Russell Blake - Jet

“At least the blood washed out of my pants. Mostly.” He slipped the shirt on and swiveled, modeling his ensemble.

“I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,” she said, eyeing him skeptically.

“I completely understand why.”

“Do you have any cash? The sooner we can get you some adult clothing, the better. That’s just embarrassing…”

“About a grand. We’ll need to access the bank tomorrow to get money for any weapons we buy.”

“What have you got for ID?”

“We’ll stop by my safety deposit box — I keep a kit there. It uses a hand scanner for access. I have three passports and about thirty grand in dollars. Some credit cards. The usual.”

She nodded. “Is it too late to call your arms dealer tonight? Or does he keep business hours?”

“Let’s go get a burner cell phone. I’d rather not make that call from the house. You have a car? I had to ditch mine after the attack.”

“I rented one for a week. I have it for three more days.”

“Let’s go get it and find me a clothing store, then get a phone. Walking around between stops should be adequate exercise for my first big outing.”

Jet left the house first, scanning the street for anything amiss. It was quiet. She walked to the corner, and soon David joined her. She led him to the car and noticed he winced when he got in.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“Just a twinge. I’ll be fine. It’s still going to hurt now and then. That’s expected.” He grimaced and gingerly probed his abdomen. “I wouldn’t recommend it as a way to lose weight.”

Within an hour, they had acquired several shirts, a pair of jeans and a cell phone. When they were back in the car, he closed his eyes to focus on the arms dealer’s contact info, then called a number from memory.

“Moshe — it’s Ari. Long time,” David said, using the alias Moshe knew him by. He paused for a few seconds, listening to the response. “Yeah, yeah. So listen, I need some stuff. Are you around tomorrow?” Another pause. “Where? The shop?”

He hung up after another ten seconds.

“Eleven o’clock tomorrow. In Jerusalem,” he informed her.

“Sounds like a date. Now, how courageous are you feeling? You want to hear my idea, or wait till tomorrow. You may not sleep very well once you know what I’m thinking.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is it that bad?”

“Worse.”

“I can always take a sleeping pill.”

“You’ll probably need to take two.”

The drive into Jerusalem the next morning was difficult, the highway clogged with commuters heading into the capital for another day at work. It took longer than they had hoped, but once they were within the city limits, the stream of cars thinned out.

The bank had been open since eight-thirty, and David disappeared inside. Jet watched the pedestrians hurrying down the streets, engrossed in their ordinary lives, and felt a stab of envy. She wondered for the thousandth time what it felt like to be normal, to have never killed anyone or seen the horrors that had been a routine part of her existence.

And yet many of the people traversing the street looked worried or anxious, immersed in whatever made up their day — maybe a cheating spouse, or money problems, or a mean boss, or news of a sick relative. Had they spent just one hour by her side during one of her workdays their entire universes would have changed forever, and yet they were completely absorbed with their own perception of reality and believed themselves safe as they went about their prosaic business.

It must be nice to not be afraid of bullets tearing you apart with every step you take , she thought absently — then mentally shook herself. There was no point dwelling on things she couldn’t change. She was walking her own path, which is all anyone could do. Everyone had their own problems no matter what their circumstances.

David walked out of the bank after seven minutes and glanced in her direction. She watched him make his way down the busy sidewalk to the car, a messenger bag over one shoulder, and decided he looked pretty good, all things considered. No limping or other obvious signs of an injury, his color back to normal. If she hadn’t seen him at death’s door only a few days ago, she never would have believed it.

He swung the door open and slid into the passenger seat.

“Mission accomplished.”

“You clean it out?” she asked.

“Seemed prudent. I have no idea when I can get back here again, so…”

“All right. How do we get to this Moshe’s shop?”

They weaved their way through traffic and negotiated the teeming streets, horns sounding and jaywalkers darting between cars like daredevils with a death wish. Eventually they pulled to the curb a block from the arms dealer’s store, and he got out.

“How well do you know this guy?” she asked.

“Well enough. Wait here and try not to kill anyone.” He glanced at the Glock sitting next to her on the seat.

She dropped her backpack over it.

“I’ll do my best, but no promises. Remember the knives.”

“I’ve got the list.”

David took his time, ambling towards the storefront, pretending interest in the displays in the other shop windows. His senses were on full alert, wary of a trap, but he didn’t detect any surveillance.

He eased the shop door open and heard a buzz at the back. The showroom was empty except for a stunning young woman, no more than twenty, wearing skintight red pants and a top that accentuated her ample charms, chewing gum and looking bored out of her mind beside a glass case filled with military medals and insignia.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked in a voice that clearly conveyed that she had no interest in doing so.

He looked around at the walls and the displays. Every imaginable type of sword was represented — sabers, Roman short swords, katanas, ceremonial daggers, epees.

“I was hoping to find a ‘Give Peace a Chance’ bumper sticker.”

She gave him a blank stare. Her gum popped.

“Is Moshe here? I’m a friend.”

She followed up with a look that said ‘figures’ and leaned over the counter, calling into the back area.

“Moshe? Someone’s here to see you.” She returned her attention to David. “What’s your name?”

“Ari.”

“Moshe? Ari is here.”

A gruff voice rang out from the rear of the shop.

“Tell him to come into the back, Trina.”

She cocked an eyebrow and gestured with her hand at the doorway. He followed her lead and moved through it into an office. A bearded man sat staring at him through Coke-bottle glasses.

“Ari! Welcome. How have you been? Long time — forever, really.” Moshe shifted in his wheelchair, his considerable girth straining the seat.

“Moshe. I’m good. You?”

“Never better. They wanted me for the track team, but I had to decline. Makes the kids look bad.”

“Yeah.” David cleared his throat. “New helper up front?”

“Oh. Trina. Yes, a sad story. I met her dancing in a sordid place. Sort of rescued her. Gave her a glimpse of a better life on the straight and narrow.”

David didn’t know whether to believe him or not. His face remained unreadable.

“So. Come on back into the storeroom. You got a list?” Moshe asked, wheeling from behind his desk and moving towards a door at the far end of the office.

David handed him the short note Jet had drafted that morning.

“Hmmm. Okay. I have one of the MTAR-21s in 9mm with a suppressor. No problem on a Glock 23 — popular, those are. As to all the rest, in stock. You want it now?” Moshe asked as he rolled into the storeroom.

“Yes.”

“It’s not going to be cheap, my friend.”