Cut and Run 4 - Divide and Conquer

Zane brought his dirty cleats to him. Ty
    could feel that pill beginning to work already. Now he questioned the
    wisdom of taking it, and he wondered if it was too late to go throw it
    back up. They usually took longer to hit him.
    Divide & Conquer | 55

    Zane looked him up and down with a small smirk before
    gesturing with one finger for Ty to turn in a circle.
    “What?” Ty frowned at him suspiciously, but he held his hands
    out to his sides and turned in a slow circle as requested. When he
    completed the movement to face Zane again, he saw Zane watching
    him, biting his lower lip.
    “Well, it‟ll do for a ballgame,” Zane murmured as he stood.
    Ty huffed at him and inexplicably found himself blushing under
    the scrutiny. “You‟re a dick, Garrett,” he muttered as he moved to grab
    his cleats.
    “So says the ass in very tight pants,” Zane said, half laughing as
    he grabbed his wallet and keys. “C‟mon. Food, then ball field.”

    THE SUV idled near First Maryland Bank. Pierce checked his watch.
    The first game was set to start in ten minutes. If he had planned it right,
    and he had, the explosion would take out at least half of the crowd and
    players. He smiled. Most of them were cops, and any of the others—
    firefighters, EMTs, or regular spectators—were just collateral damage.
    It served them right for playing with the pigs or buying into that
    spectacle. Besides, the more deaths there were, the less likely it was
    anyone would pay attention to the bank robbery on the other side of
    town. He hoped someone stepped on the plate during the national
    anthem. Chaos, panic, disorder, all of the above.
    It would be brilliant. He turned up the police band radio, waiting
    for the inevitable calls for ambulances, fire trucks, and bomb squads.
    He only wished he could be there to see it explode.

    THE number of vehicles clogging the parking lots, streets, and even
    browned grassy areas around the playing fields surprised Zane. Sure, it
    was a softball tournament on a Sunday afternoon, but wow. There were
    people everywhere, in various states of winter dress. It reminded him of
    56 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

    a county fair with all the fund-raising vendors set up. He almost
    expected to smell barbecue, but that would have been Texas. Here in
    Baltimore it would be the sweet scent of fried crabcakes.
    “Where‟d you leave the Bronco?” Zane asked.
    “In the far corner over there,” Ty answered immediately, pointing
    toward the edge of the lot where several large trees with spindly bare
    branches loomed over the cars parked on the crunchy dormant grass.
    Zane tried to find a space near it but ended up going in the
    opposite direction to park closer to the field so Ty wouldn‟t have to
    walk so far. “Let me guess. She‟s away from the foul balls.”
    Ty looked across the lot at the Ford affectionately. Zane had
    never seen anything special about the old SUV except for the fact that
    Ty loved her, and Ty was adamant that the vehicle was a her . She was
    an ‟88 Ford Bronco, green with a tan underbelly, and every inch of her
    was lovingly cared for, if not pristine. From what Ty‟s brother, Deuce,
    had told Zane, Ty‟d had the Bronco since he was in high school. He‟d
    rescued it from a scrap yard and rebuilt it himself. The front windshield
    was scarred with the sticky remains of old entry decals, some of them
    retaining the shape of their former stickers from the Marine base at
    Camp Lejeune. Decals littered the edges of the back and side windows.
    Zane had never taken the time to stop and look at them all, but he
    guessed that there were dozens altogether.
    There was one very prominent white sticker in the rear window
    that said “Semper Fidelis” beneath the USMC eagle, globe, and anchor.
    There were several smaller decals scattered around that commemorated
    certain stretches of the Appalachian Trail. A yellow square with a
    familiar curled snake and the words “Don‟t Tread On Me.” An old
    peeling sticker that had seen better days was what Zane had been told
    was a nautical star. There was a Smith & Wesson logo. In various
    places he could see a New Orleans Saints fleur de lis, an Atlanta Braves
    tomahawk, a faded Grateful Dead “steal your face” sticker, and a very
    old M with a circle over it that Zane knew stood for an Ironman
    Triathlon. A newer decal sported stylized Arabic writing that spelled
    out “Infidel” with an assault rifle used as the capital I. In