"The Ravenous is an obscure team," Yang informed Ross, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Erin wasn't anywhere near. "I guess you could call them a vulture merc team. They picked up whatever jobs other mercs rejected, or finished jobs that some mercs had started and couldn't finish. The search picked up some names, but I couldn't find them anywhere else. The Ravenous is literally off the charts. Except for a few teams who have heard of them, they don't exist, and neither do the people."
"What about Erin?" Christmas asked, perched on the edge of the computer desk. "Did she show up?"
"Yes." Yang brought up a page, revealing a fuzzy snapshot of Erin and some information.
"Oh my God." Lee squinted at the screen. "Is she wearing a bikini?"
Ross leaned in closer, unable to help himself. "Looks like it."
"Again, no age," Yang said, scrolling down the page to hide Erin's picture. "All it says is that she joined The Ravenous when she was young."
"And they didn't say how young?" Ross asked, pulling up a chair to relax in.
Yang shook his head. "She was their knife expert. However, the team was big: eight mercs in total, not including Erin. All of them were men."
"Nine mercs." Lee shook his head, a low whistle escaping his throat. "What the hell happened to them?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" Ross leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table. "Something must've happened to them, Yang!"
"Whatever it was, nobody knows about it." Yang sighed. "Like I said, they practically don't exist. They surfaced on the radar enough to attract attention. Three years ago, they dropped off the face of the planet. Nobody has seen or heard of them since, including The Ravenous's regular contacts."
"You said you found names," Ross said, frowning. "And you can't find them?"
"They could be aliases," Christmas suggested. "I still think 'Erin Frey' is an alias." Lee glanced at Ross over Yang's head. "Think The Ravenous got into deep shit and disappeared?"
Ross shook his head. "I don't think so. Yang would've found information when he searched the names."
"By the directory's listings and DMV records, the men in The Ravenous are nonexistent." Yang gestured to the open window on the screen. "I don't think their names are aliases, either. Somebody erased them from public record."
"What about Erin?" Christmas craned his neck over Yang's head, catching a glimpse of Erin on the other side of the shop. "She showed up."
"I'm confused about that," Yang admitted. "I don't know what to say. The Ravenous has no record anywhere. There's not even a single paper trail from any of its members. Even Erin is practically nonexistent. Until she moved her, she wasn't on record, either. Not since three years ago."
"I'd say to check newspapers to see about some unusual deaths, but The Ravenous probably won't show up because it's a merc team," Ross said. He passed a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes, shoulders sagging with weariness and frustration. "Three years ago. Did we hear about anything big three years ago?"
Christmas scratched his head, kneaded his jaw with the knuckles of two fingers. "There was that big Iraq assignment." He shrugged. "We didn't hear anything about it after we turned it down, though."
"Somebody picked it up, I'm sure," Yang said.
"Yeah," Ross muttered, eyes wandering towards the front of the shop, voice dropping. "Somebody like The Ravenous."
"She's listed as Erin Frey Ludolf," Yang said, indicating to the screen. "I tried looking for her under Erin Ludolf, but that didn't bring up anything at all."
Yang scrolled up to the top of the page. The three men stared at the picture of Erin in a bikini. Ross slowly scanned the fuzzy contours of her body, eyes lingering on her thighs. Christmas, too, found himself more or less ogling the woman's body, from what he could tell. Back facing three-quarters to the camera, head turned to look over her shoulder at something in the distance, the smile that radiated off Erin's face was carefree. Shoulders relaxed, body held in an aloft manner, she was the image of unburdened youth. The tattoo stood out clearly on her shoulder, a dark contrast to her light olive skin. Her hair had been cut short; it brushed the top of her shoulders, a mass of congealed curls and ringlets.
"Her hair's longer," Christmas noted aloud.
"Do you know when this photo was taken?" Ross turned to Yang, nearly tapped the screen with his finger.
"Let me see…" Yang's fingers flew over the keyboard, the clacking loud and grating on Ross and Lee's ears. "This was taken about six years ago. At least, that's what it says."
