with the same number of holes I had when it started.”
Lawton hefted the .45 and shook his head. “So, the firing pin’s filed down, right? Or the mag’s fulla dummy rounds? Bet I pull the trigger and nothing happens. Can I be trusted? Is that the real question here?”
Griggs was turning gray with fear.
Waller walked over to Lawton and locked eyes.
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re exactly right. Why would we put a loaded gun in the hands of an infamous hitman? We gotta be insane, right? Just pull the damned trigger.”
Lawton just stared back, then finally lowered the .45. He could hear Griggs exhale.
BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!
There was a continuous roar as Deadshot opened fire on the distant targets with inhuman speed and accuracy. He reloaded with a blur. Again and again. Hitting the targets, dead center each time.
A pall of blue smoke filled the area. Empty shells piled up, mag after mag.
It was all damned real.
With practiced ease, Deadshot grabbed weapon after weapon, feeding mags, sending rounds down range. Hit after hit. A jackhammer roar of gunfire and steel impacts. Finally he stopped. He didn’t have to shoot again to prove whatever the hell point they needed him to prove.
Flag checked out one of the steel targets. Directly in its center was a single red-hot hole, counterpunched from continuous hits on the exact same point.
Deadshot turned to Waller as he put down the Colt M16, 5.56mm automatic.
“Now you know what you’re buying,” he said. “Lemme tell you the price. One, I want outta here. Two, I want custody of my little girl. Her mom can get, like, one supervised visit a month. She is with her mom, right?
“Three’s a rent-free condo for us in Gotham City, the rich part with, like, doormen. And four, you cover my daughter’s education. Full ride. The best private schools, and get her in a good college. Like Harvard, or Yale. And if she gets bad grades, you’re gonna down low that crap and make sure she graduates.
“That’s my price.” He looked at Waller and Flag, who were staring back at him.
“Y’all must got good memories. I don’t see no one writing this down.”
Flag grinned. “Hey, look around, pal. You’re in no position to make demands.”
Deadshot was staring at Waller. “I’m not talking to you, soldier boy. I’m talking to your boss.”
Flag looked again at the steel targets, each one sporting a single hole.
“You can shoot. I have to give you that.” He turned back to Lawton. “But the folks who think big thoughts for a living think you can do the job of a professional. Like me. And that, Lawton, you cannot do.”
Deadshot was still staring at Waller, trying to provoke her answer.
“I can show you professional. How about a professional beatdown?”
Flag smiled. “I would very much enjoy that,” he said, and Lawton smiled. After all this talk crap, a fight was exactly what he needed.
He tensed, ready to begin, and the colonel followed suit. They stood there, motionless, each waiting for the other to move.
“Colonel. That’s enough,” Waller said.
Hell.
Waller gestured, and her guards replaced the restraints and escorted him away. Still not quite certain what had just happened, Lawton was escorted back to his cage. The steel door opened and he stepped inside.
While he’d been out shooting tin cans, Waller’s boys had been busy. A new, professional-grade punching bag was hanging from the ceiling. Boxing gloves sat on a thick new mattress. Next to a steaming steak dinner.
He stared at it as if it was a mirage, then the aroma reached his nose. He impaled the ribeye on a fork—actual stainless steel, none of the plastic crap—and tasted it.
No. This was real.
That meant Waller had made her decision about him even before they let him pick his weapon of choice.
Damn.
SIXTEEN
Croc counted his pushups with machine-like efficiency…
941, 942, 943
… He was good for a few hundred more.
He stopped and sniffed. Croc detected a rat, a few
Lawton hefted the .45 and shook his head. “So, the firing pin’s filed down, right? Or the mag’s fulla dummy rounds? Bet I pull the trigger and nothing happens. Can I be trusted? Is that the real question here?”
Griggs was turning gray with fear.
Waller walked over to Lawton and locked eyes.
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re exactly right. Why would we put a loaded gun in the hands of an infamous hitman? We gotta be insane, right? Just pull the damned trigger.”
Lawton just stared back, then finally lowered the .45. He could hear Griggs exhale.
BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!
There was a continuous roar as Deadshot opened fire on the distant targets with inhuman speed and accuracy. He reloaded with a blur. Again and again. Hitting the targets, dead center each time.
A pall of blue smoke filled the area. Empty shells piled up, mag after mag.
It was all damned real.
With practiced ease, Deadshot grabbed weapon after weapon, feeding mags, sending rounds down range. Hit after hit. A jackhammer roar of gunfire and steel impacts. Finally he stopped. He didn’t have to shoot again to prove whatever the hell point they needed him to prove.
Flag checked out one of the steel targets. Directly in its center was a single red-hot hole, counterpunched from continuous hits on the exact same point.
Deadshot turned to Waller as he put down the Colt M16, 5.56mm automatic.
“Now you know what you’re buying,” he said. “Lemme tell you the price. One, I want outta here. Two, I want custody of my little girl. Her mom can get, like, one supervised visit a month. She is with her mom, right?
“Three’s a rent-free condo for us in Gotham City, the rich part with, like, doormen. And four, you cover my daughter’s education. Full ride. The best private schools, and get her in a good college. Like Harvard, or Yale. And if she gets bad grades, you’re gonna down low that crap and make sure she graduates.
“That’s my price.” He looked at Waller and Flag, who were staring back at him.
“Y’all must got good memories. I don’t see no one writing this down.”
Flag grinned. “Hey, look around, pal. You’re in no position to make demands.”
Deadshot was staring at Waller. “I’m not talking to you, soldier boy. I’m talking to your boss.”
Flag looked again at the steel targets, each one sporting a single hole.
“You can shoot. I have to give you that.” He turned back to Lawton. “But the folks who think big thoughts for a living think you can do the job of a professional. Like me. And that, Lawton, you cannot do.”
Deadshot was still staring at Waller, trying to provoke her answer.
“I can show you professional. How about a professional beatdown?”
Flag smiled. “I would very much enjoy that,” he said, and Lawton smiled. After all this talk crap, a fight was exactly what he needed.
He tensed, ready to begin, and the colonel followed suit. They stood there, motionless, each waiting for the other to move.
“Colonel. That’s enough,” Waller said.
Hell.
Waller gestured, and her guards replaced the restraints and escorted him away. Still not quite certain what had just happened, Lawton was escorted back to his cage. The steel door opened and he stepped inside.
While he’d been out shooting tin cans, Waller’s boys had been busy. A new, professional-grade punching bag was hanging from the ceiling. Boxing gloves sat on a thick new mattress. Next to a steaming steak dinner.
He stared at it as if it was a mirage, then the aroma reached his nose. He impaled the ribeye on a fork—actual stainless steel, none of the plastic crap—and tasted it.
No. This was real.
That meant Waller had made her decision about him even before they let him pick his weapon of choice.
Damn.
SIXTEEN
Croc counted his pushups with machine-like efficiency…
941, 942, 943
… He was good for a few hundred more.
He stopped and sniffed. Croc detected a rat, a few
Similar Books
