Too Wylde by Marcus Wynne Page A
Authors: Marcus Wynne
Tags: detective, thriller, Crime, Mystery, Hardboiled, CIA, Terrorism, Noir, special forces, guns, underworld, Navy SEALs, Special Operations, gunfighter, counterterrorism, marcus wynne, covert operations, afghanistan war, johnny wylde, tactical operations, capers
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the
sidewalk, chatting on her cell phone; an old man walking an old
poodle. Wind blowing dry leaves.
Old memories.
Just what was going on?
I took a deep breath, held it, let it out
slowly. Turned the key in the ignition cars are great, Jimmy
Jay, you got all you need in one place: ignition sources, power,
fuel, and a contained space...remember the shaped charge in that
guy's helicopter seat? Remembering Hank's constant laughter and
how he ran rings around the instructors...
So what to do?
I took another deep breath and shifted into
gear, pulled out of the lot and started for home.
Watched my rear view mirror for what might be
gaining on me.
Lizzy Caprica
The Space for Peaceful Living was one of
Lizzy's favorite places. Whenever she entered the building, she
felt the energy of the place wash over her like a cooling shower.
The first floor was one big open space for the yoga studio and the
dance classes; locker rooms and a sauna were there off to the side.
Upstairs were healing spaces for reiki, shamanic, massage, tarot
and a few open spaces, and the office.
The yoga classes were the best in town and
attracted other yoga teachers, professional body workers, dancers
(classical ballet as well as exotic, including several that worked
at both, many of them friends with Lizzy). The senior yoga
instructor was a serene grey haired woman with the body of a 25
year old named Amarantha Bodine, who taught yoga and as well as
healing energetic work.
Lizzy parked her bag, unrolled her mat, sat
cross-legged in her usual place, smiled and waved back at Amarantha
who walked around greeting the regulars, checking the heat and
starting her favorite warm-up CD. There were some new faces, always
a few because Amarantha was popular, and a steady stream of people
seeking a spot in her class. Lizzy noticed an attractive blonde
woman, buffed with the muscle of a serious athlete, talking with
Amarantha, who nodded, touched the blond woman's arm and pointed
her to a place in the class.
Lizzy smiled as the woman unrolled her mat
beside her.
"Hello," Lizzy said. "Welcome to the
class."
"Thanks, gorgeous!" the woman said. "I hear
this is the place to be."
"It is. You have an amazing body! Do you do a
lot of yoga?"
"No, I'm more of a strength and aerobics
kinda gal. Think it's time I started working more on flexibility,
though. Part of getting older."
"You don't look a day over 30."
The blonde woman gave Lizzy a dazzling smile.
"You are now officially my Best Friend Forever. What's your
name?"
Lizzy extended her hand; the other woman's
was strong, with a hint of callus. "I'm Lizzy."
"Hi, Lizzy! I'm Dee Dee. Happy to meet
you!"
"Hi Dee Dee. Do you prefer Dee Dee or
Dee?"
"Either or both! What do you do?"
"I'm a dancer."
"What kind?"
"Exotic."
"Oh, honey," Dee Dee said, leaning close. "I
want to *party* with you..."
Deon Oosthuizen
Deon dotted the working bits of Jimmy's
rebuilt Glocker with some Break-Free and cycled the action by hand.
Smooth as glass, smooth as silk, smooth as a baby's ass or the
inside of a young girl's thigh.
Nice work, Deon.
He'd taken the magazines apart, and carefully
filed and beveled the edges of the new magazine follower, and then
installed the Dawson Precision mag extender. Now the 15-rd
magazines held 23 rounds, and the back-up G-17 magazines held 25.
Plenty for a little fight. These Dawsons were good kit.
Good to go.
He took out a box of Speer Gold Dot 9mm in
124gr, loaded the magazines up, and then went downstairs to his
range. He set a target out at 15 meters, and systematically pumped
rounds into the black X ring of a NRA bull. He studied the ragged
hole, took his sight tool and tweaked the Warren just a fraction to
the left, then ran another magazine through a fresh target.
Bingo presto good to go.
