Dead Six (66 page)

As for Lorenzo . . . he was a strange one. He was constantly on edge, with a sort of angry nervous energy. I didn’t trust him, though I really didn’t think he’d try anything while Jill’s life was on the line. Frankly I couldn’t see how somebody with a heart of gold like her could fall for such a prick.

Lorenzo was hard to describe. He was short, six inches shorter than me at least. I couldn’t tell what ethnicity he was. His skin was a pretty indistinct shade of brown that could’ve originated from dozens of countries. His black hair was cropped short, and he had some kind of permanent stubble thing happening on his chin. His eyes were like knives, and I swear he was always watching you.

He had gone into the other room to make a phone call, muttering about “gathering intel” or something. I listened to his half of the conversation through the door all the same. Some guy named Bob had been pissed about something but had known right away who Gordon was. The conversation had ended abruptly after that.

A couple hours later, Lorenzo’s so-called associates arrived. His associates consisted of exactly one skinny Goth kid dressed all in black, carrying a laptop. He had a big hockey bag slung over his shoulder.

The kid was a trip. Black fatigue pants, combat boots, black Rob Zombie T-shirt, black trench coat, and his hair hanging in front of his eyes. He had piercings in his nose and ear. He had tattoos on what small amount of his pasty white skin could be seen.

He looked surprised when he noticed me sitting against the far wall.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Who the hell are
you
?” I retorted.

“Wait . . . it’s you! You’re that guy!”

Raising my eyebrows, I looked over at Lorenzo.
Seriously?
Lorenzo just shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” the kid asked.

“I’m going to help you get Jill back so I can get on with my life,” I said, going back to my cleaning. On a table in front of me was my disassembled DSA FAL carbine. It had a short, sixteen-inch barrel, a folding stock, and rail hand guards. It was equipped with an ACOG scope and a weapon light. It was nearly identical to the carbine I’d carried while on Switchblade 4. Also on the table was my beloved .44, a S&W Performance Center Model 629 Classic. It had a five-inch heavy barrel, a smooth, stainless-steel cylinder, and a black Melonite finish on the rest of the gun. Lorenzo had given me a dirty look when I pulled it out. I just smiled at him in return.

Lorenzo addressed his associate. “Reaper, this is—”

“I know who he is,” the kid interrupted. “Is he for real?”

“He’s for real,” Lorenzo replied.

Reaper, I guess his name was, stared at me. “Dude, what’s wrong with your eyes? They’re like totally different colors. That’s fucked up.”

Lorenzo ignored him. “Let’s get started. How are we gonna do this?”

“I’m still on board with the ‘go in and kill everybody’ plan,” I said. “Or did you get enough information to make a better plan than that?”

“No.” Lorenzo frowned. “We need to find Jill first. We still need more information. Their
meet
will be a turkey shoot. I called somebody earlier who might know. He’s working on it now.” Reaper raised an eyebrow, but Lorenzo didn’t elaborate about his mysterious phone call.

“I don’t think we have a lot of time,” I said. “We don’t know what we don’t know. We’ll just have to go in and play it by ear.”

“Not really my style,” Lorenzo said.

“Mine, either,” I confessed. “But nobody ever tells me what the hell is going on, so I just roll with it. You guys got weapons?” If they didn’t, Hawk sure had a basement full of them.

“Hells
yeah
, we got weapons!” Reaper said. He picked up the hockey bag and dumped it out onto a table. Lorenzo rolled his eyes as weapons, magazines, radios, body armor, and night-vision equipment came clattering out of the bag, landing in a heap on the table.

So
this
was the crack team that had managed to track down Dead Six and infiltrate our compound. I shook my head and went back to my cleaning.

Reaper handed a carbine to Lorenzo, who proceeded to check it. Some kind of short, select-fire AR-15, with a twelve-inch barrel and a suppressor. Reaper pulled from the bag a Glock 17. He inserted a magazine, chambered a round, then stuck the pistol in a shoulder holster under his trench coat. On his belt he had more magazines. He then picked up what I assumed was his primary weapon.

“Benelli M1,” Reaper said proudly as he started stuffing 12-gauge shells into every available pocket. “Semi-auto, short barrel, badass all the way.”

