Page 58 of Strays
We start to move again, but something familiar in the air pulls at the back of my nose.
Gun oil.
Sharp, bitter, threaded with powder. Not a memory of it, it’s fresh, recently fired. I glance at Shane. He’s already sniffing the air. Jay’s eyes flick toward the truck again.
We hold position.
“There’s a gun in there,” I say.
Fontes stops mid-step and turns. His face doesn’t change. “You sure?”
Jay nods. “Mid-grade cleaning oil.”
Shane moves in without being told and leans through the open door Fontes already checked. “Passenger-side backseat. Under the carpet liner. Inside the frame maybe.”
Fontes doesn’t argue, just signals to Cole. “Watch perimeter.”
He pulls gloves from his pouch, opens the back door, flashlight angled low. He lifts the floor mat. Nothing. Then pries at the base of the seat bracket, and stops. “Shit.”
It’s wrapped in cloth.
“Modified Glock,” he mutters, turning the gun over in his hand. “No serial.”
He pauses, studying it. Then he looks at us and nods once. “Good catch.”
He keys his mic. “Unit Two to Command. Located a possible unregistered firearm, North Hill Industrial sweep. Request evidence retrieval and processing.”
We’re back at the unit before noon. We follow Fontes to the squad room, but he heads straight to his desk and starts typing, probably the sweep log.
Shane glances around, then at me. “What now?”
“Wait, I guess,” I reply.
And we do.
By twelve-fifteen, it feels like we’ve been sitting in these tiny chairs at the long table for hours.
Jay stands, stretching. “We eat or what?”
I tell Fontes we’re going to lunch on our way to the break room, and he nods without looking up.
The vending machine takes Jay’s first bill and spits the second one back four times before it works. We score a couple of protein bars each and a bag of beef jerky that tastes like it expired sometime last year.
This past week got me used to good food, either from Jo’s favorite restaurant or her cooking. I glance at Jay, who’s already digging in like it’s a steak dinner.
He catches my look. “What? It’s not the worst thing I’ve eaten,” he says with a shrug.
Shane chuckles. “That’s a bold statement, even for you, Jay.”
The rest of the afternoon crawls.
Fontes disappears — paperwork, probably. Cole vanishes too. No one gives us tasks. We stay out of the way.
By the time Jay’s phone buzzes, Shane’s so bored he’s drawing nonsense on a sheet of printer paper he found.
My phone vibrates a minute later, and I smile when I see the name.
Jo.
