1

Royce woke up at around quarter past five. He hated this part of the year—to sleep and wake in darkness. The only thing that was good was that his wife, Alyssa, had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. The three-part apology he practiced on the way home the night before was to be used again. He made a promise, and he broke the promise, and that was one reason Royce and Alyssa gave their marriage another go and to try and not be part of the national average of divorces in America. To keep these promises and keep them solid.

Royce lay on his back and looked at Alyssa, whose soft snores had the grace of never waking him up. He looked at her brown, long, shoulder-length curly hair that was tied at the back. She lay on her chest and watched her back go up and then down. After all these years, Royce Drysdale could still admire his wife in peace. He got up slowly and with as little noise as possible. He went into the bathroom and showered.

2

Royce walked slowly down the steps that led to his downstairs hallway. This was a trained art, and he was skilled enough with his dexterity thanks to his high school and college career as a Quarterback to make only a little noise going down the stairs. As his sock-worn feet touched the floor, He wanted to cheer. Royce gave himself a nine out of ten for effort. He wore his slightly pressed but mostly wrinkled blue shirt, grey blazer, and trousers. His holster with his gun was worn, and his badge was clipped to his belt. He walked into the kitchen and switched the light on.

Their kitchen was as modern as it could get. A wide room with top-of-the-range, well, everything. A sleek black fridge freezer with an ice dispenser, a silver oven, and chrome-plated microwave. The air fryer also looked brand new. The floor was marble, and the surface of any table or cupboard was a sleek, polished brown.

This is what Alyssa wanted, so this is what she got. He switched on his instant coffee maker and took out the two pods from the box for white latte. The water bubbled, and he just watched it go. At this point in the morning, Royce always wondered what the day would bring. More hell, more bureaucracy, more homicide, and now having to deal with these two outsiders coming and having already started trouble with some officers, the only upside was that there was another tomorrow. Not that anyone on this earth was promised one, and in his job, that was a point to think long and hard about. Royce also knew that, now or later, he would have to talk to his wife about Taylor. He placed his Steelers cup on the base and watched the coffee and then the milk go in and give him the caffeinated goodness he required at this time.

A tap at the open door, and Royce turned to see Alyssa standing by the doorway.

'Babe,' Royce said, 'you should be in bed.'

'I know. I know, but I thought I must see you once today and talk to you.' Alyssa replied with a warm, welcoming smile. The type of smile that had the potency of getting Royce to agree to all sorts of things.

Still Royce knew better, and he was too tired to be made to do anything.

Royce and Alyssa were the same age, but Royce has had some hard years added to his face. Alyssa looked more like a senior in college. She wore a white silk bathrobe and cream-coloured slippers. This was her natural look, with no makeup. The way he always liked her.

She never needed it. My Angel Royce thought.

'Before you think it, hell, you probably have thought about this already. I'm not mad about yesterday. It helped that what I cooked was in the fridge. You can have it for lunch.' She paused. 'You're a cop; I know that you don't work on a normal schedule.'

'I go where,'

'The crime is.' They both said.

Royce stood, routed to the floor. He was in shock. This was his wife's understanding of his career. Therapy did help. He also knew he had to reply in kind. He owed that to her. 'I'm sorry, I should have called; it's this new case that just dropped in my lap, Hun. Well, it's started out complicated, that's for damn sure.'

Alyssa smiled; she knew that this was unknown territory for Royce, whose usual verbal repartee was a lot of ums, maybes, and sures. He was being open, like he promised.

'You want to talk about it?' Alyssa asked.

'I do. I really do.' Royce paused and tried to use the right words—a jumbled, malfunctioning mess in his brain. It should have been easy, but it was not. 'This recent case There are a lot of dead, like twelve men.'

'Oh my god.' Alyssa shuddered, and she walked over to her husband. 'Was it a gang?'

'No. It looks like it was one guy who took them out.' Royce paused when he did not mean to, but the following words became difficult to announce. 'Honey, one of the dead is Taylor.'

Alyssa was now the one who was rooted. She was in total and complete shock. 'Taylor? Taylor Lambert.' She just stood still and touched her chest. 'Shit. I can't believe it. Taylor?'

Royce came over, put his left arm around his wife, and pulled her close to him. 'You know how I feel about him.' Royce corrected himself. 'Felt about the man. What he was to you and what he was to me.' He paused. 'I just thought you should know. I didn't want to fuck up your day, but you should know, and I had to be the one to tell you.'

