that hole, didn’t he. Asking about why he’d concealed the man and the girl in Stamford only to turn them in here and asking about how long he’d been in the habit of carrying contraband. Carrying smugglers carrying contraband. Smugglers with children for Christ’s sake. Asking questions for which there was no answer except greed. Saying all right go on hit him with that taser again if you’re so handy with it. Do you both some good.
Weller stood holding Penny tight. Thinking they wanted him to witness this.
The line of trucks kept on passing. Not one of the drivers even looked.
One of the security men lifted his visor and took Penny’s chin in a gloved hand and tilted her face away from her father’s chest and told her not to worry about a thing. She was going to take a trip to the big city. See the sights. Penny howled, snatched her face away and buried it again, and not one of the men who were gathered around the driver so much as turned to see what the trouble was. Not one of them even flinched at the howling of that child. It was their training. Some of them were old Black Rose and some of them were from other private military outfits, outfits that had specialized in work that Black Rose had found unprofitable. Either way they were all cashed-out with their immunity intact, immunity from prosecution that went all the way back to the Iraq war when things had gotten simpler. When you could run an army like a business for a change. Immunity was a retirement benefit that didn’t cost anybody anything. Not like a pension. A pension cost money. And who needed a pension anyhow, when you could always find work.
Weller turned away from the hard man. Just a few degrees. Still almost flat against the wall but keeping himself between the man and his daughter as best he could or at least suggesting that that was his intent. Drawing a line. The man gave him that inch or two and then he leaned over and whispered in his ear. Saying, “That sonofabitch driver works for the same company I do. And you see how much he’s worth.”
Two of the men raised the driver to his feet. He hung between them, defeated and limp. Not even looking up. They sat him on a curb and one of them knelt beside him and drew a knife from a holster at his ankle. Raised it to the driver’s neck. The other not even holding him down. Not restraining him in any way. Not having to. Just standing with his arms crossed, watching. The one with the knife raised it to the driver’s neck and held it there and the tiny pressure of the point of it was enough to keep the driver settled as he felt around the flesh of his neck with two fingers of his other hand. He decided on a spot. Took hold. Pushed the tip of the blade against the driver’s windpipe and turned it a quarter turn. levering it. Blood and gristle popping out and behind that something silver. His one hand was busy holding the driver’s neck and his other hand was busy with the knife so he jerked his head to lift his visor and bent forward and took the brand in his teeth. Leaned back and grinned around it for his buddy and let the driver go. The driver slumped over and he rose up. Sucked the little piece of silver metal clean and spat it into his free hand.
He wiped both sides of the knife blade on the driver’s overalls and checked the knife all over and wiped one side again and put it away. Fastidious. “This’ll do,” he said. Checking the brand. Shaking his head disgusted. “You’re free to go.”
It didn’t even register with the driver. The loss of everything. The loss of himself.
The man at Weller’s shoulder said, “Be glad you’re not one of ours. Be glad PharmAgra’s got that bounty on runners. All of a sudden you’re worth something.”
FIVE
One Police Plaza
They plunged down into the city as into a canyon. Weller and Penny in the back seat behind thick glass scratched opaque. Holes drilled through it for ventilation. They could hear the men talking
Weller stood holding Penny tight. Thinking they wanted him to witness this.
The line of trucks kept on passing. Not one of the drivers even looked.
One of the security men lifted his visor and took Penny’s chin in a gloved hand and tilted her face away from her father’s chest and told her not to worry about a thing. She was going to take a trip to the big city. See the sights. Penny howled, snatched her face away and buried it again, and not one of the men who were gathered around the driver so much as turned to see what the trouble was. Not one of them even flinched at the howling of that child. It was their training. Some of them were old Black Rose and some of them were from other private military outfits, outfits that had specialized in work that Black Rose had found unprofitable. Either way they were all cashed-out with their immunity intact, immunity from prosecution that went all the way back to the Iraq war when things had gotten simpler. When you could run an army like a business for a change. Immunity was a retirement benefit that didn’t cost anybody anything. Not like a pension. A pension cost money. And who needed a pension anyhow, when you could always find work.
Weller turned away from the hard man. Just a few degrees. Still almost flat against the wall but keeping himself between the man and his daughter as best he could or at least suggesting that that was his intent. Drawing a line. The man gave him that inch or two and then he leaned over and whispered in his ear. Saying, “That sonofabitch driver works for the same company I do. And you see how much he’s worth.”
Two of the men raised the driver to his feet. He hung between them, defeated and limp. Not even looking up. They sat him on a curb and one of them knelt beside him and drew a knife from a holster at his ankle. Raised it to the driver’s neck. The other not even holding him down. Not restraining him in any way. Not having to. Just standing with his arms crossed, watching. The one with the knife raised it to the driver’s neck and held it there and the tiny pressure of the point of it was enough to keep the driver settled as he felt around the flesh of his neck with two fingers of his other hand. He decided on a spot. Took hold. Pushed the tip of the blade against the driver’s windpipe and turned it a quarter turn. levering it. Blood and gristle popping out and behind that something silver. His one hand was busy holding the driver’s neck and his other hand was busy with the knife so he jerked his head to lift his visor and bent forward and took the brand in his teeth. Leaned back and grinned around it for his buddy and let the driver go. The driver slumped over and he rose up. Sucked the little piece of silver metal clean and spat it into his free hand.
He wiped both sides of the knife blade on the driver’s overalls and checked the knife all over and wiped one side again and put it away. Fastidious. “This’ll do,” he said. Checking the brand. Shaking his head disgusted. “You’re free to go.”
It didn’t even register with the driver. The loss of everything. The loss of himself.
The man at Weller’s shoulder said, “Be glad you’re not one of ours. Be glad PharmAgra’s got that bounty on runners. All of a sudden you’re worth something.”
FIVE
One Police Plaza
They plunged down into the city as into a canyon. Weller and Penny in the back seat behind thick glass scratched opaque. Holes drilled through it for ventilation. They could hear the men talking
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