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Bad idea. Timmy had screwed up, and, for him, there would be hell to pay. But not until the time was right. Presently, Goliad was letting him live because he might yet prove to be useful.
Goliad had been born in the Texas town of the same name. It was the name on his baptismal certificate. The name stuck, but the baptism didn’t take. His sainted mother had died clutching her rosary and sobbing over the path he’d chosen for his life. It wasn’t the straight-and-narrow one she’d fervently and futilely prayed for.
Timmy had been inducted into his first gang at the ripe age of eleven after he’d slit the throat of his abusive father and took to the rough streets of Philadelphia, where he was absorbed into the thriving criminal element. Now in his early twenties, he maintained a feral, street-gang mentality.
They made an odd pair. Goliad carried a handgun but was rarely called upon to use it. His height and breadth of chest made him so physically imposing that few men would think of challenging him.
The top of Timmy’s head didn’t even reach Goliad’s shoulder. He was small, wiry, and mean. He liked to provoke and was easily provoked. He preferred blades to bullets and never carried fewer than three knives, well concealed.
As they headed back to where they’d left their car, Timmy asked, “Are you going to tell the boss about the laser?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” Goliad replied, intentionally leaving Timmy to worry. But he didn’t want to get a knife in the back, so he motioned for Timmy to take the lead.
“I can’t find my way back to the car in this shit.”
“Then I guess you’ll stay lost out here in the woods and may never be found.”
Timmy must’ve sensed the underlying threat. Mumbling about how much he hated nature and missed city life, he plowed ahead, but it was Goliad who set the pace, keeping close behind Timmy, giving him a prod whenever he tripped over something unseen or slowed down to avoid collision with a sapling or boulder that took shape out of the fog, often only inches in front of them.
“I just want to know one thing,” Goliad said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’ve got a curious mind,” Timmy said in a whine. “I saw it on TV. A story telling how dangerous lasers were to pilots. Lots of them are getting zapped.”
“So you thought you’d try it out on this pilot, see if it worked to make him crash.”
“I just meant to mess with him some.”
Goliad shook his head over the stupidity. “Where’d you get the damn thing?”
“Saw UPS delivering a package to a house. Stole it off the front porch soon as the truck drove off. Didn’t even know what was in the carton until I opened it. Bonanza!”
“When was this?”
“Coupla weeks ago.”
“You know, they catch thieves like that on home security cameras.”
Timmy guffawed. “I know how to dodge those.”
“You had better hope. Have you shown it off to anybody?”
“No. Never turned it on before tonight.”
“You couldn’t have picked a worse time to experiment.”
“I wanted to see if it would work in the fog. Jesus, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that the people who hired you are waiting for what was in that airplane.”
“I didn’t know it would crash,” he muttered.
“Well, it did. Just be glad that box wasn’t destroyed.”
“S
ee? No problem. It’ll look like this sorry pilot screwed up, missed the runway in the fog.”
Goliad feared that it wouldn’t be dismissed as lightly as that. He feared a ripple effect that could result in serious consequences for the people he was paid to protect.
