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He made a pouty face. “For your so-called sister?”
“Because he will know where the children are, Brian,” I said. “That’s what this is all about, you know. Saving the kids.”
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Easy to forget when we’re having such fun.”
“So I absolutely must take him alive. Okay? Alive, Brian.”
“Just for now,” he said agreeably.
I patted him on the shoulder. “Just for now,” I said. I looked at my watch. It was still only a bit more than twenty minutes since I’d talked to Kraunauer. But merely to be on the safe side, we needed to get in position as soon as possible. I looked at Brian and nodded. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” he said with undisguised glee. “Oh, I do love surprises.”
—
The car was another SUV, gold this time. It drove into the back parking lot about fifteen minutes after we got in position, and there could be no doubt at all about who they were. They came nosing in slowly, checking the area out carefully in a way that was completely unlike a trendy late-night diner looking for a parking spot, and just exactly like a crew of professional killers looking over a kill zone. From where I waited I could just make out one man in the passenger seat, turning slowly around and putting his eyes everywhere. Just visible, as the car crawled under one of the streetlights that lit up the parking lot, was another man on the far side, behind the driver. And the driver himself made three, just as Brian had said—unless someone was crouched down on the car’s floor, hiding. It didn’t seem likely. The two faces I saw seemed quite confident, relaxed. And why not? They were heavily armed, and they were here first. And they were professionals, setting up one frightened amateur who didn’t have the faintest suspicion that he was walking into a trap.
The car paused at the end of the lot farthest away from the restaurant and facing down a bordering alley. It was exactly where Brian and I had hoped they would stop, since it put the getaway car where they would want it, positioned for a quick departure, and also allowed the two shooters to see all around the area as they worked into position for their ambush.
It was also right where I was waiting, crouched in the darkness between the last car in the lot and the adjacent building.
And so, as the driver put the SUV into park and the two shooters reached down for their weapons, I stepped out of my hiding place and tapped on the passenger window with my left hand. An annoyed face looked up at me. He had an enormous mustache, three little teardrop tattoos at the corner of his eye, and a scar on his forehead. I smiled at him, and it took him almost two full seconds to recognize my face—far too much time, alas for him. Just as his eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to shout a warning, Brian stepped out from behind a parked car on the other side and shot the gunman behind the driver. As the one I was smiling at jerked around to see his partner die, I shot him in the back of the head, twice.
The car’s window exploded from my shots and Mr. Mustache pitched sideways into the driver. I reached in through the shattered glass and opened the car’s door. The driver gaped at me in horror, and then began to scrabble at the seat beside him for a pistol. I leaned in and shoved the barrel of my Ruger roughly into his ear hole. “Don’t,” I said.
Very obligingly, the driver froze. “Hands on the wheel,” I told him. He hesitated, and I twisted the pistol vigorously in his ear.
“Ayah!” he said.
“Manos,” I told him, nodding at the wheel. “¡Los dos!”
He put his hands on the wheel, and a moment later Brian opened the back door of the car. I heard a heavy thud as the gunman on Brian’s side fell out onto the pavement. “Oops,” Brian said, followed by, “Oh, Ee-bahng! Is it really you?” He leaned in and patted the driver on the head. “That’s how he says his name, ‘Ivan,’?” Brian said. “Cuban pronunciation. Ee-bahng is Cuban.”
“Wonderful,” I said.
“Ee-bahng is Raul’s mad bomber,” Brian said happily, ruffling Ivan’s hair playfully. “I bet he brought some toys!”
“I’m sure he did,” I said. “Can we get moving, please?”
“One more second,” Brian said. He leaned in and looked into the back. “Thought so!” he said, and came up with a heavy canvas gym bag. “I’ve always wanted to play with these,” he said. “And it might come in handy.”
He put the bag down gingerly and then yanked open the driver’s door of the SUV, shoving his pistol in Ivan’s face, smushing the man’s nose roughly to one side. “Ee-bahng! ¡Afuera!” and for emphasis he rapped Ivan on the forehead with the barrel of his pistol. “¡Ahora!”
Ivan hissed in pain. A small rill of blood started down his face from where Brian had hit him, and he fumbled himself out of the seat, stumbled out of the car and into Brian’s grasp.
I heard a door slam, and glanced toward the restaurant. Frank Kraunauer was hurrying across the lot toward us. I hissed, “Brian!” and ducked reflexively back into darkness. My brother glanced up, and he actually smiled, very close to a believable smile, too. “How perfect,” Brian said. He slid down to a crouch directly behind Ivan and jammed his pistol into the base of the bomber’s spine. “Sonrisa,” he hissed. “No dice nada, ¿comprendes?” Smile. Say nothing. Ivan nodded numbly.
And then Kraunauer was there, moving quickly around to face Ivan. “Is it done?” he said. “Where’s the—Urk!” He jumped back as Brian straightened and faced him and then, as I stepped out of the shadows and came into view, too, Kraunauer stumbled back one more step. “How—” he said. And then, just as I was preparing a sharp, withering riposte that would settle Frank Kraunauer’s hash once and for all with great wit as well as with perfect justice, he moved his hand—moved it so fast that I didn’t really see the gun he was holding until a half second later, when Brian’s gun went off: once, twice, three shots.
Frank Kraunauer took a jerky half step back with each shot. And then, for a long moment, he stood there looking surprised. He frowned at the little pistol in his hand, as if it was all the weapon’s fault. And then he took a last slow step backward and collapsed as if his leg bones had been removed.
Brian watched him fall, still smiling, and then looked at me. “Oh,” he said. His smile vanished. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m afraid you’re going to need a new attorney.”
I was sorry, too, but I was more concerned with getting out of here before someone else came running out and saw us.
“I’ll find somebody online later,” I said, glancing around us anxiously. “We need to go. Sooner or later somebody will report that they heard shots.”
“Even in Miami,” Brian agreed.
