Bullet Catchers

Chapter 5

Bullet Catchers

Five

"Bottoms up, bitches!"

Dingo hesitated to raise his beer to greet the others that were ready. Somehow, he managed to look pleased as he clinked his drink against all the others. Not only had he offered to pay the squad he took for their time, he promised them endless drinks that night. It was the only way to get Tank to forgive him. Never before had she gotten that furious at him, which is quite a statement considered she'd nearly killed him once or twice. Jibaro had forgiven him for lying, although she lectured him about it. Arai was too hopped up on pain meds to give a s**t one way or the other.

Their go-to place was a bar that would get flooded with tourists once a good season hit, but during the dry months it was known for the mercenary groups that would frequent it. Everyone just called it, "The Dive." At the current, the Bullet Catchers weren't the only ones there. Still, their appearance signified the most excitement the bartender would see all night. For this, he was eager to please them. A glass was never empty for long.

As his comrades got stupid around him, Dingo focused on the others nearby. A few locals were at the bar, quietly conversing amongst themselves. Across the room and eyeing him in disgust was a pair of mercenaries from another club known as Atlantis. There was a time when they were the most powerful military-for-hire group in the area and one of the best in the world. Yet a contract went south fast, and the majority of them were shot dead in cold blood while escorting a diplomat. Since then, their fall from grace had been made into myths that rivaled the city they were named after.

Dingo wasn't well liked by many mercenaries. He knew that. Everyone called him "Washout" due to the well-known fact he'd failed operator training. So what if he never made it through the psyche test necessary to become a member of the Special Forces? Even if his head wasn't on right, he had the skills to do it. Those were skills he had learned in combat. There were many officers in the United States military that felt terrible having to let him go; they knew his head was on straight before war. Maybe they felt guilty. Maybe they hated losing someone with so much potential. Whatever, it didn't matter to him.

Regardless, it definitely hurt his reputation. It didn't take long after he became a mercenary for his backstory to spread. Damn whoever told the first asshole, anyway. Everyone was just waiting for the moment when he would snap. He was determined to never let it happen.

"You seem tense," Hadji said to him. Indeed, there was no denying the way his face contorted into a disgusting frown.

Dingo let out an uncharacteristic sigh and said, "Shut up and drink." Then, just to prove he was alright, he downed his entire beer in one large gulp. He raised his glass and yelled, "Barkeep! Gimme another round!"

The cheers of his comrades egged him on. They were excited to see him drink, because it was a silent granting of permission for them to get crazy, too. Instead of brining a single glass, the bar tender brought a fresh pitcher of cool beer. A bottle of rum was set next to it, just in case. As Dingo grabbed the pitcher and attempted to pour his beer, someone's hands wrapped around his and took control. Surprised but not frightened, he looked up to see what asshole interrupted him.

"Let me pour that for you, sweetie," the woman huskily said into his ear before nibbling on his neck.

There was no immediate reaction from him. He just let her lead the way. What was her name again? Uh, Marie? Macey? He'd been with her a few times but her name was slipping his mind. Never once would he consider himself a ladies man, but he'd certainly been around the block with a few girls in the area. Many women sought men like him. He was good looking, passionate, and honest; he loved to make them feel good as much as he loved to feel pleasure himself. His confidence drew them in without an ounce of effort on his part. Since he never intended to deceive, it made him feel a thousand times worse that he couldn't remember what the f**k her name was.

Finally he gave up. Using his strength he forced the glass onto the table and gently brought Miss… Marie, Macey, whatever… down to place a slobbery, ineloquent kiss on her lips. While his comrades hooped and hollered over the display, he spun her around, smacked on her backside and said, "Go get yourself a drink."

It was meant to be his way of politely turning her down for the time being, but she seemed to take it another way. There was no denying the look she gave him as she sent a wave over her shoulder. She'd be back soon. Couldn't a guy just enjoy a drink with his buddies without being bugged for a fuckfest?

