Page 45 of One Last Rainy Day
Peter gapes at us, “Jesus, who knew Spencer was capable of something like this.”
Tyler’s expression hardens. “It’s clear by the way they irresponsibly guard the balls in that shit shack that they’ve been getting away with this for some time. Spencer’s part is easy, which makes the case of his involvement open and shut. His hands couldn’t be redder. The specialist handling the order is just as compromised as the buyer because there is some serious protocol when it comes toballsales.”
Russell audibly starts piecing it together. “I read a story the other day thatballsthat were supposed to be on a military base were used in a street robbery...fuck...so this means that Spencer and the specialist work with the dirty foreign official under the guise they’re ordering balls for theirownmilitary, receives them, and then falsifies the ball’s location on a foreign base in their country before shipping them back to US soil to sell to God knows who?”
Tyler dips his chin. “That’s the sum of it. Solves a little of the mystery of how some who should never get their hands on these types of weapons acquire them. Though rare, this is one of those ways, and it’s the action of these greedy fucks selling out their stars and stripes, disgracing the restof us in uniform. So, when this type of shit is discovered by those serving with good intentions, it’s a big fucking deal.”
Russell glances over at Tyler. “Which makes thispersonalfor you.”
“Goddamn right it does,” Tyler snaps. “Which is why I’ve tracked who requested the balls and what specialistherethey’re working with. I’m guaranteeing all involved are getting a share of the sales considering each of the big balls in our park are worth twenty to thirty grand each.”
Peter’s money-hungry eyes bulge. “Jesus. That’s—”
“More than what’s in your piggy bank, and that balance isn’t changing anytime soon,” I snap, cutting off any illusions he might have about profiting.
Mrs. George chooses that moment to poke her head into the garage. “Russell, I’ve got to be at my hair appointment by nine!”
Russell groans, muttering a low “told you,” before amplifying his reply to her. “I’ll have you out of here in fifteen, Mrs. George.”
Mrs. George leaves us with a withering stare before retreating into the lobby as I pick back up. “More crates were delivered to the warehouse last night, and we still don’t know who’s coming for them and when, so the clock is ticking.”
“Timing is everything here,” Tyler tosses in.
“Always is,” I throw back, “but before we make a move, we need to get the bulk of the balls intoour possessionbecause we don’t want the kids buying them and playing with them in the streets.”
“Right now,” Tyler adds, “from their perspective, everything looks untouched. This gives us a closing windowto get what we need, so it’s all hands-on deck, because once we go there...” Tyler gives us each a pointed look “...there’s no going back.”
Russell looks between all of us, his face paling as he gathers the enormity of the situation. “But if we draw the wrong attention and our plan backfires—”
“We’ll summon the perfect storm,” Tyler finishes. “We’re talking a majority of the big players, including the FBI, ATF, and the military itself sniffing in our backyard.”
“So, it’s a good thing we’ve got feathered friends in high places,” I add.
A tense beat of silence passes as the stakes set in. None of us expected to deal with something so high-risk this early.
Peter speaks up. “So, whatisthe plan?”
Glancing around, I make a quick decision and walk over to the tool shelf, snatching three Solo cups from a sleeve along with a handful of washers from a coffee tin. Taking a side of the high top away from the rest of them, I line the cups up on the table and lift a single washer. Using my sleight of hand, I place it beneath a cup before scrambling them. The washer noisily drags on the table, all eyes on the cups until I stop and lift my gaze to Jeremy for his guess.
Jeremy sighs and points to what he’s sure is the obvious cup, and I lift it. Empty. His eyes widen in surprise as I slowly start to re-scramble.
Russell groans in protest. “Hey Dom, you are aware we have a lobby full of people, right? No need for a visual demonstration to get your point across. Contrary to what you might think,Jeremyis the onlyidiothere.”
Jeremy gapes at him. “Thatreally hurt.”
Peter speaks up. “Dom, we get it. We’re going to useillusion to get the job done. It’s child’s play. You going to sing us ‘Ring Around the Rosie’ too?”
I pause my movements. “Have you ever examined the lyrics to that sadistic fucking nursery rhyme?” I resume my version of the shell shuffle. “‘Ring Around the Rosie’,” I relay, “refers to the rash associated with the plague. Posy was a bouquet used to mask the smell of decaying flesh.”
“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” Peter rasps out thoughtfully. “Damn, that is some sick shit.”
“See how that works?” I draw out. “Everyone at this table probably knows the words.” They nod in confirmation. “That’s the crux of our lack of critical thinking. That sick rhyme and countless others have been passed down for generations because we’ve been careless as to what we teach one another.” I eye Peter. “Bet you’ll think twice before you sing that lullaby to your baby sister.”
I stop my shuffle. “And when you have a spare minute, Google the origin of Jack and Jill and some of the others, and you’ll soon find our Mother Goose was in favor of Munchausen.”
Russell makes his guess and weighs in. “So, I gather we’re going to have them all scrambling to find the balls?”
“No, brother,” Tyler says, a devious smile lighting his face as I swipe the cups off the empty table and Tyler extends a closed hand over it, slowly lifting his fingers to reveal a palm full of washers. “We’re going to eliminate thegame.”
