Page 29 of Harris
Layla was listening to all this. “Did you not hear me? I asked what happened. Someone explain to me what just happened.”
I probed my ribs, wincing as I found the bruises. “Whoever Ledion’s second in command was, the guy running the show, he had the girl right out in the open, waiting as I approached. I stopped the Jeep, left it running. Told him I’d give him the money once I had the girl. I got her buckled in and then handed him the money. That should have been it, and I thought it was, honestly. I got in the Jeep, pulled a U-turn, and that was when I heard Anselm start shooting. Apparently Ledion had ordered his guys to wait until they had the money, and then just…cut us down. Anselm obviously suspected as much, and took out the gunners on the canyon wall, him and Lear together. That’s the only reason I’m here. It took them by surprise, which gave me time to get out of the canyon and away. Of course, they couldn’t just let us go. Ledion obviously told them to make sure I didn’t survive, so they gave chase.”
“What I don’t get is…and don’t take this the wrong way, but—there was so much shooting.” Layla pointed at Thresh. “Only, no one but Thresh got hurt. How is that possible? I mean, I’m glad, but I don’t get it.”
Duke answered for me. “That’s the statistic of a battle. Hundreds, if not thousands of rounds are fired in the average exchange, but only a few ever hit anyone. It takes a lot of training, a fucking assload of hours on the range and in battle to learn how to make every shot count, especially when you’re under fire yourself. And even then, a lot of the shots you lay down are meant as suppression, to keep the other guy’s head down, and they’re doing the same. And that’s assuming the guys shooting at you are trained. If they’re just thugs with guns who’ve never received real combat training, then they’re honestly lucky as fuck to have even hit anything, much less caused any real damage.”
“So, the guys shooting at us,” Layla asked. “Were they trained, or not?”
Duke shook his head side to side. “Some yes, some no. The guys on the bikes, the guys you took down, I think they were higher ranking, and thus had some experience or training. The tangos in the canyon, they were just foot soldiers. Hired cannon fodder, basically. There were a couple who knew what they were doing. Somebody had the Humvee locked down pretty good, laid down some fairly effective suppressing fire.”
“Was Ledion himself there?” Layla asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t see him. He might have been watching from a distance, but he wasn’t in the canyon. He wouldn’t have been, though. He went in and snatched Cleo, and he’s likely the one who shot the housekeeper. But if he was planning an ambush like this one, he would have made sure he was well clear. He’s not going to risk his own neck in case things go south, and in any op, there’s always a chance shit can go south. Especially when you’re dealing with the kind of soldiers the Russian mafia or whoever he’s working with or for can field. Those guys are vicious, but when you put them up against a unit like us, tight, trained, and tactically superior? They’re cannon fodder, and he knows it. He’d never go into a situation personally unless he had people he trusted with him, and babe, I think you shot at least one of them.”
Layla closed her eyes, rested her head back. “This is starting to sound like Vitaly all over again.”
I reached across the space between us and took her hand. “Not even close. It’s not good, but Ledion, or Cain as he’s calling himself now, isn’t on the same scale as Vitaly was. We’ll have to be on our toes, and expect retaliation, but for one thing, Ledion doesn’t have the resources Vitaly did. And, honestly, he’s not as smart. Still dangerous, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, he’s fucking dangerous. But he’s not on the level of Vitaly. Not in any way.”
“’Sides,” Duke said, “now you got us.”
It was quiet for several minutes as Puck drove us back across the desert to the main road.
A tiny, hesitant little voice piped up, unexpectedly. “I hungry.”
“Me too, little boo,” Duke said. “Come sit with Uncle Duke. I think I’ve got some candy here somewhere.”
And wouldn’t you know it, tiny little Cleo, all of two feet tall, if that, weighing maybe thirty pounds soaking wet, hopped down, scooted past Layla, and climbed up onto Duke’s lap. Never mind the M-4 on his shoulder, never mind the smell of cordite, never mind the fact that he’s a monster of a man that can scare grown men into pissing their pants.
Little girls love him. I don’t get it.
He swept his black A1S ball cap off his head, revealing his ginger undercut man-bun hair—fucking man-buns, man, fucking stupid—and plopped the hat on Cleo’s head. It slid down and covered her face.
“Eeew. Stinky hat. Get it off!” She knocked the hat off her head, grabbed it in her pudgy little hands, and reached up to stuff it onto Duke’s head.
“It is kind of sweaty, I guess,” Duke said. He dug in the cargo pocket of his BDU pants, producing a handful of fun-size bags of M&Ms. “You don’t like M&Ms, do you?”
“YEAH!” Cleo shouted. “Neminems!”
“Yo, I like neminems too,” Thresh said, extending his paw.
The hand on his uninjured arm was black-red with dried blood, and he was still oozing blood from his arm and shoulder. Not that he seemed to care. You wouldn’t know Thresh was even feeling pain, unless you looked for the tension lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. Other than that, he could be right as rain.
Duke ripped open a bag of M&Ms and dumped them into Thresh’s palm, and the crazy fucking giant ate them, bloody residue and all.
Layla made a disgusted face. “That’s gross, Thresh.”
“What?” Thresh asked, through a mouthful of candy.
“Your hand, it’s all messy. And now you’re eating from that hand?”
Thresh shrugged. “Hey, it’s my blood.”
“Do you want me to look at that arm?” Layla asked.
Thresh grunted a negative. “Needs surgery. Got a round lodged in my shoulder, too. I’ll be fine.”
Layla looked at me. “Do we have a doctor waiting?”