Drop the gun, soldier.”
Parkerson tried to keep his voice steady as he stared at Wendell Gray’s gun. The asset’s whole body was shaking, his face a dark mess. He looked about a half second away from murder, and Parkerson didn’t want to be standing in front of the kid’s gun when he finally set off. “Let’s just calm down a minute,” he said. “Let’s think this thing through.”
Wendell Gray’s eyes went darker. He was injured, Parkerson saw. There was a big gash in his shoulder, all dried black and bloody. “I’m not your soldier,” Gray said. “Don’t you call me your soldier. My name is . . . my name is . . .” He brought the gun to his face. Scratched his cheek with the back of his hand. “My name—”
“Your name is David Gilmour,” Parkerson told him. “You’re a friend of mine. You’re my friend.”
“David Gilmour.” Wendell Gray relaxed a moment. Then he frowned. “No.”
“David. It’s true.”
“No.” Gray scratched his forehead with the barrel of the gun. He was still shaking. He was sweating. “You’re lying to me. You showed me the visions, and you made me kill for you.”
“I was trying to help you, David. I—”
“Drop the knife.”
Parkerson glanced at the big knife in his hand. Then at Wendell Gray again, at the gun Gray had aimed square at his forehead. It kept bouncing around. One slip on the trigger and that would be the end. “David—”
“Drop. The. Knife.”
Parkerson let the knife slip from his hand. Gray relaxed a little. He stared at Parkerson over the gun. “You did this,” he said. “Now I’m going to do it to you.” He motioned toward the open cell door. “Get in there.”
Parkerson frowned. “David, please—”
“My name is not David.” Gray’s voice tore. “Quit calling me David and get in the room.”
Parkerson stared at the kid. At the gun. Then he turned and let the kid push him into the cell. The room stunk of shit and sweat and urine and puke. It was tiny. “What’s your name, then?” Parkerson said, turning back to the asset. “What’s your name, David?”
Gray stared at him. Sweat dripped off his forehead, and he wiped it away with the pistol. “Shut up,” he whispered.
“What’s your name, smart guy? Just tell me your name.”
Gray screwed his eyes closed. “Shut up,” he said. “Shut up shut up shut up.”
Parkerson saw his chance. He leapt at the kid, knocked his gun arm away. Drove him into the cell door. Gray wasn’t ready. He staggered, off-balance, as Parkerson clawed at the gun.
Gray held his grip tight. He regained his balance quickly. He was younger than Parkerson, and much stronger. He shoved Parkerson away, easy, and came after him. Smashed Parkerson’s nose with the butt of the gun. The force was like an explosion. Parkerson hit the concrete, hard. Stared at Wendell Gray’s shoes for a moment. Then he lay back and passed out.