“Yeah,” he answers, listening to the other person on the phone. He answers with “okay” and “yep”.
“Alright, head back to the compound, have Xavier send me a message when you hit 20 miles from port and then we’ll take off.” He stuffs his phone in his pocket. I gawk at him, waiting for him to talk. He keeps his eyes on the horizon. I fight the urge to strangle him.
I clear my throat. He looks back at me, confused. I blink at him, holding back from throwing a punch for his silence. He laughs, “Damn, you need to go get laid again, you wound tighter than a cat in a dog fight.”
“I’m sorry what?” I question his southern sayings sometimes.
“You need to go kiss your ole lady and stop being a grouch. This turned out to be okay. No worries,” he says carefree. “Give it twenty minutes and the grunts will be back on the compound, we’ll search the containment unit.” His optimism is nauseating.
I can’t shake my head around the Falcons, I understand the need for vengeance but with their combined brain power, they’re not the brightest around. They’ll play dirty, do anything to win with what they have in mind. But Jeremiah might be right that they are becoming like a Hydra, you cut off one head and two grow back.
Tavers, their president, is power hungry, itching to take back what he thinks is his. I remember seeing him at the foundation’s charity event, he was testing the restraint of all of us. He was ready to strike fear in everyone, anyone who gets in his way.
He was proving to have more depth and connections than we understand. The snake doesn’t want to risk poking his head back out. But sooner or later, his empire will fall.
We sit in silence until Memphis receives a message from one of the prospects telling us they are 20 miles out, Memphis starts up the truck.
Tap, tap, tap.
I turn to the side seeing a gun pointed my way. The patch on the front of the cut tells me someone else has been watching us.
There’s another one at the driver's side yelling at us to get out of the truck.
Checking off having someone’s else's blood on me is not in the cards.
Memphis and I slowly got out of the truck, looking at each other telling us that we are heavily protected.
“Move your asses,” one of them growls out.
“Ah, Xander didn’t think we had a date today, sunny boy,” Memphis jokes but is answered with a butt of the gun to his head, making him stagger his steps next to me.
One day his sunny disposition is going to get him killed. Our hands are raised up, but not far away from our own weapons.
“What are a couple dogs doing here?” The other Falcon says.
“Neutral territory, something your president understands, you can lower your weapons,” I say.
Xander, their secretary, scoffs, “Funny, does that extend out to stealing a container?”
Internally, I struggle to contain myself. There’s no way that they know, we paid off the manager, covered our tracks. I have to think fast, dig deeper back in my undercover days.
“Didn’t steal a container if it’s our own container for our partners. Unless you all are in the business of stealing partners?” I throw back his words.
“Fucking shit, you lying,” the other one says.
“You want me to prove it’s our container that we have to be here?” I ask. Memphis’s eyes grow wider and concerned.
Follow my lead.I tell him with my eyes.
“Show me then, you piece of shit,” The other one challenges me. Xander stands behind Memphis, gun still aiming at his head.
Continuing to think fast, I move towards the passenger side, opening up the door to pretend that I’m looking for the manifest or the shipping information, little does the boy know I’m reaching for the spare gun in the glove box.
I can feel the cool metal at my fingertips, the ridged edges. I reach for it, checking the load on it before firing off a shot to the man’s foot.
He howls in pain, staggering back towards the ground. Xander shouts, being distracted enough for Memphis to take the gun from behind him and whipping it back in the other direction. Xander charges at Memphis taking them both down to the ground.
I go to step to intervene, but something grabs my foot, tripping me into the dirt. The other man stands up with his good foot, charging after me. He knocks me on my ass, tackling me to the ground as well. He straddles my hips, trying to pin me down. I can hear the grunts from Memphis and Xander and the clattering of a gun on the ground.
