Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(68)

Geronimo seemed nervous and kept up a running commentary while pointing out and interpreting crude graphics he saw.

“FTP means ‘Fuck the Police,’?” he said. “ACAB is ‘All Cops Are Bastards.’ Did you see those numbers back there, ‘1312’? That’s numeric code for ‘ACAB.’?”

Scrawled in block letters on the pavement of the street they were on was no borders, no walls, no usa at all. Then: we don’t want biden—we want revenge!

“I think I got all that,” Nate said before Geronimo felt the need to read it out loud. “Are you ready to get my birds back?”

Geronimo Jones grinned and Nate could see his teeth.

“I’m ready,” he said.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


    The Gum Wall


Twenty minutes earlier, after half of the loaded firearms had been laid in the alleyway and covered by a canvas tarp, Axel said to Randy Daniels, “Go out to the street and take a position where you can get a visual on everything that’s going on. Keep me informed of what you see.”

Randy nodded and grunted. He was in a foul mood and didn’t want to talk.

“Give me your phone,” Axel said.

“What?”

Axel held out his open hand.

“How do I call you if I see something?” Randy asked.

Axel gave Randy a handheld radio. Reluctantly, Randy took it and gave Axel his phone.

“Leave it on channel twenty-two and keep the volume low,” Axel said. “Don’t talk on it unless you have something to say.”

“It’s raining out there,” Randy said.

Axel leaned into Randy so his mouth was inches from his ear. Randy could feel the full force of Axel’s menace in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Through gritted teeth, Axel said, “Go.”

Randy went.



* * *



—

Randy was in a foul mood because this wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He’d accompanied the Shaman to be his colleague, to learn from him. Maybe to bask in the glow of his dark celebrity.

Not to sit on the floor of a van breathing in hawk shit and stray feathers for hundreds of highway miles. Not to do all the physical work of loading heavy firearms into the van and stacking half of them in an alleyway just a few hours later. Not to be wet and freezing most of the day. Not to be talked down to and mocked by Axel and the Blade.

And now he was being sent to stand out on the street in the open during an epic rainstorm the likes of which he’d rarely experienced growing up in Denver.

He could hear Axel and the Blade talking behind him in the alley. No doubt, they were making fun of him again. They stayed back there, Randy guessed, because that’s where the cache of guns was located and because it was dry. The alleyway was covered on top back there.

Randy wished he had his phone so he could use the flashlight on it. There was something very weird about the alleyway they were in. The walls seemed to undulate with misshapen, multicolored globules. Like fungus growing—or acne on bad skin.

It wasn’t until he emerged from beneath the covered part of the alley into the open rain near the street that he got it: the brick walls of the passage were covered by hundreds of thousands of wads of used chewing gum. It repulsed him and he made sure he stayed in the middle of the alley away from either side, which were no doubt teeming with bacteria from the mouths of unclean strangers.

Disgusting.

So that’s why they called it the Gum Wall.



* * *



—

Randy disobeyed Axel the minute he emerged onto the empty street. Instead of standing there like a dutiful soldier getting soaked to the bone by the rain, he ducked into a dimly lit bodega whose windows and glass door were covered with iron bars. Printed in block letters on a piece of cardboard was:


NO PUBLIC TOILETS. DON’T EVEN ASK!!!!!



He pocketed the handheld and pushed his way inside. An electric buzzer signaled his entrance. It was hot and close inside and the aisles were so narrow he had to turn sidewise to get to the counter.

The cashier was an Asian man whose features were distorted by the thick plexiglass that separated him from his customers. Business was done through a small open slot cut from the bottom of the barrier.

“What you want?” the man asked. He sounded hostile, Randy thought.

“I was hoping I could buy a raincoat.”

“No raincoat! You antifa?”

“I’m just a brother trying to stay dry,” Randy said.

“Get out! No raincoat here. Soda, cigarettes, beer.”

Randy looked around. The shelves were packed with items on both sides. He smiled when he saw a box of thirty-five-gallon plastic garbage bags.

“I’ll take one of these,” Randy said. “I don’t need the whole box.”

“Whole box or nothing.”

“That’s robbery.”

“What? Get out if you don’t want to pay.”

Randy looked around for an alternative choice but couldn’t find one. He cursed and approached the counter.

“Twenty dollars,” the cashier said.

“Twenty dollars? For ten garbage bags? That’s ridiculous.”

“Twenty dollars or get out.”