Read Shoot the Woman First for Free Online

Black’s trunk.
    She checked her watch: 12:45. The drop-off was scheduled for 2:00, but they didn’t know how much time they had before the pickup. They’d have to move fast.
    Charlie Glass handed out cell phones and earpieces. “Numbers are already programmed in, One through Four. Just in case we get separated. I’m One.” He pointed at Cordell. “You’re Two.” Then at Crissa, and finally Larry. “Three and Four.”
    â€œGot it,” she said.
    Cordell was struggling with his vest. It hung crooked on his back, the straps uneven.
    â€œHold on,” she said, and came up behind him. She pulled the Velcro loose to free the right-hand strap, adjusted it until the vest was tight.
    â€œThanks,” he said. His face was shiny with sweat.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œLittle nervous, I guess. Ain’t no thing.”
    â€œIt’s normal. It’ll pass.”
    She’d seen it before, with veterans as well as first-timers. Jumpy at first, then calmer as things got going. Once there was a task at hand, things to do, a timetable, it was better. But now, before it started, there was time to think, and that was never good.
    â€œYou set with directions to the transfers?” Glass said to him. “I don’t want you out there driving around, ‘Left? Right? Where the fuck am I?’”
    â€œI got it,” Cordell said.
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” she said. “In a couple hours we’ll all be back here. It’ll be done.”
    The black tactical bag Glass had brought for her was on the couch. She unzipped it, looked inside: two olive-drab M-18 smoke grenades with red tops, a pistol-grip Mossberg shotgun with shoulder strap, two boxes of shells, a street map, a ski mask, and a plastic mouthguard still in its package. She took out the Mossberg, worked the pump to check the action. It cycled smoothly, and the strap would make it easier to handle on the street.
    She opened the boxes of shells, spilled them onto the table—double-O buck and three-inch deer slugs. Bracing the Mossberg’s butt on her hip, she thumbed shells into the loading port until she felt the pressure of the spring.
    â€œWhat you wanted?” Glass said. He had his own windbreaker on, was loading a blued revolver.
    â€œIt’ll work,” she said. She pumped to chamber a shell, then fed a fresh one into the port. The extra rounds went into her jacket pockets. “Still like those wheel guns, huh?”
    â€œThey don’t jam. And no brass to pick up, if you have to use it.”
    She put on the safety, slid the shotgun back in the bag.
    â€œYou’ll be there first,” he said. “As soon as you’re in place, hit me on the cell.”
    â€œRight.” They’d been through it all already. She activated her phone, checked the speed dial, saw the numbers he’d programmed. She put the phone and earpiece in the tac bag.
    Cordell was sitting on one of the folding chairs, looking at the floor. He was breathing fast. She looked at Glass. He’d seen it, too.
    â€œHe going to make it?” Larry said. He was assembling an AR-15 rifle, fitting the parts into place.
    Cordell raised his head. He looked sick. “I’ll be all right.”
    â€œYou better be,” Glass said. “Time to man up, brother. Everybody waiting on you.”
    â€œDeep breaths,” she said. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow.”
    He braced his hands on his knees, drew in air.
    â€œSlow,” she said again.
    He nodded. “I’m good.”
    â€œYou will be,” she said. “All you have to do is drive. We’ve got everything else. It’ll all be over before you know it.”
    â€œWe need to get going,” Larry said.
    She zipped the tac bag shut, slung the strap over her left shoulder. “Better give me ten minutes. We don’t want a convoy leaving here. If there’s a problem…”