Chapter 11 PDA #3
"Yeah, well…look at you making up words, Professor Tree Stump. Unserious he says. You're a real chucklehead."
Silas arches an eyebrow. "Unserious is a word. Which you'd know if you could read anything more complicated than Green Eggs and Ham."
"Dr. Suess is a literary genius," Fonz says. "Fox In Socks is a work of art. An' I'll have you know, I have a degree in criminal psychology. Do you?"
Silas doesn't answer, because he does not, in fact, even have a high school diploma. Not that I'd ever think less of him for it, since neither do I, although I was educated by a private tutor.
"What I thought, dick-for-brains," Fonz mutters.
"Hey, guy?" Saxon says. "Careful which tree you bark up. Jokes are all good and well, and we can all take 'em as good as we give 'em, but you gotta know when to shut your goddamn mouth."
Fonz just laughs. "Yeah, well, when God was puttin’ me together, he forgot that part. Like when you take apart an engine and have a few leftover bolts, you know?"
"You're saying you're short a few bolts?" Saxon asks.
Fonz nods, chuckling self-deprecatingly. "Fuck yes. More than a few. But, look, guy, we all are, yeah? I mean, we all chose careers where people are shooting at us on purpose. No sane motherfucker is gonna do that if he ain't short a few bolts."
Chance laughs at this. "He’s got a point."
"Degree in criminal psychology, my ass," Silas finally mutters. "From where? Cracker Jack University?"
“Took you a while to come up with that one, did it?" Fonz says. "Tip for ya, buddy—gettin’ into a battle of wits when you're unarmed ain’t a good plan. Stick to the rivers and lakes that you're used to, na'mean?"
Saxon slugs his brother in the shoulder. "I think you may be outmatched, here, brother."
Annika cackles. "He just called you a scrub."
Silas frowns. "A what?"
"Scrub? You know, the TLC song?" Annika sighs, shakes her head. "My god. How do you not know this song?"
She taps at her phone for a second, and then holds it up so the song can play for everyone to hear.
When the song ends, Silas is still frowning at Fonz. "I don't see the relevance, and you're still a Muppet."
Fonz just laughs. "Insult-based humor is where I live, son. Level up a bit and come at me again. I'll take it easy on you, promise."
Saxon claps Silas on the shoulder. "Good try, though, man."
Lorenzo watches all this from his place beside me, and then looks at me. “They're an interesting bunch."
I nod. "They are. All these out-sized personalities shouldn't get along, but they do, somehow."
Lorenzo laughs quietly. "I think Silas is still figuring out which things were insults."
"Probably. He's always been the most serious of the Cabot brothers. It's good to see him try, but he should have started with a less deadly opponent, in this case."
"His name. Fonz. Is it a nickname or his real name?"
"It's a nickname, a reference to a character from an American sitcom from the seventies.
Our Fonz over there rather strongly resembles the actor who played the character, and there is a certain similarity in mannerisms, as well, from what I understand.
Jakob had to explain it to me, too, when we first considered hiring him into the Club. "
"Fonz. Hmm. It's a strange name."
"I believe it was short for something Italian. Fonzarelli, or something along those lines."
We're leaning side by side against the hood of one of the Suburbans. Lorenzo abruptly pivots, grabs me by the hips, and pulls me around flush against him. "Hi," he says, grinning.
I pull away from his grip. "Ren, not now."
He keeps hold of me. "Why not? You embarrassed to be with me?"
"No, but—" in the interest of preserving my dignity, I stop fighting his superior strength and instead go stiff and rigid. "It isn't the time for PDA."
He gestures around us—Chance has Annika leaning back against his chest with his mammoth arms draped over her shoulders, crossed over her chest; she has her hands hooked over his forearms, and appears to be rather happy about the position.
Saxon and Terra are strolling along the edge of the pier, hand in hand, chatting quietly.
Silas is sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out, ankle-over-ankle, hands braced behind him, with Naomi laying perpendicular to him, her head on his lap, while Silas idly strokes her hair.
In fact, everywhere I look, the couples are in some degree of affectionate, intimate positioning.
I sigh. "You have a point, I admit. I just…" I chew on the inside of my cheek. "It's a significant step, Lorenzo. I'm still getting used to being with you—to being happy. Allowing others to see it is…difficult."
"Happiness is not weakness," Lorenzo says.
"I know that, in my mind," I say. "But reality is different. I wish it were that easy."
He gently tugs me flush against him once more, and this time, I let him.
I close my eyes and just breathe, focusing on the comforting, pleasing sensation of Lorenzo's arms around me, his strength surrounding me and cocooning me.
I feel…safe, like this. It bolsters the resolve within me.
Provides a shield around the soft, vulnerable parts of me—but a shield which Lorenzo is on the inside of, rather than the outside.
I rest my cheek against his chest and loop my arms around his neck, breathing him in.
Gradually, I become aware of that specific sensation of being watched—the feeling of being the center of attention.
I open my eyes to see everyone staring at me. Saxon, quite literally, is open-mouthed in shock.
