Ammunition

19

Porter was in a real black-dog mood, toying with a tepid cup of tea in the canteen, when Wallace breezed in, full of hearty bonhomie, Porter hadn’t been laid in like… six months… fuck.

He glared at Wallace, asked:

‘What is it exactly you do, besides swanning around, getting loaded, swaggering as if you owned the place?’

Wallace gave what the literary writers call, when they want to slum, a shit-eating grin, asked:

‘You wanna see what I do, get your ass in gear, buddy. I’ll show you.’

Porter thought:

What the hell.

And said:

‘I’m game.’

Wallace gave him a funny look, the one that read… Aren’t gays always, like… ‘game’?

Outside, Wallace had a black BMW idling, and Porter whistled, asked:

‘This your car?’

Wallace got in the driving seat, said:

‘Pimp my ride.’

Try answering that.

Porter didn’t.

Wallace said:

‘We got us a suspect, linked to what appears to be another plot to bomb this fair city of yours.’

Porter asked:

‘Shouldn’t we have backup?’

Wallace was driving fast and with an ease that personified his confidence, the big car purring under his control. He sliced through a traffic snarl up, then pulled back his jacket, revealing what looked like a fucking Magnum in his belt. He said:

‘I got you, buddy, right and this here little baby in my belt.’

Then he looked at Porter, asked:

‘You ain’t gonna punk out on me, bro?’

Before Porter could answer, Wallace said:

‘I had you pegged for a get go kind of guy. Don’t tell me I picked a putz, did I? You not up for this fellah, holler now and I’ll let you out right now, you hear what I’m saying?’

It was hard not to as he was practically bellowing, Porter said:

‘I’ m in.

Wallace gave a chuckle, one that came right up from his belly, said:

‘Sweetest lines a guy can say, yeah?’

Porter wished he were carrying more than his wallet.