Big Bob said something to Breeze then, with Winchester in hand, walked east through the tall grass.
Sam stepped off and walked out to meet Big Bob.
• • •
“That should be me,” Sardine said, watching it play out in the crosshairs of his scope.
“Needs be, you want me to take Sam or the big Italian?” Cracker also had his scope to his eye.
“The bitch is mine.” Sardine targeted Sam’s head.
• • •
Sam looked straight at the huge man coming toward her, then flicked her eyes down to scan the ground. If she tripped in a gopher hole, carnage and destruction would paint the meadow.
They stopped a few feet apart.
“What do you say, Bob?” Sam sidled to the left slightly, giving Jacob a clean shot.
• • •
Jacob tasted bile. His stomach hurt, had been knotted from the moment he picked up the M16. A cold wind pressed against his back, blowing his long hair forward. He didn’t dare take his hand off the trigger long enough to sweep it back. He kept the iron sights planted dead center on the huge hillbilly. At this distance, even with a clear shot he wasn’t sure he could avoid hitting his sister. She’d told him she would make it simple—if she went down he was to throw the entire clip at the fat fuck. His heart was pounding like a frightened jackrabbit. This is when you discover just what kind of man you are. Travis Bickel or Richie Cunningham? Bullets don’t lie. Fuck.
• • •
Big Bob looked past Sam to the Italians and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice. “See you brung the asswipe coward that sucker-punched and kicked me in the head.”
“Bob, you aren’t harboring any ill feelings are you?”
“Not harboring anything. I hate the guy.”
“That’s what—”
“I get a chance, I’m gonna shove my boot so deep up his wop ass he can wear it as a hat.”
“The boot or the ass?” Sam asked.
“What?”
“Which is he going to wear as a hat?”
“Um.” Big Bob blinked two, three times. “I’m gonna fuck him up, all I’m saying.”
“Got it. How about we leave that for later, and you, Bob, tell me how Breeze wants to handle this.”
Big Bob told her to send her punk brother over to them. When they had him, Breeze would meet with Binasco. “Anyone fucks with Breeze, we cut the kid down.”
Sam stared up at the monster hillbilly. “You hurt my brother, I’ll kill you.”
“You kinda have to say that, don’t you? Him being kin and all.”
“I will.”
“OK.” Big Bob just stared at her. He waited while she walked back through the grass.
• • •
Jacob didn’t relax his stance as Sam moved toward him. The huge hillbilly had the rifle resting in the crook of his arm, still a threat. Jacob kept his finger on the trigger until Sam was safely behind the Galaxie. He set the gun down, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans. He listened while she explained they wanted him as a hostage before Breeze would come out in the open.
“Val will have you covered the whole time.” Sam lit a cigarette, took a hit and passed it to him. “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if she didn’t.”
“Yes, you would, because you don’t see any other way this plays out. We don’t know where Val is or what she’ll be covering.”
“Callum and the feds are out there too, watching. He won’t let you get hurt.”
“Again, maybe si, maybe no. He is or isn’t out there, and he will or won’t act. Variables. Lots and lots of variables.”
“Don’t do it then. Your call, Jake. We can pack up and jet right now.” She took back the cigarette and inhaled.
“No, actually, we can’t. You and I know that. We run, they will give chase. Either Maurizio’s family or these Deliverance rejects or the feds will nail us. I wimp out, we all pay.”
“Or we choose door number three, little brother.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, there’s always a door number three—we draw down on these pricks and blast away. Any luck Maurizio and Breeze will kill each other, and the feds will clean up the rest.”
Jacob stood. “How about, no one gets shot today.” He leaned the M16 against the Galaxie’s trunk and walked out into the open.
“I will get you out of this, Jake, I will.”
“Our wills and fates do so contrary run,” Jacob said.
“Shakespeare?”
“Hamlet. You will try, and then what happens, will happen. No deus ex machina, I fear.”
“Will you settle for deus ex Valentina?”
“Sure.” Fighting the trembling that threatened to take over, Jacob walked past his sister and into the meadow.
