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I turn and stare at the dead body of the girl then touch my fingers to my face. Still wet. I want to puke, but now’s not the time. I swallow hard and mentally will the saliva pooling in my mouth to wait for a more appropriate moment. “She’s a snitch?”
“Was,” Daniel corrects.
I look at him and pull my own gun out of its holster. “You knew this would happen.”
“Had an idea. Like I said, snitches get plugged. It’s a dangerous job.”
“I hope the information was worth her life,” I say, still appalled that the girl can be dead so quickly, so easily. Life is nothing here in the slums, and I’m reminded of how badly I want to go home.
“You have no idea,” Daniel says, and there’s a fervent note in his voice that makes me wonder. He’s practically giddy with the information that we’ve found on this new blonde, and I’m surprised at the surge of jealousy that flares inside me. Is this the other woman who Daniel’s been looking for the entire time? Is that why he agreed to come find me—because he’s looking for another blonde? His girlfriend, maybe?
I’m a little ashamed at how jealous I am. Now’s not the time. It might not be the time, ever. I’m a package to Daniel. A broken, slightly torn-up package that won’t take itself back to the post office so it can be delivered.
All is quiet. No one’s shooting anymore, but we’re not moving, and at my side, Daniel is as tense and alert as ever.
“Is it safe to go?” I whisper.
“Hell no,” Daniel tells me, and a small laugh escapes his throat. “They have snipers. Someone expected her to snitch, and they’re pissed. We got a whole lot of valuable information in that phone, and when it goes up the food chain, they’re not going to be happy about it.” He still looks thrilled, though.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
I think. “Can we wait them out?”
“Snipers can wait for a long fucking time,” Daniel says. “And they have all the advantage since we’re pinned down.”
“So what do we do?” I ask again.
“We wait for them to make a mistake,” he says and then glances back at me. A cocky grin flashes across his face, startling to see in such a grim situation. “And we calm the fuck down. Don’t move from here, don’t stick your head out to take a shot, and we’ll be good.”
Oh sure, easy for him to say. “You’ve been in shootouts before?”
He nods, and his attention goes back to scanning the rickety clapboard walls of the old grocery. Sunlight’s pouring in through the cracks, and it’s a beautiful day outside. Perfect day for a nice sniping, I suppose.
“Relax.” He casually sticks his gun over the fridge door, fires, and almost immediately, there’s return fire. “Yep, still out there.”
“Relax. Right.” I press my back against the wall, clutching my gun. Relax, the man says. Like people shooting guns and killing people in front of my face is nothing to worry about. But even so, I’m good at mentally “going away” in a bad situation. I’ve had lots of practice, and my thoughts turn to my favorite topic: horror movies. Guns are not uncommon, but most gunfights are one sided. Good guy shoots monster or cannibal of choice, film at eleven. Gunfights are things I associate with Westerns and action movies. “What’s your favorite movie?”
Daniel brings his gun up, and immediately another bullet zips through the weathered boards. He lowers his gun as quickly, grimacing. It’s a good thing we have the old refrigerator to protect us, or we’d be splattered on the concrete like the snitch. He glances over at me. “Are you really asking me this now?”
“Hey, you’re the one that wanted us to become besties instead of screwing.”
He snorts. “Okay. Okay.” A moment passes, and then he glances back at me. “Die Hard.”
I should have known. “Could you be more clichéd?”
“Maybe it’s clichéd because it’s fucking awesome. Seriously. The guy invented ‘yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.’ We used to yell that in the army. Not too many movie lines making it into the army. Usually the other way around.” His eyes narrow and he cocks his head, listening, then experimentally lifts his gun and shoots.
No return fire.
“It’s quiet. Is that good?” I ask.
“Means they’re on the move. Don’t worry.”
Oh sure. Don’t worry, he says. I’ll never leave you, Regan, he says. When is Daniel going to realize he’s full of shit? “Riiiight.”
“Die Hard,” he says again, pulling his shoe off his foot as I watch him. “Defeated a platoon of bad guys in his bare feet. Even in the army, they let you wear boots.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, like a mischievous boy, then tosses his shoe over the top of the refrigerator and out toward the entryway of the old grocery.
