Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2 (7 page)

“Who do you think this is? Cain’s guys?”

“
Ja
, Cain is the most likely option.”
 

“I need Duke.”
 

“As I said, I will contact Harris. Keep calm, and do nothing rash.”
 

I snorted. “Have you met me?”
 

Anselm sighed. “You don’t know their plan. You don’t even know for sure this is Cain’s doing. It could be a coincidence. There are many potential scenarios, my friend.”
 

“You taught me to tag a shadow yourself, Anselm. He’s fucking following me. He’s good, but this is no mistake.”
 

“I believe you,
ja
? But if you go off the rails halfway cocked, you could make things worse.”
 

I laughed. “You just mixed your metaphors, man.”

“Your American sayings are stupid, and I cannot ever seem to get them right.”
 

I’d gone another couple blocks in the time I’d been on the phone with Anselm, and the guy was still back there, despite the fact that I’d taken several turns at random.
 

I felt the stirrings of something vicious inside me, and it all centered around Lola, around the thought of Cain’s fucking goons getting their hands on her. Even if nothing ever happened between us, I couldn’t let her get pulled into my fucked-up world. Not like this, unaware and innocent.
 

“If they’re tailing me, they’re probably looking for the rest of you, too.”

He must have heard the coldness entering my voice. “Thresh, please, think through every step, every action.”

“I’m going dark, Anselm. Get shit moving.” I ended the call, and then turned off the phone.
 

I kept walking, and started mentally planning. I was low on cash, and only had my holdout pistol, a Sig Sauer P238. It was holstered at the small of my back, hidden under the tail of my shirt. One clip. No wheels. No backup for several hours at best. And oh yeah, my left arm was out of commission.
 

But even one-handed, I’m more than a match for most.
 

I didn’t think much of my tail’s chances, now that I was committed to going on the offensive. But…as Anselm had pointed out, if you see one tail, there’s probably another you don’t see, plus their backup, and whoever they’re reporting to.

I needed more gear.
 

In a moment of sheer luck, I found myself passing an army/navy surplus store. I ducked in, started browsing, keeping an eye on the door. I chose a rucksack, a roll of para cord, a four-inch folding knife, and a KA-BAR tactical blade with a sheath, some MREs, a flashlight, a pair of tactical shooting gloves, and a lightweight sleeping bag. Paid for it all with cash, which nearly depleted my limited liquid funds. I strapped the KA-BAR to my belt, stuffed the folding blade into my pocket, and left the store.
 

My tail was across the street, leaning beside a doorway, pretending to be absorbed in his cell phone. As soon as I started moving, so did he.
 

Time to lose him.

I reached an intersection, slowly increasing my pace until I was moving at a fairly brisk walk. I spotted a bus stop around the corner, with a bus approaching. I took off at a sprint, darting between cars, earning honked horns and middle fingers, and barely made the bus. I caught a surreptitious glimpse of my shadow, jogging across the street, running his hands through his hair in consternation. I had to force myself to sit down and not look at him, not make eye contact. I was just a guy catching a bus.
 

I rode the bus for two stops, got off, walked two more blocks up and took a bus going a different direction, along a different route, transferred twice more at random, keeping my eyes peeled for the tail. Once I was sure I’d lost him, I walked until I found a bank with an ATM inside the lobby and used it to withdraw as much cash as I could, then walked until I found another ATM and did the same, repeating until I’d hit my daily withdrawal limit, but at least I had a few thousand dollars in my pockets and in my backpack. Next, I found a convenience store and bought a burner phone, a few liter bottles of water, some protein bars, a few packages of beef jerky, and a box of condoms, just in case things went my way with hot as fuck Dr. Reed.
 

The next part was something I regretted having to do, but my choices were limited; I needed wheels, and badly, but I couldn’t risk renting, didn’t have the time or liquid resources to buy. Which meant I had to…liberate…something. Call it a borrow.

I ambled slowly along the street—I wasn’t sure which one, but it didn’t really matter. Once I had a ride, I’d use GPS to find Lola’s place again.

