Deadlock

41

Cowboy and Trooper were eating a breakfast of pancakes and bacon at the small circular pine table in the kitchen when Reaper walked in sporting wrap-around sunglasses. His eyes were still getting used to long periods of natural sunlight. Chance drifted in a moment later, wearing white sweatpants and a fleece — the antithesis of the hellcat that had been on display the night before.

Reaper snuck a piece of bacon from a plate set down on the counter and popped it into his mouth. ‘Damn, it’s good to be free,’ he said with a broad grin. ‘Boys, I want to thank you. You’ve taken a lot of risks for me.’

Cowboy forked a square of pancake into his mouth. ‘Shit, last night was fun.’

‘You know,’ Reaper said solemnly, ‘there’s money available if either of you want to get out.’

‘No way,’ Cowboy said, getting up to grab a beer from the refrigerator. ‘I’m already looking at life in Leavenworth soon as I walk back on base.’

‘Screw it,’ added Trooper. ‘I’ve fought their goddamn war for ’em, now I’m going to fight one that I believe in.’

‘OK then,’ Reaper said, taking a seat at the table as Chance took a manila folder from under a cutlery tray in one of the drawers next to the stove top and handed it to him. He opened it and pulled out a small bundle of paper. ‘The material is a little flung together but, believe me, this has been a long time in the planning. I know you guys have already helped my daughter with locating our second target. We have two reconnaissance missions. Both fairly straightforward but our window of opportunity is slim.’

Reaper selected a large glossy photograph, of a scholarly-looking elderly white man, and handed it to Trooper. ‘Junius Holmes, member of the United States Supreme Court. Take a good look. He’s famously a creature of habit. Right around now he trades his townhouse in Georgetown for a family home not too far from here. We need his daily routine, weekdays and weekends.’

‘He carry a security detail?’ Cowboy asked.

‘That’s one of the other things we need to figure. None of it’s public domain. The Marshals have a unit dedicated to judicial security but it’s stretched thin. Thinner since they’ve lost so many men here. But you and Trooper will have to assess that. Can I trust you to do that for me?’

Cowboy and Trooper nodded.

‘Good,’ said Reaper, picking out a second photograph, also of a man, but much younger, getting into a car outside a modest-looking suburban house. He was late thirties, early forties at most, white with sandy blond hair that ran to his collar. ‘Glenn Love. He’s a foreman at the San Francisco Department of Public Works, Bureau of Street and Sewer Repair.’

Cowboy and Trooper traded a look of bewilderment.

‘Bear with me,’ said Reaper, flicking to another picture, this time of the same house but with a woman packing two kids into a mini-van. ‘This is Glenn’s wife, Amy, and their two kids. This should be a slam dunk too. Families have a routine. We need to know what it is.’

‘And once we know?’ Cowboy asked.

‘Details to follow.’

Reaper caught Trooper studying the floor.

‘You got something to say, then say it, son.’

‘Both men are white, and the second guy’s got kids.’

‘Just to set everyone’s minds at rest, we’re not out to hurt any kids. It’s their father who’s our target, and I don’t plan on hurting him either, unless he leaves me no choice.’

‘So, when do we start?’ Cowboy asked.

Reaper smiled as he looked at his team, a team he was certain would do anything for him, whatever the circumstances. ‘Now.’