“Don’t do nothing stupid.” Big Bob aimed at Jacob’s belly.
“I’m cool.” Jacob kept his hands away from his body and let Big Bob pat him down.
“Let’s get to it.” Big Bob shoved the Winchester’s barrel between Jacob’s shoulder blades and pushed him toward Breeze. At the touch of the steel it got real. Jacob’s stomach lurched. Involuntarily he bent over and puked up a mixture of organic muffin, coffee and bile.
“Son, that’s disgusting.”
“Said the man with shit-brown teeth.” Jacob’s fear was driving his words, as if he thought speaking would keep him alive. Knew it was bullshit. Couldn’t help it.
“The hell you say?”
“Nothing.” Jacob wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Just that people with not only shit-brown teeth but brown drool staining their beards really shouldn’t throw stones. Glass houses being what they are.”
“I hope Sam screws this up and I get to pop you.” Shoving the barrel again, Big Bob marched Jacob to where the other hillbillies were standing around the Dodge 4x4.
“It’s the little man with the big words,” Breeze said, then looked from Jacob to Clem, a walleyed man holding a Ruger Blackhawk. “If they even look like they want to play us, make him into a stain in the grass.”
“A grass stain?” Jacob tried to shut up, really he did, he couldn’t help it. “I bet that sounded much tougher in your head.”
Breeze grabbed the carbine from Big Bob and cracked the butt against the bridge of Jacob’s nose. Pain flooded in. Jacob’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground, holding his face. Blood ran through his fingers. Oddly, now that it was happening he felt some relief. The pain was real, but not as devastating as he thought it would be.
“What, nothing funny to say now, huh? Nothing?”
Jacob slowly shook his head.
• • •
When Sam saw Breeze hit Jacob, she started to move. Maurizio put out his arm stopping her. “Think about it, girl. Your brother has some stones, let him play his hand.”
“Fuck that.”
“No, fuck us if you get emotional and blow the deal. You sold me on this cash for pot deal. I, in turn, sold my uncle on the idea that I would invest his cash in pot. Screw this up and those backwoods balordi will be the last goddamn thing any of us will worry about.”
Across the field Sam saw her brother stand. His legs wobbled, but he stood.
• • •
Valentina flicked the sight from Breeze to the man holding the revolver aimed at Jacob. If she fired, she wasn’t sure she could turn off the man’s motor functions before he shot Jacob. Hell, at three hundred feet using iron sites she wasn’t sure she could make the shot at all.
• • •
“Let’s get this done,” Sam said. “Terry, you’re up.”
Terry checked the load on his snubnose for the umpteenth time.
Sam hung the M16’s sling over her shoulder. She nodded at Maurizio and Jo Jo. The four of them crossed the field. Breeze moved out and met them midway. He was walking with a cane and had developed a pronounced limp.
Jo Jo stepped up to search Breeze.
“I don’t carry a piece.”
“Mr. Binasco wants to be sure
you aren’t wearing a wire.”
“He wants to know what? Fine, here.” Breeze lifted his polyester shirt, rumpling the tiger print. He turned in a circle, showing them his pale chest. Next he dropped his pants. A bandage around his thigh where Sam had shot him oozed a little blood. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, but he didn’t seem to care as he did another circle.
Maurizio looked Breeze up and down taking his full measure. “You the babbo took my cash?”
Breeze pulled up his pants. “To be fully accurate, Sam here took your cash. I stole Sam’s cash.”
“To be fully accurate, I don’t give rat’s ass. You had it, and she tells me you spent it or lost it. Point is, you don’t have it. You should get down on your knees and thank her. Wasn’t for this one, you would be dead. She convinced me to accept your product as payment in kind. Quality is the final question.” Maurizio nodded at Terry. “That is where he comes in.”
Breeze smiled. “Your royal taster?”
“Something like that.” Maurizio let his face go stone still. Together they walked back to the Power Wagon. Big Bob and two other hillbillies stepped back, but kept their hands on their guns, ready. Clem kept the Ruger pointed at the back of Jacob’s head.
