Page 149 of One Minute Out

The man said, “Leave the hand cannon where it is and your mitts where I can see them.”

Duvall knew he didn’t have a play for his gun. In the seated man’s hand was a black Glock 19, wearing a silencer and resting easily on his knee, pointed in Duvall’s direction.

Duvall said, “Mister, if you’re after money, then this is going to be one hell of a disappointing night for you.”

To his surprise, the man said, “Take a closer look, Shep.”

Duvall slowly moved a hand to adjust his glasses. After several seconds he said, “Gentry.”

“Yep.”

“You’re alive?”

“That’s a rhetorical question, I guess.”

“I’m surprised.”

“You and me both,” Gentry said. “Sit down. I’m here to talk, but if you go for the gun, we won’t have much left to talk about.”

“I ain’t goin’ for the gun.” Duvall sat down on the vinyl sofa. “What the hell did you do to my dog?”

“I gave her a steak. Four-ounce filet mignon. Very rare. Raw, as a matter of fact.”

Duvall cocked his head. “And... did that juicy steak happen to be spiked with ketamine?”

“Valium. She’s fine.” A pause. “She’s great, as a matter of fact. Lying in the storeroom by your carport, dreaming of more choice cuts flying over the fence and into her mouth, I’d imagine.”

Duvall nodded now. “So... this is just a social call?”

“What do you think?”

Duvall leaned back on the vinyl, his hands far out to his side. “I’m gonna guess not.”

•••

Shep Duvall is old as dirt, and this disappoints me. He’s overweight and his eyeglasses are so thick they look bulletproof. His hair is thin and gray on his head and thick and gray on his face. But I know the man, mostly by reputation. And I know that not too terribly long ago, he was a stone-cold skullfucker. As a Delta master sergeant, he’d been deployed countless times in the war on terror, and in the CIA he ran one of the best teams in Ground Branch.

I knew of him at the Agency, after his nearly two decades in the Unit. He ran another task force when I was on Golf Sierra with Hightower, and I worked under him once when the Goon Squad was non-operational, when Zack was out with a back injury.

I never had a problem with Duvall.

But that was seven or eight years ago. I thought he was old then, and it appears the intervening years have been rough on Shep.

He breaks the uncomfortable silence. “You may not know it, Violator, but I was tasked with killing you a few years ago.”

I did know this, and that is why I think he’s an asshole.

Still, I say, “You and everybody else.”

He snorts out a little laugh. “Well... it appears I and everybody else failed, because here you are. Is the Agency still after you?”

“Sort of,” I say. Then, “Not really.” I wrap it up with a little shrug. “It’s complicated.”

“Right,” he replies. Then, “So... other than roofying innocent dogs, what are you doing these days?”

“I’m working. Same as ever.”

“Private job?”

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