Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,105
He couldn’t get a clear look at the pistol, but it sounded like a .22.
A gun case lay open on the bench behind him, the ammo dumped into a gray rubber tray. A few other handguns rested on the convoluted foam inside the case, including a SIG Sauer nine-mil, the air force service weapon of choice.
No more than five feet away, Rafael switched out his magazine and kept on firing. He’d chosen old-school Birchwood Casey targets and was dumping round after round through the nine ring, a few edging the red.
The shooters on either side thundered away, the percussion and echoes deafening even over the sound-absorbing transmission. Unlike Rafael’s firing cadence, theirs were sporadic and uneven, recreational sportsmen doing their Saturday best.
Declan stepped beneath the floating roof. Using a gun-cleaning cloth, he plucked the SIG from the case. A pair of magazines rested on the bench, conveniently loaded. Manipulating the cloth like a glove, Declan slid the mag into the well.
He watched Rafael shooting, so proud, so consistent, timing the pops.
He waited for Rafael to fire again and clicked the magazine home, the noise disguised by the bang. The cloth formed a barrier between Declan’s palm and the grip, his finger and the trigger.
Around them countless guns roared and roared.
Stepping forward, Declan raised the barrel so the muzzle floated two inches off the Padres logo at the back of Rafael’s skull.
He fired.
Folding the cloth into his pocket, he crouched over Rafael and dug through his pockets.
Wallet, keys, a folded day pass granting him leave from the reintegration center. His back pockets were empty save for a small piece of folded paper.
It contained a phone number and nothing else.
1-855-2-NOWHERE.
Declan’s veins turned to ice.
He walked away swiftly past the other firing lanes. Cutting back around the bathroom shack, he ducked inside, dropped the gun-cleaning cloth into the toilet, and heeled the metal prong of the flusher.
Across the parking lot, back into the maroon Corolla, his chest heaving.
Queenie looked over at him. What’s wrong?
He said, “We’ve got a problem.”
50
Dummyproof
Evan walked Joey up to her apartment because he wanted to see Dog the dog. He waited in her place while she retrieved the ridgeback from up the hall. The boy lost his mind at the sight of Evan, wagging his tail so hard his whole body hot-dogged back and forth. He shoved his rear end into Evan so he could scratch him just above the tail, and Joey slumped into her oversize leopard-print beanbag and watched them with reluctant amusement.
“Gawd. Get a room.”
She pulled her phone out and thumbed around, then flung it down next to her. The whole drive back to Los Angeles, she’d been checking it constantly with an undercurrent of irritation.
“It’s a giant butt pain having that dog around, you know,” she said. “Every time I want to go somewhere, I have to go deal with the neighbor lady, and she always invites me in and wants me to drink tea.”
“The horror.”
“I should fix you up with her, since you’re all schoolboy skittish about Mia. This lady’s just your type. You two could be, like, the lamest-haircut couple ever.”
Evan sat on the floor, the better to pet Dog. “What’s wrong with my haircut?”
Joey rolled her eyes and flung her hands wide, apparently stunned at his inability to grasp the obvious. “It’s just a total generic guy cut.”
“I’m a generic guy. And it’s good for you to have to interact with other humans. Weren’t you just complaining that you long for ‘real life’?”
Dog tilted his head up to slurp the underside of Evan’s chin.
Joey scowled. “I meant real life without…”
“Responsibility?”
“I didn’t say that!” She considered. “But yeah.”
“Responsibility’s where you find meaning.”
“Oh, yeah, Fortune Cookie Head? If responsibility’s so great, why are you retiring?”
“I’m not retiring today. I’m heading to Creech North.”
“Yeah, right.” Joey dug in her pocket, pulled out a vape pen.
Even from across the room, Evan caught a whiff of weed. “What the hell, Joey?”
“Chillax, X. This isn’t what you think it is.”
“It better not be.”
“If we really want to know what’s going on, we need you to get into the network at Creech North. We both know that Hargreave’s parking sticker is only gonna buy you a little time. You said you need a cover—”
“I’m working on that.”
“—and you’ll need to sneak a hacking device inside the base. What’s the least suspicious electronic device imaginable?” Joey twisted the vape pen, opening up a hidden inner core that showed off a circuit board.