“Breeze, friend to friend,” Sam said, “a sniper has you dialed in. Anything happens to Jake or any of my crew . . . You see my point. You might want to have your boys relax. Anyone’s gun goes off, you will be dropped.”
Breeze glanced around the woods ringing the meadow. “I used to like you.”
“Had a damn funny way of showing it.”
“That was business, baby, just business,” Breeze said, reaching into his jacket. Everyone froze. Breeze laughed, showing a tortoise shell cigarette case. Opening it, he pulled out a joint. Maurizio shook his head and pointed at the Dodge.
“You aren’t a real trusting mother-trucker are you?” Breeze asked.
Maurizio shook his head again.
“Keeping your mouth shut, just in case one of my boys is wired?”
Maurizio nodded. Then flicked his eyes from Terry to the Dodge. On the middle seat sat a large pile of kilo bricks, each wrapped in a black plastic garbage bag and taped tight. Terry took one from the middle of the pile. Jo Jo snapped his stiletto open and passed it to Terry, who made a small slit in the plastic. Taking out a bud he did his connoisseur routine—rolled it between a finger and thumb, sniffed it, then took out his Zig-Zags, broke the bud up and expertly rolled a joint.
The revolver pressed against Jacob’s skull, cold and menacing. His eyes met Terry’s. This was the deepest down the rabbit hole either of the friends had ever been. Movies made it look cool and fun. This was real. Fuck up and it’s permanent.
Terry looked away before Jacob’s panic-stricken eyes infected him. He concentrated on his lighter and the joint. Firing the Bic, he let the paper at the tip burn down before taking a deep hit. He held it, offering the joint to Maurizio, who shook his head. Terry looked at the others, holding out the joint.
Big Bob started to reach for it.
Breeze slapped Big Bob’s outstretched hand. “This ain’t a hootenanny, you fucking hayseed.”
Big Bob looked pissed, clutched the Winchester.
Terry jetted a stream of smoke and grinned. “Solid. Nice mellow coming on hard. Yeah, it is the goods. Should go forty, fifty a lid if you brand it right, catchy name. Humboldt Haymaker or some such.”
Sam nodded broadly, her eyes flicking to the forest, searching for Callum and his people, hoping they got her signal.
Clem’s Ruger was still on Jacob, but he was looking at Breeze.
A bucktoothed, balding towhead aimed a twelve-gauge goose gun at Terry’s chest. From three feet he couldn’t miss. Terry would have been freaking out, except the pot’s buzz was keeping his head calm.
“Hundred and sixty large profit,” Breeze said to Maurizio. “All that green and you ain’t even smiling a little bit?”
Maurizio shrugged and spun his finger in the air, telling his people to wrap it up.
Jo Jo collected the Lincoln, drove it across the meadow. It wasn’t long before the trunk was loaded.
Maurizio leaned into Jo Jo and whispered in his ear, using him as his mouthpiece. “Boss says he is pleased with the deal. He wants to know if you can provide the same product next month.”
“Hell, yes. I got enough drying in these hills to make us both rich men.”
“Good. He’ll be in touch.”
“What about Sam and her crew? They traveling under your protection?” Breeze asked.
Maurizio whispered again to Jo Jo, who looked angry but repeated his boss’s words. “He says fuck her. Sorry, Sam.” He gave her a sad nod.
“Really?” Sam said. “Fuck me? I just made you a bundle.”
“You also ripped him off, so you’re pretty even.” Jo Jo looked from her to Breeze. “Let her crew walk or bury them. They’re yours to do what you will.” Jo Jo’s eyes rested for a moment on Jacob’s terrified face. Turning quickly away, Jo Jo walked to the Lincoln and got behind the wheel.
Maurizio took one more look at Breeze, then at Sam’s angry eyes. He shrugged and climbed in the back of the big black sedan.
Breeze waited until the Italians disappeared into the forest, then slowly turned on Sam, his face hardening.
CHAPTER 32
* * *
“Do not go gentle into that good night.” —Dylan Thomas
“Breeze, Breeze, think. Sniper,” Sam said. “You want revenge, or you want a walk away?”
“Not really sure at this moment. On the one hand, I’m pissed. But the other hand is full of cash.”
