Hunter's Games by James P. Sumner Page B

been shot in the leg and chest and was listed as critical. I thought about going back to finish things, but decided against it.”
    “Everything The Shark does is a message to you...” says Wallis, putting the pieces together for himself.
    “That’s right,” I confirm. “The Shark is Danny Pellaggio. He shot Josh exactly the same way I'd shot him a year ago, to send another message to me about who he is.”
    “This is valuable information, Adrian,” says Chambers. “I appreciate you being honest with us.”
    “I just want this to end. Like I said, just because you don’t approve of my chosen career, it doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy. I don’t want people suffering any more than you do. Especially when it’s because somebody is playing a game with me.”
    “So what would you suggest our next move should be?”
    “First of all, I want someone watching Josh. Around the clock. Just because Shark Boy survived, it doesn’t mean he intends for Josh to do the same.”
    “I’ll do what I can for you.”
    “Thanks,” I say, standing up.
    “Where are you going?” asks Johnson.
    I point at the jukebox at the far end of the bar. “I need some music,” I reply, walking off and leaving them all exchanging bewildered glances.
    I wander over to the back of the bar, past three tables full with the SFPD’s finest. I reach into my pocket for some change and feed some quarters into the machine, cycling through the song list to find something to suit the mood.
    It doesn’t take me long. This is a good jukebox.
    I walk back over to the table and sit down just as the haunting sounds of the guitar at the beginning of Hell’s Bells by AC/DC is kicking in.
    “You good?” asks Chambers, sarcastically.
    “I am now,” I reply, smiling.
    “Right,” she says, addressing the group. “The way I see it, we need to work on everything we can, as quickly as possible. Bottom line is, we don’t know where to find Danny Pellaggio or what his endgame is. So until we hear from him—which I assume will be soon—Wallis, I want you to work on tracing the gun used. I think Adrian’s logic is sound, and I’m confident the ballistics will confirm his theory. So start checking everything we can to find where he got the weapon from. Distributors, the military, whatever you can.”
    “Will do,” he says.
    “Johnson, I want you to work with forensics and put together a real picture of how today happened. Look at how he was able to orchestrate such an elaborate attack—the materials used, trajectory of the bullets to pinpoint a location… anything. It might give us some clue about what he’s got planned next.”
    He nods in acknowledgement.
    “And you,” she says, turning to me. “You don’t work for me, and you’re likely to disregard any type of order I think about giving you—”
    “You know me so well,” I say, smiling and winking at her, which she ignores.
    “But I don’t want you doing anything stupid in the meantime, so you’re with me. You don’t go anywhere without me or my say-so. Is that clear?”
    “Crystal.”
    “Then drink up, gentleman. We’ve got work to do.”
    She stands and walks through the bar and out of the front doors without looking back. I watch her leave. She looks fantastic.
    Johnson gets to his feet, stretching a little and then waiting. Wallis goes to stand, but I remain in my chair.
    “You coming?” he asks.
    “Not ‘til this song’s finished,” I reply.
    They look at each other and shrug before sitting back down in their seats.
     

10.
     
     
     
    September 24 th , 2014
     
    09:31
    THE LAST TWELVE hours or so have passed by surprisingly fast. We’d all left the bar last night and headed by to the FBI field office. From there, people took it in turns sleeping and running around getting stressed. It didn’t take long for me to feel out of place and useless, so I resigned myself to trying to get some sleep and sorting everything out in my head.
    Chambers insisted I stay by her side