Everyone around him starting talking smack but he didn't hear it. His eyes were staring forward yet focusing on nothing. The Bullet Catchers had taken up two tables, and the one next to them housed Jibaro and Pluto. When Jibaro left, Pluto was alone, quietly sipping his drink and probably seeking out threats in the area. That kid was paranoid if Dingo had anything to say. Probably the direct definition of a sociopath, too. Maybe he should call that Marie/Macey lady back over, have her go give Pluto a good time…

Apparently, Pluto's guard was down. Two men snuck up behind him and opened up a rather aggressive conversation. Dingo didn't recognize them so at first he was on edge. When he saw how little Pluto reacted, he assumed they might have been allies. It wasn't until he picked up on a few words did he take notice. They were offering to buy him, and Pluto entertained the idea for all of three seconds before he told them to f**k-off.

Dingo never gave Pluto s**t. There was never a reason. Something about the way he would scan a room before entering and then stay on high alert raised a few flags in Dingo's mind. He'd probably been through some crazy stuff in his home country. To make it worst, he was the cute little blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy that s*x traffickers loved to target. How many times had Pluto needed to wiggle his way out of these kinds of situations without any back up?

Apparently, that thought irritated Dingo. Before he even realized what was happening he was on his feet. Each step his heavy boots made echoed inside the back of his mind. It was like a metronome, timing out his attack. At first, he wasn't sure whether he was going to say something or do something. Then, he saw one of the strangers grabbed Pluto by the arm and try to yank him out his chair.

Dingo's fist connected with the stranger's face hard enough it shattered bones. When the stranger let Pluto go, the Czech native landed a few of his own hits on the second man, nearly knocking him out in the process. The little guy would've kept pounding him had someone not grabbed his arm and halted him.

Pluto looked over his shoulder to find one of the Atlantis guys. "Savage fucker, eh? You should respect your elders," the man said with a sneer.

Dingo placed a tempting hand on the man's shoulder. "Easy, man. He's just protecting himself," Dingo said. There was a slight threatening undertone to his voice, as though he was telling the man that if he didn't let go soon he was the next one to be punched.

"Watch yourself, Washout. Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty mug of yours any worse than it already is, right?" the Atlantis ruffian nicknamed Charger said.

Dingo grimaced. Yeah, there was this pretty nice mark that ran along his throat. He didn't need to be reminded of it. He fought the demons of that scar every single day. Now would've been a good time for him to back away, as the anger he felt inside of him was rising fast. For whatever reason, he never listened to that part of his mind. The moment his fist clenched, it was sent flying into the face of that Atlantis punk.

With the man on the ground beneath, Dingo laughed at the sight of him cradling his quickly bruising cheek. "Wanna end up dead like the rest of your men, Charger?"

That was it. Charger leapt up and attempted to deal a blow of his own, but Dingo ducked out of the way. His heart fluttered as he felt the wind of the punch whiz by his face. Dingo was a speedy fighter so he decided to play with Charger a bit. After successfully dodging a few hits, he laughed again. He never saw that Charger's buddy had moved in behind him until it was too late.

The strong arms of the enemy locked around him and he couldn't move. There was just enough time for him let out one more snicker before Charger hit Dingo as hard as he could. Dingo felt his brain rattle at the sensation. It was a solid hit. A few more tattered him on the nose and jaw. Pounding, his head was ready to go fuzzy but he easily shook it off. "Come on, Charger! You punch like a p***y!" he said.

"I'm gonna really slit your throat this time, Yankee!" Charger screamed. It didn't take long before a blade was pulled from his pants and ready to strike.

Now was the time to panic and Dingo couldn't help but feel the sweat on his face increase. Somehow, he kept his body from quaking and the smirk never left. "Come on, man! That's no fun! We're just tumblin'!"

"It's gonna be fun for me, fucker."

Those were Charger's last words. An incredible crack made everyone's ears ring. The knife clattered to the ground at the same time as Charger's body. Speckles of blood splattered on the wall, but there wasn't too much of a mess. There was one last tremor from Charger's body before it ceased its movement.

"Jesus Christ, asshole. I'm trying to get drunk," Tank said as she kicked the lifeless body. "f**k," she cursed one more time as she attempted to wipe the blood from her gun and hands. The callous sight sent the last Atlantis guy into flight mode. His tight grip on Dingo was lightened just enough that Dingo was able to wiggle his way free. In less than five seconds, the attacker was on the ground, unconscious.

Dingo shook his right hand, certain he'd bruised his knuckles in that brawl. The sight of the two boys on the ground made him feel a little smug, even though Charger was dead thanks to Tank. He'd have to thank her later.

