Page 59 of Greed
She gave a tight-lipped smile.
“C’mon, Sloanie. Cheer up.” Evan patted her back.
“Evan’s going with you because you need back up,” Parker continued. “You’re on the Syndicate’s radar now, so no more of this lone wolf shit.”
“Fine.” Griffin grit his teeth and turned to Evan. “I hope you put your thermals on.”
Evan winked. “Thermals and double tighty-whities for extra insulation. These nuts are staying toasty tonight.”
Sloan made a vomit sound while sticking her finger down her throat.
Evan grinned and followed Parker to the glowing blue table screen.
“This is a representation of the location you’re headed,” Parker said, making a swiping movement on the computerized table. Satellite imagery of a warehouse came up. “Seems abandoned.”
“Shouldn’t be any trouble then.” Evan lifted his hood. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll head out in search of the imposter. Catch us on comms if you need anything.” Parker swiped again, turning the table-screen off.
Guess they were done.
Parker and Sloan ended up taking the Mustang which suited Griffin fine. The motorcycles had better maneuverability. Chances were by the time anyone recognized their leather combat gear, they’d be long gone. The bulletproof black helmets would conceal their identities, so they were safe enough.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,Evan and Griffin cut the engine on their bikes and coasted into an alley a block from the warehouse. They removed their helmets and lifted their face scarfs over their noses. Hoods went up. Voice modifiers activated, and after a final weapons check, Griffin turned on his watch’s timer.
Half hidden under the shadow of his hood, Evan’s eyes were unmistakably condescending. “Still timing this shit?”
“It works.” Sort of.
“But you don’t need to be so anal anymore. You can relax a little.”
Griffin unsheathed his baton and flexed the length until it expanded into the bo-staff. “I’ll relax when I’m dead.”
They crept through a dirty snow-littered alley and glided through a side street, trying not to squelch in the puddles. When they got near the warehouse in question, and realized there were too many people around, they scaled the adjacent two-level building and hit the rooftop. Crouching low, they approached the lip of the building and peered over, careful not to dislodge the crest of snow.
“How many you got?” Evan asked, voice low and gravelly.
Anticipation filled the air.
He sent out his sense of greed and tracked the signatures emanating from individuals. Down in the alley separating them from the warehouse, he sensed five loitering around a parked car. Metal coated his tongue as his ability brushed upon their concealed weapons. Three of them carried big assault rifles, another a smaller gun he postulated as Uzi-like from its shape and size, and the fourth and fifth carried something like pistols. He relayed the information to his brother and was rewarded with a muttered curse, then: “That’s a lot of bang-bang.”
“More inside.” Griffin shifted uncomfortably. If only one of those bullets went astray, it could mean trouble.
“How are you with that much metal, bro?”
“You’re referring to my new skill?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Haven’t tested that much. When I pulled the imposter’s pistol, it was the only one I focused on.”
“What about high speed projectiles?”
“Mary threw shuriken at me during training. I was able to stop them all before they got to me. Two at a time. Six in total.”
“Good enough for me. Shouldn’t happen, but worst-case scenario they pop a few off, that’s your responsibility, got it?”
