Jeff Lindsay - Dexter is delicious

"Where the fuck have you been?" she said.

"Hey," Chutsky said. He reached to give her a kiss, but she pushed past him and grabbed for the briefcase. He shrugged and nodded at me. "Hey, buddy," he said.

"What have you got?" she said, and he took the case from her and popped it open.

"You said hardware," he said. "I didn't know what you were expecting, so I brought a selection." He lifted out a small assault rifle with a folding stock. "Heckler and Koch's finest," he said, holding it up, then laid it on the hood and reached back into the case and came out with a pair of much smaller weapons. "Nice little Uzi here," he said. He patted one affectionately with the steel hook he had nowadays instead of a left hand, and then put it down and took out two automatic pistols. "Couple of standard service models, nine-millimeter, nineteen shots in the mag." He looked at Deborah fondly. "Any one of 'em a whole lot better than that piece of shit you carry around," he said.

"It was Daddy's," Deborah said, lifting up one of the pistols.

Chutsky shrugged. "It's a forty-year-old wheel gun," he said. "Almost as old as me, and that ain't good."

Deborah dropped the magazine out of the pistol, worked the action, and looked in the chamber. "This isn't the siege of Khe fucking Sanh," she said, and she slammed the magazine back into the pistol. "I'll take this one."

Chutsky nodded. "Uh-huh, good," he said. He reached past her into the case. "Extra magazine," he said, but she shook her head.

"If I need more than one, I'm dead and fucked," she said.

"Maybe," Chutsky said. "What are we expecting in there, anyway?"

Debs shoved the pistol into the waistband of her pants. "I don't know," she said. "We were told he's in there alone." Chutsky raised an eyebrow at her. "Twenty-two-year-old white male," she explained. "Five-foot-ten, a hundred fifty pounds, dark hair-but honest to God, Chutsky, we don't have a clue if he's really there, or if he's alone, and I sure as shit don't trust the bitch that gave us the tip."

"Okay, good, I'm glad you called me," he said, nodding happily. "Old days, you would have gone in there alone with your daddy's popgun." He looked over at me. "Dex?" he said. "I know you don't like guns and violence." He smiled and shrugged. "But hey-you don't wanna go in there naked, buddy." He tilted his head at his little armory, spread out on the hood of the car. "How 'bout joo say hello to my little fren?" It was the worst Scarface impression I'd ever heard, but I stepped forward for a look anyway. I really don't like guns-they're so loud and messy, and they take all the skill and pleasure out of things. Still, I was not here for the fun of it.

"If it's okay with you," I said, "I'll take the other pistol. And the extra magazine." After all, if I needed the thing at all, I would probably really need it, and nineteen extra bullets don't weigh that much.

"Yeah, great," he said happily. "You sure you know how to use it?"

It was a small joke between us-small mostly because only Chutsky thought it was funny. He knew very well I could handle a pistol. But I played along anyway and held it up by the barrel. "I think I hold this end and point it like that," I said.

"Perfect," Chutsky said. "Don't shoot off your balls, okay?" He picked up the assault rifle. It had a strap that he slid over his shoulder. "I'll take this little beauty. And if it turns into Khe Sanh after all, I'm ready for Charlie." He looked at the weapon for a moment with the same fondness as I had looked at Roger the Pirate-clearly there were some happy memories there.

"Chutsky," Deborah said.

He jerked his head up to Debs as if he had been caught looking at porn. "Okay," he said. "So how you wanna do this?"

"Through the gate," she said. "Fan out and head for the far side of the park. That's where the employees' area used to be." She looked at me, and I nodded.

"I remember," I said.

"So that's where the caretaker's place is," she said. "Where Bobby Acosta ought to be." She pointed at Chutsky. "You come in from the right and cover me. Dexter from the left."

"What," Chutsky said. "You're not gonna just kick down the door and charge in there. That's nuts."

"I'm going to tell him to come out," Deborah said. "I want him to think I'm alone. Then we see what happens. If it's some kind of trap, you guys got my back."

"Sure," Chutsky said dubiously. "But you're still out there in the open."

She shook it off, irritated. "I'll be fine," she said. "I think the girl is in there, too, Samantha Aldovar," she said. "So be careful. None of your Rambo shit."

"Uh-huh," he said. "But this kid, Bobby, you want him alive, right?"

Deborah looked at him for just a moment too long. "Of course," she said at last. It wasn't very convincing. "Let's go." She turned away and marched for the gate. Chutsky watched her for a second, then took two extra clips from the case and slipped them into his pocket. He closed the case and tossed it into the car.

"Okay, buddy," he said. And then he turned and looked at me, a long and surprisingly damp look. "Don't let anything happen to her," he said, and for the first time since I had known him, I saw what seemed like real emotion on his face.

"I won't," I said, slightly embarrassed.

He squeezed my shoulder. "Good," he said. He looked at me a moment longer, and then turned away and lurched after Deborah.

She was at the chain-link gate, reaching through the mesh for a padlock. "Shouldn't somebody point out that you're about to illegally enter the property?" I said. And even though that was true, I was really more worried about finding Samantha again and turning her loose on a world that was far too eager to listen to her lurid tales.

But Debs pulled at the lock, and it fell open in her hand. She looked at me. "This lock has been opened," she said in a voice meant for the witness stand. "Somebody has gone into the park, possibly illegally, and possibly to commit a felony. It is my clear duty to investigate."

"Yeah, hey, just a second," Chutsky said. "If this kid is hiding out in there, why would it be unlocked?"

I managed to stop myself from hugging him and instead merely added, "He's right, Debs. It's a setup."

She shook her head impatiently. "We knew it might be," she said. "That's why I brought you two."

Chutsky frowned, but he didn't move forward. "I don't like this," he said.

"You don't have to like it," Deborah said. "You don't even have to do it."

"I'm not letting you go in there alone," he said. "Dexter won't, either."

Normally I suppose I would have felt like kicking Chutsky for offering up Dexter's tender skin on the altar of unnecessary danger. But as it happened, I agreed-just this once. It was clear to me that someone with a little bit of common sense should tag along, and looking around our gathering, counting everyone, that left me. "That's right," I said. "Besides, we can always call in for backup if it gets sticky."

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Deborah glared at me, and then marched over to me and stood one quarter of an inch away from my face. "Give me your phone," she said.

"What?"

"Now!" she barked, and she held out her hand.

"It's a brand-new BlackBerry," I protested, but it was very clear that I was either going to hand it over or lose the use of my arms under a barrage of her arm punches, so I gave it to her.

"Yours, too, Chutsky," she said, stepping over to him. He just shrugged and handed over his phone.

"Bad idea, babe," he said.

"I'm not having one of you clowns panic and fuck it up," she said. She trotted back to her car and threw the phones into the front seat-hers, too-and came back to us.

"Listen, Debbie, about the phones-" Chutsky said, but she cut him off immediately.

"Goddamn it, Chutsky, I have to do this, and I have to do this now, my way, without worrying about Miranda or any of that shit, and if you don't like it shut up and go home." She yanked at the chain and it fell open. "But I'm going in and I'm going to find Samantha, and I'm going to take down Bobby Acosta," she said, and she yanked the lock off its chain and kicked at the gate. It bounced open with a tortured squeal and my sister glared at Chutsky and then at me. "See you later," she said, and she whipped away through the gate.