Page 17 of Hunt

“Well…I’m betting they ain’t there to make friends,” he fired back. “Whoever they are. Maybe the Feds.”

“Maybe.”

He sat down, took a meal box, placed it on the table, and handed me mine. Gunner was already a pent-up dude, and seeing the mysterious cop who might not be a cop only wired him up even more.

Yet, I wouldn’t usually care about the cops watching us because they can’t arrest us if we don’t do anything wrong, but something bothered me about the description of the vehicle and how he was acting.

I got up and peered out the window, finding the blue SUV, but it was the wrong angle to get the plate number. “I’m gonna go for a little walk,” I told him, but he knew exactly what I was doing. I was tempted to grab one of my Glocks that I stashed inside the leather footrest, but I thought against it, as I didn’t want to give him a reason to arrest me.

“Watch your back,” Gunner warned as I strolled to the door wishing the caffeine would kick in because I felt so fucking heavy in the head. “Wait.” I turned back and picked up my phone from the coffee table. “Take your phone.”

A seller at a red and white striped popcorn cart was setting up for a day of trading, and I approached him, bought a bag of buttered corn, and ripped it open. Taking the long way around, I crossed the road with the metallic blue SUV in sight, cruising like a guy with no purpose. They’d have me identified as soon as I walked out of my building, so there was no point hiding why I was out there, and since it was only 6.40 in the morning, there wasn’t anything to hide behind anyway.

I approached the vehicle, expecting them to start their engine. When they didn’t, I stepped up to the passenger window and tapped on it. “Popcorn?” I offered.

Two men were in the vehicle, and neither looked like cops, but maybe I was mistaken. Both bearded and wore black woolen jackets like they could afford better clothes than the average fuzz on the taxpayers’ tit. The SUV was the latest BMW model, another red flag that these guys are unlikely to be cops or feds. The price of one of these vehicles could practically buy a fucking fleet of Ford patrol cars.

Reluctantly, the dark-haired guy wearing shades buzzed down his window a couple of inches, even though the morning light was still dim. He didn’t speak but shook his head, rejecting my popcorn offer.

I tossed a couple of popcorn into my mouth and crunched down while the irritability of the men in the BMW grew. “Are you sure? They’re pretty good.” I leaned my elbow on the shiny metallic blue paintwork, then rubbed an invisible blemish off with my fingers. “It’s like a graveyard for dead bugs, man. You need to take it to a car wash. You can’t have an expensive vehicle covered in squashed bugs like this.”

Just as I expected, they lost their cool with this deliberately annoying character that I pulled out of my arsenal of personalities and started the motor.

“No?” I offered the popcorn bag again, pretending to be offended by their rudeness. “You sure? I only bought them, so you know...”

As they drove away, I took pictures of their vehicle, including the number plate, and watched it turn the corner. I expected it to return in ten minutes, hoping I’d be gone.

Me: Do you recognize this vehicle?

I knew Mikky would be up because he was an early riser like me and managed to function on only four to five hours of sleep. I was lagging a little because I didn’t sleep last night, but it’ll wear off as the day continues.

Mikky: No. But I could guess who it belonged to. Why? What happened?

Me: Camped outside my apartment and followed Gunner into the breakfast bar.

Mikky: This early?

Me: Earlier. Who do you suspect?

Mikky: Russians.

Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“You scared them away,” Gunner stated when I returned to the apartment.

“They’ll be back,” I mumbled, unbothered by them and more interested in eating pancakes and maple syrup with bacon. My stomach rumbled without hitting my tastebuds as I slurped some black coffee.

Gunner was losing patience, waiting for me to fill him in. “What did you say to them, bro?”

“I offered them popcorn,” I said, stuffing my gob with pancakes and chewing a few times before adding, “They weren’t keen. Salty starch for breakfast may not be their thing.”

“Cops?” he asked, chewing on a bacon strip.

I shook my head. “BMW. Latest model. Seventy grand a pop.”

He grunted, knowing where I was going with this. “Accents?”

“I tried to get them to speak, but they lost patience and left. It must be the popcorn. Anyway, I sent Mikky a pic of the vehicle, and he agreed that they’re not cops.”

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