"Something you'd like to share with the class, Saxon?" I ask, not moving from my comfortable position.
"You—you're…" His mouth clicks closed.
I smile at him. "Trying out this whole…happiness…thing."
Saxon blinks at me for another moment, and then makes a dramatic pantomime of shading his eyes and scanning the sky.
I arch an eyebrow at him. "If you're looking for your balls, they're in her purse." I turn my gaze to Terra, smirking.
Saxon flaps his mouth again. "No, I was looking for flying pigs."
"She burned you again, Sax," Sol says. "I think you've forgotten the face of our father."
Sax turns his uncomprehending stare at his brother. "What does that fuck-face have to do with anything?"
"'The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed,'" Solomon says.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Saxon seems ready to have an apoplexy.
Solomon looks around at the group, but everyone else is staring at him just as confusedly. "No one has read that series? My god, a perfectly good joke wasted on a bunch of literarily-stunted poltroons."
Fonz, yet again, surprises everyone. "Nah, I've read it, it just wasn't as funny as I think you think it was."
"You've read The Dark Tower?” Sol asks, sounding as surprised as I feel and everyone looks.
Fonz frowns at the group. "Wow, okay. So you all assume I'm some uneducated dumbfuck who's only good at shootin' shit?"
Chance, Kane, and Rev all speak in perfect unison. "Yes."
Fonz cackles. "Nice. Then my plan is working perfectly."
"Your plan is to make people think you're stupid?" Annika says. "Sounds…I dunno, kinda stupid."
Fonz taps his temple. "Ah, but it ain't. See, if people think you're dumb, they count you out. Ignore you. But if you ain't really stupid or uneducated, it works in your favor, because then when you bust an intellectual nut in their face, it's even funnier."
"Bust an intellectual nut in their face?" Silas echoes. "What does that even mean?"
"Dunkin' on a motherfucker," Fonz says. "That’s what. Proving that not only are you not a dumbfuck like they assumed, but you’re smarter than them, and then suddenly they’re the dumbfuck. It's beautiful."
“Or, and I'm just spitballing ideas here," Saxon says, "you could just act as smart as you are?"
"Pffff," Fonz says, dismissing the idea. "Where's the fun in that?"
We're saved from further nonsense by Lash's voice from the comms. "Contact," he murmurs. "Caravan of SUVs approaching. I count six."
"Suburbans?" Sol asks.
"Affirmative," Lash asks.
"If they're each carrying eight, that's forty-eight," Rev mutters. "Lotta tangos."
Kane rolls a shoulder. “Yeah, but are eight full-grown adult males in body armor and wielding rifles gonna all fit, even in a Suburban?"
"Not comfortably," Chance answers. "But it don't fuckin' matter, does it? We got a mission to carry out no matter the odds."
"Enough chatter," I snap, leaving—regretfully—the comfort of Lorenzo's arms. "Fonz, take the girls to your position. Everyone else, we split up and come at them from multiple angles at once. Nicolai, keep us informed. We need confirmation that Pugli is in fact in that convoy."
"We pick our teams or do you wanna?" Solomon asks me.
I scan the group. "Scarlett, Sax, and Rev, you're Alpha team.
Ren, Chance, and Kane, Beta team. Myself, Solomon, and Si are Charlie team.
Toro and Taj, you're Delta. Alpha, you circle around come from the north.
Beta, west, Charlie, we take east, Delta, you take south.
Delta, if for any reason Fonz calls for assistance, you two will be the closest, so you respond. Any questions?"
Silas raises his hand. "Yeah, are we trying to bring anyone in alive or…?"
I let my expression grow cold, summoning the icy brutality of Inez.
"No prisoners. No questioning. If you see Pugli or Rafa and you have a shot, you fucking take it.
And remember—this isn't over until I have visual, in-person confirmation of death for our two primary targets.
The soldiers I don't give a fuck about, live or die.
Rafa and this arrogant Pugli character are our targets.
" I scan the group once more. "Those of you who have taken the oath against killing, your vow still applies. Be strategic. Be smart. Work together."
No one has anything to add or ask, so I clap my hands once. "Move out and get into position, but wait for my signal. I want us to strike in synch. Nico, updates?"
"The convoy is approaching the target zone.
" A pause; the teams have jogged off in their respective positions; I join my teammates and we're moving east. "The convoy has reached the target zone.
Stopping. Each SUV has at least six, and two of them have seven.
They're fanning out to join the men already in position.
Hold…I see Pugli. He's got body armor on.
He's talking to someone—whoever down there is in charge of Mercado's security, I believe. "
"Does it seem like he's going in, or is Rafa coming out?" I ask.
"He is going in."
"Damn. Figured that's how it would work, but a girl can hope for the easy way."
One by one, over the next couple minutes, the teams report in as they reach their positions—within sight of the target zone.
"All teams, confirm go," I say.
"Alpha team, go."
"Beta team, go."
"Charlie team, go," I say.
"Delta team, go."
I hesitate, let out a breath. "This is it, everyone. In a few minutes, this can all be over. No heroics. We all go home." I let another heartbeat pass. "All teams—go!"