Everyone went to turn their attention back to their tables as the barkeep yelled something about cleaning up the mess. They would've joked back, but when the chaos died and they went back to their seats, they found them occupied. Three men and one woman made themselves rather comfortable, going so far as to enjoying the drinks and propping their feet up. Only one looked stiff; with his back straight and his arms crossed, his cold expression shot through his glasses. Even when attempting to look casual, Koala stuck out.

The high of the fight left Dingo and was replaced with an uncontrollable wrath. It escalated when someone said, "Hey, greenhorn can fight pretty good!" If he didn't know them personally, he never would've guessed they were mercenaries. Dressed in casual shirts, shorts and sporting flip-flops, they looked like tourists.

"Did you assholes follow us?" Dingo asked.

"No. I just searched for you on the internet. It wasn't hard to find," Koala said.

Something about the way he spoke as though it were no big deal really set Dingo off. "What do you want?" he asked. "I'm trying to enjoy the night with my friends, is that alright?"

Koala waited a beat before he spoke. The bar tender was making a lot of noise as he tried to clean up the dead body and fresh blood on the floor. Koala wanted to be sure he was heard when he spoke. Jibaro must've realized this as she went to assist in the cleanup. As the noise started to die down, Koala asked, "Why did you order Payload to make a drop?"

Hadji was intrigued by Dingo's response so he hurriedly turned to see how his friend reacted. If there were any lies to be told, Hadji would see through them. Harsh blinks and an open mouth signaled Dingo was shocked by the accusation. So it wasn't Dingo that ordered it. "What? Payload? I've never dealt with them before," he said.

Koala waited to see if there was anything else Dingo had to say. When no more words came, he said, "Somebody ordered a drop."

"Well it wasn't any of us," Dingo said.

Koala let his eyes dance around the room, scanning each face to see if it was true. There was no reason for him not to trust Dingo's words this time. Then, he stood, letting the chair screech noisily against the stone floor. One by one, the others with him followed suit. "I don't know what you were hoping to accomplish in Guatemala but do us all a favor and stay out of the way," Koala said.

Dingo opened his mouth to argue but was silenced. There was a pop, whistle, and ping as someone shot a single bullet into the building from outside. He should've been frightened, but he calmly turned to look over his shoulder and see what dumbass tried to shoot at him. Before his eyes reached the street, a sudden wave of bullets were ricocheting throughout the bar. Tables were flipped and bodies dropped.

"Get down!" Koala ordered, although most had already done so. Out of instinct he grabbed Tank and draped himself over her.

She was not happy that he felt the need to protect her. As bullets sang by them, she hit him hard in the face and said, "Get off! f**k!" Koala heeded the harsh command, but still stayed close to her. With her hands free, she was able to return fire at whoever the f**k was trying to kill them.

"Stop wasting ammo. You can't even see your target," Koala ordered, his voice barely heard above the chaos.

"f**k off! This isn't some shitty American battlefield. This is a shootout!" she yelled.

Annoyed but more interested in surviving than arguing, Koala turned to catch the attention of his own troops. All three of them were watching him and him only, awaiting his commands. One hand went into the air, ready to give signals. Tank shifted suddenly as she went to reload; her elbow smacked Koala right in the face. He adjusted his glasses and said, "Please calm down. I'm –"

"Will you f**k off?!"

There was no possible way to reason with them.

Pluto was the furthest back, his shield being the dead body of Charger. There was a pattern to the shooters actions. Bursts were every three seconds. Occasionally they would overlap. How many were out there? His eyes squinted into the darkness but he couldn't seem to focus. The main shooter was right near the door and was spraying bullets randomly. Further back there were two, maybe three. Each one had their tempo set so that they never had to reload all at once.

"Alright, Koala! Who the f**k did you bring here?!" Dingo demanded. He'd managed to crawl to safety, and found himself huddled behind the table they'd just sat at. Two of Koala's allies had flanked him. Typically he'd feel vulnerable, but he could sense the fear emitting from them. They were thrown off just as bad as he was.

"No one!" he said. His attention was diverted from Tank just long enough that she tried to squirm away. He was quick to snatch her around the waist and pull her back to safety. Bullets flew by inches from her. Now Tank was really struggling to break free. After nearly being punched in the face several times, Koala ordered, "O'Dell and Connelly! Flank them!"