"So, let's just say she's twenty-five," Christmas said, tearing his gaze away from the photograph. "She would've been nineteen in that picture, and she's already got the tat."
"She was already on the team," Ross muttered. "She would've had to have been on the team for at least six months, maybe a year, before they let her get the tat. She must've proven herself."
"But if it took her a year, then she started when she was eighteen," Yang pointed out. "That's highly unlikely."
"True." Lee gestured at Ross. "You didn't start until you were thirty or so, right?"
"Something like that."
"And I started when I was thirty-two. The same goes for everyone else. We didn't start out really young. We were thirty, at least, when we took our first jobs." Christmas sighed. "You've got to have the date wrong, Yang."
Yang shook his head. "No, it says, 'June fifteenth, two-thousand-four.' Six years ago."
They fell silent, eyes drawn back to the picture of the younger Erin. She wasn't shrouded by the mysteriousness that the men were already well aware of. There were no lies; her face was smooth, the lines that marred her features in present-day nonexistent in 2004. Laughter twinkled in her eyes, created the only creases in her face. The tattoo on her shoulder was still red around the edges.
"That isn't Erin, is it?"
"Yeah, Tool – in two-thousand-four," Christmas answered.
Tool squinted at the screen, slipped on his glasses for clarity. "One hell of a body," he murmured. "Betcha it was her birthday."
"What makes you say that?" Yang asked, peering up at the tattoo artist.
"That tattoo is only a few hours old. In fact, she probably had some beach party and was dragged to a tat shop as a birthday present."
"The fifteenth is tomorrow."
Yang and Christmas focused on Ross, whose gaze had dropped to the table, eyes staring hard at the grain of the wood. He looked up at the two men.
"June fifteenth is tomorrow," he repeated. "If it's her birthday, it's also the day she was accepted into The Ravenous, according to Tool."
"Hey, I know an hour-old tat when I see one." Tool removed his glasses, passed a hand through his stringy, graying hair. "So, do we get to throw her party tomorrow, or what?"
"Lay off," Lee involuntarily snapped. "If she mentions it, then, yeah, you can do whatever the hell you want. Otherwise, don't say a fucking word."
"If she's been on another team," Tool said, glancing at all three men, "she knows the drill. She probably knows you're doing background checks and everything. She doesn't look like she's sweating it or anything."
"The best liars are the ones who convince everyone they're innocent," Christmas countered.
Yang clicked out of the window, turned the computer's monitor off. Ross passed a hand over his face, leaned back in his chair. He glanced at Christmas, noted the hardened expression on the younger man's features.
"Tool!" Erin wove her way through the parked motorcycles, approached the former mercenary. "You interested in a round of knife-throwing?"
"With you?"
"You bet."
"Count me in." Tool looked over his shoulder. "Why don't you join us, Christmas?"
"I'll pass," the Brit grumbled, staring at Erin with unblinking eyes.
"Please, Christmas?" Erin asked. "I'll even let you try out one of my babies."
With a slow sensuality, one that Ross identified as natural and unnoticed by her, Erin removed a knife from her pants. The men, enraptured, eyed the blade as it came free from beneath her waistband, the sleek, black metal winking coyly in the fading light of the late afternoon. She spun the knife in her hand, finger hooked through the hole formed by the letter 'O' in the SOG logo. It whizzed around her finger, becoming a black blur. Christmas found himself standing on his feet, eyes locked on the blade.
That is one sexy blade, he thought to himself, letting his eyes wander back to Erin's face.
"Please?" Erin asked again, an expression close to pleading in her gaze. The knife came to an abrupt stop in her palm, her hand grasped around the blade itself; she tapped Tool on the shoulder with the knife's handle. "Shall we?"
Tool and Erin started towards the other end of the shop, focused on the knife-board on the wall. After a brief moment of consideration, Lee followed. He slid out one of his knives, tossed it up into the air, caught it by the handle. Erin glanced over her shoulder, saw Christmas. She offered him one of her pretty smiles, a genuine one, and beckoned him closer. The three knife-throwers lined up a fair distance away from the knife-board, each playing with their favorite knife.