Alyssa was still clearly in shock, but she did enough to compose herself. 'I'm ok. I'm ok. I, um, no, thank you, Honey. I'm glad you told me. Thank you.' She looked around and said, "Look, I'm going to have a shower, wash whatever this is off and get ready for work. I need to do that. Lunch is in your favourite Tupperware on the second shelf.' She gave a deep and heavy sigh. Royce held her tighter, and she gripped his hand. This was a good moment for them to move in the right direction. One that, if the circumstances were different, would have provided a real emotional breakthrough for their relationship. They kissed, and Royce stroked her face. She stroked his head, then his arms.

'You have a good day too.' Royce said, and they kissed again.

Alyssa walked out of the kitchen. Before she went around the corner, she wrapped her arms around herself, and Royce himself frowned. He drank his coffee, which had cooled but was still warm enough to make a mark. He finished it in two big gulps, went to the fridge, took out the Tupperware on the second shelf, and put that in his satchel. He put on and tied his black boots, grabbed a raincoat, and left his house.

3

A knock on the door woke Daniel. He got up, thinking with total surprise that he had slept. No dreams. No nightmares. Just the absolution of sleep. Pure peace.

The door knocked again.

'Who is it?'

'Erica.'

Daniel noticed he was topless but still had his trousers on from the previous day. 'Coming.'

He reached into his bag, grabbed a white wife-beater vest, and put it on in haste. He walked in and opened the door.

Erica stood in front of him with two paper bags and two cups of coffee. She looked like she was full of energy and ready for the day ahead. Daniel figured something out in that moment. Erica Chandler was one of those people.

Morning people.

For a moment, Daniel caught her, taking a glimpse at his arms.

'Good morning, Bridgewater. Breakfast?'

'What is it?'

'Uh, it's an egg and some sort of ham breakfast sandwich from the diner down the road. The one your friend at the desk recommended.

Daniel huffed. 'My friend's name is Andy, and he's the coolest man in north-eastern Pennsylvania.'

'God, I hope you're joking.' Erica laughed as she handed one of the paper bags to Daniel.

'I don't think I am.' Daniel answered in a way that sounded intentionally unbelievable.

Erica handed him his cup of coffee and stated, 'You like a fair bit of milk, mocha chocolate, and two spoonfuls of sweeteners or honey.'

Daniel looked shocked. 'Are you a clairvoyant?' He quickly realised that he had asked her that before, and Erica laughed to herself like she had realised the same thing at the same time.

'No. I wish, but I can't lay claim to this one. Bolton told me what you liked before I met you. So, I kept it in memory.' Erica said, and she sipped her coffee.

'What are you having?' Daniel asked, and Erica looked at him with a little bit of shock that he asked.

'Same sandwich, but my coffee is an almond latte with two sugars.' Erica spoke with confidence, that belied her shock at him for bothering to ask.

Daniel took the sandwich out of the bag; he normally stays away from fried food in the morning, but his stomach growled with vengeance. The rumble of his stomach was loud enough for Erica to slightly acknowledge it, embarrassingly for Daniel, but he, ever the veteran at not placing focus on himself on something like this, said, 'Must be the heating.'

'Unless the heating sounds like your stomach, then it's your stomach.'

Well played, rookie. Well played.

The sandwich smelled good. Daniel could not figure out if it genuinely smelled good or if he was just extremely hungry. The first bite and the complete consumption of said sandwich after that bite answered that question. He felt good and satisfied; he wanted to compliment her. So, he did.

'Good shout, Chandler. Good shout.' He said this before he washed it down with coffee. Again, he took the first sip too soon and burned his tongue. 'Fuck.'

Erica smiled and blew her cup again. Daniel looked at her in mock envy and blew his cup the second time.

'Any more nightmares?' Daniel asked after his second, far less painful sip.

Erica shook her head as she was in the middle of sipping from her cup. 'You sleep?'

Daniel nodded. 'Weirdly enough, I did. Still, I did go on a little trip before that happened.'

'Where?'

'Back to the warehouse.'

At that moment, Erica looked more pissed off than surprised. 'Without me?'

'Yeah, I just had a feeling.'

'Why didn't you wake me? Tell me?'

'Because you had serious portal lag and you needed to sleep that sh*t off. It was better I went alone and proved to be the right move because you slept, and I found something.'

