As the Marauders were piled into vans and taken away, the leader of the S.W.A.T team came up and introduced himself.
“Captain Calvin Cole,” he said, extending a hand.
“Drake Mandible, Mister,” quipped Drake, shaking the hand. “We received an anonymous tipoff that the Marauders were congregating here tonight, so we thought we’d drop on by, just in time by the looks of things.”
Drake could guess who the tipster was.
“So, what division are you two with?” asked Cole. “National Guard, Feds, CIA?”
“Actually, I’m a freelancer.”
“You gotta be kidding. There’s no way you could have access to this kind of weaponry if you were a civvy.”
“Well, I do have a rather substantial inheritance,” said Drake. “Giving me access to considerable resources.”
A sudden look of contempt flashed briefly over the captain’s face, barely perceptible to the average onlooker, but Drake saw it as clear as day.
“You’re a civilian? You really shouldn’t get involved in these sorts of things,” Cole said. “You could get yourself killed, or worse, one of my men.”
“It was a family matter,” Drake replied, coolly. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Yeah, well next time, leave it to the professionals. Have a good night.”
“Nice to meet you,” Drake called to the captain’s back, resisting the urge to beanbag him.
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