"Hell yes!" Hale leapt to his feet, clapped his hands together. "Toll Road! Gunner! Here we go, man! We got a competition!"
"This'll be good," Ross muttered to Yang, nudging the Asian. "Let's see how they do."
"Tool's gonna own your asses," Toll Road said, face splitting into a harsh grin. He unconsciously touched his cauliflower ear as he and the rest of the men clustered around the knife-throwers.
"Nah, Erin's gonna own our asses!" Hale exclaimed; he clapped his hands together again, hopped from one foot to the other impatiently. "Come on, come on, let's get started, baby!"
"Patience, Hale, patience," Erin cooed, laughing. "Easy does it." She turned to Tool and Christmas, cast a bemused glance at Ross, eyes locking briefly. "Who's first?"
"Ladies first." Tool bowed away from Erin.
"Uh-uh. I don't ever go first," Erin said, shaking her head. "But since you offered, Tool, let's see what you got."
"If you say so." The tattoo artist faced the knife-board, stared hard at it for a moment. Inhaling deeply, he let his knife fly, arm and wrist snapping forward. The blade thudded into the board, quivered in place. The eye, the eye – he always hit the eye. Tool shrugged, turned to Erin and Christmas. "Do better," he challenged. "I dare you."
Erin faced Christmas, eyebrows arched. "Shall I?" she offered.
"Nah, I've got it." Christmas stepped forward, flipped the knife into the air, caught it by the handle. He focused on the board, told himself, You can do better. You always do better. Tool's got nothing on you.
"Come on, Lee," Gunner's deep voice rumbled. "Don't be a pussy."
"Yeah, 'cause you get enough of those," Hale quipped, bursting into laughter.
"That hurt," Toll Road stated dryly, wincing on behalf of Gunner, laughing. "That definitely hurt."
"Just 'cause my arm's still fucked up doesn't mean I don't get any chicks," Gunner growled. "I'm up to my knees in pussy."
"Yeah, and Tool's up to his fucking chin," Hale countered.
"Hear-hear!" Tool cried; everyone spluttered into laughter, and a wide grin split across Christmas's face. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting Erin's. Her head cocked to the right, a tender, grateful smile touching her lips.
"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile," she murmured just loud enough for Lee to hear.
Ross glanced between the two knife-throwers, noting the smile on Erin's face, the fading grin on Christmas's. He felt his chest swell with feelings he hadn't felt in a long time. Christmas tore his gaze away from Erin, her words echoing loud and clear in his ears, bouncing around in his head. He felt something inside constrict, breath growing short.
"Come on, brother," Tool cooed, regaining his composure. "Better toss that knife. We don't have all day."
Christmas exhaled, stared up at the board from beneath his eyebrows. "Watch and learn, Tool," he said.
The knife flew from his hand, sliced through the air with deadly precision. The blade embedded itself above the skull's nose, smacked into the board with powerful force. Gunner let out his deep, rumbling laugh, turned to Hale with a look of contempt on his face. Hale glared at him.
"Beat that," Christmas challenged, turning to Erin.
"My pleasure." Erin smirked, rolled her shoulders. She tossed her knife in the air, let the handle bounce off her forearm, grabbed the knife, let it spin in her hand. Her eyes stared at the board, unblinking, almost unfocused. "Step aside, boys," she said, her voice detached, quiet but firm.
Ross and Christmas shared a glance of intrigue, Lee's eyebrow arched high on his eye. Ross shrugged, cocked his head, looked back at Erin. All the men around her fell silent, hardly breathing. The SOG knife slowed to a stop, settled into the palm of Erin's hand. She rolled her shoulders again, her eyes still oddly unfocused.
"For Pretty-Boy and the rest of those wonderful bastards," she murmured under her breath.
And the knife dug into the knife-board, half of the blade stuck in the nose of the skull. Christmas and Tool staggered backward in unison, blinking furiously.
"Shit!" Christmas exclaimed.
"Did you fucking see that?" Hale cried, fist pumping the air; Gunner and Toll Road shook their heads, frowning.
