Brady lurched up out of bed, even scaring Tate, and headed for the shower to get rid of his giz-soaked shorts and sticky groin area. He was disgusted as he tugged at the wet cotton embellished with red, white, and blue stars—another habit he’d procured from the Navy that was hard to break.
Tate sat on the shorts without comment, watching Brady shower, waiting for his turn to have his needs met. Minutes later, he was rewarded with fresh bison and beef with some kibble and allowed outside to wander for a private spot to use as a privy. Brady took his coffee with him, sat on the back deck, and surveyed his little plot of serenity—if that was the right word for it. Because there was no real serenity present.
He hadn’t stopped drinking, smoking shit, or going overboard on the CBD oil. All these things both blew up and helped his nightmares. His hands were steadier, and his shot was truer now. He was able to do math, calculate stress loads and angles in his bridge building endeavors, and create creek-side trails for his cultivation out of prying eyes, which was a complete lie now with the drones the sheriff and special agents used these days. But he fantasized he was still nearly off the grid, even in this age of facial recognition and God-knew-what chips they must have inserted into him during his active days. He wiped the worry out of his head with the pleasant thought they knew he’d enjoy taking target practice on anyone who came wanting to fuck with him no matter who they were or who sent them. There was only one person he’d ever allow to live who could cross his log-hewn bridge with the boobytraps laced all around. And she was dead.
The rest of the world could fuck off.
He heard buzzing nearby as he scanned for Tate’s poop plot he’d want to clean up later in the day. He thought it was an overgrown mosquito at first because his cell phone never rang. Never gave him updates. He’d punched a guy’s lights out one day in a bar when he explained he only kept it in case his dead fiancé called him from heaven, and the guy laughed at him.
Brady had stuck two hundred dollars into the guy’s shirt pocket as the stranger splayed out on the barroom floor, unconscious.
“That’s to take care of his teeth,” he said as he pointed to the bloody puddle containing a couple of pieces of white ivory floating like sailboats on the San Diego Bay. He guessed later the bartender warned the poor victim not to seek further compensation because Brady would more than likely kill him next time and wouldn’t care.
It buzzed again, and yes; it was a call. But it wasn’t from Heaven. The woman’s voice wasn’t Maggie’s.
“Chief Rogers?” she said, sounding too familiar for her own health.
“Don’t fuck with me. The answer is no. I don’t want it.”
“Want what?” she asked.
“Whatever it is your peddling.”
“Oh, you’re going to want to hear what I have to say, Chief.”
“Do I know you?”
“Hell no.”
She swore like she wasn’t used to doing it. Brady wasn’t impressed. He hit the disconnect and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
But the phone rang again.
“I said no the first time. There isn’t anything you can say that will make me—”
“We found Esquivel Rojas.”
Brady thought he was hallucinating again. He wasn’t having a good time this revolution, either.
“I’d like to see a picture of his body please, riddled with holes, perhaps an eye or two carved out of his skull. Miss, what’s your name?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that he’s alive and living in California. Less than a day’s drive from you.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“You have a black Doberman named Tate who—”
“Shut up and quick fucking with me.”
“I’m giving you a second chance to complete a mission. Well, perhaps not the mission the Navy sent you on before, but the mission in your mind, Chief Rogers.”
The way she called him Chief made his skin go prickly. It was like the skin of his old dead Navy SEAL body he had to wear as camouflage to defy detection.
“Go on,” he said.
“Good. I’m glad I have your attention.”
“Lady, don’t assume anything about me or I might just find out the name of your dog and come kill him.”
“Teddy.”
“What?”
“My dog’s name is Teddy. But I doubt you’ll find me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Only one you’d be stupid to follow, and, Chief, you’re not a stupid man. In fact, you’re a very smart man who was wronged. I’m about to make that right. And I’m about to pay you a bounty for delivery of this cretin to us for a—”
“Who’s us?”
“Don’t you want to know how much I’m offering?”
“Are you kidding? I’d do it for free. Bet you didn’t think about that, did you? No, the important thing is who you represent. Are you government or private, and if you’re private, are you part of a criminal organization or rival gang?”
“I’m the one who is offering you a million dollars for his return. And I can guarantee you’ll never serve time for the ‘crime,’ if you want to call it that. Some don’t feel kidnapping someone who has caused so much tragedy and pain to so many people a crime. I represent a group of individuals you will never meet, never know, but who will pay you to do it.”
“Why me?”
“Because you have a good reason. He was the one responsible for Maggie’s kidnapping and ultimate murder. You have passion for the job, on top of your skill level, your focus, your reputation, and your score to settle. I’m betting you like to settle scores cleanly. This is the way you can do that. We’ll be allies for a short period of time, and then we’ll never hear from each other again.”
“I won’t do it unless I know who the ‘we’ is.”
“Then I’m sorry. But the job will be assigned to someone else.” The silence felt like a movie theater in pitch black with no one else in the room. Just Brady.
The old Brady would have hung up. She probably knew that. Maybe she half expected it. She was smart enough not to make a sly comment about it.
“What’s my guarantee I’m working for the good guys?”
“There is only my word. My bond. But you’ll have the satisfaction of finding him and settling the score with your past.”
“I don’t care about myself.”
“That’s the lie you tell yourself, Chief Rogers. But there is one catch, if you accept the job.”
“Here it comes.”
“Yes. Here it comes. My only condition. You notice I said kidnap. He can be bloodied, beat up a little. He can’t have missing arms, legs, eyes, or even ears. You can perhaps take a trophy tat or two, but that’s all. He has to be delivered alive.”
Brady wasn’t sure that feat was even possible.
Chapter 2
Brady had two days of waiting before the first $50,000 was deposited to his account. Normally, he would’ve chucked the idea after twenty-four hours, but a million dollars was a million dollars, and the man he was supposed to capture was probably the only man in the world Brady ever wanted to see again, dead or alive. And he preferred to see him dead.