Erica was about to launch into a rant; her stance as she stood up looked offensive, and her mouth was open. She was a little aghast at the final syllable that rolled out of Daniel Bridgewater's mouth. Intrigue won the moment and her posture changed to a more open and welcoming stance. 'What did you find?'

Daniel stood up and reached into his jacket pocket. He took out the evidence bag with the gun membership card in it. He threw it at her, and she caught it but almost spilled her coffee. Daniel did not impress her with that. 'What's this?'

'Taylor Lambert's gun club card I thought when Royce came, we would go up there and have a chat. Look around.'

'Where did you find this?' Erica asked as she peered close into the bag at the card.

'At the back of, like, the third row of shelves, pried it from the wall.'

Erica did not have any other questions. She just nodded with approval and tossed it back. 'Next time you do any type of shit like that, you wake me; I don't care if I am having the best sleep possible. You wake me up. Okay?' Both realised that Erica was a lot closer than she was before. She was close to his chest. Erica stepped back.

'I can't promise that.'

'What?' Erica almost shrieked. 'What do you mean you can't promise that?' Her tone lowered.

'I said what I said, Rookie. Sometimes I must follow a feeling, and the feeling means I have to go wherever I need to go there and then. I can't worry about my rookie not getting her hours stamped on her first case.'

'That's not fair. I'm not just talking about this in terms of experience. I don't give a fuck about experience, Bridgewater; I'm your partner.'

'Erica. If that's the case, then you will have to realise that I'm going to do what I have to do to get to the bottom of this case and get it done, and that may mean moments where you won't be around. It's probably a good thing.'

'Why?' Erica asked with a significant increase in volume in her voice.

'Last night, nothing happened. Usually, when I get those hunches and go to these places, imminent danger and brutal violence are usually part of the programme." Daniel articulated as nicely as he could.

'What, and I'm some Mall Cop? I can handle myself, Daniel.' Erica refuted with clear agitation and some rage.

Normally Daniel would see himself out of these type of situations and carry on about his day, but for some reason he felt somewhat bad for making Erica feel that way. This whole thing—the conversation, the way he felt—was not something he was used to. Erica was someone who yelled at him, and he didn't want to stuff stuff in a trunk if one was nearby.

Erica turned her back on him, too angry to look at Daniel, who thought that even this was a little dramatic. 'Next time, Bridgewater. You let me know.'

'I'd rather not lie.'

'NEXT TIME.' Erica raised her voice even higher than before. She then calmed down and turned to look at Daniel as she composed herself. 'You let me know.'

Daniel decided that he should give this up. He could go on, but there were not enough hours in the day for it. 'Okay.'

That seemed to calm Erica down nearly immediately. She acquiesced 'Okay' in an almost relieved tone and turned to leave when the door knocked.

'Who is it?' They both yelled.

'Fuck it, Royce. Why do you both have such a base in your voices?' Royce said from behind the door.

'Come in.' Daniel and Erica both spoke in unison. They looked at each other, amused. That brought the tension down.

Royce opened the door and saw the two of them there. He looked the Olympian-sized arms of Daniel Bridgewater. He had paper bags and two cups of coffee. 'Ready for breakfast and a good long day?'

Both Daniel and Erica sighed and grabbed the cups of coffee from Royce, whose face was the absolute definition of befuddled confusion.

'What happened?'

4

'You really did it, didn't you?' Royce said as he drove to the Gun Range. 'You stole from me.' He shook the evidence bag with the membership card with some aggression.

'I borrowed. Look, you have it back, don't you?'

'Don't try and use your logic with me, Bridgewater. It's not that I got this fucking thing back; it's the fact that you did it. What else have you stolen?'

Daniel laughed and shook his head. 'Nothing Royce. I swear to God.'

Stolen novel; please report.

'Swear to God, you say? Swear to God. Fuck it, you swear to me. No more thieving.' Royce said it with intent.

Daniel didn't answer. He looked at the world outside.

'Oh, so he's ignoring me now. What a damn juvenile.'

'Royce I was fucking listening to you. I was just taking it in. Outside. I swear I won't fucking steal from you again. You got it?'

'Yeah, yeah. I got it.' Royce sounded like he had moved on from this. He had as much as Daniel had, and Royce did not know the man long enough to ride him or push him. He leaned into Erica. 'You're not going to back your guy?'

