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Sure enough, it was a fucking George Washington.
I hobbled over to the bag, which had been torn open by the slide and had strewn out stacks of cash all over the place.
It made no sense – there were stacks on the top with hundred dollar bills –
But as soon as I flipped through them, I could see it was just a couple hundreds on top of a shitload of ones.
MOTHERFUCKING RODRIGO –
He must have been planning to massacre us and take the meth, then sell it on the side. That way he wouldn’t have to risk getting caught by the cartel, and he could just pocket a cool $20 million when he sold the meth off on the street.
Shoulda known never to trust a fuckin’ Santa Muerte.
I thought about grabbing a few stacks, but what was the point? I couldn’t carry enough to make it worth my while, and it would only slow me down.
I was furious – enraged – but I made myself calm down. There was only one thing worth thinking about now, and that was escaping.
Which way?
The DEA was behind me, and somebody – Jack, most likely, and maybe that whore of his – was in front of me.
A hundred Feds, or a couple of assholes. No choice at all.
I’d already killed two cops tonight – might as well bag me an asshole ex-president.
I pulled out my Colt .357 and headed into the gasworks.
170
Fiona
Icould hear Sid over my earpiece: “I just shot out Lou’s front tire.”
Sid was on top of one of the towers and was using a night scope on his rifle. He’d been trying to give us updates on the showdown, but the dust kicked up by the motorcycles had made him think he’d lost Lou –
Until the dumbass came roaring out of the dust cloud, straight for the gasworks.
Jack and I were hiding behind a rusty tower of the gasworks, listening to the motorcycle engines roaring and helicopter blades chopping the air. We’d managed to sneak in using the Escalade by swinging in from the highway four miles away and coming in with our lights off. We’d been worried about someone seeing us, but luckily Dan Peters had arrived with a huge amount of fanfare that distracted everyone concerned. We’d been able to get pretty damn close to the gasworks and then hoof it the rest of the way on foot.
“Is he dead?” Jack asked.
“Naah, he’s on his feet. Apparently the Mexican fucked him over on the money, cuz he’s not takin’ any of it. Okay, now he’s headed your way on foot. You want me to put him down for good?”
“No,” Jack said. “He’s mine.”
“This guy just popped Peters and another cop. He ain’t gonna take it easy on you for old time’s sake. And if I don’t shoot him now, I ain’t gonna be able to see him once he gets inside the gasworks.”
“If you shoot him right now,” I said, “the DEA will charge you with murder.”
“Or give me a medal.”
“I said he’s MINE,” Jack repeated.
“Alright. Good luck. You too, Fee.”
“Stay here,” Jack said to me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked as I pulled out my gun. “No way.”
