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Muzak is good for the soul (open)
"...whoa." Jensen looked around himself at the kind of posh, upscale shopping center. There were more than a couple of reasons he was out of place. The least of which was the pink Petunias tshirt he was wearing, but it could be the gun he had in his hand, the comm headset in his ear. Y'know. The little things. Hastily he tucked the gun into his pants in the small of his back and touched the button on the comm bud. "Clay. Clay it's Jensen and this really isn't funny. Clay?"
He gave his best charming smile to a middle aged woman who was walking by giving him the stink eye and replayed the last twenty minutes of his life. Miami. Shipyards. A drug cartel expecting a shipment of the latest product, a portion of the proceeds of which were finding their way into certain state government officials. But the last expected payment had gone awry (Thank you, Jensen. Oh, you're very welcome! No, really. That redirection of funds by scattering it into the public school systems of Miami-Dade county was the most beautiful piece of genius we have ever seen. Stop it! You're embarrassing me!) so the governor himself was going to be at the docks to meet the shipment to find out why. Threats to be delivered and all that. Meanwhile the Losers were set up to take down both the drug runners and expose the governor.
There was a sleek black car. A forklift moving a load of cargo boxes. Some south of the border looking men, a well dressed white bread guy getting out of the car and it was show time. Jensen and Pooch moved into position. Pooch went around the freight container first then Jensen...only when he rounded the corner he came out from a set of planters with artfully trimmed topiary trees, gun aimed on some socialites out buying new shoes with price tags in the triple digits. To say Jensen was confused would be a mild understatement.
"...Clay?"
He gave his best charming smile to a middle aged woman who was walking by giving him the stink eye and replayed the last twenty minutes of his life. Miami. Shipyards. A drug cartel expecting a shipment of the latest product, a portion of the proceeds of which were finding their way into certain state government officials. But the last expected payment had gone awry (Thank you, Jensen. Oh, you're very welcome! No, really. That redirection of funds by scattering it into the public school systems of Miami-Dade county was the most beautiful piece of genius we have ever seen. Stop it! You're embarrassing me!) so the governor himself was going to be at the docks to meet the shipment to find out why. Threats to be delivered and all that. Meanwhile the Losers were set up to take down both the drug runners and expose the governor.
There was a sleek black car. A forklift moving a load of cargo boxes. Some south of the border looking men, a well dressed white bread guy getting out of the car and it was show time. Jensen and Pooch moved into position. Pooch went around the freight container first then Jensen...only when he rounded the corner he came out from a set of planters with artfully trimmed topiary trees, gun aimed on some socialites out buying new shoes with price tags in the triple digits. To say Jensen was confused would be a mild understatement.
"...Clay?"