Page 138 of Shrapnel

“So they like pizza?”

“That’s a lot of pizza,” Owen said as he pulled up an aged looking webpage for Paul’s. It looked archaic, with big pixels and drifting graphics. Owen removed his fingers from the keyboard as if he could be infected by the atrocity.

“It’s also a big Mesa hotspot.” Noah’s voice was icy. “It’s right on the edge of the territory. Paul’s son lets White Sand Mesa sell weed out of the kitchen.”

If Luther was grooming a young Mateo, then it made sense he would use Paul’s as a meeting place. What teenage boy didn’t like pizza and weed?

“Is Mateo just like…squatting in a pizza joint? What about customers?”

“He could have killed the owners and closed the place down.” Jamie was grim, his eyes dark. “That’s the cleanest way.”

Owen looked concerned, twisting in his seat and laying a hand over Jamie’s hand on his shoulder.

Jackson didn’t blame him. That was stone cold. Even for a killer. There was something going on with Jamie, but it wasn’t Jackson’s place to question him. Not when he had his own personal geek.

Noah clapped his hands together. “Then let’s go.” He crossed the room to grab a canvas bag, dropping it at their feet. Jackson reached in and pulled out an M4 that barely fit in the bag. He checked it over, grinning.

“Fully automatic. Nice.”

Jamie slid his hand out from under Owen, giving him a tired smile as he checked his own handgun. He secured the .454 Casull, sans silencer, on his shoulder holster and a .38 special on his ankle.

“You good?” Jackson grunted, eyeing Jamie as he slapped the cylinder into place.

“Sure.” Jamie slid the snub nosed revolver into his ankle holster and stood.

Owen was busy pulling up a map of Paul’s Pizza Emporium, talking about accurate blueprints on the building permit with Noah. He didn’t notice the way Jamie was looking at the back of his head.

Jackson grabbed him by the shoulder holster, dragging him away from the computer so he could get into his face. “Listen kid, you either square your shit away or sit this one out. I’m not going in with an unstable teenager.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

He growled, fist tightening. “I’m serious.”

Jamie blinked once and then forced himself to smile. It was too big, too dazzling. Fake as an aging heiress’ tits.

“Now’s not the time to get all affectionate, Jackie Boy.” Jamie shoved him back, holding him at arm’s length, eyes flicking up and down his form. “You’re not my type.”

Jackson shook his head, watching as he joined the other two. This was like going into battle with unstable live ordinance. And as much as he hated to admit it, he cared if this kid blew.

25

Fucked Up and Fading Out

Motorheadrumbledthrough the radio as Owen tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn’t in beat. He wasn’t listening closely enough for that. His tapping was more a nervous gesture, something to do with his hands while he drove. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jackson checking the blade of his machete, eyeing the edge for any knicks.

They were so calm. Jackson and Noah argued about the radio while Jamie checked his guns for the third time. Minus the guns and tactical gear, they would look like any other group of guys on a drive. Jackson always wore all black, but Owen wasn’t used to seeing Jamie and Noah wearing it—the skintight black athletic shirts, cargo pants, and boots. Jamie had his shoulder holster and Noah wore his golden gun on his right hip.

Compared to them, Owen felt like a child. He should have worn something black to match. The closest he could get was his old high school hoodie. It was navy with faded illegible writing on the front. Despite having a closet full of hoodies –the only thing Owen would wear, much to his mother’s horror—he didn’t have any in black.

The fact that Owen was worried about his clothing should be a testament to just how stressed he was.

“What the hell are we even listening to?” Noah griped, sticking his head between the driver and passenger seats.

“It’s bad enough I’m stuck with you. I refuse to listen to your teeny bopper shit.”

Noah made a face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we keeping you from something important? Like telling kids to get off your lawn or spraying cats with a water hose?”

Jackson flipped him off with a meaty finger.