by Adam Smith
Max slid back into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. He was rewarded with a purring cough that changed into roaring enthusiasm as the stalled vehicle returned to life. As his friends slid into their seats, Max backed the car out of the shattered front entryway and swung around to face the driveway.
“Well, you two,” Max said casually, “anywhere you want me to drop you? Cab fare is free tonight.”
“The night is still young,” Kate said. “I wouldn’t mind continuing the date we started earlier at the mall.”
When Max glanced at her, the baker smiled at him. A slow smile spread across Max’s face as he sat looking at Kate. Fleeing criminals ran past the car and escaped into the night, but Max didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on her pretty blue gaze. “Yeah?”
Kate nodded, and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Sounds good to me,” Max said, “but you’re gonna have to give me a rain check. I’ve already got a date tonight, and she’s spicy as hell.”
As Max threw the car into drive and roared off down the driveway, an expression of utter bewilderment crossed Kate’s beautiful face.
Chapter 26
The Sweet Taste of Victory
A ditzy feminine voice shrieked, “Look out, the werewolves are coming!”
Gunshots rang out as another woman answered in a husky moan, “Hold on, girl, I’m still busy killing all these robot assassins!”
The greasy light inside the Taqueria Del Ranas gleamed along the length of the golden pistol Max had tossed on the bar. Amidst the smell of cooking meat and the din of multiple televisions playing different shows all over the room, the ex-cop sat on his usual barstool and leaned against the polished wood of the bar. His attention was locked on the flat screen hanging behind the bar.
Nick sat on his left and Kate on his right, each of them leaning their folded arms against the bar just as Max was. Mugs of beer in hand, the three friends were relaxing together.
Kate watched the film with the same rapt attention as the two cops. “Undead Bikini Bimbos isn’t so bad once you get into the story,” she said as she took another sip of her beer.
Struggling light from the few working fixtures flickered across a rowdy crowd of customers. The restaurant was hopping tonight, and everyone was packed in to watch sports games playing on big screens hanging from the walls.
Behind the bar, Adán Vera stood with his thick arms folded as he leaned sideways against the bar. Black curls bounced as the muscular, dark-skinned man shook his head and eyed the three friends, whose gazes remained locked on the screen behind the bar. The intro of Undead Bikini Bimbos 4: Jugs of Justice played at high volume while the chef prepared the meals they’d ordered.
When the high-octane intro of the movie shifted to a slower talking scene, Adán broke in. “Hey, Max, you ever catch those punks who trashed your lunch? I’ve seen some guys go crazy over their meal getting wrecked. One customer in here even punched another guy over some spilled tacos.”
Max dragged his gaze away from what was rapidly becoming his new favorite superhero film to look at his friend. “Yeah, I caught up to them.” As he answered, the ex-cop’s gaze lifted just beyond the taqueria owner’s shoulder to another screen playing on mute.
That television showed a local news broadcast taking place at Papa Sal’s destroyed mansion. The newscast displayed a long row of black body bags before flicking to an aerial shot of the burning garage. A red banner with the words Gang War? was plastered across the bottom of the screen.
“We, uh, settled things.”
“Well, that’s good,” Adán said. “Not good to carry grudges, bro. Anger makes a man do crazy things.”
Nick picked up his glass mug of beer and raised it overhead. “A toast. To a hasty job done well.”
“To new friends,” Kate called enthusiastically. Her smile lit up her whole face and filled her eyes with sparkling light. The sight warmed Max’s heart.
The ex-cop hoisted his own mug. “To burritos.”
The three friends laughed and tossed back their foaming beers.
Dishes clanged as the chef set three plated meals up on the metal counter, and Adán scooped them up. With a flourish, the taqueria owner deposited an aluminum-wrapped burrito before each of the three companions.
As his friends pried open their own meals, Max hefted his burrito with both hands. With careful fingers, he plucked at the edge of the aluminum foil and unwrapped it in a spiral motion, exposing the fleshy tortilla within. Savory steam rose and tickled his nose, and the ex-cop let out a sigh of longing as he lifted the treasured sustenance.
Max opened his mouth and prepared to sink his teeth into the burrito.
“Excuse me, Mister Cain?” A man’s deep voice behind him dragged Max to a halt. His mouth, an inch from biting into his meal, snapped shut, and he swiveled his stool to face the speaker.
Three men in black suits stood five feet behind the friends. Max’s heart skipped a beat before he realized they weren’t gangsters. From their identical crew cut hairstyles to their polished wingtip shoes, every inch of the three suited men screamed “Fed” to Max’s cop brain.
“Mister Cain?” the Fed in the center asked again. He had wide shoulders, green eyes, and a jagged scar running down his left cheek to the jawline.
Still holding his burrito in front of his closed mouth, Max gave a single nod.
The green-eyed Fed nodded in return and held out his hand. “I’m Agent Johnson. I’m here to offer you a job.”
With a blank expression on his face, Max watched the scarred Fed for another heartbeat before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into the burrito. As he chewed the huge bite, juicy carne asada fell apart on his tongue. Rice soaked up the juices, and beans burst open to spill their warm contents into the mix.
The exquisite flavors danced across Max’s tongue and lit a fire within his soul.
About the author
Adam Lane Smith is an all-American husband and father. He has lived in the North, South, East, and West of the United States. He spends his days on a farm in Wisconsin telling bad jokes to his patient wife and kids who have a secret love for bad jokes. He believes that the Oxford comma is worth fistfighting over. In his spare time, he studies psychology and is a student of the human spirit. He wanted to grow up someday to become a productive member of society, but became an author instead.
The author can be reached by email at [email protected] and on Twitter as @adamsmithauthor. His website is AdamLaneSmith.com, where readers can sign up for his email list to be notified of sequels and upcoming new releases!
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