“What message?” I asked. “It’s excessive, crude and in that context unprofessional. None of these people care how they die.”
She stared at me for a few seconds, and I knew there was something I wasn’t getting. “The message was for you,” she said.
That was not a pleasant thought. “Hell,” I said, “I don’t care that much about how I die, either. It’s not any scarier than any other way. Relatively painless, in fact.” Actually, it would likely hurt enough one would beg for the inevitable death. But I wasn’t going to say so.
“I’m not sure it’s you he intends to shoot with it,” she replied softly.
Oh, shit. I didn’t want to go there. I really didn’t want to go there.
She needed reassurance, though. She looked at that goo and saw herself, young and healthy and attractive with a long life ahead, in the middle of a fight between a sociopath and the insane narcissist who trained him, herself considered tactically expendable by each to get the other.
“I can’t see it. He’s not going to stop me with a message. This ends when he does. Nothing else. He knows that.”
However, he might be sociopathic enough to do it as a fuck-you gesture on the way down.
I didn’t mention that, but there was a good chance she guessed.
I’d have to keep her reassured as best I could, because I needed her attention on her duties, and I just might have to throw her out as a decoy.
If it came to that, we all died. I’d take him down, and then I’d finish myself, because she was competent, decent, attractive, a very nice young lady all around. She didn’t deserve this.
I shouldn’t care that much about tactically speaking, but I did.
Shit.
Intellectually, I knew some of that was just the stress and proximity. Any combat relationship has a certain intimacy of a unique type. However, she had a personality I meshed with, and accepted me as a human being even with my legion of flaws. Add in that incandescent body I could only pretend I was carnal with, and it was a recipe for emotional disaster.
And yet I was friends with this man.
I didn’t know why any of this mattered. It shouldn’t. It did.
CHAPTER 19
I ignored Silver showering, though to be honest, it wasn’t that sexy after the human tartare.
Randall was really dialing it up. This had to stop, and soon. The sheer mess and body count were noticeable. Also, if he escalated, he’d find out I could escalate more. Naumann would probably sign off on a few hundred kilos of hyperexplosive and collateral damage. I wasn’t ready to go there yet, but realistically, there was a break point. That made me furious again. More innocent people could die. The War had been over for a decade our time. Just stop.
One of the phones buzzed. It took me a moment to determine which one. We’d gotten several disposable ones for this purpose.
I answered, “Dobrij den.”
“I am calling about a dinner service.” The voice was very cultured, with definite Russian overtones.
“I remember. What can I do for you?”
“We should meet. There’s a business matter we might talk about.”
“I’m agreeable. Where would you like to meet?”
“North Line Park. We can decide where exactly once we get there.”
I said, “Nineteen hours.”
“We shall talk then.” He disconnected.
Well, that was interesting. I’d got the mob’s attention. Were they running him and wanted more? Wanted better? Wanted to eliminate me? Not running him and wanted parity?
We’d find out.
Silver came from the shower, dressed with wet hair and looking fresh. I told her about the call.
“You’re insane,” she said. “It’s a setup.”
“Possibly,” I said. “I’ll be armed, with what are likely their guns.”
“As will I. I’m just hoping we don’t die in the process.” She looked scared.
“It’s traditional. They like to see who they’re dealing with, get a feel for them. It also gives them some control, or so they think. I’ll do it.”
I rented a vehicle, since the police had contact with us. We took a rifle—a professionally shortened hunting job that made a decent carbine—the shotgun, two handguns each, knives and light armor. This could be more flat-out combat. The gear was in a bag in the rear seat, not really hidden, so I drove very moderately.
At the park, we chose one end of the lot, so I could figure out which car was theirs. There were civilians out, children playing, and I assumed there was some attention after the shoot-up across town the other night. It was probably safe enough.
Ideally, Silver should go talk while I covered her with a good rifle, since I held the Master rating to her Marksman. However, I had to be the one doing the talking. I reached back and slid the rifle low under her seat, and said, “Cover me. If I throw prone, kill him. I’ll be shooting with a pistol.”