The Serpent and the Crow

Book 2: Chapter Twelve

Jador approached as the front gate opened. The compound looked abandoned, but judging from the CCTV cameras following her; it was a ruse. Rust shook loose from the PA speakers near the fence as it blares out with static.

"That is far enough, detective. Drop your firearms and state your business."

She obeyed and held up her hands.

"I'm not here for any business you are cooking up. I'm here investigating the murder of Katie Harding."

Silence ensued. Sweat dripped down Jador's brow. She looked at her guns on the concrete, thinking she took a significant risk following a potential killer's instructions. The switchblade tucked in behind her jeans provided little comfort. She knew how to use it, but it depended on how the assailant would act. Would he know how to take it from her?

"Kick the guns away, Detective. On your knees. Do it, do it now."

Jador obeyed and knelt. She had been in this position twice before, and both times it was a narrow escape between surviving. If the man was alone, and that is a big fucking if she would have a fighting chance. If he kept his distance, then he was a professional. Sweat formed underneath her body armour and dripped down between her breasts.

A large man appeared brandishing a pump-action shotgun. At this range, if the trigger was pulled, there would be skull fragments splattered over the concrete. Where the fuck was Wade? She thought. She wondered how this guy got that nasty scar on his face. It was a coin toss to how he got the wounds; fire, gunshot, or razor wire.

"Why the fuck would I ever let you leave here alive?"

Jador's eyes tracked his footsteps as he edged closer. Fuck. He fell short of striking distance. She was at his mercy.

"What are you, Deaf?" I told you I'm here for the girl."

"You've got some balls on you, little girl."

"You can suck my dick."

"I'm the one that's got the drop on you, so don't fucking tempt me. You and I both realize that pretty vest ain't going to do shit to stop my buckshot from fucking up your whole social diary."

"You know something or else you would've cleared my google calendar with a trigger-pull."

"I might know something, yeah. Why would I tell you?"

Jador was not showing it, but she was panicking. She did not have an answer, and he knew it. She muttered something under her breath.

"What you saying?"

She played it up a bit more, as if the heat dried up her throat. Jador motioned for him to come closer. Just what she needed; his foot shifted within range. She delivered a headbutt, crashing into his nose while deflecting the shotgun.

Buckshot scattered over the concrete and showered Jador in debris. She drove up to her feet and sent a palm strike just under his chin, sending him scuttling back. She needed to get to her knife.

Jador clutched her blade and flicked it open while rushing him. It does not play out how she thought as the guy redirected her knife and slings her across his shoulder, sending her crashing to the ground in one swift judo throw.

Jador screamed in pain as her body contorts from the pain from his wrist lock. He pulled out a Colt Single Action Army, pointed it towards her face. She recognised the gun.

"You just got owned, Detective. How does it feel?"

Wade brandishes his Colt SAA to the man's head.

"You should know, pal," Wade said as he smirked.

"Fuck, I guess I feel like it was short-lived."

"I've been looking for my gun for a long-time, dipshit. Hand it over, nice and easy like."

Wade took back the ivory inlay revolver.

"How's, does it feel? To be holding Death and Taxes again, Wade?"

Wade pistol-whipped him, and he dropped like a sorry sack of shit trying to skip the queue outside a nightclub.

Jador asked, "You know this spaghetti face looking motherfucker, Wade?"

Wade holstered both his colt revolvers.

"We're wasting time."