It felt that way to me too, but I must’ve been wrong. He doesn’t want to see me.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Alec
“She wants to visit.”
“Huh?” my asshole partner, Jim, mutters from the driver’s seat.
Before you ask, yes, I’m still partners with Jim. I asked the captain about desk duty. His response was something like, “Let me see what I can do.” I’m sure he’ll try, but who knows how long that’ll take. Something you need know about the army, the wheels of change move very fucking slowly. Couple that with—according to the captain—Jim came highly recommended, adding, “Give him a chance. He’s no Ben, but he’s here and we need him.”
“Nothing.”
“What do we have here?” Jim throws on the spotlight mounted to the driver’s side of the car. The things are bright as fuck, so when I catch a glimpse of what’s illuminated in front of us, I groan. Two guys. The first one, probably the lookout, is a guy in jeans and a black T-shirt with a popular motorcycle logo on the front. He’s standing next to one of our JLTVs or a joint light tactical vehicle if you’re curious. The other guy is on his back beneath the armored vehicle.
With a sigh, I add, “When will these fuckers ever learn?” No doubt they’re after the catalytic converter, but funny thing, army vehicles don’t have those. They aren’t required.
“Right? Idiot,” Jim mutters as he pushes the door open and places his hand on his sidearm.
Reaching for my shoulder mic, I call in for backup as I step out on my side.
Next, I hear Jim shout, “You assholes better stop right there.” Jim’s behind his door—he’s using that to protect himself.
Only they don’t. Stop, that is. The man on the ground disappears even further beneath the truck. The one standing does something I’m getting sick of seeing. And twice in what? A month? He pulls out a weapon from behind his back. I’m the first to shout, “Put the gun down. Now.”
He doesn’t do it, so Jim pipes up. “Do it now, fucker.”
I’m not in the mood to shoot another guy this month, so when he starts to bend at the waist, eyes still on us, I breathe a sigh of relief as the gun hits the ground and Jim snaps, “Kick it away from you.”
When that’s done, I tell Jim, “I’m going after the runner.”
“Good.” Jim steps out from behind his door as he starts to talk to the suspect, his gun still raised. Smart since the kid could have another weapon. “Place your hands on your head. Turn and face the vehicle.”
While Jim’s securing the first guy, I find my way to the JLTV, listening for the other man as I go. When there’s nothing, I shout, “Come out with your hands up.” My hope is he’ll give away his location, either with words or actions.
Sure enough, I get, “Fuck you.”
The voice is coming from behind me and to my left. It’s dark as fuck made even more so by the fact I’m between to giant military vehicles. It’s difficult to tell how far away he is, but that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Moving slowly, I ask again, “Come on. Give yourself up. You’re not gonna get out of here. Might as well do it alive.”
Footsteps sound at a rapid beat, getting softer as they go. He’s running away.
I wasn’t lying. There’s no way he’s getting off-post. My hope is he doesn’t die, because if this guy is as young as the other one, there’s still time for them to get their shit together.
Jesus. When did I become a Pollyanna?
A smile spreads across my face. Matilda. She’s rubbing off on me. And it’s not necessarily bad.
I round an Abrams tank just as little shit number two takes off at a dead run, heading straight for the fence. Raising my weapon, I shout, “Stop!” Maybe I should mention the razor wire curling around the top of that fence he thinks he’s going to scale.
Nah. Let’s see what happens.
Surprisingly, he does what I say and stops. I add, “Don’t move a fucking muscle.” He’s not holding a gun, but I can see it peeking out of the back of his pants. “Remove the weapon.” He’s doing it. Like clockwork, he’s following directions. When it’s on the ground, I add, “Kick it.” When the weapon is far enough away, I approach slowly.
I’m close enough to hear when he starts to talk. “It was his idea.”
“Sure it was.” I grasp his wrist and bring it behind his back. I do the same with the other and use a flex-cuff to bind his wrists together. The sound of sirens blares in the distance, meaning reinforcements are coming. “On the ground.”
“It was,” he whines. “It was his idea. He needed the money. All I had to do was get the converter.”