'Not this time.' Erica commented coldly, and she looked outside.

Royce felt the tension.

Daniel looked on, and his eyes were transfixed by the late autumnal splendour of Greater Preston. The hills were high and far; they were covered by thick mist that never threatened to come any lower. The surrounding area was as green, red, and brown as any place that Daniel had seen. They went across a long, iron-girded bridge over the Susquehanna River.

The sky was grey but not covered with thick clouds. Leaves of various colours consumed the area and gave this part of Preston a peaceful beauty. The road felt smoother and less rocky the closer they got to the gun range. The boulevards grew wider, and the number of houses that went past decreased.

Erica looked at Royce. 'Can I ask you a question?'

'Shoot.' Royce offered. His eyes and his focus were squarely on the road.

'When we all found out about the first Vic, Taylor Lambert, you went whiter than white. I got all awkward and then left your office.' Erica commented.

'That's true. All of the above.'

'How did you know him?' Erica asked with no hesitation. Straight to the point. 'You don't act like that when you don't know the person. You had a clear visceral reaction, and we need to know why.'

Nice one, rookie, thought Daniel. He tried not to smile but did, and luckily for him, no one else seemed to notice. He looked out as they went over another bridge.

Royce sighed. 'Taylor was an old friend. We went to high school and played football together. He was a good Tight End, and I was his quarterback. I played a lot of games and spent a lot of time with him. I knew him.'

'Sorry for your loss.' Erica said genuinely. 'No joy in loss.'

Isn't that the truth? Daniel thought. 'Where were you before his death?'

'What do you mean?'

'I noticed you said you were an old friend, but you live in the same town, city, township or whatever this place is, felt like a past-tense statement. You spoke to him or met up with him?'

Royce sighed in frustration. 'You're fucking interrogating me now?'

'Does this feel like one?' Asked Erica.

'Yeah, you know what? It kind of does.' Royce reacted. 'You want to ask any real questions?'

'I just did.' Erica responded.

Royce pulled over and broke sharply. 'Fuck you, Bridgewater, and fuck you, Chandler. What the fuck are you two implying? That I had something to do with it?'

'The way you are acting is not the best look.' Daniel deadpanned as he tried to sound a little bit kinder than what he would have said in his mind.

Royce looked at Erica, who just looked at him. She was waiting for an answer.

'You fucking guys.' Royce deflected and shook his head. He turned off the engine and took a few seconds to reply. 'We had a falling out—a big one, a really big one. So that's that. We haven't spoken since. I went into policing, and he went into politics. Our paths barely crossed.'

'What was the cause of the falling out?' Daniel asked as he sat forward.

'A girl. We both liked her, but she chose me.' Royce wearily rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes while he rubbed. 'You done? You both fucking done?' He opened his eyes and looked at Erica.

Erica nodded.

Royce turned and looked at Daniel.

'For now, Royce. For now. I'm not going to lie to you; it's not the best look. But we've got other pressing matters to attend to.' Daniel said as he sat back.

Royce switched on the engine. 'Both of you can fuck yourselves.' Royce pulled out back onto the road, and they went on.

5

They pulled into the parking lot. It was a good-sized car park that could hold around eighty cars. The main building was the only modern-style building for miles. It was one floor, looked small in terms of length, but looked far deeper when a person went in. They looked at the sign for Dale and Lange's Gun Range. Under the sign was a line.

When YOU NEED TO SHOOT, SHOOT! AND SHOOT HERE. Membership Starts AT $19.95!

It was the purest form of subtle advertising.

Royce parked, and the three got out of his car.

Daniel looked at the thickly painted red wooden walls and the various posters of attractive blondes and brunettes wearing bikinis and holding guns proactively, and some were a little intimidating. One model leaned forward, and the person should have been focused on the cleavage or her smile, but the prominent feature was the AR-15. It was the star and the main feature.

They walked into the room, and it was empty. Gunshots could be heard not only from further inside but also outside.

The room was a reception. Photos of all rifles, handguns, and machine guns were dotted all over, as were the certificates for shooting competitions. There were a lot of first-place certificates and best-of-show ribbons as well. Three settees were to the right near the reception desk, with a round wooden table with various gun lovers' magazines lovingly placed so that each magazine was spread out to be read. Daniel counted seven different magazines to be read there.

A door opened behind the desk, and a man who wore a red cap and top came out with a big, beaming smile. He was white, looked to be in his early sixties, had tissue, and wiped his mouth.

