Tim's eyes shot open just before 6AM. It took him a few moments to remember where he was because the ceiling he was staring at was clearly not his own, but he relaxed once he realized the shitty popcorn texture was nothing nefarious; just the motel's way of reminding you it was built in the '70s.
Tim had learned a long time ago that sleeping in just wasn't for him anymore. If he was lucky, he'd make it until 6:30, maybe 7 if he'd been on a bender, but that was it. He actually liked the cool morning air and soft light before the sun was fully risen, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been up late and his body felt tired as he dragged it out from beneath the scratchy sheets.
After he'd left Kathryn's room, he'd had every intention of falling asleep immediately, but his mind couldn't help turning over what he was being asked to do. Shoot a man-maybe-but not the other men-definitely-and potentially let her die in the process-probably. It was a little too neo-noir for his tastes, and it didn't sit right with him. Why all the secrecy and obtuse explanation? He felt like he was on a fucking black op, except he was in the middle of some bumblefuck Kentucky nowhere town.
Tim climbed out of bed and stretched, loosening his neck and shoulders. Normally, he'd go for a run in the morning, but he figured he should stay put in case Kathryn called; he had no idea when she thought was an appropriate time to head over to the site she'd chosen. He wondered how optimal his location would be. It sounded like it would only be a mid-range target, so he was hopeful he'd have clear vision, but he'd been burned by that hope before, especially when untrained personnel were involved in the decision making process.
Since he wasn't going for a run, Tim decided to skip straight to the shower after he started up the little coffee maker for a much needed caffeine kick. He started with the hottest water he could stand to loosen his muscles, and then blasted himself with cold water for two minutes to wake himself up. By the time he'd brushed his teeth and gotten dressed it was about quarter after 6, so he pulled on his boots and sat down at the table with his cup of bad coffee and a copy of "The Hobbit" he'd borrowed from Nelson (or maybe Nelson's kid).
His phone buzzed at 6:30 on the dot with a text instead of a phone call. Meet at the car in 10.
Tim downed the last of his coffee, tightened his laces and headed straight for the door as he yanked on his holster and jacket. He didn't see the sense of waiting 10 minutes if he was already ready to go, and he couldn't get into this chapter anyway. What was the deal with all those riddles?
Tim was right in assuming she had meant her own car, and he was surprised to find that she was already leaning against it when he came down, wearing an outfit similar to the one she'd had on the day before, except this time he didn't recognize whatever band was on her t-shirt. In lieu of the canvas slip-ons, she was wearing heavy boots, and she'd thrown a black canvas jacket on against the chilly morning air.
"'Morning, Deputy Gutterson," she said, smiling up at him.
"Ma'am. That was a mighty quick 10 minutes."
She shrugged, and tossed him a muffin wrapped in cling film. "Hope you like blueberry, the only other thing at the," she lifted her hands and made air quotes, "'continental breakfast' today was some abomination with golden raisins in it. There's a coffee in the car for you."
Tim unwrapped the muffin and took a bite, appreciative of her thoughtfulness. He wouldn't have guessed this dive had muffins, even if they were stale as hell.
#
Kathryn's car was an older model, but it was clean inside. She had one of those tape deck auxiliary cords plugged into an old iPod, but she didn't play any music while Tim was in the car. He wondered whether she was simply being polite, or if she thought her music selection might lose her some authority.
Tim noticed the blazer and shoe box from the day before still in the backseat and found himself asking before he could stop himself, "Do you always keep those in your car?"
Kathryn glanced in the rear view mirror. "The blazer, you mean?"
"And the shoes."
"Pretty much, yeah. That way I always have them when I need to throw them on. I find them unnecessarily restrictive to wear on any kind of a regular basis."
"I used to wear a tie," Tim said by way of answer, "Couldn't get down with that much, either."
They were in the car for about 45 minutes before Kathryn pulled onto a narrow dirt road that bumped them along. Tim observed his surroundings carefully; noticing the thick trees on either side that made it difficult to see if anyone was waiting off the side of the road. It made him tense, but it could also be used to their advantage, which was clearly what she had thought as well.
Kathryn pulled off the side of the road, down into a shallow ditch and turned off the car. The two of them exited and Tim instinctively looked around, listening for any sign they were not alone, but the trees were silent, rustled only by a gentle breeze. His hand rested on the gun in his holster, but Kathryn seemed relaxed. "Let's go," she said, and she stepped into the trees. Tim followed at a comfortable distance, mentally mapping the unseen path they followed. It was obvious she had been here before, probably several times, as she picked her way easily through the underbrush.
They had been walking a while when the movement of a bush a few meters to his left caught his attention.
