up at me. I can see his eyes clearly in my crosshairs. He nods once and then starts looking around at his surroundings. He takes a step closer to Rinaldo and places his hand on the butt of his gun.
“Asshole,” I mumble.
The wind picks up. It’s time for the shipment to arrive, but there’s no sign of the truck. Becca’s got her phone up to her ear, but she doesn’t respond when I call to her on the radio. I hear a lot of crackling, but the words are garbled.
“Come again!” There’s no response—just static. “Rinaldo, do you copy?”
“I… screech …you now. Screech ...In position!”
There’s a lot more crackling, and I ask for a repeat.
“Stay!” It’s the only word I can actually understand.
“Got it.” I’m going to have to rely on my eyes more than my ears. I’d rather be down on the ground at this point. My assault rifle is in the car and would be more effective overall. The wind refuses to hold steady enough for me to shoot straight from a distance.
Four forty-five. The truck is definitely late. I try to get some answers over the radio, but nothing is coming through clearly. I move away from the edge of the building to try to receive a better signal, but nothing helps.
Concerned about being away from position, I get back behind my Barrett and scan the whole area. There are only Rinaldo’s people and no trucks approaching. I take another look around.
“Somebody tell me if I need to start scouting for people!” I yell into the radio.
There’s some garbled talk, but I can only make out the word “truck” and a bunch of cursing, likely from Rinaldo. He’s not a tech guy and never knows when his radio is on.
Whatever is going on, I’m not going to get any information from the radio. I pack up the Barrett and head down the side of the building. When I reach the rest of the group, Jonathan approaches me.
“What’s the deal?” I ask. “The truck isn’t showing up?”
“No truck,” Jonathan says, confirming what had become obvious.
“Where is it?”
“That’s what Beni’s trying to figure out.” Jonathan tosses his cigarette and stamps it out under his heel.
“Have we heard from Cody or the other couriers?”
“Not yet. Becca’s trying to contact them.”
I head over to the Camaro, ditch the Barrett, and return to the group with the AR slung over my shoulder.
“Nice rifle,” Paulie says appreciatively. “Rock River Arms?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice scope, too.”
I nod, but don’t answer. As much as I would normally like to discuss my guns, I don’t like how this delivery is shaping up, and I’m agitated. Rinaldo watches our exchange with an impatient look.
“Could you see anything from up high?” he asks.
“No, sir. No sign of the truck but no sign of anyone else either.”
There’s a shed at the far side of the parking lot. It’s not particularly tall, and I would never snipe from there, but it’s a better vantage point while still close to the ground. I strap the AR over my shoulder and climb up on the dumpster beside the shed. I hoist myself to the roof where I have a good view of the streets around us, but there is very little activity.
I’m there for about fifteen minutes before Rinaldo and his crew on the ground start gathering together. I take one last look around and then climb down to join them.
“What’s the status?” I ask as I approach.
“Found the truck!” Becca tells me. “Driver’s been shot, and the cargo is gone.”
Becca’s phone bleeps, and she looks at the screen. She holds up her phone and shows us all a picture of the truck. It’s been painted with orange gang symbols all over the hood and sides.
“Motherfuckers!” Rinaldo balls his hands into fists, and I take a step back. If he decides to hit someone, I’d rather it not be me. I’ll take it if necessary but don’t want to stand in the line of fire.
“Those are Marcello
“Asshole,” I mumble.
The wind picks up. It’s time for the shipment to arrive, but there’s no sign of the truck. Becca’s got her phone up to her ear, but she doesn’t respond when I call to her on the radio. I hear a lot of crackling, but the words are garbled.
“Come again!” There’s no response—just static. “Rinaldo, do you copy?”
“I… screech …you now. Screech ...In position!”
There’s a lot more crackling, and I ask for a repeat.
“Stay!” It’s the only word I can actually understand.
“Got it.” I’m going to have to rely on my eyes more than my ears. I’d rather be down on the ground at this point. My assault rifle is in the car and would be more effective overall. The wind refuses to hold steady enough for me to shoot straight from a distance.
Four forty-five. The truck is definitely late. I try to get some answers over the radio, but nothing is coming through clearly. I move away from the edge of the building to try to receive a better signal, but nothing helps.
Concerned about being away from position, I get back behind my Barrett and scan the whole area. There are only Rinaldo’s people and no trucks approaching. I take another look around.
“Somebody tell me if I need to start scouting for people!” I yell into the radio.
There’s some garbled talk, but I can only make out the word “truck” and a bunch of cursing, likely from Rinaldo. He’s not a tech guy and never knows when his radio is on.
Whatever is going on, I’m not going to get any information from the radio. I pack up the Barrett and head down the side of the building. When I reach the rest of the group, Jonathan approaches me.
“What’s the deal?” I ask. “The truck isn’t showing up?”
“No truck,” Jonathan says, confirming what had become obvious.
“Where is it?”
“That’s what Beni’s trying to figure out.” Jonathan tosses his cigarette and stamps it out under his heel.
“Have we heard from Cody or the other couriers?”
“Not yet. Becca’s trying to contact them.”
I head over to the Camaro, ditch the Barrett, and return to the group with the AR slung over my shoulder.
“Nice rifle,” Paulie says appreciatively. “Rock River Arms?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice scope, too.”
I nod, but don’t answer. As much as I would normally like to discuss my guns, I don’t like how this delivery is shaping up, and I’m agitated. Rinaldo watches our exchange with an impatient look.
“Could you see anything from up high?” he asks.
“No, sir. No sign of the truck but no sign of anyone else either.”
There’s a shed at the far side of the parking lot. It’s not particularly tall, and I would never snipe from there, but it’s a better vantage point while still close to the ground. I strap the AR over my shoulder and climb up on the dumpster beside the shed. I hoist myself to the roof where I have a good view of the streets around us, but there is very little activity.
I’m there for about fifteen minutes before Rinaldo and his crew on the ground start gathering together. I take one last look around and then climb down to join them.
“What’s the status?” I ask as I approach.
“Found the truck!” Becca tells me. “Driver’s been shot, and the cargo is gone.”
Becca’s phone bleeps, and she looks at the screen. She holds up her phone and shows us all a picture of the truck. It’s been painted with orange gang symbols all over the hood and sides.
“Motherfuckers!” Rinaldo balls his hands into fists, and I take a step back. If he decides to hit someone, I’d rather it not be me. I’ll take it if necessary but don’t want to stand in the line of fire.
“Those are Marcello
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