'Sorry for that,' The man said, 'My name's Martin, but you can call me Marty.'

'You know who I am, Marty.' Royce was annoyed.

'I do know who you are, Detective Drysdale, but you're not alone, and I still have to introduce myself.' Marty said this with some contempt for Royce.

Daniel thought Royce wasn't having the best day. He thought to concede, trying to anger him more than he had before. Fuck. Look who's growing a heart! He dispelled that thought quickly. Good hearts were not required for this; you need a cold heart to survive this world.

Marty looked at Royce and gave him the eyes that pretty much indicated, introduce these two people I have never met, will you?

It took a while for Royce to get the signal from that look. 'Marty, this is Agent Chandler and Agent Bridgewater. They are here to assist me on a case.'

'What case? Does this have anything to do with the warehouse east of Preston? All of them police cars and EMTs and some shit that happened to Roger Craig's farm, like some crater or some shit?'

Who the fuck is Roger Craig, and why do he and his land matter so much? That thought dominated Daniel's mind.

Royce answered, 'Yes.'

'What does that have to do with me?' Marty asked suddenly, concerned.

'Which one are you?' Daniel asked Marty, who looked at him confused.

'Sorry? What?' Marty asked in response, and he looked as confused as he sounded.

'Dale or Lange?'

'Lange.' Marty answered.

'Where's Dale?' Daniel asked.

'Dead.'

'Dead? How did he die? Gunshot?'

'No,' Marty said, and he looked particularly affronted at that question: 'Cancer. What does that have to do with,'

'It doesn't.' Erica interrupted. 'We just have to ask you some questions about that.' She pointed at the Evidence bag with the Membership card. This was being held by Royce.

'I was just thinking of the poetic irony of him dying by the thing he loved the most. I bet if you asked him, he would have liked to have,' Daniel said, shaken off that attempted monologue by the stares given to him by everyone else in the room. 'Ok.' He gave up going on with it despite the fact that, in his head, he felt that he did have something pertinent to say about the human condition. It's not often something like that comes into his head with such clarity.

Marty looked at the card. 'Whose card is that?'

'Lambert, Taylor Lambert.'

'Lord Jesus, Senator Lambert?'

'He's a senator?' Daniel and Erica asked at the same time.

'He was a senator,' Royce added. 'We've got some questions to ask Marty. Let's go to your office for a bit more privacy.'

6

Lange's office looked the same as the reception. More pictures of sultry blondes holding and aiming rocket launchers and other various weapons There were trophies that were dotted about the room, some in glass cabinets; big, ostentatious platinum trophies that gleamed when light hit them; and smaller gold trophies for second- and third-place finishes. Pictures were around of Marty and Mr. Dale from various ages, from the younger versions of them to their older selves and how Marty looked now. Mr. Dale's passing was recent. The pictures did have a common theme. Guns. Fishing with guns Barbecues with guns Posing with guns near fences and farmland.

Daniel walked around as Royce and Erica sat down in front of the neat desk of Marty Lange. Erica looked at the neatness of Lange's desk and then looked at Royce and Daniel. This must be a foreign concept for the pair. An actual room that looked like it was taken care of.

'How long was Taylor a member?' Royce probed.

'Long as he could hold a gun and pay for one of them, Marty said.

'He came here often?' Erica pressed.

'Yes, though not as much as before. He worked late so he would actually come close to closing time, and well, he came up with the idea for the after-hours club.'

'And other than him, Lambert, who I assume got in due to mates' rates,' Daniel mused.

Marty looked confused. 'Mates what?'

'You gave Lambert a preferential rate for coming up with the idea.' Daniel explained.

Marty understood this time and nodded.

'Who else can get in?' Royce queried, 'Anyone, or is it someone like Lambert who had a kind of privilege?'

Marty sat up. 'The people that come here after hours are people who don't have enough hours during daylight. Life just collapsed on them. They don't want to be taking their shit out on their wives when they've had a bad day and there's things, moods, that going to the gym just can't remove.'

'And getting a gun and shooting it gives you that clarity? That peace?' Daniel asked.

Marty noticed something. 'You sound like.' He paused. 'You ain't from here. Where are you from?'

'England.'

Marty sat forward. 'I thought so; we beat you English to gain independence and give our country freedom.'

'I'm not sure how that answers the question.' Daniel replied, confused.

