“Idir, cut the shit!” Gabe calls out.
The tank starts to rumble. “Who said I’m joking?” Idir’s voice sounds jovial over the intercom. “Who said I’m not about to take down a dragon?”
“I’m not a dragon yet.” Gabe gently puts a hand on my wrist and pushes me back. He steps forward, once again placing himselfbetween me and danger. If I weren’t so frightened, I might pay attention to that. “We’re not here for a show.”
“Too bad.” Idir’s laughter fills the space. The tank groans and shudders and suddenly?—
The turret roars.
It’s so loud I can’t hear myself scream. I drop to my knees, covering my ears, waiting for the explosion. This is how we die? This is how it all ends? At some stupid trampoline park in the middle of a nowhere L.A. suburb?
Except the only other sound is more cackling laughter.
“He’s a fucking prick,” Gabe murmurs. His strong hands grip my arms as he pulls me to my feet.
I gape at my husband, mouth dry. “We’re not dead?”
“Just a joke.” He scowls. “I’ll get him to knock some money off for scaring you.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, checking if I wet myself. Thankfully I’m still dry. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Friends!” Idir’s voice is normal now, shouted from across the room. A lone man climbs out of the tank, lanky and lean, with thick dark hair pulled back and tied into a bun. His skin is pock-scarred and there are flecks of skinny beard all over his cheeks and his upper lip. I guess fifties based on the graying and the wrinkles. But it’s hard to tell. He’s beaming.
Gabe walks over. “Friends? Is that how you greet a friend these days?”
“You should see what I shoot at my enemies!” Idir roars laughter and hugs Gabe tightly. He’s in military pants and a tight blackshirt, but he’s pudgy and clearly out of shape. Diamonds glitter on his wrists, on his fingers, and in his ears. His eyes turn to me. “Don’t tell me that’s the wife.”
“Idir, meet Nika. She hates you now.”
“Ah, but no, that cannot be.” He pretends to be utterly distraught. “Never in my life would I insult the wife of a man like Gabriel Russo! Please, Nika Russo, forgive me and my stupid jokes.” He drops to his knees in front of me.
I don’t know what the hell to make of this cartoonish man, but I want to get this idiotic meeting over with. I sigh and hold out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hadj Moussa.”
He roars with delight and leaps to his feet, spry for a big, old man. He shakes my hand roughly, his fingers calloused and hard, before sweeping both me and Gabe toward the tables.
“I held nothing back,” he says, snapping his fingers. A dozen pretty girls appear, flooding in from side passages. They’re all dark skinned, wearing black dresses, with silky black hair and big, easy smiles. I’m betting Idir expected more men to be with Gabe. He looks at me, frowns at the girls, and groans theatrically. “Well, perhaps I should have.”
“Let’s talk business, Idir. Show me what you brought.”
“Yes, yes, business time.” Idir takes Gabe’s arm and starts to drag him away, leaving me with the pretty girls, like I’m about to drown in a harem of them. I should say something, but I can’t seem to open my mouth. I’m still shocked from the fake cannon blast and reverting to my natural state: pliant and quiet.
Gabe stops and looks back. He beckons for me. “My wife’s a part of the discussion. Numbers go through her.”
Idir’s eyebrows raise. He looks like he wants to comment, but merely waves a hand as if to suggest that’s no matter. “Now friends, let’s show you the best killing machines available, shall we?”
What follows is a half hour of death. Rifles, handguns, rockets, grenades, and more gear than I even knew existed. The pretty girls demonstrate most of the weapons, and I’m surprised to find they’re all very good with guns. There are targets set up on the edges of the warehouse, and each girl takes a turn blasting away with various AK-47s and other guns I don’t even recognize.
It’s a well-rehearsed pitch. I’m impressed. Idir comes off like a clown, but he knows his business. The boys talk specs and I’m left to do mental math, trying to make sure I’m not going to bankrupt myself. In the end though, Gabe lands on some practical purchases, trending toward reliable rifles, pistols, grenades, and body armor. It’s all a blur and I struggle to keep up with the breakneck pace Gabe sets. As the men discuss, the women begin packing crates, tossing guns around like they’re toys, and acting like they’re mostly bored.
At the conclusion of negotiations, Gabe turns to me. We’re sitting at a folding table, a bottle of whisky between us. My drink remains untouched.
“Final approval is with her.” Gabe leans back, raising his glass to his lips.
“What do you think, Mrs. Russo?” Idir’s calmer now. I can see the shark underneath the lighthearted exterior. I have a feeling his over-the-top act is his way of knocking his customers off balance before slamming them over the head with expensive upgrades.
“I think you’re ripping us off.”
Idir’s eyebrows shoot up. He sits back and looks genuinely offended. “I’m sorry, but are you accusing me of doing bad business? Gabriel, is this true? Does your wife understand what she’s doing?”