One nice ragged hole right at POA/POI.
He went back upstairs to his work bench,
disassembled the pistol and cleaned it, lubed it, then reloaded the
magazines. Rummaged through a drawer till
sidewalk, chatting on her cell phone; an old man walking an old
poodle. Wind blowing dry leaves.
Old memories.
Just what was going on?
I took a deep breath, held it, let it out
slowly. Turned the key in the ignition cars are great, Jimmy
Jay, you got all you need in one place: ignition sources, power,
fuel, and a contained space...remember the shaped charge in that
guy's helicopter seat? Remembering Hank's constant laughter and
how he ran rings around the instructors...
So what to do?
I took another deep breath and shifted into
gear, pulled out of the lot and started for home.
Watched my rear view mirror for what might be
gaining on me.
Lizzy Caprica
The Space for Peaceful Living was one of
Lizzy's favorite places. Whenever she entered the building, she
felt the energy of the place wash over her like a cooling shower.
The first floor was one big open space for the yoga studio and the
dance classes; locker rooms and a sauna were there off to the side.
Upstairs were healing spaces for reiki, shamanic, massage, tarot
and a few open spaces, and the office.
The yoga classes were the best in town and
attracted other yoga teachers, professional body workers, dancers
(classical ballet as well as exotic, including several that worked
at both, many of them friends with Lizzy). The senior yoga
instructor was a serene grey haired woman with the body of a 25
year old named Amarantha Bodine, who taught yoga and as well as
healing energetic work.
Lizzy parked her bag, unrolled her mat, sat
cross-legged in her usual place, smiled and waved back at Amarantha
who walked around greeting the regulars, checking the heat and
starting her favorite warm-up CD. There were some new faces, always
a few because Amarantha was popular, and a steady stream of people
seeking a spot in her class. Lizzy noticed an attractive blonde
woman, buffed with the muscle of a serious athlete, talking with
Amarantha, who nodded, touched the blond woman's arm and pointed
her to a place in the class.
Lizzy smiled as the woman unrolled her mat
beside her.
"Hello," Lizzy said. "Welcome to the
class."
"Thanks, gorgeous!" the woman said. "I hear
this is the place to be."
"It is. You have an amazing body! Do you do a
lot of yoga?"
"No, I'm more of a strength and aerobics
kinda gal. Think it's time I started working more on flexibility,
though. Part of getting older."
"You don't look a day over 30."
The blonde woman gave Lizzy a dazzling smile.
"You are now officially my Best Friend Forever. What's your
name?"
Lizzy extended her hand; the other woman's
was strong, with a hint of callus. "I'm Lizzy."
"Hi, Lizzy! I'm Dee Dee. Happy to meet
you!"
"Hi Dee Dee. Do you prefer Dee Dee or
Dee?"
"Either or both! What do you do?"
"I'm a dancer."
"What kind?"
"Exotic."
"Oh, honey," Dee Dee said, leaning close. "I
want to *party* with you..."
Deon Oosthuizen
Deon dotted the working bits of Jimmy's
rebuilt Glocker with some Break-Free and cycled the action by hand.
Smooth as glass, smooth as silk, smooth as a baby's ass or the
inside of a young girl's thigh.
Nice work, Deon.
He'd taken the magazines apart, and carefully
filed and beveled the edges of the new magazine follower, and then
installed the Dawson Precision mag extender. Now the 15-rd
magazines held 23 rounds, and the back-up G-17 magazines held 25.
Plenty for a little fight. These Dawsons were good kit.
Good to go.
He took out a box of Speer Gold Dot 9mm in
124gr, loaded the magazines up, and then went downstairs to his
range. He set a target out at 15 meters, and systematically pumped
rounds into the black X ring of a NRA bull. He studied the ragged
hole, took his sight tool and tweaked the Warren just a fraction to
the left, then ran another magazine through a fresh target.
Bingo presto good to go.
One nice ragged hole right at POA/POI.
He went back upstairs to his work bench,
disassembled the pistol and cleaned it, lubed it, then reloaded the
magazines. Rummaged through a drawer till
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