Page 12 of Shrapnel

Grabbing the gun off the bedside table, he pushed himself up. His skin and muscles were stiff with disuse, an unpleasant tug that would only get worse before it got better.

Lowering his eye to the peephole, it took a moment for his vision to adjust.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His forehead thunked against the door.

“Jacksoneeee!” Jamie cajoled from the other side of the door. “Open up.”

“Like hell,” He groused, double checking the deadbolt was thrown.

A flurry of erratic knocking rattled the door in its frame.

“I brought presents!” Jamie shook what he assumed was a plastic bag.

Jackson brought his eye back to the peephole. Jamie looked distorted in the curved glass. He was lifting his left wrist where three shopping bags were banging against each other.

“I would rather pass a kidney stone than open this door.”

“I have whiskey.”

Jackson paused.

“And painkillers.”

He closed his eyes and pushed the temptation away. No. There was no way he was letting in that skinny psychotic ass—

“They’re from Mexico.”

Fuck.

He flipped the deadbolt and let Jamie open the door. Tossing the 9mm back onto the nightstand, he crossed his arms and glared at the kid.

Jamie kicked off his shoes and tossed the bags onto the bed. Still wearing the same clothes, he reeked of smoke and sweat. With one hand he unbuckled his holster and let the gun and leather fall to the floor at his feet.

“Guess I should have gotten Tequila,” He mused, staring at the bags. “Could have had a little Mexican fiesta.”

Jackson already regretted letting him into the room.

Like he owned the place, Jamie flopped onto the bed and began digging through the bags he brought. Three of them were plastic shopping bags but the third was bigger. It was a black garbage bag.

Snatching the bag, Jackson untied the top and stared into it.

“Why do you have a human head in a bag?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Because I don’t have room in my pockets?” he responded as if it was obvious.

Jackson was going to kill Grant for letting this brat roam around unsupervised.

Before he closed the bag, he took a second look at the decapitated head nestled amongst the black plastic. He recognized him.

“Is this Carlos Pereira?”

Jamie pulled out a Styrofoam takeout container. He sniffed it experimentally and set it aside. “Yeah,” he paused. “I hope so, anyway. Bounty was for him.”

Jackson tied the bag before the stench of decay mingled with the smell of spiced ground beef coming from the food container.

“You took the bounty on him?”

Jamie had broken into the food, using a plastic fork to shovel rice and meat into his mouth. “Mhmm. Oh,” he shifted on the mattress so he could get to his back pocket.