“That’s actually a Benelli
M2
,” I corrected. Reaper frowned. I wondered how well Reaper could use his shotgun, though. He looked like an extra from
The Matrix.
Reassembling my rifle, I watched the two of them get suited up. I could tell they’d been working together since . . . well, probably since that kid graduated from high school, which couldn’t have been all that long ago. Still, for old friends, they didn’t talk much. It might’ve been because of my presence, but then, professional thieves probably have some weird interpersonal dynamics going on.

Like I’ve got any room to talk, right?

Hawk came home while we were still playing dress up. He scowled first at the strangeness that was Reaper, then at me, then finally gave Lorenzo a silent nod. “Been a long time.”

“Hawk,” Lorenzo responded uncomfortably.

The two stayed, exchanging a look that I couldn’t decipher. There was a lot of history there, and I couldn’t tell if they were friends or enemies or maybe somehow both. Finally, Hawk spoke. “No sign of the girl. No one in town knows anything.”

“I guess we keep waiting,” I said.

Lorenzo reached into his pocket as his phone vibrated. “Yeah?” He listened for at least a minute straight. “Okay, I got it. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Hanging up the phone, he looked at me.

“What’s the word?” I asked, fiddling with my thigh holster like a woman adjusting a stocking.

“Our next stop is a closed rest stop down the highway. Out past it is an abandoned prison work camp. That’s where they’re holding her.”

“You’re sure of this? Can your friend be trusted?”

“Oh, I’m sure. He’s like a brother to me.”

LORENZO

The four of us were still in Hawk’s house, readying equipment. We would be leaving in a few minutes. At one point I caught Hawk studying me. He motioned for me to step aside to speak. I stopped loading magazines long enough to follow. He had aged a lot since I had seen him last. I knew Hawk was at least a decade older than I was, and there had apparently been some hard years in there. His hair was grayer, his face lined and creased by the sun and wind of several continents, and he’d picked up a limp at some point.

When we were out of earshot, Hawk began to speak. “You know, I thought you were dead. Everybody from the old crew thought for sure those Cubans had got you in Sweothi City.”

“It was better that way,” I answered. “Some of us didn’t part on the best of terms. I figured it would be easier for everybody if Decker assumed I was dead.”

Hawk nodded sagely. “That was probably smart. Adrian wasn’t the kind of man that I’d want holding a grudge against me, so I suppose it was for the best. Well, I was glad to hear from you. I always hated losing men. I just wished you would have called sooner, because that’s one less thing I would have had gnawing at me, Ozzie.”

It had been a long time since I had gone by that name, just one of many in a long line of aliases. “I go by Lorenzo now.”

“That’s what Jill told me. That girl wouldn’t shut up about you. She’s got quite the fondness for you. She talked a lot, but I’ll admit, it was nice having a young lady around. You’ve changed more than your name,
Lorenzo
. You’re a different man than you were back in Africa.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked slowly.

“The man I knew back then was a stone-cold killer who only thought about himself and back-stabbed anybody who got in his way, unless you just happened to somehow become one of his friends, and he didn’t have hardly any of those. A man so twisted up inside and scary driven that it even got to worrying somebody like Decker. Why do I think you changed? Because for a woman that good to take a liking to you, you’re either a better man than I remember, or you’re a whole lot better con.” The old mercenary gave me the smallest bit of a grin. “And Val might not think so yet, but you did the right thing helping him. That boy’s like a son to me. Don’t you tell him I said that.”

“You don’t have to come with us, Hawk.”

He was solemn. “True. I don’t. I’m retired. I’ve got a nice place, just how I like it. Comfortable, I suppose. But you know, I think I took a liking to that girl too. Hell, Val and that little lady damn near killed each other in my kitchen when he first got here. Had to separate ’em like a couple of squawkin’ kids.” Hawk let out a raspy laugh. “He’s sure got a soft spot for the females. And they’re about the same age. They got along after a while. Gave her someone else to blab about you to. I was getting tired of it.”

I laughed along with him. We’d overthrown a country together once. Hawk was the last of the gunslingers, and there was nobody alive I’d rather have at our side.

Valentine appeared in the doorway. “It’s time.” He was dropping rounds into his revolver and snapped the cylinder closed. Well, maybe Hawk wasn’t the
last
of the gunslingers.

