“It was,” Ledger agreed. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “That’s what worries me. It’s not like a neighbor called in about loud music or somebody rifling through the trash. And the house was completely empty?”
Top nodded. “There was a FOR SALE sign out front,” he reminded Ledger. “And the place was furnished, but all bland, no personality. Like you do when you’re looking to sell.”
The two of them sat there frowning for a minute before Ledger threw up his hands. “Well, whatever. We checked it out, and that’s that. There isn’t anything else to be done — and no other missions on hand.” He grinned at Top. “Which means you and the rest of Echo Team can take the night off.”
“Yeah?” Top peered at him warily. “What’s the catch?”
That got a bark of laughter from the boss. “No catch,” he answered. “Go on, get out of here. Relax a little. Let your hair down.” He eyed Top’s buzz cut, which was just starting to show hints of gray amid the black. “Metaphorically, anyway. Unless you want to help me with all this paperwork?” Ledger cast a sideways glance at the pile stacked on his desk.
“No, sir!” Top snapped to attention, popped off a quick salute, and reached for the door, all in one breath. “Thank you, sir! Good night!”
He could hear Ledger laughing behind him as he hotfooted it down the hall.
“For reals?” Bunny asked, eyes wide. “No night ops, no field prep, no training, no nothing?”
“You want I should change my mind?” Top suggested, arching an eyebrow.
“Nah, man,” Bunny replied quickly. “I’m good.” He grinned. “So, bar?”
Top laughed. “Bar,” he agreed. What the hell, it wasn’t as if he had a wife to go home to anymore anyway. He scanned the rest of the team. “Any of you in?”
Ronin shook his head, gave a short half bow, and walked away, all without a sound. “You talk too much, man!” Bunny shouted after him, earning a dismissive wave from the departing sniper.
“I’m out, too,” Stretch said, grinning wickedly. “Got a hot date.” She turned and sashayed off, to catcalls and whistles from both Bunny and Warbride.
“Well, those guys are wet blankets, but I’m in,” Warbride declared. “Let’s go get drunk and tear it up, yeah?”
“Right on!” Bunny held up a hand — though not too high, since at six feet six inches he towered over Warbride and even Top — and she high-fived him. Top rolled his eyes.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be on chaperone duty,” he muttered as the three of them strolled toward the Pier’s main exit. Still, it was nothing a good stiff drink couldn’t fix.
“Why here?” he asked twenty minutes later, squinting up at the weather-beaten sign dangling above them. DRINKS DRINKS DRINKS, it declared, as if one time were not enough. Then again, considering that the building looked as battered as the sign, maybe they really did need to advertise as much as possible.
“Why not?” Bunny answered with a shrug. “Besides, look at it.” He pointed at the sign in question. “Drinks, drinks, drinks — it’s an echo.” He grinned. “Get it?”
“Yeah, we got it,” Warbride acknowledged. She shoved him toward the door. “Let’s hope they have at least that many, ’cause with dumb lines like that we’re gonna need it.”
The inside was no prettier than the place’s outsides, with a long, scarred wooden bar taking up most of the right side, worn booths along the left, a few tables scattered in between up front, and a pair of old pool tables near the back. The place was maybe a third full and at least half of those were wearing black leather, which made Top sigh.
Not just a dive bar but a biker dive bar, he thought, shaking his head. Perfect.
Still, the bartender wasn’t a hipster, which was a plus. And he didn’t bat an eye when Top ordered Jameson, neat.
“Whatever ale you’ve got on tap,” Bunny instructed, then glanced at Warbride. She nodded. “Make that two.”
“Lightweights,” Top teased as the three of them took adjoining stools.
“Hey, we’re working up to it,” Warbride replied with a grin. Which was probably true. She’d been a SEAL before joining DMS — one of the first women in that elite unit — so Top had no doubt she could hold her own at the bar. He knew she could in a fight. And he and Bunny had been out drinking plenty of times in the past. Which didn’t stop him from teasing the younger man about his drinking choice, or much of anything else.
The bartender set their drinks in front of them, and Top handed him a credit card. “Run a tab,” he said, and the guy nodded.
“Want to check out the pool table?” Bunny suggested with a gleam in his eye. He’d been a champion volleyball player before he signed on, and still went in for any kind of sports he could.
Top was game, though. He liked the tactics and calculation of pool. Besides, it beat just sitting around. “Sure,” he agreed, taking a sip of his drink as he swiveled on the stool and rose to his feet.
A guy was just stomping past as they rose, and brushed past Bunny. “Watch it, pretty boy,” he growled.
“You watch it, ZZ Top,” Bunny snapped back, which made the man stop and turn, backing up to get in Bunny’s face.
“What was that, punk?” the guy snarled. He was big, not as tall as Bunny and not as built, but still beefy, and he really did have the long, pointed beard of an old country gent — or an old rocker.
“You heard me, grandpa,” Bunny replied, not backing down. “I said—” By then Top was slipping between them, using his own bulk to force both of them back a step.
“All right, simmer down, the pair of you,” he instructed. Bunny was fuming but did as he was told, which left Top to face off against the belligerent bar-goer. “We wouldn’t want anybody getting hurt here.”
“What’s it to you—,” the man started, but bit back the last word when he saw the glare in Top’s eyes. Given his attitude, and Top’s ethnicity, it seemed pretty clear where he’d been heading, but Top chose to ignore it.
“Listen, friend,” he said instead, twisting and wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders. “I get it, I do. You’ve probably had a crap day, you’re pissed off, and you’re looking to blow off some steam and make yourself feel big again by picking on somebody. Am I right? And you’re not dumb enough or drunk enough to take on a whole biker gang, which only leaves you a few targets.” He tightened his grip enough to make the man wince, though subtly enough that no one else would notice. “Here’s the thing, though.” Top leaned in and lowered his voice. “My friends and I, we’ve had a rough day, too. See, we thought we were gonna get to kill somebody, and then we didn’t. So we’re also a little pent-up. But hey, the night’s still young, and you’re right here.” He locked eyes with the man. “So just say the word,” he warned.
The other man flinched and pulled away. “Y’all are all crazy!” he stammered, backpedaling so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. The next minute he was out the door and gone, still looking back from time to time.
“What’d you say to him?” Warbride asked, laughing.
Top shrugged. “Just told it like it is. Now let’s go shoot some pool.”
They were each on their second drinks (same ones as before, which had earned Warbride a knowing sneer from Top) and their second game — Warbride having beaten the two of them handily on the first go-round — when Top spotted someone off to the side, watching. He straightened up from his shot — he’d had nothing open so he’d settled for burying the cue ball in a pileup, earning groans and curses from his two teammates — and glanced over. Three guys were watching them play, and at the sight of them Top’s hackles immediately went up. The trio were all big, burly, and fit, but it was more than that. The way they stood, balanced on the balls of their feet, and the way they stayed just far enough apart to not get in each other’s way, turned slightly from each other so they could cover more of the room — they were clearly military, and clearly combat vets.