"You ever see any rattlers out here?"
"Nope," she said without looking back. "Obviously, no guarantees, but the only serpent I've come across was a milk snake and that was only once. I'd be more worried about ticks if I were you."
Just then, they entered what appeared to be a clearing, but was actually just the side of the slope they were on. On the other side and down a sharp drop about 60 feet was a field filled with goldenrod late in their blooming season.
"That's where we'll be meeting," Kathryn pointed out across the field to a flat patch of gravel with some old construction equipment on it. "They were going to level this and build a hotel or something, but the site's been abandoned for months. See that access road on the other side?" Tim nodded, "That's where I'll be coming in from."
Tim looked out across the field and estimated that the road across the field was probably about 500 meters, which meant he'd be firing at a shorter range than that. The two cars made sense, now. "And the other guys?"
She turned to face him, "That's the only road in or out, so there shouldn't be any surprises. They might be expecting me to come with someone, but they won't think to look for you over here. These men are unimaginative and think they're smarter than I am, they have no reason to suspect I might know anything I shouldn't." She sat down on a rock and continued, "Besides, to get to the road we came in on, they'd have to drive almost an hour out of their way. There's no direct route connecting them, and these guys aren't from around here, so it's unlikely they even know it exists. The road we took is an old logging route; it isn't even on Google Maps because it's technically not in use."
Tim was impressed that she'd thought through this location as much as she had, and he had to admit to himself that she'd done a fair job, especially on what appeared to be a relatively short amount of time. He wondered how she'd known about the road, but decided it wasn't worth asking.
"Obviously, I'm no sniper, so if you don't think this location will work, that's fine, but we should take the day to figure something else out. There's no way I can move the location of the meeting so close."
Tim wandered along the tree line, picking his way carefully around the boulders and brush. "This area will be fine. The meeting's at 1?"
"They told me to be here at 1, which means they will likely arrive around noon."
Tim nodded. "I'll setup before that, then. 10, probably. I'd like to keep an eye on them coming in. It'll also give me a chance to contact you if anything is off; different people than you expect, more of them, that sort of thing."
"That's fine." Kathryn stood. "Is there anything else you'd like to see while we're here?"
"I'd like to take a look at that rifle."
She smiled. "Of course. It's in the trunk, come on."
Tim stepped in front of her. "Let me. I want to make sure I know my way back out." Kathryn nodded and let him lead. "Wouldn't wanna get stuck out here with all the ticks and rattlers." He heard Kathryn laugh from behind him, and he smiled.
#
Tim stepped out of the trees about a 100 feet in front of Kathryn's Toyota. "Not bad, Deputy," she said.
"I also know my ABCs," he replied and followed the ditch down to her car.
When Kathryn opened the trunk and unzipped the case, Tim's eyes lit up. The one thing he had missed about the military versus the Marshal service was the weaponry. While there was certainly nothing wrong with the Remington or the Bushmaster he typically put to use while on duty, there was something much more elegant about the M110, and when he'd read that in the file last night, he had felt an unexpected thrill swirl in his chest.
Of course, he reminded himself, it was a violent machine designed for murder, but there was no denying that if you were going to do a job, you may as well use the best tool suited to it.
"I half-expected this to be a joke."
"It took a bit of finagling to get it, but I know it's what you used most often at the end of your last tour. I thought if I was taking you away from your work, I should at least make sure you knew I took your position and ability seriously."
"It's been a long time since I've used anything military issue. This will certainly make my job easier." Tim pulled the rifle out of its case and held it in his hands. It felt familiar and weighty, and his hands wrapped around it like a they were greeting an old friend.
"Never much cared for rifles, myself, which is only one reason on a long list that I am not a marksman." Kathryn peeled her jacket off and threw it onto the roof of her car. The sun was climbing higher now, and the autumn morning chill had mostly dissipated, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. As she crossed her arms across her chest, Tim noticed some of the tattoos again. He was surprised not only by the number-there were half a dozen, at least, but at their crudeness. He obviously didn't know much about Kathryn, but most of these looked barely a step above prison ink.
Reluctantly, Tim replaced the rifle in its case, looking forward to the next time he would be able to hold it. His arms felt light and empty without it. "You can take it up with you tonight; it's been cleaned and inspected recently, but I'm sure you'd rather do it yourself."
Kathryn slammed the trunk closed and Tim couldn't help himself. "Your tattoos mean anything?" he asked.
She glanced up at him, but he couldn't read her face. "Some of them," she said. And then she grabbed her jacket and got back in the driver's seat, leaving him no choice but to drop the conversation and follow.