Piranha

The policemen kept asking nervously if he’d seen enough, hinting almost to the point of insistence that it was time for them to return to their UN base. Finally, Powder suggested they look at the building next to the police station; it was a grocery-type store, though from the window and door facing the street, the shelves looked pretty bare.

The policemen argued it was time to leave. Da

“Fine,” said one of the policemen. “We’ll wait out here.”

More than likely, they were just being paranoid, but you could never tell. The building had to be inspected and it had to be inspected now.

Da

He left his Beretta in its holster, trying to play it as i

Da

Something moved on his right. He spun, his hands down near his belt and gun.

A figure came from behind a tattered curtain, a thin shadow. He thought it was a boy at first, then realized it was a girl, a young woman really. Maybe five-one, barely ninety pounds. Her hair was very short, unusual for the area.

“Vrlo mi” he started, faltering almost immediately with the pronunciation. He had memorized a phrase for “are you the owner?”—“da li ste sopstvenik?” which was intended to apply to the taxi drivers. He tried to remember it, but before he could, the girl held her hands in front of her, then backed away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, putting up his own hand.

The girl stopped. The store was unlit, making it difficult to see her face well, but Da

“We’re just Americans. Yanks,” he told her. “United States. U.S. We just, uh, looking around. Do you have anything to sell?”

It was lame, but it was all he could think of. Powder, who was a few feet behind him, said they were looking for coffee.

“Powder,” said Da

“Hey, Cap, you never know. I could go for a good hit of joe right now.”

“We just want to look around,” Da

she stared at him, and then nodded, or seemed to nod.

“You stay with her. Powder, while I check out the stairs.”

“You sure, Cap?”

“I’m sure.”

The urge to take out his gun was overwhelming, but Da

“Basement next, Powder.”

“Yes, Cap.”

In the basement, Da

Da

or more likely, complete whatever black-market transaction was waiting for them near the checkpoint. Smuggling was a common sideline for the authorities here.

Once back on the main floor, Da

As he turned and took a few steps toward the concealed area, Powder said something, then shouted. Totally by instinct, Da

“Shit,” said Powder.

Now standing, Da

A boy, three of four years old, sat on the floor in the middle of a small, squalid kitchen, his thumb in his mouth.

By the time Da

Powder had grabbed the pistol and found three bullets loaded, but the firing pug was broken and it probably couldn’t have fired.