Chapter Seven

Finger Food

Two hours later the trucks were loaded and the group was walking to the vehicles to depart for the beach. Nala had insisted upon riding with Salem and then insisted that they be the rear guard vehicle. Everything had finally seemed to fall into place when Tyson's cell phone rang. Salem and Nala both froze. The ringtone, 'Hail to the Chief', was one they were well familiar with. It belonged to Alice Murray and several people familiar with the tone's owner found the choice to be somewhat sanctimonious.

"Rios." The big man responded tersely.

"What's your status?"

"My place, loading to go to the beach why?"

"I need you to be at 110 South Pointe Dr. ASAP. Full team, Miami Dade needs an assist. I know this is out of the norm but some pal of Dalton's is pulling in a favor. There's going to be media, lots of media, so Balaclavas are mandatory all around. I don't want the local law to know who's stealing milk from their little bowl beyond that we're SSC. You'll need full field coms, Salem for a long shot, and be prepared to settle in. The locals have control and their fighting with the Feds so god only knows what or how long it will take for them to get ballsy enough to green light it. How's Salem? This is his area of expertise and it's a real beaut."

Rios looked over at the younger man and sighed. "He'll be good."

"He better be. Dalton's using this horse shit, dog and pony show to impress the powers above. What's your ETA and can you rustle up the guys?"

"Thirty no make it forty-five mikes. We will need to hit HQ to fully TAC up, especially me and Elliot but I don't see why we can't be on site by 1000 hour and I have Heck, Giddy, and Secour. You find Pedro. Out."

The rest of the team having heard the ring tone and the seriousness of Rios' voice had circled up around him near Salem's truck. Nala sat in the passenger seat sideways with her feet on the door sill and Elliot, leaning on the driver's side bed rail of his Ford, looked across the truck at Rios. Just as Rios was going to start giving orders Art's cell phone rang. The detective answered it and looked over toward the SSC crew with nothing short of complete confusion on his face. The confusion rapidly shifted to disdain and Rios did not miss the older man's glare. Art had been in law enforcement long enough to be able to put two and two together and what it was currently adding up to now was that he was being called in for an emergency and that operatives from SSC were assisting and having seen Rios' reaction to his phone call Art surmised that for the next long hours he'd be forced to work with those civilian operatives. More problematic was his deduction that Rios' team was the SSC assist. He was not pleased and hung up cutting the communication short.

Rios having surmised that Dade had activated Art's unit sighed and immediately began planning how he'd keep Salem from killing the hateful detective. He gave the team their orders and after saying good-by to their families the men loaded into Rios' truck. Although they told them they would be in country they could say no more than that and the moment still held the same amount of tension as if they were going overseas. Nala seemed particularly clingy to Salem which worried Rios; he watched her waving in the rear view mirror and hoped that they'd be able to keep whatever transpired from reaching her ears. Salem too seemed uncharacteristically edgy. Rios studied him as he drove, thought about his words carefully and then spoke.

"Hey." He opened with squeezing Elliot's left shoulder.

"Hunh?"

"You ok with this? I know you're beat."

"Sure."

Rios frowned and locked eyes with Giddy in the mirror. Giddy shook his head slightly, shrugged then continued giving instructions to Elrod Fitzclover their tactical driver. Heckler and Secour were in contact with Pedro and he in turn was already at SSC HQ loading their rig.

"Always dreaded this day." Salem finally muttered morosely.

"Which day?"

"The day this bullshit job of ours finally really hits home for my little And-A-Half."

Rio sighed and pressed firmly down on Elliot's left thigh before leaving his big right hand heavily upon it. The younger man was bouncing his leg restlessly up and down on his toes. It was, Rios knew, restlessness and not nerves; Salem might get antsy but not scared.

"I think what we do is pretty clear to her, Elliot. She's too damned smart for her own good."

Before Salem could respond Giddy called for Tyson's attention. "Pedy wants to know if you want a second Barrett. He said Fifty's is getting old and Hiram, in the armory, has the new one ready for activation. Apparently Dalton's running round in a panic blathering about redundancy and…"

"Fuck Hiram!" Elliot screeched, "Gimme the god damned phone."

"Yea, send it Giddy."

"I won't use it." Salem pouted crossing his arms over his chest.

"Salem just chill man, ok, just take a breath and…"

"This ain't the same!" The young man squealed incensed that the gravity of their situation seemed lost to his team mates. "This shit's not the same as us killing foreign assholes in some faraway place. This is our backyard and if you stupid fucks don't think it's gonna hit harder at home, 'You are,' in the words of fucking Phillip Clyde, 'all Morons.' "

"Salem," Giddy began softly, "It's not like it'll be on TV. Rios said Murray said we'll be discreet. If this bad guy needs to be taken out for the safety of innocents it's all the same, Fifty. It's the same. The job location's a non-issue. Besides Elliot, Sam'll keep Nala away from the boob-tube and computer…"

"Yea Giddy, like you know so fuckin' much! You ever killed on home soil? I have. So fuck you. It ain't the same and I for one do not want Nala to look at me like I am some kind of monster. Salem's the young one; Salem's a child, Salem's green; fuck all a you fucks. I killed my first man when I was barely seven so do not try and tell me what it feels like to kill at home! You can't fly a thousand miles and wash that shit off!"

