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~Dealer~
WHERE ARE THEY?
Comes to something when a bunch of contract killers can’t even get their asses up to a job on time.
I showed up here early for nothing.
I’ve scouted the place several times over, been prepped and in position for goddamn ages.
Finally, I hear the roar of an engine coming down the way.
Back in the days of going into battle with Thorns against our many enemies when I ruled as Prez, I used to get a major rush of adrenaline take me over, used to worry about the outcome and all that. Now, though, there ain’t nothing but numbness. It’s all old hat for me these days.
Hell, it’s tired. Real tired.
The screech of burning rubber jolts me from my thoughts.
I ready my piece as a dirty-white unmarked van speeds into the parking lot of the old, boarded up diner, the only place for miles around this back-country area in the middle of nowhere.
The second it stops, all four doors open and just as many guys jump out, all clad in dark clothing and oversized hoodies, each sporting a TEC-9.
I shake my head. The choice weapons of amateurish gangsters. Their boss is clearly losing it, sending these pussies out to do his dirty work. Then again, he ain’t expecting much resistance. Thinks he’s got an easy mark. Didn’t count on his target having protection.
Didn’t count on that protection being me.
I keep my back pressed flat against the wall of the diner, watching them over in the parking lot several feet away.
All at once, they take aim at the decoy truck I parked there earlier. Semi-automatic gunfire rips into it, a ruthless hail of bullets. The guys fan out, spraying it all over.
Talk about overkill.
When they finally cease firing, two of them stride up to the truck, the other two hanging back with their weapons still trained on it as a precaution.
The two by the truck open a couple of doors and look inside. Seconds later, they’re cursing as they realize nobody’s there, that they’ve just wasted their rounds shooting up an empty vehicle.
“Check the perimeter. The rear of that diner. The outskirts of the brush there,” one of them orders.
They move out on the guy’s orders.
I slam myself back flat against the wall as I watch one of them approach my hiding place. I listen hard as his heavy footsteps near me. My body tenses, preparing to act hard and fast.
The second his shadow falls over the narrow way between the side of the diner and the brush where I’m standing, I snag his arm. Before he can make a sound, I have one hand clamped over his mouth and the other shoving my piece into his gut. I pull the trigger without a second thought, the silencer and the cushioning of his body muffling the noise. I ease him to the ground and grind his face into the dirt. Stepping back, I fire off a fatal shot to his skull. I can’t take any chances. I cringe as blood splatters all over my face, because I’m way too close. Focus. Stay on mission.
I’m just getting ready to hoist myself onto the roof to implement the second part of my plan when the crunch of footsteps to my left catches my attention.
The split second it takes me to spin around costs me a kick to the back of the knee. It has it bending against its will and I fall forward, smacking my head on the brick wall of the diner.
The guy’s barrel is shoved into my back a second later and he’s growling, “Where’s Laughlin?”
“In the wind, dipshit,” I bite back.
He pushes his gun harder into my flesh, forcing a grunt from me. “Sure you wanna play it like that? We’ve got ways of making you talk.”
“Kid, you ain’t got no hope.”
“You—”
