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This was fucked UP.
Rodrigo screamed, “You said you had the cops nailed down tight!”
“I do!” I yelled. “Don’t worry – hold on, I got this!”
I walked out slowly away from my Harley with my hands up. “Dan?”
“Stop right there, Lou,” Dan’s voice rumbled over a bullhorn.
“What the fuck, Dan?” I yelled.
“Get down on the ground, Lou, and tell everybody to put down their weapons, or it’s going to get ugly.”
“Dan, this is bullshit – look, let’s talk this out – ”
“You get ONE warning shot, Lou. ONE.”
“Dan – ”
BLAM.
The dirt kicked up at my feet.
“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” I screamed. I ran for my Harley and crouched down safe behind it.
“I told you – one warning shot, Lou. You’re not gonna get a second one.”
I saw my guys all looking at me to see what to do. I held my hand out at them.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled.
In my mind, though, I added one word: yet.
I pulled out my cell phone and sent a text to Sloane:
At the gasworks
Dan and cops are here
need help NOW
As I texted, Dan prattled smugly over his bullhorn. “That’s right – listen to Lou and play it smart. All you Midnight Riders and all you damn Mexicans, lay down your weapons or – ”
Rodrigo apparently didn’t care to play it smart.
“VAMANOS!” he screamed as he cranked his engine while standing next to his bike, then jumped on. His entire gang followed suit.
“STOP,” Peters yelled, “or we’ll open fire!”
The Santa Muerte with the duffel bag – the only one of Rodrigo’s men not standing next to his ride – ran for his Harley.
Shit – there goes my fuckin’ money –
One shot rang out from the cops, and the bag man went down.
Or maybe not.
That gunshot was like somebody starting a race. The Santa Muertes took off in a dozen different directions, a blur of chrome and leather.