Salem's confession slammed through the crowded truck like a bolt of lightning. Barely seven, Rios snatched a quick glance at Elliot who'd rolled the window down and was leaning out of it slightly as if to get fresh air. This was a new event in the younger man's sorted history. Rios was aware, in very good detail, thanks to a bottle of McClelland's Speyside, Single Malt Scotch whiskey, of the killing that got Salem sent to prison; but this one was a new crime. Crime he thought then reconsidered, crime seemed heavy handed; maybe it hadn't been a crime at all, maybe he'd acted out of self-preservation. Before he could respond Heckler spoke up.

"Seven, wow Fifty your resume just keeps getting longer and more bizarre by the day. Seven? Knife or gun? Shit man no, never mind, I don't even want to think about it."

Two miles later Salem rolled the window up, leaned back into the dark leather seat and began to speak very quietly.

"Shot gun from six feet. Head shot. Name was Desmond Dufrene; broke in to rip us off for a shipment of Meth at about 1700. Old man caught him, held him with a S & W .44 magnum, long barrel, big fuckin' gun. Told me grab the 12 gauge, a sawed off Mossberg with a tactical stock. I did. We marched him out to the edge of the swamp behind our house. About a four klick hike. All the way he whined, sobbed and begged, all the way my old man swore if I ever whined, sobbed and begged like that he'd feed me alive to Uncle Jasper. I…"

"Uncle Jasper?" Giddy asked.

"Old trapper lived out in the swamp. Part Cherokee Indian, part Haitian, part Russian, part, maybe mostly, animal. Smelled like death. Whenever I smell death I smell Uncle Jasper. He was fat and ugly, real brown but not black kinda clay colored; had a mouth full a pointy green slimy teeth, blue eyes and hair down to his ass all matted and crawling with bugs. When I was five I watched him eat a man's finger right off of his hand for trespassing and raiding his Nutria traps. Gnawed right through the bone and all. Then took two more before he bit out his carotid. I knew my fucking old man wasn't kidding.

We got to the swamp at a spot where the current was pretty quick and where the alligators fed. My old man made him kneel. He pissed himself. My old man says to me, 'Time to grow up you worthless piece a shit. Time to earn your keep. That Meth's worth more than you'll ever be and now's your turn at protecting the family business.' I just stared at him. Then I played the sound of Uncle Jasper crunching through Jean Luis Sarkozy's fingers in my head and I…"

"You knew the guy Uncle Jasper ate?" Giddy spat out incredulously.

"Sure, small town."

"And you know this guy you're gonna whack?" Heck followed with equal incredulity.

"Sure. He taught me how to skin my first deer and then how to jerk it. I spent six weeks hunting with him once when my old man was in jail for running moonshine. I was maybe six and a half. He knew better than to fuck with Uncle Jasper's shit and he damned sure knew better then to fuck with our Meth. I just looked at my old man and he levelled the Magnum at my chest and said, 'Choose Elliot.' Hahn, he never called me Elliot…I just thought about that. Hmm. 'Either you kill him and live or I kill him then you; either way boy he's alligator bait you useless little puke.' So it was be shot, look scared or ask to be let off which means, I'm scared then I'd get eaten by Uncle Jasper alive or just shoot the moron. I swallowed hard, dug the butt of the Mossberg into the ground careful to stay clear of the barrel and pumped it. Then I aimed at his chest, I always played hell with its muzzle climb, switched off the safety and squeezed the trigger.

We cut him up into arms and legs and his head off and crushed it up, tossed him into the swirling black water, cleaned up, went home and had supper. Fresh caught catfish and Mustard Greens stewed in red peppers and bacon fat. I'd caught and cleaned the fish that morning and picked the greens down the road at Mrs. Jardin's in exchange for mucking out her pig pen that afternoon. Fish was good for a change. She'd given me some corn flour and a little milk and three brown speckled eggs so I made a batter. I guess if it comes to it, Tyse, I'll use the new Barrett. It does shoot really well. Giddy have Hiram throw in some a those new rounds too; the Hornady 450 gr BTHP I like them. Fuckers are supersonic for 2000 meters. Thanks."

The team rode the rest of the way to SSC headquarters in near silence. Only the sound of Giddy's hushed voice ordering Salem's ammo filled the truck.