going.”
Passersby huddled either side of the gateway, eager to see the cause of the pandemonium. Trey took one of the holdalls from Jorge as they walked briskly back along the street towards the Thunderbird. They rounded the street corner and saw the car still remained in the parking slot but three rough looking guys stood beside the driver’s door and one sat on the hood.
“Hey, back off,” Mancini growled as he approached. He wasn’t sure if the guys understood or spoke English but he couldn’t wait for Trey’s attempt at translating.
Trey and Jorge hung back a little but shuffled forward in Mancini’s wake.
“What’s your problem, asshole?” a guy wearing a red bandana chirped, flicking his chin at Mancini.
“That’s our car, so step away from it,” Mancini barked. The language barrier was no problem but the guy’s menacing presence was the immediate dilemma.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m warning you, move away now.” Mancini insisted. He stood on the sidewalk, a few yards away from the three guys beside the driver’s door.
The guy slid off the trunk and joined his companions. They fanned out in a line, eyeballing Mancini and briefly glancing at Trey and Jorge.
“You three think you are bad-asses? You look like a bunch of faggots to me,” the guy with the bandana said. His companions snickered, continuing their long stares.
“What’s in the bags?” a thick set guy with a goatee beard quizzed. “Maybe we should take a look inside and we’ll let you keep the wheels if we like what we see.”
“No deal,” Mancini barked. “You leave now, peacefully and I’ll let you all live.”
The four guys snickered between themselves once again.
“Just for that smartass remark, we’ll take the car and the bags,” the big guy said, scowling. “Now, hand over the keys and the bags or I’ll gut you like a fish.” He pulled a large knife with a serrated blade from a sheath around his waist.
The big guy plodded towards Mancini, swishing the blade through the air. Mancini held his ground. He lifted his shades onto his forehead then whipped the Heckler and Koch out from his waistband. The big guy stopped in his tracks and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Mancini aimed the barrel directly between the big guy’s eyes.
“One more forward step and your tiny brain will be splattered all over the sidewalk,” Mancini threatened. “That goes for all of you. Now, scram.”
The four guys raised their arms slightly and reluctantly shuffled backwards , away from the Thunderbird. They retreated a few feet from the parked car and stopped moving, huddling together in defiance. They glared at Mancini, waiting for him to make the next move. Mancini was aware of the clock ticking away and the chances of escaping from Ensenada without being stopped in some sort of road block or check point were diminishing with every wasted second.
Chapter Thirteen
“Get the car started, Trey,” Mancini barked, covering the four guys with the handgun. “Lock the bags in the trunk first.” He was aware he could be seen by passersby aiming a loaded firearm but the alternative situation was to lose their ride and the cash to the gang members.
Trey opened the trunk and hurriedly piled the bags inside the compartment. He locked the hatch and jumped into the driver’s seat. Jorge clambered over the passenger door and slumped into the rear seat. Trey gunned the engine and rolled the car forward. Mancini rounded the rear of the car, still aiming his handgun at the four guys and slid into the passenger seat.
“Go, go,” he spat at Trey. “Take a left turn.”
Trey pumped the gas and the tires squealed on the blacktop as he pulled out of the parking slot. Vehicles already rolling down the road jammed on their brakes and honked their horns when Trey pulled out across the stream of traffic. The four gang guys
Passersby huddled either side of the gateway, eager to see the cause of the pandemonium. Trey took one of the holdalls from Jorge as they walked briskly back along the street towards the Thunderbird. They rounded the street corner and saw the car still remained in the parking slot but three rough looking guys stood beside the driver’s door and one sat on the hood.
“Hey, back off,” Mancini growled as he approached. He wasn’t sure if the guys understood or spoke English but he couldn’t wait for Trey’s attempt at translating.
Trey and Jorge hung back a little but shuffled forward in Mancini’s wake.
“What’s your problem, asshole?” a guy wearing a red bandana chirped, flicking his chin at Mancini.
“That’s our car, so step away from it,” Mancini barked. The language barrier was no problem but the guy’s menacing presence was the immediate dilemma.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m warning you, move away now.” Mancini insisted. He stood on the sidewalk, a few yards away from the three guys beside the driver’s door.
The guy slid off the trunk and joined his companions. They fanned out in a line, eyeballing Mancini and briefly glancing at Trey and Jorge.
“You three think you are bad-asses? You look like a bunch of faggots to me,” the guy with the bandana said. His companions snickered, continuing their long stares.
“What’s in the bags?” a thick set guy with a goatee beard quizzed. “Maybe we should take a look inside and we’ll let you keep the wheels if we like what we see.”
“No deal,” Mancini barked. “You leave now, peacefully and I’ll let you all live.”
The four guys snickered between themselves once again.
“Just for that smartass remark, we’ll take the car and the bags,” the big guy said, scowling. “Now, hand over the keys and the bags or I’ll gut you like a fish.” He pulled a large knife with a serrated blade from a sheath around his waist.
The big guy plodded towards Mancini, swishing the blade through the air. Mancini held his ground. He lifted his shades onto his forehead then whipped the Heckler and Koch out from his waistband. The big guy stopped in his tracks and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Mancini aimed the barrel directly between the big guy’s eyes.
“One more forward step and your tiny brain will be splattered all over the sidewalk,” Mancini threatened. “That goes for all of you. Now, scram.”
The four guys raised their arms slightly and reluctantly shuffled backwards , away from the Thunderbird. They retreated a few feet from the parked car and stopped moving, huddling together in defiance. They glared at Mancini, waiting for him to make the next move. Mancini was aware of the clock ticking away and the chances of escaping from Ensenada without being stopped in some sort of road block or check point were diminishing with every wasted second.
Chapter Thirteen
“Get the car started, Trey,” Mancini barked, covering the four guys with the handgun. “Lock the bags in the trunk first.” He was aware he could be seen by passersby aiming a loaded firearm but the alternative situation was to lose their ride and the cash to the gang members.
Trey opened the trunk and hurriedly piled the bags inside the compartment. He locked the hatch and jumped into the driver’s seat. Jorge clambered over the passenger door and slumped into the rear seat. Trey gunned the engine and rolled the car forward. Mancini rounded the rear of the car, still aiming his handgun at the four guys and slid into the passenger seat.
“Go, go,” he spat at Trey. “Take a left turn.”
Trey pumped the gas and the tires squealed on the blacktop as he pulled out of the parking slot. Vehicles already rolling down the road jammed on their brakes and honked their horns when Trey pulled out across the stream of traffic. The four gang guys
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