Chapter 21: Ambush Alley (Part 2 of 5)
Three days after the Scottsdale ambush, Alex Thorne lounged in his Albuquerque safehouse, the air cool with the steady hum of an air purifier, its faint metallic scent cutting through the lingering memory of blood and desert dust. The knife wound on his flank was now a taut pink scar, firm under his probing finger, the tissue knitting with unnatural speed. Mutant healing, check. He stood before a cracked mirror, his reflection showing fading dark circles under his eyes, his 16x stamina restoring his color despite the strain of recent days.
He tugged on a clean shirt, the cotton catching briefly on his thumb—a small ritual to anchor his racing thoughts. Cartel's hunting me. Time to hunt back. The safehouse's sparse furniture—a sagging couch, a chipped table, a single bulb casting stark shadows—felt oddly comforting, grounding his resolve in its simplicity. The system chimed, its wit a mirror to his own, slicing through the quiet.
[SYSTEM: Skill Upgrade: Healing rate accelerated. Keep surviving.]
Healing like a comic book hero isn't exactly subtle, Alex thought, his grin wry but his eyes hard. "Thanks for the pep talk, System. Guess I'm Wolverine without the claws, or the brooding."
The ambush had shifted his game. One man, even with 16x stats, wasn't enough against the cartel's relentless wrath. I need a squad, not a solo act. He opened an encrypted notebook, its leather cover worn smooth from use, and typed a query into his system interface, the blue glow invisible to all but him.
Names flashed—underworld dossiers on local talent: an infiltration specialist with a rap sheet for slipping past military-grade security, a hacker who'd once crashed a casino's servers for fun. Infiltration specialist, maybe a hacker. Let's build a crew. His sarcasm hid a steely determination to scale up, his fingers tapping the table rhythmically, a nervous tic that kept his focus sharp. He sent a coded text to Jax: Meet at the warehouse. Bring the map. The ambush had forged his resolve into something sharper, a vision of a covert militia to dismantle the cartel's grip. No more reacting. We strike first.
The warehouse training room was bathed in late morning light, its high windows casting a stark glow over rubber mats and the faint smell of sweat and metal. Jax arrived, his boots silent on the concrete, dropping a rolled-up satellite map onto an overturned drum with a soft thud. His faded tactical jacket hugged his broad shoulders, his gray eyes scanning the room with a paranoid reflex that never rested. He leaned closer, inspecting Alex's scar, his brow furrowing slightly, a rare humorous edge creeping into his clipped voice. "Three days, and it's gone. You're either a cyborg or a liar, Thorne. I'm leaning cyborg."
Alex grinned, leaning against the drum, its cold metal grounding him.
"Call it a high-protein diet. I briefed you on Scottsdale—cartel hit, three guys, bad intel. They're chasing a ghost south now, some 'professor' running blue. Gives us a week, maybe two."
Jax unrolled the map, his movements precise, his finger circling a stretch of highway near the Arizona-New Mexico border. "Good diversion. Now we find who tipped them. This wasn't random. I need their network."
"Scout their connections," Alex said, his tone sharp but collaborative. "Vince locked me in after a call. I want names, faces, locations. Discreet."
Jax nodded, pulling a smaller, laminated map from his pocket, marking truck stops and industrial parks with a pen that clicked rhythmically. "Ex-SEAL skills are built for this. Cartels stick to logistics routes. I'll tap old contacts, look for a new face—a scout watching this area." His finger tapped a spot near a freeway, a known haunt for Tuco's muscle. He's already on it. Guy's a bloodhound.
"You're ahead of me," Alex said, his grin softening the tension, a spark of admiration in his eyes. "Best way to ease a soldier's nerves is a mission, right? You're my noble blade, Jax. I'm the brain, you cut through the trash."
Jax's mouth twitched, a dry quip escaping. "Noble soldier, not blade. Keep your metaphors straight, Thorne." Their teamwork clicked, the banter a cement for their bond. He's in. Perfect.
Jax folded the map, his eyes distant, hinting at a deeper past—old wounds, perhaps, from his SEAL days. Something's there. Ghosts, maybe. Alex let it slide, his mind on the next move. "Track that scout. I've got a lawyer to wrangle."
Saul Goodman's office was a sensory assault, the air thick with cheap cologne, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint desperation of clients who'd long since given up on hope. Mid-afternoon light slanted through slatted blinds, striping Saul's loud, checked suit as he leaned back, feet propped on a cluttered desk, his garish tie clashing with the room's neon posters of bald eagles and American flags. His fingers twirled a pen, a restless flourish, his face a mask of theatrical concern. Alex sat across, his tactical gear a stark contrast to Saul's sleaze, sipping a soda, the can's cold bite grounding him. Saul's my shield. Time to reinforce it.
"Alex, Alex, Alex," Saul sighed, lowering his sunglasses with a dramatic flourish. "You skip town for three days, and my phone's ringing like a telethon. Albuquerque PD's sniffing your car wash, asking about your Arizona jaunt."
Alex crossed his legs, his grin easy but his eyes sharp. "They're curious because I'm a new player, and drug busts are up. I was meeting a legit supplier for my cleaning chemical import business. Just bad luck running into a local dispute."
Saul raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "Local dispute? You kicked a fire door off its hinges in Scottsdale. Lucky for you, I spun a tale. Told Officer Stevens you were scouting franchise opportunities for the car wash. Undervalued Arizona property, clean funds, nothing suspicious. It's all about the legal spin, kid."
Alex slid a cashier's check across the desk, the paper rustling softly. "You're a lifesaver, Saul. Running the best legal shields money can buy."
Saul snatched the check, his grin wide, his eyes glinting with greed. "The only shields, Alex. Next time you start a war, give me a heads-up so I can pre-write your escape papers."
"Duly noted," Alex said, standing, his jacket's zipper catching briefly as he moved. "Keep the cops off my car wash. I like that place."
Their banter, a dance of Alex's blunt candor and Saul's sleazy charm, solidified their alliance, the legal fortress growing stronger. Saul's got my back. Now for Jax's lead. Alex stepped into the quiet afternoon, the sun warm on his face, his phone buzzing with a text from Jax: Found scout's route. Crossing into NM tonight. Prepping approach. The cartel was moving, and so were they. Time to flip the script.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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