it’s not me, and it’s not Dante.”
Classic Vance, that hair-trigger temper. Crystal probably didn’t help. Behind them the Audi’s high beams came on and it U-turned and prowled back the opposite way.
Vance again: “Just call in when it’s clear. It’ll take two seconds.”
Bolt said, “Jesus Christ.”
But he wasn’t going to argue it, not with Vance. He and Rojas had used him as backup when they were doing imports up from Coahuila. These dead-of-night cross-border runs in a Bronco, the two of them up front, Vance and a hundred-odd pounds of brown heroin in back. They’d been pulled over one night by two ICE guys and Vance had just stood up through the sunroof with a .357 and nailed the pair of them with a headshot each, and ten minutes later he was dozing in the backseat.
And with that in mind, one did not force the point, especially now the dynamic had shifted, and Leon was in charge.
Quiet as those realities settled. Gloom of the cabin and the smell of new leather and the dials all lit up like a flight deck.
Rojas said, “Just do it. Take that spare key.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Like some petulant kid, packing heat and false ID. He opened his door and slid out of the car.
THIRTEEN
Marshall
Between the trees he could see the black Chrysler and tailing it the white Audi SUV. Almost predatory in their smooth and quiet glide, sharp headlight beams cast narrow and suspicious.
There was a bit of traffic so two cars in tight succession weren’t that unusual. The only standout aspect was they were both late-model vehicles with tinted windows, and Marshall’s grasp of likelihoods said that if the two most expensive cars he’d seen all afternoon came through as a pair, there was probably something to it.
He waited.
Very quiet on the street. He checked the river reserve. Darkness now between the trees. Nobody on his little side road. His own car plus a couple more. He dropped his window an inch. Cool evening air. A faint light throwing shadows in the woods and then the Audi slipped back along the street, no engine noise, the softest hush off the tires.
And he knew.
They’d cruised past for a once-over. The Chrysler had stayed west, now the Audi was moving back east.
They were setting up a perimeter.
If they were thorough they’d check the south side too, where he was, across the river reserve.
He listened. A gentle rustle as a breeze passed through the trees. In his mirror a lone streetlight framed there at the curb. His bathroom window growing brighter amidst the shadows.
He leaned and placed the binoculars in the glove compartment and picked up the .45 from the floor. There was a round already chambered. He reached up and set the dome light so it wouldn’t come on, and then he slid out and pressed his door shut gently until he heard it click.
He stood a moment beside the car. The streetlight in its lonely vigil. The whispering of the trees. He crossed the road briskly to the junction where his side street met Alameda along the south of the reserve. There was a house on the corner site protected by a high adobe wall. He stood with his back against it and glanced out quickly along the reserve in the direction of the Chrysler. Nothing. The road narrow with no sidewalk, tall fences close against it on the left and the reserve on the right. Looking back the other direction, he couldn’t see the Audi, either.
Blood roaring in his ears. High up the branches swaying gently.
He crossed to the reserve and dropped to a crouch and crept twenty yards up from the junction and put his back against a tree and risked another look along Alameda toward the black car.
Nothing coming. The bark flaking dryly where he touched it. Smell of dust and dead leaves. He couldn’t hear the river. So weak, it was just standing water.
He stayed put. Five minutes. Ten. Every thirty seconds another glance out each way along the road. Waiting there amidst the trees, he knew he’d see before being seen.
Darkness
Classic Vance, that hair-trigger temper. Crystal probably didn’t help. Behind them the Audi’s high beams came on and it U-turned and prowled back the opposite way.
Vance again: “Just call in when it’s clear. It’ll take two seconds.”
Bolt said, “Jesus Christ.”
But he wasn’t going to argue it, not with Vance. He and Rojas had used him as backup when they were doing imports up from Coahuila. These dead-of-night cross-border runs in a Bronco, the two of them up front, Vance and a hundred-odd pounds of brown heroin in back. They’d been pulled over one night by two ICE guys and Vance had just stood up through the sunroof with a .357 and nailed the pair of them with a headshot each, and ten minutes later he was dozing in the backseat.
And with that in mind, one did not force the point, especially now the dynamic had shifted, and Leon was in charge.
Quiet as those realities settled. Gloom of the cabin and the smell of new leather and the dials all lit up like a flight deck.
Rojas said, “Just do it. Take that spare key.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Like some petulant kid, packing heat and false ID. He opened his door and slid out of the car.
THIRTEEN
Marshall
Between the trees he could see the black Chrysler and tailing it the white Audi SUV. Almost predatory in their smooth and quiet glide, sharp headlight beams cast narrow and suspicious.
There was a bit of traffic so two cars in tight succession weren’t that unusual. The only standout aspect was they were both late-model vehicles with tinted windows, and Marshall’s grasp of likelihoods said that if the two most expensive cars he’d seen all afternoon came through as a pair, there was probably something to it.
He waited.
Very quiet on the street. He checked the river reserve. Darkness now between the trees. Nobody on his little side road. His own car plus a couple more. He dropped his window an inch. Cool evening air. A faint light throwing shadows in the woods and then the Audi slipped back along the street, no engine noise, the softest hush off the tires.
And he knew.
They’d cruised past for a once-over. The Chrysler had stayed west, now the Audi was moving back east.
They were setting up a perimeter.
If they were thorough they’d check the south side too, where he was, across the river reserve.
He listened. A gentle rustle as a breeze passed through the trees. In his mirror a lone streetlight framed there at the curb. His bathroom window growing brighter amidst the shadows.
He leaned and placed the binoculars in the glove compartment and picked up the .45 from the floor. There was a round already chambered. He reached up and set the dome light so it wouldn’t come on, and then he slid out and pressed his door shut gently until he heard it click.
He stood a moment beside the car. The streetlight in its lonely vigil. The whispering of the trees. He crossed the road briskly to the junction where his side street met Alameda along the south of the reserve. There was a house on the corner site protected by a high adobe wall. He stood with his back against it and glanced out quickly along the reserve in the direction of the Chrysler. Nothing. The road narrow with no sidewalk, tall fences close against it on the left and the reserve on the right. Looking back the other direction, he couldn’t see the Audi, either.
Blood roaring in his ears. High up the branches swaying gently.
He crossed to the reserve and dropped to a crouch and crept twenty yards up from the junction and put his back against a tree and risked another look along Alameda toward the black car.
Nothing coming. The bark flaking dryly where he touched it. Smell of dust and dead leaves. He couldn’t hear the river. So weak, it was just standing water.
He stayed put. Five minutes. Ten. Every thirty seconds another glance out each way along the road. Waiting there amidst the trees, he knew he’d see before being seen.
Darkness
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