He had the muzzle of his pistol in the clearing barrel as he chambered a round. Stepping past him, I opened my own gun locker, drew the .357 Magnum revolver from the holster on my left hip, and placed it inside.
“Why do you still carry that thing? We’ve got the new nine-mils, you know,” he said, holstering the pistol he’d just loaded.
“I shoot revolvers better,” I answered, not looking at him. “Not much to pass on. It was quiet last night. Some contractors are working by the old warehouse on the south side, so make sure Gate Ten is closed and locked after they leave.” I slung my gun belt over my shoulder and made my way out of the office and into the parking lot.
I found my Mustang and cranked it up. My radio was playing the morning news as I drove home, but I found it hard to pay attention. I’d lived outside of the United States for years; domestic news was something I was used to just ignoring. Frowning, I changed radio stations and listened to music for the rest of my commute home.
My apartment building was halfway across town. It didn’t look like much, but it was cheap for Vegas and wasn’t in a really bad neighborhood. It was an old motel that had been converted to apartments. The rooms were small, but there weren’t a lot of gangbangers and hookers hanging around all the time, and the cops weren’t there every night.
I made my way upstairs to the second floor. As I approached my door, I saw my next-door neighbor leaning against the railing. She smiled. “Hey,” she said, sounding tired. She removed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket.
“Mornin’, Liz,” I said, leaning against the railing next to her. She was wearing a blue uniform, like me, but she wasn’t a security guard. Liz was a paramedic, and like me she also worked the night shift. She usually got home about the same time I did. Her curly red hair was pulled into a bun under her cap.
“Long night last night?” I asked as she dug for her lighter.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Goddamn tweakers.” Liz had been a medic for ten years and had seen just about everything.
“Here,” I said, handing her my Zippo lighter. “You okay?”
“Thank you. I’m fine—my partner just had to fight with this one asshole.” I’d never met Liz’s partner, but apparently he was a big dude. That was probably for the best, as Liz herself stood barely five foot three. She paused while she lit her cigarette. She then snapped the lighter closed but didn’t hand it back to me.
“That’s an interesting logo on there,” she said, holding my lighter up. It was matte black and engraved with a skull with a switchblade knife clutched in its teeth. I’d had the lighter a long time, and it was pretty scratched up. “Were you in the military?”
I didn’t say anything. Looking over at Liz, I saw that she was studying me intently. “I was,” I said at last. “Air Force. A long time ago.”
“You’re too young to have done anything a long time ago.”
I chuckled. “I enlisted when I turned eighteen.”
“I figured,” she said, handing me the lighter. “You seem like the type. Was that your unit logo or something?
“This? No. I was in the Security Forces. I did one stint in Afghanistan before I got out.”
“What’d you do after that?” she asked.
“I went to work,” I said awkwardly. I didn’t know Liz all that well, and I wasn’t used to talking about myself with people. “I was a security consultant for a few years.”
“Consultant? What kind of work did you do?” she asked.
“Uh, the usual stuff,” I said awkwardly. “Can’t really tell you.”
“Oh, whatever,” she snorted, exhaling smoke.
“No, really,” I said. “I signed a nondisclosure agreement.” Leaving out the fact that my company no longer existed, I made a big show of yawning. “Hey, I think I need to hit the rack.”
“You sure you don’t want some breakfast? It’s my weekend to have the kids. I’m making bacon and eggs in a little bit.”
“Thanks, but I’m really tired,” I said with a sheepish smile. I turned and unlocked my door.
“Hey, Val,” Liz called after me just as I stepped inside. “I do PTSD counseling on the side. If you ever need to talk . . .”
I smiled at her again. “Thank you. I’m okay, really,” I said, before closing the door. I locked it, dropped my backpack on the floor, and plopped down in front of my computer. I had one e-mail waiting for me.
The e-mail was from a randomized address, so I had no idea where it was sent from. It included a footnote with a long phone number for me to call if I was interested, and it said that I could call that number from anywhere in the world.
Leaning back in my chair, I took a deep breath, and rubbed my eyes. I closed my e-mail browser and stood up. I wanted to take a shower and go to bed. I hoped that I wouldn’t have nightmares this time, but I knew that I would. I always did.
VALENTINE
Las Vegas, Nevada, USA
January 18
1245
I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. Noticing my clock, I realized I’d only been asleep for a few hours. I reached over to my nightstand, grabbed my phone, and looked at the display. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I asked, my voice sounding groggy.
“What’re you doing, fucker?”
“Who
The voice laughed. “Has it been that long, bro?”
“Tailor?” I asked.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping. How did you get this number?”
“Well, get up! I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Be
“At your apartment.”
“What? How the hell do you know where I live? How did you get this number?” Tailor didn’t answer. “Never mind. What do you want?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there. Get dressed, I’m taking you to lunch. Don’t dress like a slob, we’re going someplace nice.”
“But—”
“
I was quiet for a few seconds. “Fine. This better be good.” I hung up on him, ran my fingers through my hair, and got up.
Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock on my door. Now fully dressed and mostly awake, I crossed my small apartment and looked through the peephole. I saw Tailor’s misshapen head, distorted through the tiny optic,
