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I tried to keep my eyes on my plate, but George Butthead Kittleman sat across the table from me. I didn’t like being this close to the guy, but the investigation demanded I get a read on him as a suspect.
He laughed at something Vincent said.
I suppressed a scoff. The jerk didn’t deserve another shot with Serena. He had to be the dullest tool in the shed to dump her for a job opportunity out of town, and his bravado rubbedme the wrong way. SEALs were about teamwork, and none of his stories about his time in the field had included the wordteam.
After Marcia went into the house to get more chips, I gave Serena the signal we’d discussed when I needed her to try to trigger him again.
“Next week, I’m auditing Yaroslavsky,” Serena said matter-of-factly, aiming her words at me. She had already woven in several of the keywords I’d requested of her.
I watched Butthead. I didn’t see any reaction, so I followed up by asking her, “Do you have to travel for that?”
“Only to West Hollywood,” she said. “No biggie.”
Again, no reaction from the guy, which made it zero for four and meant he was not likely involved. He was just her ex, a total dickhead, and now a pain in my ass.
I finished chewing my burger.
“It was just me and this tango,” Butthead said, weaving some tale for Vincent. “It could have been close, but I gave it to him, full-auto, the whole clip.”
The itch I’d had about this guy came back. He knew a lot of the lingo, and I’d been focused on reading his tells for deception regarding Yaroslavsky and the notes. But now it became clear. He’d made two huge mistakes in that last sentence that proved he was no frogman, and that burned me.
As SEALs, our ammo load-out was a treasure, our lifeline, which we conserved, since we could never count on resupply. We were taught to almost always select single-round semi-auto, occasionally three-round-burst mode. Very rarely would we use full-auto, because once you were out of ammo, you were helpless. We never put more rounds into a man than it took to put him down. Those were rounds you might need for the next surprise.
Second, a clip went into a handgun, a rifle like an M4 took a mag.
It was time to find out for sure. I pushed my plate aside and leaned forward, putting my elbow on the table. “George, it’s arm-wrestling time.”
“No thanks.”
“A SEAL is not permitted to turn down an arm-wrestle challenge from another SEAL. It’s in the code. You and I both know that.”
Serena’s father looked on from the other end of the table with a cocked brow.
“Duke was a SEAL too,” Serena mentioned, so I didn’t have to.
George’s eyes widened. “Uh, I’m kind of out of practice.”
Yeah, dirtbag, now you’re up against the real deal.“Me too.” I wiggled my fingers. “Let’s go. We both know there’s no dishonor in losing to a fellow SEAL. Refusing a challenge? Now that’s a different thing.” I gave himtheglare.
Left without an out, his sweaty hand grasped mine. Vincent counted to three, and we started.
I let him bend me back a little as he grunted and groaned, but this was going to be no contest. The guy was clearly a desk jockey.
“So you fired all our weapons in training?” I asked. “Even the fifty-cal, right?”
“Yeah,” he grunted out. “That one was a beast.”
Her father nodded. He’d probably actually handled the weapon.
I let Butthead gain a little, then took back a little more, prolonging the contest. “How’d you like firing the Draeger? Any trouble aiming it?”
He grunted again and shook his head. “Got the bullseye every time.”
I put all I had into it and slammed his hand over and down.
He cried out in pain. “Fuck, you broke my arm.”
I released my grip. “It’s not broken,” I scoffed.But I might have torn a ligament. “I should do a lot more than that to a fucking fraud like you,” I yelled. “You never wore the trident. Every SEAL knows a Draeger is an underwater breathing device, not a weapon.”
