Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

Arturo picked his teeth with a fingernail. "What could go wrong?"

Thorpe drove over the broken gate and onto the gravel road, keeping it in first gear, taking his time. He had rolled his window down, and the breeze brought in the stink of rotting oranges. He tilted his rearview mirror, tried to get a glimpse of Vlad and Arturo, but the angle was wrong. The Land Rover hit a pothole, bouncing him forward. Looking through the trees, he could see the Town Car, the trunk open wide, ready to take a big bite.

He was sweating, but he kept the air conditioner off. Better to be soaked than to get the shakes. He needed all his steadiness now. One of Guillermo's pistoleros lay inside the trunk of the Town Car, crammed into a cubbyhole under the spare tire with a full-auto M249 machine gun, a SAW. Thorpe couldn't see the gun, but he could feel the man sighting in on him. Hathaway had told him the SAW was equipped with a couple of belts of military ordnance, rounds that would go through an engine block like vanilla yogurt, rounds that would tear Thorpe apart as he sat behind the wheel, rounds that would chew up Vlad and Arturo as they approached, before they even stopped their car. All the Kevlar in the world wouldn't save Arturo. Or Vlad, either. A strange, sad duck. Not an evil bone in his body, but he had probably lost count of all the people he had killed. What had Hathaway said? Vlad and Arturo had taken out five of Guillermo's dealers in one weekend, killed everyone they found, men, women, and children… babies in their cribs. Not even counting Ray Bishop, and Bishop did count. No, he and Arturo both had to go.

The driver of the Town Car pulled an orange off the nearest tree, wound up, and fired it at a nearby sprinkler head, splattering pulp. One of the boys of summer in baggy jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, probably an Uzi inside a rosin bag under his shirt. The driver picked another orange.

Thorpe carefully steered around another pothole, rolled over one of the trees that the Town Car had flattened. He had to blink to keep the sweat out of his eyes, but a tiny rivulet squirmed from his hairline and rolled behind his ear as he stared at the trunk of the Town Car. Hathaway had assured Thorpe that he would be in the backseat, sitting right next to Guillermo to make sure that Thorpe survived the execution of Vlad and Arturo, when the instinct was not to leave any witnesses. "You ain't a witness, Frank. You're a co-conspirator," Hathaway had said, laughing.

Thorpe eased the Land Rover toward the edge of the road, out of the direct line of fire, and slowly rolled to a stop. He turned off the ignition, his hands steady, his mind clear. He touched the 9-mm tucked into his waistband. He wasn't ready for anything, but he was ready enough. That was Thorpe's motto. "Frank stopped the car," said Vlad. "We should get going."

"Not yet," said Arturo, watching the dust billow across the Town Car through the binoculars.

"Frank said-"

Arturo patted Vlad on the back. "I know you like him, but that's not enough."

"Clark said we were supposed to work with him."

"Clark lets Missy tell him what to do. A real man does not do that. We're going to have to have a long talk with him. Set him straight."

"Frank is getting out." Vlad rechecked the assault rifle slung under his arm, worked the action. "We should go." "Howdy, Frank, fine afternoon, isn't it?" The driver of the Town Car was Danny Hathaway. The inside of the car was empty.

Thorpe glanced back to where Vlad and Arturo were parked on the ridge above the grove, then back at Hathaway. "What happened?"

"At the last minute, Guillermo decided that he didn't want to get involved."

"He didn't want to get involved, but he loaned you his armored car?"

Hathaway plucked a desiccated orange off the nearest tree, hefted it before letting fly. A miss. "Actually, it wasn't a loan." He grinned. "I kicked him and his two bodyguards out at a miniature golf course in Santa Ana, told them to play a round on me. Guillermo didn't think it was funny, but he never did have a sense of humor."

Thorpe turned his head so that he could keep track of Vlad and Arturo. The Lexus was still parked in the same spot. "What do you want to do now?"

Hathaway opened the rear door of the Town Car, pretended to talk to someone inside, then slipped into the backseat, crawled forward on his belly. "Same as you want to do. I can handle the SAW better than Guillermo's shooter anyway."

Thorpe strolled around to the side of the car, positioned himself so that his face was partially blocked by one of the trees. Even with his binoculars, Arturo wouldn't be able to tell that Thorpe was talking. "Can you see the road from in there?"

"No problem." Hathaway's voice was muffled. "It's hot in here, though… and Guillermo's shooter was a lot smaller than me."

"We won't have to wait long."

"We can drive away if you want, Frank. This thing is built like a bank vault. You can flip them the bird as we drive past."

It was tempting. What they were planning was murder, legally anyway, not morally, and the distinction between the two had caused Thorpe grief his whole life. He beckoned to the Lexus. "No, I'm good for it."

"You know the rules of engagement," said Hathaway.

Thorpe touched the 9-mm under his shirt. "Yeah, there are no rules."

Hathaway's laugh sounded hollow from under the spare tire. "Let's get down there," said Vlad.

Arturo put down his binoculars, started the car. "Forget Frank's little pep talk. Here's the way it will happen. Just past the gate, there's a big pothole. I'll take it fast, so the car will really dip, and when I do, you roll out your door and into the gully by the right side of the road. Guillermo and his pistoleros won't be able to see clearly through the smoked glass of the Town Car. Then you scurry up the gully, keeping ahead of me. When I get there, we hit them at the same time."

Vlad shook his head. "Better I move behind your car after I roll out, then cut left through the trees. I'll keep low, move fast; there's enough brush to screen me. They'll be watching you approach in the car, and I'll catch them from behind. They'll all be dead before you hit the brakes."

Arturo considered it, nodded. "You're right."

"Arturo… you should be careful when you start firing. You don't want to hit Frank."

"No, we wouldn't want that." As Arturo put the Lexus into gear, his phone beeped.

"At least it's not Missy, asking if it's over yet," said Vlad.

"I've been waiting on this call," said Arturo. He listened as he watched the Town Car. "You're sure?" He smiled and then snapped the phone shut.

"Good news?"

Arturo stared through the windshield at the orange grove, his face darkening now. "I just wish the call had come through ten minutes ago."

"What is it, Arturo?"

"Clark and Missy's new best friend is a liar. Guillermo didn't have our cookers killed."

"Maybe Guillermo lied to him."

"Why do you always take his side?" asked Arturo.

"I'm not." Vlad nodded toward the Town Car. "Let's go down and take care of business… We can ask Frank to explain things when we're done."

Arturo shook his head. "If Guillermo didn't kill our cookers, maybe he's not our problem." He chewed on his thumbnail.

"You should call Clark. Ask him what he wants us to do."

"I don't need to call anyone," said Arturo. "No, we'll let Frank explain to Guillermo why we backed out. It should be a most interesting conversation. I just wish I could piss on the pendejo's body after Guillermo gets done with him." He slipped the Lexus into gear, pulled out onto the main road. "Let's go to Santa Ana and pay a visit to someone who will be very unhappy to see us. Would you like that?"

Vlad stared out the window. Thorpe watched the Lexus drive away. "You can come out now."