“The way Jason said it, sounded like it meant something.”
He seemed reluctant to answer, but I was happy he was. My questions were pretty innocuous. “You’re an object that I had a bead on, thus making you what we call a beader.”
“Bead?”
“Gun lined up, had you in my sights.”
And he did. Gun lined up right to my forehead.
Over a dozen times he failed to pull the trigger.
Before leaving Atlanta, we stopped by the building where Six had stashed his weapons before heading back to the motel.
“Why isn’t there an elevator?” I asked after the third of six flights of stairs.
Always with the number six.
When we approached the door, he fished in his pocket for something, producing a key.
Which led to the question of, “What happens if you lose your key?”
His lip twitched up in a smirk, and the lightbulb turned on.
Jason.
That was what he slipped him.
The apartment was in a run-down part of town. A small studio apartment. Sparse, a lived-in feeling, but I doubted anyone lived there. Perhaps he stayed there from time to time, but it was definitely not a home.
There was a mattress on the floor, a table and chairs, dresser, and dirty dishes in the sink.
Dirty dishes that hadn’t been there the last time. Interesting.
Secret panels in the wall hid what I was certain to be countless weapons, along with who knew what else.
I supposed he had to have a good centralized location to hold things he needed. Maybe it was the closest thing he had to a home.
It was a quick in and out, bag in hand, and we were out the door.
Next was the hour back to the motel, then a nearly eight-hour trek up to Indianapolis. I was buzzing with excitement to be so close to home, but I also had to remind myself of the stakes, or the rules.
We’d been driving for about four hours when his phone rang. By the tone and the sudden deceleration of the car, we weren’t going to Indianapolis any longer.
“Change of plans,” he said, turning the wheel for a sudden U-turn.
“What?”
“Jason set up a meet in Nashville.”
“What about Eight?”
Six was silent, but not the normal silence I usually got. “Eight is dead.”
When Six got the call from Jason, we weren’t too far past Nashville so it was an easy flip around.
The motel we pulled up to was an improvement over the usual shitholes Six stayed at. The upkeep was going on, and it didn’t look like meth heads were around. The two-story building was older, but the white paint was in good condition, the roof jet black, and the asphalt had a recent layer added.
“Nice motel. I was really starting to get afraid of what STDs I was going to pick up in the cesspools you like,” I said as Six pulled into a parking spot.
He threw the car into park and pulled out the key. “Doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”
“Yeah, I know, but you would get it too with all the times your cock is inside me.”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “True.”
His mood soured after the news of Eight. Pointing that out to him only seemed to incite his grumpy mood. We both got out of the car and moved to the trunk.
“You get mad when I look at things differently, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked as he handed me my suitcase.
He pulled out his own, then locked eyes with me. “Because, every single fucking time you do it, you point out a weakness in me.”
That surprised me. “Ouch. Wounded pride.”
He looked around before pulling out the weapons bag, slamming the trunk lid when done. “Weakness will get you killed in this business.”
“Like your friend?” The parking lot was empty, so I kept on with my questioning as we made our way up to the second story.
“Three wasn’t a friend.”
“Then why were you so upset when you saw him?” When we reached the top, he turned back to me. “I may have been practically pissing myself scared at the time, but I noticed the change.”
He didn’t respond, and continued walking.
We stopped a few rooms down. A few taps in a distinct pattern, and the door creaked open. A warm, broad smile ushered us in.
“Jason said you’d be here soon. What a delightful surprise,” the man said. He was younger than Six, and I was pretty sure in the first five seconds he was batting for the other team.
“Five.”
Five? Another agent.
It was odd how the ones I’d met were eerily the same, but vastly different at the same time.
Five had a short cut of his brown hair, but bright blue eyes to go with his oddly bright personality. He was taller like Six and Nine, even Three, all fitting in the 5’10” to 6’2” range.
Five stared at me. His eyes were wide, mouth open almost as if he was in awe. “What a pretty cat.”
“Meow, jerk.”
His mouth promptly shut and he gave me a slight smile, which had to be the warmest regard I’d received from one of Six’s brethren.