Page 83 of My Crazy Killers
12/06 — 2,500 chyornyy ozhog
“Holy shit,” Pete gasps. “Is that what I think it is?”
“What’s today’s date?” I ask, my eyes moving to the calendar at the corner of the screen. December fifth.
“But Robert had that letter. Couldn’t that mean it’s the arrival dates?” Sly asks.
“It’s possible,” Elias says in thought. “But considering wewere just there yesterday and it was still there, this is probably the delivery date.”
“But Robert’s dead,” Dex says, throwing a very large wrench into my theory.
Nobody speaks for a full minute until Elias finally breaks the silence. “Robert wasn’t running the only mafia in the states. Ivan could easily find a replacement.”
“Besides,” I add, “He had always planned to double-cross Robert.”
“Which means that date might never have meant anything,” Elias adds, pointing at the note.
“Shit,” Pete says on an exhale. “So this doesn’t help us at all.”
“I think it gives us the best shot we have,” Elias argues. “Worst-case scenario, we spend the day waiting for him to arrive, and he never shows.”
“So you think we should go there tomorrow, ready to take him out?” I ask in surprise.
“No, I thinkweshould,” he says, pointing to all the guys as if he means for me to stay here.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask, then turn to look at the others, who all look a little worried. I push to my feet and turn to face them all. “Guys?” Dex and Pete avoid my gaze as Sly and Elias stare at me with tight lips. I turn to Jagger. “Explain.”
“Nobody wants you to get hurt,”he signs.
“And I don’t want any of you to get hurt. I’m going.”
“Little bird,” Sly says in warning.
I point my finger at him. “No! That’s not fair. I’m part of this team, too! I’m the Falcon! Why have a code name if you’re just gonna leave me at home!”
“You can’t shoot,” he reminds me, making me flinch as he reminds me of my failings.
“I can use a knife,” I remind him. “Remember yesterday?”
“I remember Dex saved you.”
“Well, if I had a gun, he wouldn’t have had to! I could have shot him. I was close. I wouldn’t have missed!”
He raises an eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe me. “Take me shooting,” I demand. “Now. If I can hit over fifty percent of targets that are fifteen feet away, human-sized ones, then I get to go.” I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for him to try to deny my reasonable request.
“Fine,” he says, surprising me.
“Are you serious?” Pete asks, just as surprised as me.
“Peter! Whose side are you on?”
“I’m sorry!” he says, throwing up his hands in defense. “I just don’t wanna get shot.”
“I’m not gonna shootyou.”
“Are you sure?” he asks doubtfully.
“Peter… don’t make me put you on the naughty list,” I say in warning, which only makes him grin.
