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I was going to have to have a talk with that shithead after this was all over.
But I continued my performance. “I got no love for Jack Pollari – in fact, I put 50 grand on the motherfucker’s head last night. Any of your boys wanna bring him to me, I’d be happy to pay up. And you can do whatever you want with him beforehand. He can show up in pieces for all I care.”
“I’m gonna skull-fuck that pinche puto!” Rodrigo raged. “I’m gonna cut off his fuckin’ balls and shove ‘em down his throat!”
“Be my guest. Just don’t blame me or my boys for somethin’ Jack did.”
“I heard he ain’t alone!” Rodrigo shouted. “I heard he’s working with his puta ex-wife and her gang of marícons.”
I was glad Sloane wasn’t here to hear this. Would’ve made my plan a little tougher to execute.
“That’s the theory,” I agreed.
“If what you say is true – if the Midnight Riders didn’t have nothin’ to do with Jack killin’ Hector and Loco – I want you cabróns to back us in takin’ out Sloane and the Bastards!”
I pretended to mull it over. “Okay… I can do that.”
My guys murmured. They hadn’t been expecting that.
“…alright, then,” Rodrigo relented. “We do the deal.”
“Excellent. You got the money?”
“Yeah. You got the ice?”
“Up there on the truck. I’ll even throw the truck in for free.”
“Alright,” Rodrigo said, and clicked his fingers. One of the Santa Muertes got off his bike and started walking towards me with a black duffel bag over his shoulder.
God damn, I could smell that money from here. I was drooling.
The bag man was ten feet away when I heard the engines.
168
They were coming down the highway, revving hot – but no fucking lights. I couldn’t tell how many there were, but it sounded like a lot.
“Who the fuck is that?!” Rodrigo shouted as he and the rest of the Santa Muertes drew pistols and assault rifles.
“I got no fuckin’ idea,” I yelled back, although I was worried it might be Jack. Maybe even Sloane double-crossing me.
Rodrigo looked like he was about to breathe fire. “If this is you tryin’ to fuck me, Lou, I swear to God – ”
“I got no fuckin’ clue!” I roared.
And I didn’t.
Not until the headlights came on and the blue and red lights started up.
Oh God, NO.
A voice came over a loudspeaker as the cop cars roared up from all directions.
“This is the police – you are surrounded. Throw down your weapons and put your hands in the air.”
The police cruisers stopped out in a perimeter about three hundred feet from me, the Riders, and the Santa Muertes. Sixty cops leapt out of the cars and positioned themselves behind their doors, guns aimed.
All my guys were behind their rides, and all the Santa Muertes were behind theirs, guns aimed at the cops.
