Birds of Prey

He had to piss something fierce.
Javier moved past a table selling knives, and he browsed for a moment, giving serious thought to purchasing the custom Crawford Tanto folder, but the dealer, some guy named Morrell, wanted a grand for it, and he wouldn’t budge on the price.
So he moved on toward the exit.
Passed tables of hunting equipment, fishing gear, army surplus, gun safes, pre-1900 Colt Revolvers, and table after table of guns specific to every major war of the last century.
He stepped outside.
Mid-afternoon, and a cold and sunny winter day.
It felt wonderful to be out of the stuffy accumulation of body heat under the tent.
A row of blue Porta-Johns stood at the far end of the parking lot. Must’ve been twenty or thirty of them, and there were lines five and ten deep to each one.
He’d let his bladder rupture before he stooped to relieving himself in the same cramped space where countless rednecks had pissed and shit.
Fuck that in the ass.
Hmm.
His eyes fell upon the building adjacent to the parking lot—Porter’s Guns and Ammo.
He could drop in, buy some .45 ACP hollowpoints for his new toy, and if he was lucky, use a nice, private restroom.
Luther Kite
He’d spent the last month in an urban ghost town. After what had happened in Ocracoke a mere seven weeks ago, and the catastrophic loss and pain he’d endured, it had been good to immerse himself completely in a new project.
Now, he’d ventured out into the world again, though only for a short while, having driven several hours south out of Michigan to this gun show he’d heard advertised incessantly on talk radio over the past few weeks.
He’d just purchased two Spyderco Harpys from a Montana knife dealer—a comfort purchase, no question—when Table # 81 caught his eye.
Luther wandered over.
The dealer was a four hundred pound bald man with a handle-bar mustache who eyed Luther but made no move to heave himself off his stool. He wore a leather Harley-Davidson vest that appeared to have spent considerable hours getting baked in direct sun. He wondered if they made motorcycles that could accommodate the punishing weight of such a man.
“Is this a good system?” Luther asked.
“Top of the line.”
Luther lifted one of the surveillance cameras.
“What exactly am I holding here?”
The dealer grunted as he slid himself off the stool and waddled over to the table.
“That 4CSBN160 system comes with four CANTEK CA-IR420 nightvision cameras, one NUVICO EVL-405N 4 Channel 500 GB DVR, four hundred-foot rolls of combined power/video cable, and all the necessary connectors to get the system up and running.”
Luther turned the camera slowly in his hand. He’d never been good with electronics, and didn’t understand the alphabet soup the man was spouting, but that didn’t matter. The IT guy he’d “hired” last week could certainly figure it out.
“I need twelve cameras,” Luther said finally.
The dealer smiled. “Tell you what, you buy three complete systems, I’ll throw in a PRO700E Minuteman.”
“What’s that?”
“Surge protector and battery backup. You’ll want it.”
Luther didn’t even have to consider it. “That’s a deal. You’ll box everything up?”
“Sure will. Just give me about forty-five minutes.”
As Luther turned away from the table, he could have sworn he heard someone call his name.
He started walking.
“Luther!”
For a moment, he debated just walking on, pushing his way through the crowd, getting the fuck out of there. Could Andy or Violet or some other law enforcement contingency have found him?
“Luther!”
But curiosity won out, so he turned—still ready to bolt—for one quick glance over his shoulder through the crowd.
No.
Couldn’t be.
Luther had never been glad to see anyone in his life, but he actually felt neutral in this moment, to set eyes upon this man he hadn’t seen in over eight years.
Luther pushed his way through the horde of Red-staters and even managed to break the slightest grin. It had been a tough month, and it was good to see a friend.
“How are you, Charles?”
Charles Kork looked a lot like he did when they’d first met—thin, dark, and dangerous. With him was a tall blonde so painfully beautiful Luther couldn’t look her in the face.
The men shook hands, and with a grin and a nod, Charles said, “Luther, this is my sister, Alex. I’ve told her all about you. Alex, you remember the crow story?”
Luther felt exposed. Not only was he in the presence of a lovely woman, but if Charles had told her everything, then she must know about his particular…tastes.
He offered a hand and forced himself to meet her eyes. She shook like a man, with a firm, iron grip.
“My brother told me all about your artificial leech,” she said. “That’s soooo hot.”
Luther blushed through to the tips of his ears.
“Nothing to be shy about. I like bad boys.” She slipped an arm around Charles’s waist in a way that was anything but sisterly.
“I have a whole collection of antique medical tools,” Luther said. “Not with me, but maybe I’ll get the chance to show you some time.”
“That makes me wet,” Alex said.
Luther went from scarlet to purple. “What…um…are you doing later?”
“My brother and I don’t have plans. Thought we’d get some shooting in before the range closes. Do you like guns, or are you just a sharp-edge kind of guy?”
“I do love my knives, but I wouldn’t mind shooting a few—”
“Oh my God,” Alex said, her attention diverting from Luther. “Is that…”
“James Jansen,” Charles said.
Luther turned to see who they were gawking at. The name had sounded familiar, but when he saw the man moving toward them through the crowd, he instantly made the connection.
“He stars in movies,” Luther said.
“No shit,” Alex said, “and he’s fucking smoking.”
But as the man approached, Luther had his doubts.
“He’s wearing sweatpants,” Luther said. “And flip-flops. You sure that’s James Jansen?”
“Looks exactly like him,” Charles said, “and he’s tall like Jansen, too.”
“I don’t think it’s him.”
As the man was on the verge of passing them by, Alex stepped in front of him with a big, seductive smile.
“I apologize,” she said, inching up to him, letting her breasts brush against his sweatshirt. “You must get this all the time, but are you James Jansen?”
The man gave an uncomfortable smile, hesitating, as if debating how he should answer.
Finally, he shook his head.
“No, my name’s Lance. But you’re right. I do get that all the time.”
“You should own it,” she said. “If you’d said you were him, I would’ve believed you.”
The man pushed past Alex and disappeared into the crowd.
She sighed, and then turned back toward Luther. “You packing?” she asked.
“Huh?”
She moved in closer, breathed into his ear. “Do I need to frisk you to find out?”
“Uh, forty-five, in the car.”
“Are you married, Luther?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“Good,” Alex said, giving Charles a narrow stare. “I’m not big on married guys.”
Luther wondered what was going on there, but then he found himself staring at the woman’s tits. She noticed, and winked at him. “See you at the range, cowboy. Nine P.M.”
“Later, Luther,” Charles said, walking off with Alex, his hand in the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans.
Never in all his life had it occurred to Luther that there might be a woman like that walking the earth. He couldn’t comprehend it.
He stuck his hand in his pocket, adjusting himself, and realized he suddenly had to piss. Really, really bad.
On his way toward the exit, Luther approached a trio of pudgy rednecks in camouflage who were loitering at a table of crossbows, pretending to shoot imaginary deer.
Was that?…no…couldn’t be…they’d actually sewn name tags into their jackets.