There, across the street, was the perfect target—a faux-hipster douche, wearing tight pale red pants with the hems rolled up to his ankles, stupid pre-scuffed leather boots, a tight plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up to mid-bicep, long stringy curly hair left long on top and undercut to the skin on the sides. He was in the process of loading a few bags of groceries into the trunk of a sweet-looking Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT, deep crimson with huge black rims and red calipers…a quick, rugged, powerful vehicle, but not so flashy as to attract attention, or be super noticeable.
 

I sidled up behind him, drew the KA-BAR—seven inches of black carbon steel, razor sharp, vicious looking, intimidating, and eminently valuable as a tool for the deletion of human life. I love me a good KA-BAR, man.
 

I touched the point to the hipster-douche’s spine, blocking anyone’s view with my body. “Don’t shout, don’t flinch, and don’t fight. I got no plans to do you any harm, if I can help it. I just need to borrow your ride for a while.”
 

“Fuck, man. Not my car!”
 

“Yes, my man. Your car. It’s a sweet ride, so I’ll take nice care of it.” I dug the point a little deeper into his spine, just enough to make it hurt a little. “If I had another choice, believe me, I’d go for it. Now, give me the key—
don’t
turn around.”

“Fuck.” He reached into his pocket—very slowly—and brought up a set of keys, unhooked the key fob for his Cherokee and extended it behind his back. “Just…try not to wreck it, okay? I’m still making payments on it.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you get it back in one piece. Like I said, I just need to borrow it.” I took the key fob, but kept the blade against his spine. “You wanna keep your groceries?”

Hipster-douche snorted a laugh. “Seriously? This is the weirdest carjacking ever, man.”

“Don’t I know it. Get your groceries, set them on the ground. No sudden movements.”
 

He set the paper bags on the ground, and then turned his head to look at me.

I jabbed the point into his skin. “
Don’t
look at me, man. You want plausible deniability. You never saw me—you don’t know what I look like. Don’t report this stolen, and it’ll go better for you, yeah?”
 

“Meaning what?”

“I’m trying to stay under the radar. Give me a couple days, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay? I’m serious, I don’t mean you any trouble, I just…I need wheels, and fast. This is easiest, and honestly, I picked you ’cause you’ve got a sick ride and you dress like a douchebag.”
 

“Wow, that was a little harsh.” He grinned though. “It is a sweet ride, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Now take your groceries back into the store, and don’t look back at me.”
 

He did as he was told, albeit a little stiffly. There may or may not have been a wet, red spot on his shirt where I’d pricked him with my knife. As soon as he was inside, I closed the trunk hatch, hopped into the driver’s seat, tossing the backpack onto the passenger seat. I had to move the seat back as far as it would go, and lean it back, and even then, I didn’t really fit. But then, at my size, I don’t fit in many vehicles.
 

Damn, this was a slick-ass set of wheels. Silky black leather, GPS, upper end stereo…when I hit the ignition, the engine burst into a snarling purr, the sound of a powerful, well-tuned engine. I set out, punching Lola’s address in as I drove.
 

Ten minutes later, I was parking my temporary SUV a block and a half away from Lola’s place. I left the backpack on the floor in front of the passenger seat, donned the tactical glove on my right hand. Circled the block on foot twice, scanning rooftops and passers-by, looking for someone sitting in a car, seemingly idle.
 

There he was—across the street from Lola’s condo building, sitting in an older model Mercedes, ostensibly occupying himself with an e-reader, but I noticed his attention tended to drift constantly back to the doorway of Lola’s building. He had the window open, one arm hanging out, the other propped up to hold the e-reader in front of his face.
 

Fifty yards away, with a clear profile of his head…he would be an easy shot if I had both hands. One-handed, my accuracy drops enough that I didn’t like the chances of getting him in one. Plus, a gunshot attracts attention, which was something I wanted to avoid and minimize as much as possible.
 

Since his attention was on Lola’s building, though, maybe I could use this opportunity to…elicit, shall we say…information?
 

