When night came, they were drifting on open water, city lights vague through a layer of low clouds over to the west. Weecho was sitting on the fish box, talking to Emer Lynch on his cell.
“The only way it can happen is we create a standoff that works for both of us. You have to be able to see you’re getting the DVD, I have to see that Juna is okay.”
Shongut had given him Lynch’s cell number, had it in a dog-eared little address book he carried in his camos.
Weecho saying to Lynch, “We each bring one other person for cover. No more.”
Shongut was leaning against the port gunwale, rolling himself a cigarette in the anchor light’s glow.
“That’s why that place works.” Weecho trying to put some heft in his voice. “We both can see if there’s anybody else. It’s wide open, off by itself.”
Shongut had actually picked it for him.
“I know where it is.” Lynch arrogant on the other end, not liking this kid calling any of the shots here. The man’s voice clear, probably coming from out on the water, too.
Weecho said, “I’ll be there at first light, 5 a.m. That work for you?”
“It works.”
“Now let me speak to Juna.”
After some shuffling and talk in the background, Juna came on sounding weak and out of it.
“Weech?”
“Hey, how you doing?”
“I’ve been better,” she said.
“This’ll be over soon.”
“Where are you?”
“Getting ready to get you back.”
“I hope so. Don’t be long.”
Then Lynch came back on. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t be late.”
He clicked off. Weecho disconnected and looked at Shongut.
“It set?” Shongut licking the rolling paper and sealing in the tobacco.
“As much as can be.”
“What’d she sound like?”
“Not good. I think he’s got her on something.”
Shongut grunted, flicked his old Zippo and lit the cigarette. Took a deep drag and blew smoke out over the dark water.
“You gotta be ready for anything tomorrow.”
Weecho not answering, didn’t have to be told.
Shongut reached down next to the portable DVD player, dug in the tote bag Dara had brought, took out the pistol she’d said was in there. Looked it over, handed it to Weecho.
“Nice,” Shongut said. “You know how to use it?”
“Pretty much.”
Beretta .380 Cheetah, weapon of choice for close-in work, take-downs, whatever. Dara filling him in when they practiced in Alexey’s basement, her showing him how to clear the weapon quick, aim focusing on the front sight, squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk. Weecho sniffed the gun, smelled the oil, knew it was clean and ready to go.
Shongut smoked his cigarette down to a stub, flicked it and watched it fizz in the water.
“We should eat,” he said, and dug back into Dara’s tote. “She packed enough here to get us to Greenland.”
YOU ARE READING
Weecho: First Shots
Teen FictionA hot young photographer shoots a conspiracy murder, has cops and the killer chasing after those pictures, hooks up with a fugitive punk girl to cover his back.
