“Oh, they’ll pay,” Top assured him.
Just then, Warbride let loose a string of curses.
“They got my piece, too,” she declared in between profanities. “And my keys.”
“Anything else missing?” Top asked. He did a quick double check, just leaning away from them so his back brushed the edge of the pool table, and relaxed a tiny bit as he felt the reassuring bulk of his pistol pressing up against him.
Warbride was doing a quick personal inventory. “ID’s still here,” she reported after a second. “Phone’s fine. Cash and cards, too. Change is gone, though.” That was odd. Keys and weapon Top could understand. And taking her belly-button ring, that was just a personal dig. But why take loose change, especially if you didn’t touch the cash or her credit card? Weird.
“And you didn’t see anybody, hear anything, notice anything? Nothing at all?”
She frowned. “A shadow, maybe,” she answered after a second. “Like somebody was standing there, just outside the bathroom when I went in. That’s it. And I’m not even sure about that much.” She glared up at him. “Now can we call it in?”
Top shook his head.
“You really want to explain all this to the captain?” he asked. “How somebody jumped you in a dive-bar bathroom, got your piece, took your body jewelry, and made off without a sound? Besides, the minute we call in it’s an active case, and we’re on the job again.” He lifted his glass and took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the Irish whiskey burn its way down. “I say we hold off as long as we can, make sure this is really worth all that hassle.”
Warbride grumbled but grabbed her beer and downed it, setting the empty glass back on the table with a bang. “Fine, but next round’s on you,” she stated. “And if I see somebody waving my ring or my gun around, they’d better watch out.”
Top nodded and signaled the barman for another round. Inside, however, he started to wonder. Both about what was really going on here and about whether he was right to keep the DMS out of it.
Still, for now it all just amounted to some harassment and some petty theft. Not worth calling in the big guns. Yet.
But he was definitely keeping his options open.
Top was just leaning over to take aim at the eight ball — for the first time he’d tied with Warbride, and if he sank this he’d actually win one — when a shadow fell across the table. He glanced up, not allowing the cue to shift.
“Good game,” the man standing there said. “Any chance of getting in on the next one? We could play teams.”
On the face of it, the comment was harmless enough. But the speaker wasn’t. He was one of the three Top had spotted earlier; he recognized the blond brush cut and the strong, stubbled jaw. The guy wore black BDUs and a gray shirt with black combat boots, nondescript enough to pass for regular clothes, but to Top’s seasoned eye clearly fighting gear. And judging by the way the man stood — feet apart, shoulders back, hands loose at his sides — he was ready for a fight, too.
Top took the shot. The cue smacked the cue ball right in its sweet spot, sending the white ball careening across the table — to tap the eight ball ever so gently on its left edge.
Just hard enough to spin it into the side pocket it had rested beside.
“Nice!” Bunny shouted, crowding in close for a high five. Still, he and Top had worked together too long for Top not to notice how the younger man’s jaw had set, and how he’d positioned himself just a bit farther away than you’d expect for a buddy congratulating you on a good shot.
But the perfect distance if you were both about to throw down on someone.
So yeah, Bunny had made the newcomer, too.
And his crew. Because the other two members of the trio loomed right behind the speaker. And again they had spaced themselves professionally. These guys weren’t about to get caught unawares.
“Good shot,” the first man said. “So, about that game?”
Top straightened and studied the guy, leaning on his cue as he did. “I didn’t catch your name, friend,” he said slowly.
“Call me Mac,” the man replied. He didn’t offer his hand. “And you’re Top, Bunny, and Warbride. Echo Team.”
Beside him, Bunny stiffened. Warbride, who’d come around to flank Top’s other side, tensed as well. But Top schooled himself not to react. “Seems you know more about us than we do about you,” was all he commented. Inside, though, he gauged distances, angles, kill spots. It was just like pool, really. Only deadlier.
“Oh, we do,” Mac agreed. “We know all about you.” He made a show of turning and looking around the bar. “Nice place. Clever, too. Who’d think to look for you guys here? What, you’ve got the main base down below, is that it?” Top had a top-notch poker face, but Bunny and Warbride were more expressive, and Mac laughed at their reactions. “Whoops, sorry, was that a big secret? My bad. Oh, hey, and — surprise!”
He stepped suddenly to one side, and the man to his left already had something aimed at Top, something that looked more like a small video camera than a gun. Top stiffened, unable to dodge as a red beam played across him. But it didn’t hurt. It didn’t even tickle. In fact, it didn’t feel like anything at all. What the hell?
The one on Mac’s right had played a similar beam across Bunny, who also looked angry, surprised — and both relieved and confused when he realized he wasn’t hurt.
Somewhere behind him, Top heard shouts of panic. The other bar patrons, he guessed. They’d seen Mac and his friend pull what looked like guns, and that was enough to send any normal person running for the door. Good. It meant fewer civilians to worry about.
“Okay,” Top said slowly. “This has gone far enough.” He straightened, and released the cue with his right hand to reach around behind him. “I suggest you three get the hell out of here before—” But he faltered as his fingers grasped empty air.
His gun was gone!
Mac grinned. “I know, right?” he said conversationally, his two buddies smiling with him. “Crazy stuff. There’s a whole scientific explanation for it — something about isotopes and ions and ores and breaking atomic bonds and whatever — but the dummy version is, we aim it at you, all your metal goes away. Poof.” His grin sharpened, like a wolf’s. Or a shark’s. “Which leaves you totally unarmed. You were saying?”
Top frowned. Something about that tickled his memory — making him think back to a previous encounter with high-end combat vets decked out with beyond-cutting-edge gear. “You’re Closers,” he guessed, and knew he’d gotten it right when Mac stiffened, his grin curdling just a little.
Beside him, he could practically feel Warbride’s fury. They’d faced the Closers before, shortly after she’d joined the team. Top-notch mercs whose gear all came from Majestic Three, a crazy think tank that specialized in next-gen military gear. The Closers were tough as they came, and often augmented themselves. Their gear presented as practically science fiction, it was so advanced.
And now they’d tracked down the three of them, and taken away their weapons.
Swell.
That didn’t mean Echo Team was going down without a fight.
Top forced his shoulders to slump a little, his whole body to droop. “Crap,” he muttered, ducking his head.
Then he slammed the cue forward with his left hand.
It banged hard against the pool table, not damaging anyone or anything. The sudden impact brought renewed screams from the few bar patrons still left, however — and made Mac and his men jump.
Which gave Top the half second he needed to grab the nearest pool ball — the fifteen — and hurl it like a fastball right at Mac’s head.
He tried to dodge, and almost made it, but he was too close to evade it completely. The ball, which had been aimed square at the center of his forehead, instead smacked the Closer in the right temple, hard enough that Top thought he heard it crack bone. Mac dropped like a sack of potatoes. His two men grabbed for their guns.