Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Assassin in India (11)- I'm betting on Danielle

       Johnny got up and walked over to his rucksack, pulling out a box of colored incense matches. The boys chuckled, except for Timmy, and got up for the same.
       "Bet he doesn't," Johnny said quietly enough that we could hear the shower turn on. Danny turned up the TV some. Johnny threw two orange matchsticks on the near side of the table. There was a shower of different colored matchsticks. Timmy hadn't moved, his face was expressionless. I admired his damn professionalism, but this could get ugly. My chaps were worked up, for all that they went for the usual betting. It was looking a bit like fucking Guy Fawkes day on the far side of the occasional.

       Timmy was a damn good soldier and he'd do his job. I didn't give a good god damn which side of his bread he buttered as long as he wasn't a bender and didn't make it my business. Fuck it.

       "Bet he does." I said, using my quiet command. I'd practiced it, not that I'd ever tell these fucking micks. I threw five red matches in front of Timmy and Danielle. The boys laughed and a couple matches joined the pile. They each had their way of it, where they bet some for and some against, seeing the scales tipped was odder than a three dollar bill and we didn't want that luck. I scooped the piles up into two bags once they got it out of their system, and tucked them away when they settled down again. 

       She didn't take long and I had some biscuits and jam and a hot cup of tea for us both by the time she was out. I'd pitched in a spare set of my clothes without bothering her too much. Timmy wasn't the only one with some training. You pushed at their barriers casually when you were working a contact. Not that I wanted her as a contact. Fuck, the last thing I wanted was an assassin for a contact, so she could get all twitchy and clean me off her witness list. But we were here to find Neha and I was shit out of leads if no one showed at that warehouse tonight. 

        The chairs hadn't been cleaned since the house had been abandoned. Someday I'd find out which sorry bloke went through in front of us and scouted out bunkers. I'd brushed off their upholstery and lacquered backs and gestured Vyrennia into one of them. She ate like a bird, quick, small  bites, but savored over the tea. At some point Timmy stretched before dealing the next hand and I waited a moment before taking a breath.

        "We're here til tonight." Always lead with your own intel, they said, it works every time, they said, "You?" 

        "Same," the word was soft, and she glanced out the window at the sun. It wasn't yet four, we had a long wait. I hadn't been sure she would answer at all. Joey went outside to switch off on watch and Marky came in a minute later.

        "We got a lead on a contact, we're here for an in and out," I hated to give that much but the bitch was tight lipped. She just nodded. I sighed. I could wait. She was obviously here to hit a mark, if she was going out tonight then she either was closing for the kill or she was meeting a contact as well. She looked knackered though, not riled up. My money was on a contact and we could sure use more information.

         "Looks like things went tits up for you," I let move voice get a little soft, not so much that anyone who didn't know me would notice. It would register. I sounded a bit snookered.

         "Meet us back at a different bunker after you go out?" Ennia hesitated and I kept my mouth shut, looking out the window. It would be dangerous to give her a location but I could send it to her phone. It was more dangerous to stay here longer than a few hours with the dead bodies. Instead I picked up my kit from the edge of the table and headed for the shower, passing Davey on the way. The punter was so big I had to turn sideways to get past him, he looked like a bloody shaggy bear. 

        "Shave next time," I told him as the door clicked shut for my two minutes of heaven. They were cut short with a crash in the kitchen. It turned out to be another kit hitting the ground, Timmy'd knocked it over as he was making a second tea. I was a sight, in a towel with a Glock drawn, and Ricky whistled at me.

        "Shove off," I told him, smiling, heart still pounding. 

        "Nice scar, Sarge," Danny said, eyeing the long one down my back. Skiing trip with Karen, if you'd believe it. Ten years in the field and I got a gorgeous scar from a slope. I stretched, feeling the scar pull. You'd think we hadn't bunked together- oh, the bird. She was over with the boys, playing poker, and probably getting taken. I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck, considered shooting Timmy, briefly, and headed back to the bathroom to get dressed.

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