'You Brits… You think you know everything, and you think you've got freedom because you don't have what we have. When I hold a weapon, when any of these men and women hold a weapon, the dependency is clear and important, but what is paramount, what is above all else, is that these weapons are fate. Destiny in one's hand. There's power in that. I know if someone comes up to me or my family or friends and they are trained, that someone wants to put my existence under threat with my training and any weapon I'm bringing home. I put my fate in my own hands. That is freedom. It may not be the freedom you know, but it is our freedom, and I'll be damned if some Brit is going to judge me for it.' Marty stated this with pride, and his chest puffed large.

'The sad thing is Mr. Lange. I believe you. I believe that's what you feel. The definition of freedom is different on both sides of the pond. I also believe that how you feel will probably be your downfall, and I know that you have that feeling too. You can train all you want; training doesn't beat fate. The way of the gun only goes so far.' Daniel pointed this out.

'Well, we've survived long enough.' Marty paused and looked like he was done with this conversation. 'It looks like we've come to an impasse.' Marty fumed with a smile, knowing some part of him gave as good as he got during that debate.

Daniel nodded. 'Looks like we have. Where's the club? On these grounds?'

'Yes, just round the back.'

'Did he bring some friends, or did he just come alone?' Royce asked.

'Both.'

'You got a list of names for us?' Erica asked.

'I can print them off for you.'

'That would be great. Just to ask: Did they just shoot shit, or did they do other things?' Royce asked as he jotted it down on his small writing pad.

'They often shoot, but sometimes they do, you know, bring some beers and do what they do.'

'Ah, guns and alcohol. A great combination.' Daniel retorted with a snarky tone.

'They pay for the space, guns, and time. What they do is their own business.'

'You see anything strange happen?' Erica enquired as she sat forward.

'Define strange Agent Chandler.'

'Anything out of the ordinary. Things have happened that can't be explained.' Erica replied.

Marty shook his head. 'Nothing, nothing but ordinary.'

'I want to believe you, Mr. Lange; I just don't. But maybe you haven't seen anything, or maybe you have. That would be a real mistake.' Daniel countered.

Marty shook his head. 'Have I been charged with anything? Am I a person of interest?' He challenged Daniel, then looked at Royce.

'No,' Royce answered.

'Then I'll print out the list of after-club names, and then you all can leave my premises immediately. I don't see a warrant, so that means, by all good graces and the liberty I have been afforded and earned in my life, you can leave.' Marty said it with some venom laced behind each and every word.

7

The three sat back in the car. Erica has the list of names, and she looked through them.

'I bet you dollars to doughnuts that some of the men that'll be on this list will end up as victims that were found.' Erica wondered as she read through the four printed pages.

'That'll be a bet you win. What do you prefer, dollars or doughnuts?'

'Dollars, of course, to buy as many doughnuts as possible.' Erica chuckled.

'You are a cop at heart, Rookie.' Daniel looked at Royce. 'Detective. Do you believe him?'

'Of course not. We'll keep a close eye on this place for sure.' Royce said. 'What was the whole point of that debate, by the way? You're in coal country. Guns are loved as much as football and church around here Bridgewater. You're not going to win here with shit like that.'

'I didn't intend to win, Daniel claimed.

'Then what did you intend to do?' Royce asked.

'I wanted to see the truth from him or what he felt was true, and that's what I got.' Daniel explained as he looked away.

'You cerebral motherfucker.' Royce laughed as he started the engine. 'Let's get back and deep dive into this list and get a patrol on surveillance here.' Royce was about to pull off when Daniel had a thought.

'Have any of you got the membership card?' Daniel asked.

Both Erica and Royce checked their pockets and bags. Before they could answer no, Daniel was already out of the car to walk back to the Range.

8

Daniel entered back into the reception lounge. He heard Marty's voice through his closed office door.

'YES, THEY WERE HERE WITH HIS CARD!'

Daniel moved closer to the door. He leaned in so he could listen in.

'I never agreed to this for you and your people to come here and use my clubhouse for whatever you fucking do, but now one of you, Taylor, is dead, and a shining light for our country is gone. I know you only care about business. You care about what? Well, from here, it doesn't look like it. What if I say you and your group have to find another place to have your meetings? What if I said that, Harris?'

Daniel waited for the answer to that question.

'What do you fucking say? You keep my wife's name out of your fucking mouth.' Marty spat with a threatening tone.

