The Preying Doctor

Color-coordinated containers have been placed in seven rows across the marble countertop. Nathan has to assume they are for the days of the week. He can’t fathom what else they could possibly be for. These are the sorts of friends who likely spend all of their time together. Do they have families? Is that even possible in their line of work? Nathan has always been led to believe that, no, it’s not possible.
He is starting to feel like he’s being tested.
“So we looked you up online, your rap sheet’s pretty impressive, my guy,” William announces.
“Yeah, only thing better would have been some military time—ooh rah!” Denzel pipes in from his spot on the couch. It’s hard to imagine that man, avidly watching a woman twirl around while whispering, “Toe pick,” under his breath could have once been a marine, though he is certainly built for it.
“Don’t listen to him; you have more than enough experience. So what I’m getting to is what do you need us for?”
It is more than just professional courtesy. It’s more than just the fact that this is their territory, their town; it’s something bigger than that. Mostly, Nathan just needs plausible deniability should anything go wrong. He needs them to do the footwork. “Well,” he starts, easing himself into one of the benches connected to the kitchen island William is working at. “I need a couple more pairs of eyes I think. My suspect works in a couple different locations and I figured you guys would be the best start—I’ve looked you all up as well.”
Well, it wasn’t totally a lie.
“You’ve been contracted for a handful of missing persons cases around here over the last four months, haven’t you all?”
William nods. “Yeah, but they don’t ever pan out to anything. Let me tell you, it’s not something that happens to us very often,” he says while starting to portion out pancakes and individually packed Tupperware pots of syrup into each and every container on the counter. He fills at a time and then goes back and adds a small pinch of sprinkles. “For color,” he explains before starting to snap in the lids one at a time and stacking them. “We are pretty good at what we do, we have been working together since school for me and Logan over there; Denzel joined up after boot camp brought us together. There are not many cases that we have that failed. As you know, dead ends are eternally frustrating.”
“Pisses me off, that’s what,” Logan chimes in from the living area.
“So we—” William stops in the middle of his next sentence because all three of their phones go off at the same time. The three men all exchange glances and then the television is quickly shut off and the yellow house slippers are kicked to the side. The three men move together like a polished unit, gathering items and arming themselves from weapons stashes that Nathan hadn’t even noticed.
“What’s happened?” Nathan asks. “What did I miss here? This some sleeper cell sort of thing? What’s on the phones?” He attempts to tease them but all traces of humor have fallen from their faces. William checks the magazine of a handgun and double-checks the safety before tossing the weapon to Nathan, who easily catches it.
“We have an assignment, you up for a little fun?”
“Fun?”
“Yeah, apparently some idiot attempted to rob the bank on Fisher Street and the police need backup. You down?”
Despite it having just been checked moments ago, Nathan checks the ammo and safety of the gun that he was tossed and nods. “Fuck yeah, let’s go.”
“I knew I liked you.” William laughs and the group of them head into the garage to pile into “The Beast” as they call their truck. It isn’t the assignment Nathan is here to do, but he is supposed to get in with these guys. A little side action couldn’t hurt … at least that’s what he tells himself.

  4
T he bank on main is a part of a strip center. There’s glass walling as one would expect from a bank, but all of the patrons seem to have been forced just out of view. When the Beast is parked, there are already four police cars lining either side of the street and stopping any other traffic from passing through. The car doors are opened and the police are in a holding position behind them like shields in a standoff without an obvious villain. The captain doesn’t even blink at the appearance of the Smiths, no doubt he is the one who called these men personally for their assistance.
Seeing the three men now, in their protective bulletproof vests and gear and armed to the teeth, they appear much more like Nathan was expecting. Formidable and intimidating, he almost feels out of place despite the knowledge that, standing with them, he easily looks like he fits in, just smaller than them. He has a good idea that none of the Smiths would have made it onto the police force simply because there are too many rules and none of them really seem like the type who ever wanted to have to sit behind a desk and do paperwork. It is easy to tell just by looking at them that this is their real bread and butter, this is what they live for—the sort of high-stakes adrenaline rushes. Perhaps this is where Nathan would have been now if he had continued living the life that his first name would have given him. Perhaps the future is permanent and he would have still been doing the same work, still taking out the trash of the world, just in another capacity.
He does so love what he does.
“What do we have going on here, Captain, any demands yet?” William starts; Nathan is starting to think of him as the leader.
“Did they get