"No, we didn't fucking see it," Gunner snapped. "I'm not even sure she threw it!"
Ross met Christmas's astonished gaze. The Brit passed a hand over his face, trying to wipe the stunned expression from his eyes. Tool removed his cowboy hat, used it to fan his flustered face. The men stared at the black knife, finally turned their eyes to Erin. Frozen in position, arm still poised, the young woman exhaled, blinked. Her rigid body relaxed slightly, her arm slowly lowering, falling back to her side. Erin shifted her weight to her heels, shook her head, cracked her neck. An expression of wounded feeling, close to regret, passed over her face. Only Ross, Christmas, and Tool noticed the flickering look, the remorse that flickered in Erin's pupils.
"I win," she said, her voice still detached. "Do you still want to try out my blade?" she asked Christmas, her eyes swimming back into focus. She removed another SOG knife, this time from her boot. "I don't mind."
"Not today," Lee managed to say, struggling to recover from the shock. "Maybe later."
"'Kay." Erin forced a smile on her face, hurrying to conceal the crack in her mask. She turned to the boys. "You're welcome, Hale," she told the black man. "Next time, I expect to see some kind of profit."
"Fuck yes!"
"That's not fair!" Toll Road cried. "We hardly saw her throw it. How do we know she didn't rig the fucking board or something?"
"I'm pretty sure she threw it," Gunner admitted, wincing. "Fuck, that hurt. Looks like you've got a title to earn back, Christmas."
"No shit," the Brit muttered, falling against a table to support himself. "Talk about owning our asses."
"Hey, she can own my ass for all I care." Tool smirked, his own astonishment fading from his features. "I'll fucking tattoo her name on my ass if I have to."
"I'd like to see that," Erin laughed, making her way to the knife-board. She yanked her knife out of the wood, did the same with Tool's and Lee's knives. She handed the weapons back, glanced at all the men. "I'm hungry. How 'bout you guys?"
"Starved," Hale said.
"Same here," Toll Road said.
"How does Chinese sound?" Erin grinned and glanced at Yang. The Asian rolled his eyes.
"Why do I always get picked on?" he asked no one in particular. "Very funny."
"I was in the mood for pizza and beer anyway," Erin said, playfully punching Yang on the shoulder. "Trust me, I won't make too much fun of you. We short people have to stick together."
"Haha."
"You're welcome. What kind of pizza do you guys want?"
"Sausage," Gunner said.
"Pepperoni," Ross added quietly.
"Nah, nah, nah." Tool shook his head. "How 'bout some anchovies?"
"Oh, God, Tool, not again!" Hale groaned, the others groaning in unison. Despite being unnerved, Christmas chuckled under his breath. "You and your fucking anchovies."
"Hey, they're good for the heart, brother," Tool said, laughing.
"I'll work something out." Erin grinned and sauntered away to the telephone.
"Let's go break out the beer." Hale tugged Gunner and Toll Road along, heading for the fridge stocked with cold beer.
"She's pro," Tool stated, turning to Christmas and Ross. "Definitely pro."
"No kidding," Christmas muttered, shaking his head. "And I have to watch that tonight? She could kill me in my sleep!"
"Oh, come on, Lee, don't be a pussy." Tool clapped Lee on the shoulder, grinned. "She's practically harmless."
"At home, she is," Ross added. He glanced at the knife-board. "You can take her, Christmas. You just got to get your head on straight. That's the only hard part about being your friend."
"What? That I'm a crooked head or something?"
"Something like that."
"What I want to know," Yang spoke up from behind the trio, "is who Pretty-Boy is."
Ross looked at Christmas. "That's your job tonight."
"Like she'll tell me," Christmas muttered.
"You're a Brit," Tool said. "You've got an accent. Women love the accent."
"Yeah, show her some charm," Ross said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She'll like that."
Christmas shook his head. "You are one helluva bastard, you know that?"
"Hey, it takes one to know one, brother," Tool said.
Christmas laughed, smile spread wide on his face. "No shit."