Jetski and Morris peer over the edge of the roof of the building adjoining the police precinct. Jetski’s afternoon bravado has evaporated.
“God, I hate heights, Bliss,” Jetski says, sweating. The night’s cool. “Heights and rats. Both make me freeze up.”
“You can do this,” Morris says, testing his flashlight. He accidentally drops it, picks it up, and tests it again. Jetski had brought the paintball guns and red laser pointers. “Just like that time you killed the rat with the mop. You didn’t freeze up then,” Morris says, regretting the words the moment they’re spoken. Jetski hadn’t told him that story. Stefani had.
“I told you about that?” Jetski asks, nervous. He’s wearing a black Got Beer? T-shirt turned inside out and dark jeans. He wipes his face with a washcloth. “I told you about the rat?”
“Let’s go over the plan once more,” Morris says. “We’ll both enter—”
“When did I tell you about the rat?” Jetski asks.
“Steven,” Morris says, using his birth name. “We’re Battle Eagles—”
“Bloody Eagles.”
“If this is going to work,” Morris says, “we need to be together, to focus. We’ve got to stay on plan or it won’t work.”
“We should rethink the plan,” Jetski says.
Morris slips on his ski mask. “It’s your plan. The plan’s fine. It’ll work,” he says, not convinced it will. But it’ll be a thrill, and Morris will make a hundred dollars, which he feels slightly guilty about. Not too guilty. He is doing a job. He’s helping Jetski out.
Jetski tentatively picks up one of the paintball guns. A laser pointer is duct taped to the barrel.
“Let me hear you say the plan,” Morris says.
“We go in and try to get them out,” Jetski reluctantly answers.
“No,” Morris says, handing him a flashlight. “We go in and attack. They nearly killed you this morning. If you were in the army, you’d get a Purple Heart for that. Fuck with a Bloody Eagle…”
“You get the talons.” Jetski nods. “You’re right, Bliss. You’re goddamn right.” His anger rises as he mulls it over. Morris can see the transformation happening. “This is my building, my project. We need to force them into the street like the rodents they are. Just like that rat.”
“Just like that rat,” Morris says.
Jetski greasepaints his face. “Laser sightings on,” he says.
Morris pulls on a pair of clear workman goggles over his ski mask. Jetski flashes a few random hand signs at Morris, then jumps the short space to the adjacent roof, the police precinct. “No prisoners, no negotiations,” Jetski says. “And remember,” he says, emboldened, “aim for the face or the crotch.”
Chapter 16