Page 82 of The Wild Charge

The drive-by was the most immediate threat to innocent civilian lives – he could hear the sharp bark of an AK, glass shattering, people screaming. “Get under the table.Now.”

But Tenny wasn’t a first responder – wasn’t a rescuer. He was an assassin, and his boyfriend was getting his ass kicked, so…

“What the fuck?”Fox shouted in his earpiece.“What the hell’s going on out there?”

“Just stay down.” He shoved his binoculars into Evan’s chest and growled, “Don’t fucking shoot anyone, moron.”

“Ten,”Fox snapped.

“Gotta go.” He leaped over the parapet to the sound of tires screeching.

~*~

All told, it only took about twenty seconds. Fox kissed the industrial carpet under the table for less than half a minute as glass shattered, bullets embedded themselves in walls and booth backs, and the restaurant exploded in a chaos of screams and crashing tables.

“Bloody answer me,” he growled into his sleeve.

Tenny’s end of the line was a blur of indistinguishable rustling sounds – or maybe that was all on his end, who knew.

Tires squealed on the other side of the busted windows, the gunshots cut off, and Fox glanced up to see that his contact wasn’t beneath the table with him – was already gone, instead.

“Shit.” He drew his own gun, for all the good it would do, and scrambled out into the aisle.

Cool aired poured in through the shattered plate-glass windows that ran the whole front width of the restaurant, napkins tumbling like autumn leaves. Patrons huddled under tables, clutching one another, crying; a baby wailed. “Yes, hello, I’d like to – like to report a shooting,” a man stuttered into a cellphone. A waitress lay crumpled and bleeding, two customers hovering over her, trying to help.

Fox catalogued all of this in an absent way as he searched for his contact, but couldn’t spot the man anywhere.

Right. Time to clear the fuck out before the cops arrived.

Gun still in-hand, he dodged over the wreckage of spilled dinner plates and terrified victims, and pushed through the door, now nothing but a metal shell, its glass in glittering confetti all over the welcome mat. He did a quick scan of the lot, saw neither a fleeing car nor his mark, and ducked low, running between cars with his head down.

He heard the sounds of a scuffle before he reached the sidewalk, and in the glare of passing headlights, he saw four people tussling across the street, all of them lean, young men dressed in all-black. Two of them, he realized with a lurch, belonged to him, but the other two definitely didn’t.

Another car started past, and slowed down while the driver goggled at the fight taking place just feet away. It rolled to a stop.

Fox charged across the pavement and slammed his hand on the guy’s hood. When the driver whipped around, he brandished his gun and shouted, “Get out of here!” Then he had to side-step to keep from getting run over.

“Fox!” Evan shouted down from the roof, panicked, his voice echoing too loud in Fox’s earpiece. “These guys just came outta nowhere!”

Reese’s beanie had come loose, pale hair gleaming under the streetlight – as bright as the metallic flash of a knife his opponent held. He slashed at Reese’s ribs, Fox thanked the lord for Kevlar, and Reese countered with a kick to the other boy’s gut. One that didn’t connect like it would have on a random thug or civilian. It landed on the guy’s hip instead, and Fox caught a glimpse of bared, white teeth in a painted face before the boy whirled like a dancer and took another run at him.

A darted glance proved that Tenny had gotten a hand around the other assailant’s throat; the choked gasp proved it was a good grip.

Fox looked back to Reese, who’d ducked low beneath another flashing swipe of the knife.

Fox squared up and fired three fast shots at the opponent’s torso.

If he was wearing body armor, like his boys, he would probably live; but being shot at close range sent him staggering back, off-balance and shocked.

A vehicle screeched to a halt behind them, Fox turned, and came face-to-face with the muzzle of a gun thrust through the passenger window.

Great. A stand-off.

“Hold,” he said. “Everybody, hold.”

It was a black work van, like the ones the club used. The rear door slid open, and in the glow of the overhead dome lights, there sat Fox’s contact, a gun of his own leveled on them.

Fox bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “You got out of there awful fast.”

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