***
“Is he talking, yet?” Sullivan demanded into his cell phone. He reached down into the trunk for the fully loaded mags.
The resistance was at it again. Sullivan watched the news this morning, they reported that not only had there been a bombing, but a highly decorated government official had been assassinated. They wouldn’t reveal who it was, but warned that the loss was significant. Those terrorists just wouldn’t be happy until there was no one left for them to kill, Sullivan knew. That’s why they needed to be stopped.
“No,” Fitzpatrick replied. “Hasn’t said boo.”
“Goddamn it, you guys need to get him talking.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Nothing,” Sullivan lied. He looked to King, who was holding a blood soaked towel over his newly broken nose. He placed the mags into his back pack then zipped it up. “Just waiting to hear from you guys is all.”
“Well, don’t go around making a mess, you hear me? I’m putting my ass on the line for you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Sullivan replied. He ended the call.
Sullivan placed the strap of his blue backpack over his shoulder. When he moved in on King, his old friend backed up and started cringing, blood soaking his scruffy beard. Sullivan tried to think of a better solution to all this, but the gun runner in front of him gave him little choice. He retrieved his Glock and pointed it towards him.
“You’re not going to tell anyone about this, right?” Sullivan asked.
“Of course not, man, come on…” King replied.
The Agent kept his gun trained. King would know that Sullivan was up to something. That was not an option. There could be no traces. Going outside the authority of the USR was a good way to find oneself in the gas chamber. He was already lucky enough that Fitzpatrick was keeping his mouth shut. There was no need to press it. Besides, King was a piece of shit gun runner who fucked desperate women and ripped of unsuspecting customers. He also, even in ignorance, must have played a hand in some way in arming the resistance. The same resistance that…
King raised his arms in the air. “You gonna leave now or what?”
“Yes.”
BANG!
King’s head rubbed against the white wall behind him, creating a smear of crimson all the way down. Sullivan replaced the Glock back into his shoulder holster. He walked up the stairs and out of the building. The musty air filled his nostrils as he walked out. He also saw something down the far alleyway to his left. A group of three Agents searched two younger men. They had their bodies pressed hard against the wall. Sullivan nodded his head in approval.
You get them, boys. Get them.