VALENTINE

It was a long drive out of Quagmire to the rest stop, following a lonely two-lane highway with sparse traffic. We were far away from the nearest interstate, and there wasn’t much going on out here. The rest stop itself was closed, but you could still pull off into the parking lot. Sitting in that parking lot was a nondescript black Suburban. I watched Lorenzo get out of his car, and I could tell he was surprised.

Anxious, I got out myself, my hand hovering over my pistol. All four of us had on body armor and other assorted battle rattle. I hoped like hell it wasn’t a cop. At best, he’d think we were a bunch of militia nuts or mall ninjas. Or maybe we could pass ourselves off as airsofters. Anyway, I doubted most militia nuts were nearly as armed and dangerous as we were.

From out of the Suburban stepped a big guy, tall, barrel-chested, and muscular. He and Lorenzo were exchanging words as I approached, and the bald man seemed none too concerned that Lorenzo was dressed in full tac gear. I could tell they knew each other. Was this the “Bob” guy Lorenzo had been talking to on the phone? Why would he be here?

That’s when I noticed the government plates on the Suburban. “Well, fuck me,” I said to myself. There were Feds here. Lorenzo had called a Federal Agent. Was this a setup? Had this entire thing been some overcomplicated scheme to turn me over to the government? It didn’t make any sense. My mind raced. Adrenaline surged.

“Lorenzo, you need to tell me what the hell is going on here,” I said calmly. My right hand had reflexively found its way to my chest, resting on my plate carrier. My left hand was on the butt of my .44. “Why is there a Fed here?”

“No! It’s cool! It’s cool!” he said excitedly. “This is my brother, Bob. He’s—”

I unsnapped the retention device on my thigh holster.

“Listen to me!” Lorenzo insisted. “It’s not like that. He’s my
brother
. He wasn’t supposed to
be
here. He’s supposed to be getting his
family
to
safety
!” Lorenzo glared at the other man.

“So,” I said,
Calm
wavering as I grew angry, “you called a
Fed
. Your brother the
Fed
. You idiot! Why in the hell didn’t you just have me call the cops if you wanted the Feds involved? Jesus, why don’t we just the ATF and the Secret fucking Service while you’re we’re it! Hell, we can get the DEA and the Coast Guard in on it, too, and have a giant fucking federal law-enforcement jamboree!”

“Look, kid,” the big man said, “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I’m here to help my brother get his girlfriend back.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Lorenzo sputtered. The big man grinned. I relaxed slightly. Though they didn’t look anything alike, they sure acted like brothers.

“This is Bob,” Lorenzo sighed “Bob, this is—”

“Don’t you
dare
tell him my name!” I yelled, wheeling around.

Lorenzo laughed. “I’m just kidding, relax.”

It was going to be a long night.

LORENZO

Valentine stomped away, muttering and swearing. I turned back to Bob and whispered, “What’re you doing here?”

“I’ve got a contact in Vegas I was going to see. Let’s just say he’s
outside
my chain of command, but he’s really good at hiding people. Don’t worry. I’ve got things moving to protect everyone from your boss.” My giant of a brother nodded after Valentine. “Your friend seems a little tense.”

“He’s wound kind of tight. But back to the question, what are you doing here? What about the family?”

“The family will be fine. I’ve put some things into motion. You should have come to me sooner.” Bob shaded his eyes and scanned the horizon. “Look, Hector, this Gordon Willis you asked me about, he’s not just a low-level chump. He’s more important than that. I don’t think you realize just who he works for, but it’s bigger than you can imagine. If he has your friend, she’s in big trouble.”

“You can’t do this, you’re the law. You’re a
cop
!”

“I won’t be for long if anybody ever finds out about this,” he answered. “Maybe we can share a cell.”

“But these are
your
people.”

He raised his voice. “These are not
my
people. My people take an oath to defend the Constitution, and I’m sick of watching men like Willis shred it. People like him work in a different kind of government than the one I signed on to. Black, secret, unaccountable. We’re not even supposed to ask questions about his operation. He’s had suspects taken in, no evidence, no investigation, no trial, and they just disappear into thin air, forever. These aren’t even bad guys they’re rolling up. They’re regular folks who’ve asked too many questions about the wrong powerful people.”