James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“Just window shopping right now.” Ed cooled the salesman down with a smile and a shrug. The man shrugged back and went back to digging through a box.

A figure ambled up and stood beside Ed, staring at the animals. “Ed.”

The corner of his mouth curled up just a tiny bit. “Rochelle,” he replied.

“Goddamn, it’s Shelly, I told you I hate that name,” she growled.

Ed’s grin grew wider and he turned to look at her. A stout black woman his age, Shelly had frizzy hair pulled back off her face with a headband and was wearing a green button-down shirt that on him would have looked like a military uniform but on her was a fashion statement. She was just over five-and-a-half feet tall, and he looked over her head to the nearby aisles. “I see a few familiar faces,” he said quietly. The noise of the animals masked their muted conversation. “How is Mickey doing? Or is it Michaela now?”

“Mickey do just fine,” she said with a snort. “What about Theodore? I saw Weasel weaselin’ around a few minutes ago.”

“We’ve had a few downs and ups, but we’re still here. Mostly.”

She nodded, not looking at him. “Same.”

Neither ARF nor the ARF Irregulars turned anyone away, and Sheila in Franklin had been far from the only female dogsoldier. Mickey was a bit unusual in that a majority of squad members were women, or at least had been the last time Theodore had run into them. However, they weren’t out in the field very often. Ed was under the impression they gathered intelligence for ARF much more often than they were tasked with pulling triggers. Rumor was at least one of the women on the squad was getting intelligence from an Army officer she was sleeping with, but whether he was giving it knowingly Ed didn’t know. And wouldn’t ask. He’d also heard rumors that at least one of the girls working in the Pleasure Palace was passing on info from her military clients to Mickey. He didn’t want to know any information that could compromise another squad or their mission. The squads were compartmentalized for a reason.

“Franklin’s gone,” he told her quietly.

She turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh, no. All of them?”

He nodded. “Kestrel. Although they took it down.”

She hissed. “Doesn’t make it any better.”

“Doesn’t make it worse.” They moved casually down the aisle. Ed glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Before I head into the back room and start dealing, are you short on anything? Little blue pills?” It was her nickname for bullets if he remembered correctly.

“We’re always short on those. And, um, I have the feeling they might come in handy soon.” That was as close as she would get to telling him she’d gotten a message from Uncle Charlie, maybe the same one as Theodore, but he wouldn’t ask. “Why?”

“We had a good day. Got some extra AR mags, fully stuffed. Interested?”

“Shit yeah, how many you got?”

He stopped his slow stroll and turned fully to her. The smile split his face. “How many do you need?”

“Need, or want? Honestly, we need at least five, we’re a little thin. Ten would be a hell of a lot better.”

“I can get you what you need. Actually, I can get you what you want. And maybe a little more.”

“Yeah? No shit? What do you want for ‘em?”

He shook his head. “We’re on the same team. Let’s call it paying it forward.”

“Screw that. Ten mags, three hundred rounds of ammo? How about a case of energy bars? Fresh from the guv’mint warehouse. Least I could do. Don’t tell me you don’t need the calories, you’re skinnier every time I see you.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

She turned, and Ed followed her gaze. She was looking at the livestock dealer, or more specifically at the puppies he was selling for meat. “I fucking hate to see that,” she said through her teeth. “I want to rip that cage open, let them all loose, and stab him in the fuckin’ eyes. Nobody should be eating dogs. Nobody should have to eat dog.” She sighed and shook her head, then looked at him. “I’m so ready for this thing to be over. Too much damn death already, people living like animals. They need to figure out a way to end it,” she growled. She looked at Ed. “You think they can?”

He shrugged. He didn’t have an answer.

They both looked over toward the main entrance at the sound of engines. Growlers, Ed’s educated ears told him. Two of them. He fought back the instinct to run. The sound grew louder, and then the engines cut off one at a time. People near the large open main entrance pretended to ignore the six soldiers that sauntered in, and the soldiers, for their part, pretended to not notice. Which told Ed that these troops were there to shop as opposed to being on the hunt for anything illegal. When ordered to search through the vendor stalls for illegal or “gray market” items, the soldiers were anything but subtle or friendly.

“I’ll send Quentin over,” Ed said quietly

“Go with God,” Shelly murmured to Ed, moving away from him.

“If he’ll have me,” Ed responded, which got a snort out of her.

Moving unhurriedly, Ed made his way toward the back of the building. He didn’t ignore the soldiers but he didn’t stare at them either. They had their rifles slung over their shoulders and for the most part looked young and inexperienced. There was, however, one crusty NCO who stood back and eyeballed everything and everyone. Adult supervision, perhaps. The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched at that thought.

The soldiers wandered down several different aisles, looking at the wares, talking amongst themselves, but after a few minutes, perhaps long enough for them to gather their courage, all of them were headed north through the building, the NCO trailing in their wake. The unoccupied women loitering outside the Pleasure Palace perked up as they saw incoming customers.

With the attention of the soldiers firmly affixed on the flesh ahead of them, Ed moved to the south end of the building. Weasel and Quentin sidled up behind him. “Q, go talk to Shelly,” Ed said over his shoulder, and Quentin peeled off.

The southwest corner of the building was all former offices. The man who ran the place had an office there, with BUILDING MANAGER on the door. Two very large men stood out front, hands clasped in front of them. They appeared unarmed, but even if they were Ed knew there had to be guns within reach. There were boxes and barrels stuffed with random items nearby.

“Looking to talk to Curly, do a little private business,” Ed told the guards. He was sure they recognized him, but gave no sign of it. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Quentin heading out of the building with a gray-haired black woman in her fifties, one of the members of Mickey. Barb looked like the grandma that she was, but Ed knew she was as hard-hearted as they came. One guard put up his hand for them to wait while the other opened the office door and went in. He reappeared a few seconds later and waved them inside.

There were two more guards just inside the door, but unlike the men outside the office, these two made Ed nervous. The pit bulls looked enough alike to be brothers, and had to weigh close to a hundred pounds each. Their heads were enormous. The man behind the desk had a huge head as well, although his was bald.

Ed had a pistol, but he knew he wasn’t very good with it. He’d only ever used it to kill a few wounded soldiers. Weasel, on the other hand, was a hell of a pistol shot, and fast. He’d been really good when he’d joined the squad, and after training with George for a few years he was amazing. How well handguns would work on dogs that size Ed hoped he’d never find out. His gaze wandered from the dogs to the man with his feet up on the desk.