the waiters came over to take their orders for drinks, which Taylor was paying for, and food. He chose the ten-ounce ribeye steak with mashed potatoes and gravy. Bobby stuck with the half-pound chopped steak dinner, while Vickie decided on the roasted salmon, which came with a side of sweet potato fries. A plate of fries was ordered for the table.
Bobby shifted impatiently in his seat. The man tended to get surly when he was hungry, and from the looks of him, he was famished enough to demolish the half-pound of steak he’d selected.
In fairness, it was on the late side and none of them had eaten since lunch. It was odd how food was forgotten in situations like this.
Once their drinks arrived—beers for all three—the mechanic raised his glass and looked at his companion.
"What are we drinking to?" Taylor asked but had already raised his glass in response.
"How you dodged death?" Vickie suggested.
"Maybe how Vickie is actually one hell of a saleswoman?" he countered.
"I actually thought something along the lines of actually getting the business up and running, despite all the mishaps and, let's be honest, dangers," the other man said.
"How about all of the above?" Taylor suggested and all three shrugged agreement that all points deserved a little tchin-tchin.
"Wait," Bobby interrupted a second later. "What do you mean by Vickie is one hell of a saleswoman?"
"Didn't I tell you? Oh yeah, one of our clients called and asked for a rush job on a suit they will send next week. She told them that would only be possible if we added ten percent to the fee, and the guy agreed without so much as a pause."
"Ten percent is almost…what, twenty-five hundred?" the other man asked and frowned as he did the calculations in his head.
"More or less. I said she should get ten percent of the profits she made on that upsell."
"That seems reasonable. Nice work. It’s not exactly retirement money, but you could always put the bonuses aside in a savings account or something and only live on your salary."
"What would I have to save up for?" she asked.
"Have you thought about going to college?" Taylor raised an eyebrow.
"Sure, I’ve thought about it but never seriously," Vickie replied. “I attended one near my hometown but I dropped out when I realized that I knew more about Information and Coding Theory than my professors did.”
"Well, you should think about it again. In fact, I might even go so far as to make it a part of your job contract if you want to go to UNLV."
"What do you care if I get higher education?"
"That's not the point." He sighed. "Look, I might not make it. With an education, you could have your choice of jobs. The diploma might not mean shit to you, but it could be a ticket to a company you can’t get into any other way. It’s all a game, even out there in the Zoo. We seem civilized, but we aren’t. We are simply a veneer over a group of animals that learned how to build a fire and write our words down. We are all animals at the end of the day. You don’t have to hunt, but to get ahead in this new jungle, you still have to learn how to stay alive and thrive. So, your first task is to do the jobs around the company. Your second is a degree.”
He half-expected her to roll her eyes and change the subject and was surprised when she leaned forward while he spoke like she was actually paying attention.
"Huh." She looked thoughtful. "I guess I never thought about it like that before."
They were interrupted when their food arrived on steaming hot plates, delivered by two waiters who each carried two plates. They placed the fries in the middle and the others were set in front of the people who had ordered them. Bobby looked like he had been taken over by a wild animal, and as soon as the plate and silverware were placed in front of him, he was quick to attack the food.
Vickie was similarly famished and tucked into her salmon with enthusiasm. Taylor started with the fries at the center of the table.
"It's something to think about, you know?" he continued with his previous point. "Besides, if this company needs someone with your kind of credentials, we might have to go ahead and borrow yours. There's always a benefit to hiring someone with a string of letters behind their name and hell, you could get a better salary if you had them too. If not from me, then from another company in the area that would kill to have someone with your brains on their team. Just saying."
"Ugh, fine, she gets the picture," Bobby grumbled, his mouth still half-full of food.
"No, it's actually a good idea," Vickie said. "And yeah, I appreciate your concern for my future. Not that it's really warranted since I can handle myself."
"I never said you couldn't handle yourself," he added quickly before he took a mouthful of his prime ribeye. "We're a team now, and that has certain implications. We might not need to be overly involved in each other's lives, but we can always help each other improve and grow. If that means you take a couple of days off work to listen to boring lectures, so be it. Besides, I'm fairly sure that your…” He watched her and the trace of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Older sister?"
"We don't even share the same name, man," she answered and laughed.
"I'll get it right eventually. Anyway, I'm sure Banks didn't only send you to me because she thought you needed to learn the lessons that come from working with your hands."
"Why did she bring me to you?" Vickie asked.
"I have no idea," he said honestly. "But I think we can work on finding out. I’m reasonably sure she wouldn't object to you getting an education either."
"Fair enough. I can’t argue with that, even if I wanted to. But yeah, I'll think about it."
"That's all I ask."
Chapter Twenty-One
They didn't actually drink that much, although they did stay later than they had intended. At the end of the evening, each of them elected to take a cab to their respective homes.
Taylor and Vickie shared one since they were heading toward the same place. He told the others they could have a morning off and come in for the afternoon if they wanted to.
If he knew Bungees at all, the man would consider the morning off as a suggestion and merely come in a couple of hours late. He had no idea how Vickie would take it, but he was curious to find out. Either way, they’d had a long day and he had no intention of busting their balls over arriving a little late. Or a half-day late, in that case.
He wouldn't judge them too much if they decided to take his offer to heart and take the morning off. As the night had worn on, he’d realized that while the shooting probably hadn't affected him much, he was an odd person. He needed to remember that people who were more normal like Vickie or Bungees might not see it the same way he did.
After e
verything that had happened, they probably needed time to reconsider their life choices without being clouded by alcohol.
Even so, there was work to be done, and if the people involved weren’t there to do it, he needed to. He was up at eight in the morning and still felt a little logy from the night before. There was stuff to do, however, but in this case, not entirely for the shop.
A quick cab ride took him to one of the nearby used car lots, where he spent time talking with one of the salespeople. He had a very distinct idea of what he wanted when he got there and thankfully, they were well-stocked with the kinds of trucks he would need.
The chances were that Banks would call him to head off and hunt something in the near future, and he would need something that could carry one or both of his suits. A truck was the only viable option, and it was easy to select a four-by-four that met his needs quite nicely.
The salesman was surprised when he offered to pay for the only slightly used vehicle immediately. Closing the sale took about as much time as was needed to transfer the money and drive away. She was smaller than Liz but he wouldn’t hold that against her.
She had all the modern trappings except for an AI to manage the driving.
"I’ll have to fix that about you," he said as he drove through the city. "Don't tell Liz I said this, but it's much easier to drive you in the mid-morning traffic than her. Which reminds me. We'll have to think of a name."
The dark purple four-by-four pickup had nothing to say to that. He started to wonder if he was merely shit at naming things in general but was saved from his train of thought stalling at the station when his phone rang. He still hadn't paired it to the Bluetooth in the new truck and had to pull over to answer it when he saw Banks was on the line.
"Good morning, Special Agent," he said with a smile. "What can I do you for?"
"You sound upbeat for someone who had an attempt on his life the day before." She sounded a little the worse for wear.
Silent Death (Cryptid Assassin Book 2) Page 16