Free Deadlock (Ryan Lock 2) by Sean Black Page B

bought cell phone as she did so.
    With all the components in front of her, she set to work. In less than five minutes the IED was assembled and placed behind the toilet. She crossed to the sink and carefully washed her hands, using a brush she’d brought with her to remove any remaining residue from under her fingernails.
    She left the bathroom, caught the elevator back down to the lobby and left via the revolving glass door on the opposite side of the building from which she’d entered.
    A few blocks from the courthouse, Chance clambered into the cab of her red pick-up truck. Her old friend Cowboy was driving, his trademark black-velvet-brimmed Stetson pulled down low, obscuring emerald-green eyes. Next to him sat Trooper, two hundred pounds of muscle topped off by a mane of long blond hair which always reminded Chance of the actor Mickey Rourke in that movie about the down-at-heel wrestler.
    Trooper put an arm round her shoulder. ‘You OK?’
    ‘Fine,’ Chance said, enjoying having them both near her again.
    Cowboy signaled before pulling out into traffic. ‘You get it placed?’
    Chance smiled across at him. ‘Sure did. Now all I have to do is make a phone call.’

17
    A chilling breeze cut across the yard as Lock and Reaper set back to work marking each piece of metal in the chain-link fence with a slash of purple paint. With Phileas’s ultimatum still ringing in his ears, Lock was thankful that, like the day before, they had been released last from their cell in the unit.
    Reaper dabbed a splodge of purple on to his brush. ‘Today’s the day, huh?’ he said to Lock.
    ‘What day’s that?’
    ‘Day you pop your cherry inside here.’
    Lock rolled up his cuffs. ‘We’ll see.’
    ‘Listen, man, I’m sorry about Phileas, but you talk to a toad on the yard, this is what happens.’ Reaper ran his brush across a metal end wire secured to one of the posts. ‘And you can’t say I didn’t warn you.’
    ‘I’m not laying a finger on Ty.’
    ‘Then you’re gonna have to face the consequences, my friend,’ Reaper said, reloading his brush with paint, then sketching the outline of a man’s face in the dirt.
    Lock paused for a second to study the outline, picking out a strong chin, aquiline nose and hooded eyes – the unmistakable features of the current President.
    ‘Didn’t think you’d be a fan of his,’ Lock said.
    Reaper stopped to admire his handiwork. ‘I ain’t,’ he said sourly, ‘although he’s done great things for our movement, that’s for sure.’
    Lock didn’t stop to dispute that with Reaper. Ever since the country elected its first African-American President there had been a surge in two things: gun sales and membership of white supremacist groups.
    Seemingly lost in thought, Reaper dabbed a little more purple on to the end of his brush and drew a circle round the President’s head, then painted in a couple of lines to form crosshairs.
    ‘Nice touch,’ Lock said, grabbing the white plastic handle of the paint tin and holding it up. ‘We’re out. You want to go see if you can get us some more?’
    Reaper took the tin and got to his feet. ‘Sure thing. You don’t want to come with me?’ he added sarcastically.
    ‘Not this time,’ Lock said, watching Reaper swagger across the yard.
    As soon as Reaper was out of sight, Lock walked to the end of the fence they’d already worked on and pretended to be checking over each purple slash. At the same time he angled his body so that he had his back to the guard in the gun tower.
    He hunkered down on his haunches and with his paintbrush in his left hand set about unhooking and then twisting off a piece of wire connected to the terminal post. After what seemed an eternity it came away in his hand, and he pocketed it. Then he dabbed at where the chain-link had been with his brush and set to work on another piece. By the time Reaper emerged from the unit building with more paint, Lock had managed to prise away three pieces.
    He turned