At that point, Daniel decided to introduce himself to the conversation. He opened the door, and immediately Marty pointed his revolver at Daniel, who drew his gun instinct at Marty.

'What the fuck are you doing back?' Marty thundered with emotional frenzy.

'We forgot the card on your table there.' Daniel and Marty both looked at Lambert's card on his desk. 'Who's that on the phone? Harris? Who's Harris?' Daniel probed.

'You hear him? That's what you fucking brought here. You want me to tell him? Tell him what I know or do you a favour and kill him?'

'That would be unwise.' Daniel stressed. 'Listen. I'm going to put this down on the floor because I don't want to shoot you. Ok?' Daniel placed his gun on the floor, keeping his eyes on Marty, whose hands shook with all the nervous tension a person in this situation would usually exhibit.

'Are you going to put your hands up?' Marty said it was almost out of his own instinct for self-preservation.

'Is this a stick-up, Marty?'

'No.'

'Then I have no reason to put my hands up. I'll ask again. Who's on the phone?'

'Shut the fuck up.' He screamed at Daniel. 'Listen to me,' Marty said to the person on the phone, 'you and fucking Lambert came into my life, and you, yes, you used my fucking admiration for Lambert to get in and do whatever you wanted to do, and I'm done.'

'Listen Marty.'

'SHUT THE FUCK UP!' Marty screamed at Daniel as the door was kicked open and Erica and Royce, guns drawn, came in.

Daniel looked annoyed. 'What are you doing here?'

'You took too long.' Erica said she focused on Marty. 'How did you piss him off this time?'

'Would you believe me if I told you that I didn't start or contribute to this?' Daniel said.

'I hazard a guess to say no, Erica joshed.

'You've got jokes now.' Daniel responded, his eyes squarely on Marty.

'ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND PUT DOWN YOUR GUNS.' Marty screamed at the top of his lungs, and he really worked them as a little dribble came from the right side of his mouth.

'Not going to happen, Marty, so you put the gun down and we can talk.' Royce advised, his voice straddling the line between caution and calm.

'There's no talking here. Only doing. You need to put your fucking guns down, Royce.' Marty spoke in a more resolute tone. 'What did you say?' Marty bellowed to whoever was on the phone, 'You don't think I'll do it? Fuck you, Harris.'

Both Daniel and Royce recognised the look that Marty had just given. At the same time, they yelled, 'Don't DO IT!'

By the time "it" came out of their mouths, it was too late. Marty's eyes were red, and with tears running down his cheeks, he looked at the three and lamented, 'Keep my wife safe. Promise me Royce and tell her I loved her when I met her. I knew that but didn't tell her because she thought that was nonsense, but I believed it, and I'm glad I did.' He turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger. His body dropped to the ground lifeless, and the phone and gun fell with him.

'Shit!' Royce yelled as he ran over to Marty, but the bullet went in and out, and he was gone. Blood poured and kept on pouring out of Marty. 'Shit.' This was more mournful from Royce.

Erica stood still, frozen to the spot, and Daniel slowly brought her hands down. She looked at him in total shock. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder and reassure her, but he also wanted to see who was on the phone, so he picked the latter option.

He walked over and picked up the phone, and to his surprise, whoever was on the phone stayed on the phone.

'Did he do it?'

'I'm on the phone. That answers your question.' Daniel responded.

Both Erica and Royce snapped out of their own neurosis and were back in the moment. They both stood up and moved towards Daniel, who put one of his fingers to his lips. Royce took his mobile phone and selected record on his voice note recorder.

'Well, we'll be going to his wife, whenever he's going to off himself or not.'

'You, the man in black?'

'No, but after Lange's wife, she's next.'

'You're unbelievably stupid if you think you can tell me that and think that's going to happen.' Daniel scoffed.

'You Brits and your arrogance. You just came here. You're not going to do anything or stop anyone.'

Daniel laughed. 'You don't know me. I have this crazy habit of doing exactly that.'

'You're funny. I like to kill funny people. They add no significant flavour to this world.'

'Then you must be popular.'

'We'll see you soon.'

'Why soon? Tell me who you are, and I can see you now. I've got things to do, so I'd like to see you now.'

The phone disconnected.

'Fucker.' Daniel fumed in frustration, and he almost crushed the phone with his bare hands. He looked at the pair. 'We need to get to Lange's wife immediately.'