Page 109 of Beautifully Wounded

With all vans listening on, I issue my order. “Suit up in protective gear. I have a feeling this plumbing job will be messy.”

Groans come from the back of my van, but they immediately start shucking off their vests and slipping the Kevlar vests on, a generous gift from the police commissioner last year.

“You got a feeling about this one?” JD asks, and I nod.

“Yeah. Losing comms and eyes on all ten sites at once isn’t a fucking coincidence.”

Trunk passes two vests over to the front for us, and as we continue driving, veering off to our destination as van one and three stay south bound, I too suit up.

JD slows the van as we get closer to our main warehouse. This is the one with all the really illegal shit that the cops turn a blind eye to.

Well, the ones on our payroll.

The others are gently steered in another direction by the ones on our payroll, so we rarely have to worry about them.

The street gangs, on the other hand, are a different fucking story.

Last year was fucking chaos. The whole fucking world locking down because of the virus, and all of a sudden, the most valuable items to hit the black market were medical supplies and fucking dunny roll.

Who would have thought that arse paper would be worth so much?

The medical supplies were understandable, and in a group operation with the Marx crew, we very fucking quietly seized anillegal shipment of medical supplies that the Triad tried to get in.

Had they, they would have controlled our fucking hospitals, and we couldn’t let that happen.

Hell, even the state premier had a hand in making sure we were the ones to seize the goods. If the cops had gotten it, it would have been held up in red tape. But the Marx family have ties that go all the way to the top, and they needed extra muscle to help not only seize the shipment, but to store it and protect it to avoid more chaos and looting.

“All looks quiet.” JD observes as he pulls into the laneway that leads to our warehouse entrance.

He’s not wrong. Nothing looks amiss, but that doesn’t mean all is well.

Picking up the CB receiver again, I reach out to the other vans.

“Van two on location and ready to go.”

I wait a moment, but all we get from the radio is static.

“Van two, does anyone receive me?” I ask, my gaze shooting to JD’s wide eyes when we get nothing else but static.

“Sarg. There’s zero phone signal,” Murf says from the back, so I pull my phone out to see the same thing.

No bars. SOS only.

Fuck.

“What the fuck does that mean?” JD snaps, shucking on his Kevlar.

“It means we have no way of communicating with the others,” I hiss, and Trunk grunts from the back.

“So, do we still go in?”

Fuck.

Protocol would say hell fucking no, but we have to check this out.

“Double up on your metal and ammo,” I bark, opening the glove compartment to take out another gun for JD before snatching another out for me. “Murf, when all is clear, you and Vender check the comms cupboard and security cameras. Trunk. Bowey. You two do a perimeter sweep. Trigger and Mule, you stay at our six at all times.”

A round of yeses sounds from the back and I eye JD.

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