Page 62 of Constantly Cotton
Jason’s eyes went wide, remembering the bright red Maserati GranTurismo convertible, his one—one—indulgence, back at the base in the desert. “It’s, uhm… I mean, you kept the tarp on her, didn’t you?”
“No, we’ve been using it for target practice,” Goldfarb retorted.
Greta patted his shoulder. “Don’t mind them. Yes, we kept the tarp on her. In fact, we put her in the hangar to keep her out of the elements, and I think Burton’s friends even came and did some maintenance.”
Jason’s eyes went wide. “Burton’s friends?” he asked, not actually wanting to know.
“Yeah, that yummy guy with the hazel eyes,” Greta said, “and his scrawny little sidekick.”
“Sidekick is my speed,” Trina said.
“Sidekick is psychotic,” Goldfarb quelled. “I’ve seen eyes that jumpy in subjects. Besides, girls, cool your jets. I think they’re a couple.”
“They are indeed,” Jason said, keeping his smile to himself. “And, uh, be kind to the sidekick. He’s a good guy, but he is… jumpy.”
“That is just my luck.” Trina sighed. “But we’re getting off track. Chief, you’re right. We need to stop the bad shit now, but how do you want to keep from killing all the bad guys?”
“Well, if we kill or capture the soldiers—to be delivered to the proper authorities of course—the generals will have no choice but to come after us here.”
Cotton stared at him. “Like, say, the way the dead mobstercrashed through our apartmentwhen you could barely stand? That’s fine. That’s totally fine. Of course we should do that again.” Cotton’s hand in his had grown bony and clammy, clinging for dear life and not seeking comfort.
“I can stand now,” Jason said, his voice steely. He noticed Cotton didn’t flinch from that, and a part of him rejoiced, because that meant Cotton knew all of him.
“Yeah, but how long’s it been since you shot anything?” Greta asked and then held up a hand. “No. Don’t answer that. Look, I say we split the difference. Tomorrow, after your run around the lake, one of us will take you to a shooting range the guys scouted when they were up here and you weren’t moving much.”
“And as discussed, while that’s happening, the rest of us will go hunting,” Trina said with satisfaction. “Goldie’s got some addresses scouted, some possible targets, and a witness to interview. We flash our ID, look like a big deal, and we might make some arrests.”
Jason let out a grunt. “We won’t be able to let local LEO know we’re here until we start stepping on their toes,” he said unhappily. “I don’t like that. We usually rely on them for backup.”
“Why can’t we?” Cotton asked. He obviously liked the idea of backup.
“Because we don’t have the only coms system in the military,” Greta said, grimacing. “But I really don’t like the idea of not telling them.”
Jason thought for a moment. “Guys, let me make a phone call….”
JACKSON RIVERSsounded like he was in the middle of running somebody down. His breath came in short bursts, and Jason could hear footfalls on the pavement as it did. Jason was impressed by the man’s willpower. And willingness to answer his phone.
“I can call back later,” he began, looking through the darkened living room to where Cotton and Greta were moving around in the kitchen.
“No, no. We’ve lost him.” And then Rivers called out, “Henry, is he gone? Yeah, fucker’s not here either. That’s okay. I know where he’ll be. We’ll get him on the way home.”
“Suspect?” Jason asked.
“Witness who can clear our guy,” Rivers panted. “Fucking coward. Doesn’t want to tell his mom he was in a bar at the magic age of seventeen. Which means, guess where he’ll be in an hour?”
“Home doing his homework?” Jason hazarded.
“Give the man a cigar,” Rivers laughed. “Which means we got time.” Then, obviously to Henry, “Yeah, it’s Jason. No, he’s not dead.” He paused for a moment and asked into the phone. “Cotton still okay? The guys have been asking about him.”
Cotton was, in fact, clearing the table so they could all eat. “Yeah,” Jason said thoughtfully. “He’s fine. In fact, my guys have been teaching him how to use a knife, in case shit gets hairy.”
“Wait a minute,” Jackson said. “You can barely fucking move. How hairy is shit gonna get if you can barely fuckin’ move?”
And this time Henry’s voice came in loud and clear. “Ask your two psychotic cats!” he said. “The little one has enough fur for two whole other cats.”
“You have another cat?” Jason remembered the first one. During that week he and Burton had been tracking Jackson and Ellery, he’d seen the battered, torn-eared, three-legged beast glaring at him through the bedroom window on more than one occasion.
“Yeah, we got it from Ernie, who had a party without you, and he and Burton worried about you the whole time. And you, apparently, were trying to be woodsman of the fucking year!”
