![Repairman Jack [10]-Harbingers](https://fs.read-free.com/466539/thumbs/152x264/repairman-jack-10-harbingers.jpg)
stood watching as the third drew on her skin. Looked like he was using a black Sharpie to trace weird free-form outlines all over her body. The pattern reminded Jack of Maori tattoos, but much more extensive.
On the wall behind them someone had painted an inverted pentacle in a circle.
Jack nudged the window and felt it move. Slowly, carefully, he eased it inward but it wouldn't pass the inch mark.
"Come on, Bob," said one of the watchers. "What's taking so long?"
"Yeah," said the other. "Get it fucking done."
"Get off my back!" Bob said. "This has got to be done right! I do a half-assed job, it's all for nothing."
"Nothing?" The first one nudged the second and grinned as he stared at Cailin's naked body. "Oh, 1 wouldn't say that."
The second guy thought that was real funny.
Someone needed to bring this party to a screeching halt. The window was too small to fit through, but he could pull his Glock and break the glass. Or he could go around front and kick in the door.
He'd promised Gia to stay arm's length and do the 911 thing, but he couldn't count on the cops getting here in time. Had to go in.
He'd reached the garbage cans and was just about to hop over them when a big black Chevy Suburban chirped to a halt at the curb before the building. Jack ducked as three men dressed in black fedoras, black suits, black ties, and white shirts stepped out. Despite the darkness, all wore sunglasses. They were either trying to look like the Blues Brothers or the mythical Men in Black from UFO lore.
Or like the two similar-looking characters Jack had dealt with last spring.
The three made a disparate group. One was huge, one short and skinny, one somewhere between.
They looked like they knew where they were going as they crossed the sidewalk and hurried down the cellar stairs. When Jack heard them kick in the door, he scrambled back to the window.
The trio with the girl had heard the sound of the door—how could they not?—and drawn long knives.
The three men in black burst in with drawn pistols.
"Who the fuck're you?" said the artist.
The big guy pointed a suppressed H-K Tactical at him and fired. The bullet hit him in the nose and flung him back against the table. He hung there against Cailin's body, then slithered to the floor, very dead. The other two immediately dropped their knives and raised their hands. But the big guy wasn't impressed. With no hesitation and no sign of emotion he shot each once in the head.
Phut!
Phut!
"Damn you, Miller!" the middle-size guy shouted. "What'd you do that for? What's the matter with you?"
Miller bolstered his pistol. "Just improving the gene pool."
"What about the plan? Tag them and track them, see where they hang out. See if there's any more like them. Remember that? Ever occur to you that they inürht have been useful alive?"
"Buncha fucktards. Nothing useful ever coming from them." The corners of his mouth curled up in a barely noticeable smile. "Least not now anyways."
The medium guy shook his head. "All right, let's wrap her up and get her out of here."
"Let Zeklos do it. He's gotta be good for something."
The third, a buck-toothed weasel guy, shot him a venomous look, then approached Cailin.
What the hell?
Jack could still call the police, but the group would be long gone before they got here. Besides, he wanted to know what was going on. Who were these guys? And what did they plan to do with Cailin?
He pulled a knit cap from his jacket pocket. Had an idea of how to find out.
4
Cal Davis averted his eyes from the girl as Zeklos began unstrapping her from the table. He wanted to stare at her, the red pubic fuzz, the small pink-tipped breasts. He didn't like the feelings bubbling up from his core.
"She breathing?"
"Yes," Zeklos said. "I should leave the tape?"
"Definitely."
He didn't want her making a racket if she came to.
He looked at Miller staring at the girl. Didn't even bother with a corner-of-the-eye sneak. Just flat out stared.
Goddamn loose
On the wall behind them someone had painted an inverted pentacle in a circle.
Jack nudged the window and felt it move. Slowly, carefully, he eased it inward but it wouldn't pass the inch mark.
"Come on, Bob," said one of the watchers. "What's taking so long?"
"Yeah," said the other. "Get it fucking done."
"Get off my back!" Bob said. "This has got to be done right! I do a half-assed job, it's all for nothing."
"Nothing?" The first one nudged the second and grinned as he stared at Cailin's naked body. "Oh, 1 wouldn't say that."
The second guy thought that was real funny.
Someone needed to bring this party to a screeching halt. The window was too small to fit through, but he could pull his Glock and break the glass. Or he could go around front and kick in the door.
He'd promised Gia to stay arm's length and do the 911 thing, but he couldn't count on the cops getting here in time. Had to go in.
He'd reached the garbage cans and was just about to hop over them when a big black Chevy Suburban chirped to a halt at the curb before the building. Jack ducked as three men dressed in black fedoras, black suits, black ties, and white shirts stepped out. Despite the darkness, all wore sunglasses. They were either trying to look like the Blues Brothers or the mythical Men in Black from UFO lore.
Or like the two similar-looking characters Jack had dealt with last spring.
The three made a disparate group. One was huge, one short and skinny, one somewhere between.
They looked like they knew where they were going as they crossed the sidewalk and hurried down the cellar stairs. When Jack heard them kick in the door, he scrambled back to the window.
The trio with the girl had heard the sound of the door—how could they not?—and drawn long knives.
The three men in black burst in with drawn pistols.
"Who the fuck're you?" said the artist.
The big guy pointed a suppressed H-K Tactical at him and fired. The bullet hit him in the nose and flung him back against the table. He hung there against Cailin's body, then slithered to the floor, very dead. The other two immediately dropped their knives and raised their hands. But the big guy wasn't impressed. With no hesitation and no sign of emotion he shot each once in the head.
Phut!
Phut!
"Damn you, Miller!" the middle-size guy shouted. "What'd you do that for? What's the matter with you?"
Miller bolstered his pistol. "Just improving the gene pool."
"What about the plan? Tag them and track them, see where they hang out. See if there's any more like them. Remember that? Ever occur to you that they inürht have been useful alive?"
"Buncha fucktards. Nothing useful ever coming from them." The corners of his mouth curled up in a barely noticeable smile. "Least not now anyways."
The medium guy shook his head. "All right, let's wrap her up and get her out of here."
"Let Zeklos do it. He's gotta be good for something."
The third, a buck-toothed weasel guy, shot him a venomous look, then approached Cailin.
What the hell?
Jack could still call the police, but the group would be long gone before they got here. Besides, he wanted to know what was going on. Who were these guys? And what did they plan to do with Cailin?
He pulled a knit cap from his jacket pocket. Had an idea of how to find out.
4
Cal Davis averted his eyes from the girl as Zeklos began unstrapping her from the table. He wanted to stare at her, the red pubic fuzz, the small pink-tipped breasts. He didn't like the feelings bubbling up from his core.
"She breathing?"
"Yes," Zeklos said. "I should leave the tape?"
"Definitely."
He didn't want her making a racket if she came to.
He looked at Miller staring at the girl. Didn't even bother with a corner-of-the-eye sneak. Just flat out stared.
Goddamn loose
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