"On it!" the woman next to Dingo said with a peppy tone. A second man that had hidden himself by the bar poked out and followed the woman toward the back of the bar as a fresh wave of gunfire hit.

"I'll go with them!" Pluto said. Scrambling to his feet, he covered his head with his hands as he hurried to catch up. He barreled through the door at the back of the bar with milliseconds to spare. Fear was pulsating through his being and he had to force himself to calm down before he keeled over right there. The sound of gunfire was still loud and clear, although a bit muffled compared to before. Outside, the lack of lights perked up the rest of his senses and he felt a tremor run down his spine.

The woman, O'Dell, placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, "Are you alright?"

Pluto waved her off. "Sure thing, babe. Just out of shape," he said. The raised brow she shot him made it clear she knew that was a lie. A short sprint like that wouldn't have affected someone in as good of physical shape as Pluto was in. Still, he was given enough time to get his breathing under control.

Connelly had already moved a few steps forward. He poked his head around the corner and tried to assess the situation. Pluto and O'Dell joined him. Pluto was right about his assessment; there were three shooters right where he had expected. No vehicle was seen. Straining his eyes, he failed to see tire tracks, either.

"Look out!"

There was no chance for Pluto to react to the command. O'Dell pushed him to the ground and he landed rather harshly. By the time he shook the dizziness from his head another body landed next to him. He couldn't stop himself from jumping. An unconscious and unknown face looked at him.

"Know him?" Connelly asked.

"No," Pluto said.

The weapon that they'd almost been attacked with was an expandable baton. Good for breaking some kneecaps but not good for a firefight. Oh, yeah. We're in a firefight, Pluto thought as he remembered what he was doing out there. God damn, did she have to push him that hard? As he rubbed the side of his head, he stood once more and observed the three shooters. It didn't take long for him to notice one had a jammed gun. The attacker obviously had no idea how to use it, anyway.

"I'll distract them. Ambush the guy furthest from us. Closest to the road," Pluto said.

"Are you sure?" O'Dell asked. "You'll be left open."

"If I make it out, promise me a hot date, cutie," he said with a wink.

If she wanted to respond, he didn't give her the chance. In a flash he dashed from their hiding spot and zipped toward the gunman with the faulty weapon. By this point, the fear was gone. Jitters were absent. Every inch of his body was under his control. It was passed the point of being scared. Tunnel vision took over and all he could do was focus on his target. Once he was close enough, he leapt at the gunman's knees.

His entire brain vibrated at the move. Pluto wasn't very big so it took a lot of momentum for him to knocking someone to the ground. A tackle had to be perfectly placed. Fortunately, this one was. The gunman was taken off guard and crashed against the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Before he could recover, Pluto wailed on him. It wasn't one or two well calculated hits; he was going to beat him until he was pulled off.

O'Dell and Connelly rushed the other gunman. One hardy whack with the baton made him loosen his grip on his rifle. Once that was wrestled away, it took a single burst into the back of the forward most attacker to end the spree.

Pluto heard the gunfire and knew their mission had succeeded. Throbbing knuckles sent ache up to the top of his arms. He had to stop punching. When the hairs stood up on the back of his neck, he knew instinct was telling him danger was moving in fast. He looked up just in time to see a black baton approaching his face. Somehow, he managed to get his hand up to block it. That f*****g hurt.

Now was panic time. Despite surely having a fracture his arm, he raised both of his hands as he fell off of the gunman he'd been beating. Above him were the faces of O'Dell and Connelly, neither looking pleased but neither looking particularly pissed off, either.

"Whoa, whoa! What the hell!?" Pluto screamed. Before another word could be said, Connelly swung the baton at him again. He was forced to roll out of the way. Back on his knees, his arms were back in the air. "It was a joke! She doesn't have to really go on a date with me! Hey! Hey, wait!"

This time, he scrambled to his feet just before the baton would've knocked him out cold. Unable to keep his footing, he lost his balance and tumbled. The ground never reached him. He'd collided with someone a bit taller than him; the man stabilized him and he looked up to find himself peering into the eyes of Koala.

He opened his mouth to demand that Koala call his lackeys off, but he was met with a fist to the face. As the world spun he fell back to the ground. The contact of his head meeting the Earth sent his vision into darkness.