I crossed the street, hugging the building on my left, approaching the Mercedes at a casual stroll. Reached behind my back, drew my P238, and kept it low against my right thigh, so it wasn’t readily visible. This could be tricky, one-handed—damn this useless fucking arm.
 

I slowed down as I reached the front passenger door, tucked the gun into my hip pocket, jerked open the door, sat down in the passenger seat, closed the door, and drew the pistol again, all in one swift movement. He never even saw me coming, the stupid bastard.

I aimed the Sig Sauer across my torso, steadying it in the crook of my sling-bound left arm. “Hands on the wheel, asshole.”
 

He moved slowly, setting down the e-reader—which was turned off—and put both hands on the steering wheel. “Can I help you? My car is not so new, not very useful to you, I don’t think. But you may have it, if you wish.” He had a thick accent, Eastern European. Czech, Ukrainian, something like that.
 

“Cut the shit. You’re watching that condo.” I thumbed back the hammer with a
click
.
 

“Ah.” He eyed me, and I saw recognition dawn. “You are him. The mark.”
 

“Guess so. You work for Cain?”
 

He shrugged. “He pays me, yes.”
 

“What’s the job with the girl? Watch her? Snatch her?”
 

“Watch. If I can grab her without trouble—” Another shrug to finish the thought.
 

“How many others are here in Miami? The dumbass trying to tail me, you, who else?”

That shrug again. “That is it, only. Two, no more.” His eyes cut away, though, as he said it.

I sighed. Holstered the pistol behind my back…

And drew the KA-BAR, lightning-fast, gripping the handle so the blade faced down. Slammed it into his right thigh, burying the blade to the hilt. He gritted his teeth and screamed through them. I left the blade in his leg and re-drew the pistol.
 

“Now—let’s have the truth. How many?”

He sucked in a ragged breath, swearing under his breath in his native tongue, whatever it was. “Three more. One more to watch this girl, I don’t know where he is, and the others are in a car, a few blocks away, in case—
hovno
, it hurts—in case something like this should happen. A few more on call if they should be needed.”
 

I checked the side-view mirror, scanned the street around us: empty, except for a bus slowly trundling toward us, “out of service” on the route screen.

It sure would be easier overall if I could just pop this guy in the head, quick and easy, but that’d be a mess, and Harris would be pissed if it got back to him. So I lashed out with the butt of the gun, catching him right at the base of his skull. He groaned, swayed forward—damn it…I had to hit him once more to put him under. They make that look so simple in the movies, but in reality, it’s actually pretty tricky.

I checked the unconscious man’s body, found a Glock and a spare clip, and stuffed the extra pistol behind the holster at the small of my back and the clip in my hip pocket. I withdrew my knife, cleaned the blade on his pants leg, left the car, trotted across the street to the condo building. It was an older building, with an intercom system; I used the same trick I had last time, pressing an intercom button at random.
 

“Hello?” A gruff male voice, older.

“Delivery.” I barked it, brusque, as if in a hurry.

“All right, yeah.”
 

The intercom buzzed and the lock clicked. I ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time until I reached the third floor, gun still drawn. I scanned the hallway as I left the stairwell, then jogged to Lola’s door. I put my shoulder to it, ear to the door, listening—all I heard was the TV.

 
I knocked, twice, softly.
 

She opened the door after a second, but with the safety chain drawn, showing only a sliver of her face, and her body clad in a thin purple robe sticking to her wet body. Her hair hung in long damp black strings beside her face.
 

“Thresh? What are you doing here? I thought—I thought you left?”

“Can you let me in? We need to talk.”
 

“Is everything okay?”
 

I shook my head. “Not really. Let me in, and I’ll explain as best I can.”
 

She hesitated, eyeing me. Her gaze slid down, lit on the pistol in my fist. “Um…you’re armed?”
 

I frowned at her. “You treated me for double gunshot wounds. Is the fact that I’m carrying really a surprise?” I leaned close to the cracked-open door. “I know this is going to sound like a Tom Cruise movie or something, but you’re in danger, Lola.”