That’s it, that’s all it is.
After driving a little over forty miles on US 9 heading north toward the Catskill Mountains, I turn down a dirt road and kill the lights as soon as I see the two other trucks parked on either side. I made it with five minutes to spare, keeping an eye out for highway patrol.
“‘Sup, Bravo?” I’m greeted by three other DOGs. All ex-military, all hungry for field work.
“All good, man, all good. You?” We clasp hands and give each other a shoulder bump, then I do the same to the other two men.
Hawk is a former Army helicopter pilot who did his fair share in Afghanistan. Bones is a grunt from the Corps who’s seen enough dead bodies on the front lines to fuck with anyone’s head. I have a theory as to why he copes so well and it sounds a lot like my reason. Then there’s Hollywood. Cocky but smart as a fucking whip, this former Marine graduated from bootcamp in San Diego instead of Parris Island like me, earning him his nickname. They’re also our code names on the airwaves, just in case any motherfuckers are on our frequency. Because none of them have any imagination, I’m Bravo…first letter of my last name. Fucking amateurs.
“Whatta we got?” I ask, rummaging through my bag for my equipment.
“Four males, two females, no children. One guard walking the perimeter, AK-47, no backup.” I nod at Hawk’s assessment, taking in the information. “Every two hours, they change guards.Smoke a cigarette together, shoot the shit, then the guy is alone for two hours.”
“Any activity in or out of the property?” I want to know if I have to keep an eye out for additional bodies on site.
“Negative.” Hollywood is quick to answer, having been here for a couple of hours already with Hawk. “We’ve logged everything for Cap. All he wants is the last shift details and we’re good to go.”
I nod, and Bones and I fist bump.
“We’ve got it covered,” Bones says. Minutes later, Hawk and Hollywood head out while Bones and I take our positions for the next couple of hours until our shift is over. The DOGs like to have regular shift changes, keeps us fresh.
It all sounds and feels a lot like the military only because hard wired habits are impossible to break. In reality, most of our jobs are one-hit marks—at least for me. As the sniper, I identify my victim, if we can call them that, report the activity, then shoot to kill. Sometimes I’ll clean up myself, other times, I call in for backup. I mostly work alone and I like it that way. Not that I mind shooting the shit with like-minded assholes.
Jobs like this one, though, require a full team. Sex traffickers never travel alone. They sometimes have an entire army with them. We’re better.
For the next one hundred and twenty minutes, I take note of every fucking detail of the house. The comings and goings of the guards, the piss breaks, the lights flicking on and off. Every single thing that happens is logged in.
This part of the job is borderline boring, but it’s fine. I get enough high-adrenaline action when I’m putting down scum on my own.
I’m home at oh-five-hundred hours, just as the sun is kissing the morning skies. Berkleigh works later on Thursdays,starting at oh-nine-hundred instead of the crack of dawn like Wednesdays.
Just as I press the remote for the garage, I see the front door to her house open and a tall, skinny guy who looks like he spends his days playing video games in his mother’s basement steps outside. Right behind him is Berkleigh, dressed in just a T-shirt and her panties. Her short blonde hair is disheveled and her smile is half-hearted.
My jaw tightens and my fists curl around the steering wheel.
Her long string of randoms is dangerous and it pisses me off.
Not that I care about her, it’s a liability for me. What if her fuck boys are criminals and when they come around, they scope out the houses in the neighborhood? What if they’re assessing the value of the homes and decide to rob Mr. Reeves?
To be fair, if anyone decides to break into my house, they’ll find themselves six feet under in a black plastic bag with no one looking for them.
Before I press the gas to inch my truck inside the garage, I see Berkleigh kissing her one-night stand, and although he probably doesn't catch it, there’s no mistaking the slight wrinkle of her nose, like being that close to him makes her want to puke.
Good. I hope he was a shitty lay. It’ll teach her to put our neighborhood in danger. Not that any of her rejects will ever be a problem. I make sure of that.
An Uber pulls up to the curb and as the guy turns to leave, I make a split second decision to fuck with her.
Stepping out of my truck, I call out.
“Hey, baby, did you miss me?” I’m looking straight at Berkleigh but I can see the guy in my peripheral vision. He stops, turns, then freezes while I make my way to my neighbor.
“Who the fuck are you?” Christ, it’s too easy.
“He’s no one, Dave.” Berkleigh crosses her arms and juts out her hip.
“Her husband,” I say at the same time, glad that I can keep a straight face in any situation.
“Gabe. Wait, what?”
