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“I need you to watch dad,” Griz said. “If Ripper has gone sideways on us, he might make a play for him at the hospital, to make sure any opposition to his plans never happens.”
“Right,” Wyatt said. “I’ll be there. No one’s going to touch Boomer.”
“Okay, then,” Griz said. “Nothing left to do, but do it, then.”
28
Griz didn’t like it.
He didn’t like anything about it; not the place, not the deal, not the people. He and Pony were standing in the middle of a field, in the dead of night, next to the same van that had been shot up on their doomed excursion into Philly.
In the distance, he could see two sets of headlights making their way toward him. There was a dirt road… more of a track, really… that went along the edge of the field, and those two vehicles were picking their way along it slowly.
Out in the middle of nowhere, at one in the morning, waiting to meet with the cartel. So that they could buy military-level guns.
All the reservations came back. Were they going to make things worse, if they started going after Death’s Head with military weapons? Or was it too late?
And the cartel. Griz’s dad had always shunned away from any dealings with them. Lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas, he’d said. And the people who dealt with the cartel had a bad habit of never being able to shake loose from them. Once they had your number, they owned you.
“Two vehicles,” Pony said next to him.
“Yeah.”
“There was only supposed to be one.”
“Yeah,” Griz said.
“Should we split?”
Griz looked at the dark shape of where the tree line blotted out the stars. The trees were a hundred yards away, maybe a little less. They were stuck out here, in the open, with nowhere to go if something went wrong.
“Griz?”
“I think we have to play this one out, Pony,” Griz said.
“Roger that.”
Griz was glad Pony was along. He’d proven himself useful during the ambush in Philly, and his military experience would definitely come in handy if the war kept heating up. Still, he had to wonder if he was asking too much of the man, too fast.
The two vehicles drew close and finally came to a stop in front of them. It was two large SUVs, black, the kind that political VIPs drove around in. Griz guessed they were probably bulletproof.
The SUVs left their headlights on as four men got out, two from each vehicle. Three of them had rifles in their hands and they fanned out quickly, covering all angles while staying close to the vehicles.
The fourth was unarmed and paid no attention to the other three. He approached Griz and Pony with an easy, measured stride and an easy smile on his face to match.
Griz looked him over. Medium height, Hispanic, fit, wearing a finely tailored suit. He looked like he’d just had his hair cut that day.
His demeanor seemed pleasant but Griz’s alarm bells were ringing. Three men with military rifles, just for a simple meet. He and Pony only had their pistols with them; they would be at a serious disadvantage if things went sideways.
“Good evening,” the smiling one said as he approached with his hand held out. “I am Major Navarro.”
“Griz,” Griz said by way of introduction. “This is Pony.”
“Griz. Pony. Such wonderful names,” Major Navarro said. “And your friend, Ripper, as well.”
“You have an interesting title yourself,” Griz said. “Major.”
Major Navarro shrugged. “Retired. Now I am a businessman. Speaking of which, Ripper had conducted all negotiations up to this point, but I understand you, Griz, are going to take it from here.”
