Resurrection Express by Stephen Romano Page A

We have a lot to discuss in a very short time.”
    “No shit,” our guide tells her, sounding pissed. He doesn’t sit when we do. Stands almost at attention near the table, his hands clasped professionally behind his back.
    The lady clicks her pen shut. “Mister Coffin, I’d like to introduce Sergeant Maxwell Rainone, U.S. Army, retired.”
    I raise my hand, like I’m in school asking for my turn to talk. “Excuse me, which one of us were you talking to?”
    “What?”
    “You said ‘Mister Coffin.’ That’s both of us.”
    I point at Dad and then at myself.
    The Sarge lets out a huff. “Can you believe this little fuck? Doesn’t even have any idea what kind of fuckin’ deep shit he’s in.”
    “Please don’t be crude,” says the lady. “We’re here to sort things out, not make more problems.” She looks right at me. “It was a valid enough question, Mister Coffin, and so I suggest in the interest of cutting through the confusion that we refer to the two of you by your first names from now on, yes?”
    “Yes,” I say. “I’m not trying to make trouble. It was a little joke.”
    “The men in this room are trained specialists and weapons experts,” she says. “I would expect a man like you to know the difference between trigger-happy morons and real professionals. So let’s act professional. Elroy.”
    So much for stalling these guys with my quick wit.
    She takes a breath, and:
    “Your actions have caused a major breach in the security of our operation. This meeting was scheduled to take place tomorrow.”
    “I don’t know what happened. They came out of nowhere while I was walking out of the store.”
    “Who?”
    “David Hartman’s people.”
    “That’s not good. Does he know about your involvement with myself or this operation?”
    “Man, I don’t even know your name . And what operation? You guys just cut me loose without a word and told me to go work in a toy store. Next thing I know, people are shooting the place up.”
    “I told you what you were being hired for,” she says sharply. “My daughter has been kidnapped. This is serious business, Mister Coffin.”
    “None of that business has anything to do with stocking action figures.”
    The Sarge growls at me. “Don’t try to put this off on us. We involved you double-blind because we knew how hot you were gonna be. But there’s no way Hartman’s people could have moved on you so fast without inside information. No fuckin’ way.”
    “Then you guys don’t know David Hartman very well.”
    The lady shifts her weight, doing that thing where you settle back in your chair with a long dramatic pause to own the room during a meeting. I already called her on the trick of using your name a lot on a business deal—executives in big companies are trained to do that. Makes you feel important while they’re calling the shots. Yes, Mister Coffin, we understand your problems. No, Mister Coffin, you don’t get to choose the color of the big rubber dick we’ll be bending you over with.
    I see it in her eyes when she speaks again:
    “Actually, we know Hartman quite well. We have our own inside information, and we’re using it to correct the problem. It may be expensive, but we can deal with it. What we really need to know is what Hartman knows. If he’s figured out why you were released from prison.”
    “It didn’t seem that way.”
    “Are you saying you talked to him ?”
    “He had my cell phone tagged.”
    “You’re not supposed to own a cell phone.”
    “Call me cautious.”
    “I’d call you a fuckin’ dumbass .” The Sarge’s voice is like crazy dragon breath on the back of my neck. I don’t pay attention to it.
    The air force redhead keeps her eyes focused on mine.
    Still sizing me up.
    “I apologize for the cloak-and-dagger routine,” says the lady in black, ignoring the girl. “You were released into the care of the state because that was part of the deal I made. There had to be a real body answering questions