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I like watching nature documentaries. It’s a hobby of mine since I can’t get into the outdoors as often as I’d like. Sometimes, those documentaries show animal attacks. It’s a part of nature, and I understand it. I don’t like those parts, but they are like trainwrecks, and I can’t look away. It might be started by blood in the water or the spotting of a lame straggler in the pack. There is always a moment right before the attack begins when it seems like it might not happen. The predator appears to consider a different option, but in reality, he’s sizing up his prey.
Right now, that’s what this feels like. We’re being sized up. For all my hours in the gym, my practice at the gun range, and my sharp suit and coat, I look like prey to these guys. I do not like it.
So, I stand taller. Slowly, so I don’t spook them. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’m capable of. It’s all I have going for me at the moment. That, and the Glock. I’ll let Moss do all the talking so I remain a mystery. I’d like to think that worries them enough to keep this from getting out of control.
“That is what you say last time, Bobby. And the time before.” Moss cracks his knuckles and stretches. “I like you, Bobby. It is why I let you string along. But my boss? He does not like you. He grows impatient with my patience. He says Bobby is not a good man. Do not let him get away with it this time.”
“Come on, Moss. You know I’m good for it.”
“What I know is, if you keep this up, you lose more than your money. You lose your valuables.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ worth that kind of money?—
Moss says no more. He holds out the file folder from his jacket. He doesn’t hand it over to Bobby. Instead, he makes Bobby come to him for the folder. The squirrely man creeps between his associates to grab the folder, then retreats a little as if Moss will spring on him at any moment.
Bobby opens the folder, and his face drains of color. His gaze is a mixture of shock and anger. He rasps, “Never thought Elliot West would go after my kids.”
It’s a knife to my gut. I try to contain my shock—if I show it, they’ll know I’m not some silent killer here to back Moss up. But fuck, Dad’s threatening kids? Jesus. What the fuck is going on with my family?
Moss says nothing, either. He just stands there like some immovable object instead of a person. Considering he was giddy about everything else, I get the feeling he might not be thrilled about threatening children, either. Or maybe he’s content to let the pictures do the talking.
Bobby shakes his head. It’s not anger in his voice anymore. It’s resignation. “I shoulda known not to get in bed with Elliot West. He’s a fuckin’ animal. I’ll get ya the money, Moss. Let me make a call.”
Moss merely nods.
His men relax, shoulders slumping in defeat. I don’t know what’s in those pictures, and I don’t want to know. This shit ends the moment I’m in charge. I wish I could promise that to Bobby right now. I feel bad about this. Sick, actually. But the worst of things is over, and I’m relieved. Tucking my hands in my pockets?—
“Gun on the suit!” one of the goons shouts as he points at me.
“What? No, wait?—"
But it’s too late for explanations. Everything happens so fast. The goons grab Bobby and dive behind the nearby crates, and Moss grabs me and does the same. We’re behind a cluster of them, affording us more protection than what the other guys have since they’re in the middle of the warehouse.
I shout, “I didn’t mean?—"
But gunshots ring out anyway. Doesn’t matter what I meant. Doesn’t matter who I am. My fancy degrees and expensive cars mean nothing. At this moment, the only thing that counts is tiny metal projectiles seeking something solid to bore a hole into, and I am their target.
Moss returns fire, then grins at me. “Flashed your piece.”
“I didn’t mean to!”
He laughs, ducking a shot. “Tell them that.”
“I’m trying!”
“Does not matter now, eh?” He shoots at them again. A man screams in pain, and it sends a spike of ice up my spine. He scans out, still smiling. “Bobby, I warned you?—"
A few shots ring out, all the while, Moss laughs. I’m enraged by his cavalier attitude. “What the fuck is funny?”
“They think we will be shot by them. It will not happen.”
“Huh?”
“These good crates. Better than theirs. Read.” He leans up and shoots again. More screaming.
I don’t want to know what just happened, so I read. The side of the box had a label for some sort of manufacturing company. “So?”
“They make steel gears for machinery. Bullets do not like steel. Is why I picked this spot to speak to Bobby.”