“Look at it this way. I brought you a steady buyer. He is going to break you into the lucrative San Francisco market. Fact is, you should kick us a taste. You know, cover my crew and costs.” Sam’s eyes kept flicking to the trees. Where the fuck was Callum?
“You got some balls on you, Sam.”
“They’re called ovaries—solid steel, clank when I walk.” She turned from Breeze to the walleyed man standing over her kneeling brother. “Clem?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“You really want to take the gun off my brother.” She made an exaggerated gesture, pointing at Clem.
“What’s that?” Clem’s eyes darted from Sam down to Jacob and back. “What are you doing?”
“Telling my snipers that you go first. Can you feel death calling your name?” She whispered his name, slow and spooky.
“Breeze?” Clem was starting to look worried.
“You keep the pistol on that boy. Don’t and I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Sure, sure, Breeze, just—”
“No just. Big Bob, get me Sam’s parting gift.” Breeze snapped his fingers and Big Bob dropped the tailgate of the Dodge and dragged out a trussed up man with a gunnysack over his head. Big Bob dropped the man at Breeze’s feet. With the flourish of a magician Breeze whipped the bag off.
Callum blinked. Even in the dimming late afternoon light, his eyes needed to adjust. He tried to speak but it came out a jumbled mumble through his bloodstained gag.
“I’d offer him a last meal, but ’fraid he couldn’t eat it,” Breeze said with a cruel smile.
Sam’s heart started to pound as it sank in that they were alone and very likely going to die.
“Turns out your ex-boyfriend is a cop,” Breeze said. “Had me fooled. Then again, I wasn’t balling the dude. You must feel real stupid.”
“Son of a bitch is many things, but he isn’t a cop. I’d have known.” Sam fought for calm.
“You would think so. But nope. Sheriff Winslow intercepted a message from Washington. Word is, this piece of shit was coming after me. DE fucking A. He’s one of Nixon’s boys.”
“Ironic, you used him to set me up for this whole ride, all the time he was setting you up.” Sam was riffing. As long as she was talking no one was getting shot. “One question, Breeze. I have to know. Did he give you my mother’s number? That how you knew where to find
me?”
“That he did, and yes it was,” Breeze said. “Thought you might want to pull the trigger. Hell hath no fury and all that.”
“Well fuck him, sure, but if he’s a cop, Breeze . . . you can’t kill a cop.”
“No, I can’t. That’s why I’m gonna have you do it.” Breeze put out his hand, palm up and Big Bob placed an old revolver in it. “Sam, you are going to shoot this piggly wiggly or I am going to shoot you and these fine young dudes. You choose.”
The towhead aimed at Terry. He had a vacant look that was maybe more frightening than anger.
Clem pressed the Ruger into the top of Jacob’s scalp.
Breeze placed the revolver in Sam’s hand. “You are out of options, little girl.”
“Don’t do it, Sam,” Jacob said. “They’ll kill us anyway, have to, to clean up loose ends.”
“Little bro has a dark world view,” Breeze said.
“Breeze, you promise me, I shoot him, you let us walk.”
“Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in a Boy Scout salute.
Sam looked down at Callum.
“Please, no,” Jacob said.
Sam aimed the revolver at Callum’s head.
Callum’s face went from pleading to resignation.
Breeze nodded to Big Bob, who took a Kodak Instamatic from his jacket pocket and tossed it to him. “Cheese,” Breeze said and snapped the shutter. The flashcube lit Sam pointing the gun at Callum. “OK, now a fun one, something goofy. No, I’m kidding. Just pull the trigger and we can get out of this cold and into a warm bar.”
“Don’t,” Jacob said.
Sam needed to save her brother and Terry.
She needed to pull the trigger.
“I can’t.”
“Then you choose piggly wiggly over little bro. Clem.” Breeze nodded at the hillbilly. “Time to earn your pay,”
“No. Wait. I’ll do it.” Sam was resolved. It is us or them. He is them. Them always loses out to us. She started to put pressure on the trigger. The hammer rose. The cylinder started to turn.
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