by DB Carpenter
"Could be," the banker replied as he flicked the cigarette butt onto the road and looked at Chris. "What do you want to do? We can give you a ride out to the main road, or drop you down by the McGuire place so you can have a look around. Your call."
"Are you crazy?" Jake exclaimed. "He wants to bring the fucking FBI right into our backyard, and you're going to give him a ride? Where's your head at?"
The banker snapped, "Didn't you hear what he said, Jake? The FBI is going to be dealing with the people he's after. Looking for this virus. They're hardly going to be interested in us are they? Sounds like they've got much bigger fish to fry."
"You're making a mistake," Jake said.
"I don't think so," Ted said as he stepped closer to the banker as if to emphasize their allegiance. "The Feds won't be interested in us. They'll have their hands full already and I'd rather give them who they're looking for than have them up here crawling all over the place and poking around willy-nilly. That's when we're really in trouble."
"Where's this McGuire place?" Chris asked.
Ted pointed off to the right. "Basically on the other side of that hill. The south side – sunny side."
"What time is it?" Jake suddenly asked.
"Ten-thirty," the banker replied. "Come on. We don't have time for this now." He pulled a pistol out of a shoulder holster concealed under his coat.
"No listen, you don't have to do this…" Chris started to plead. headlights suddenly flashed on and off three times down the road.
"That's them," Jake said.
He leaned through the driver's side window and flicked his lights on and off once. After a moment, the other car turned on its parking lights and moved slowly toward the men.
"What about him?" Jake asked as the car drew closer.
"Stand behind the car out of the way. This won't take long," the banker said to Chris, pushing him towards the rear of the car.
The approaching car stopped about twenty feet from them. Three men got out. The two groups of men were identically constructed, two thug types and a smarter dressed man. The new crew was much younger than the banker and his boys. The two thug types were physically ripped – lean, muscular, their arms scarred with splotchy prison tattoos. The smarter one wore a heavy black leather coat.
"You got the stuff, man?" The leader said to the banker in a thick Latino accent. His slicked back black hair glistened in the dull light.
"Where's Roach?" The banker replied.
"He couldn't make it today. He was tied up."
Jake and the banker exchanged glances.
"That's funny," the banker said. "I heard he got busted selling a Q.P. to an undercover cop in San Francisco."
The kid stayed cool. His two compadres were either mute or had nothing to say. They stood tensely at his side. "Who told you that?"
"It doesn't matter. Is it true?" The banker said.
"No way. He's cool, man."
The newcomers noticed Chris standing behind the car in the shadows.
"Who's he?"
The banker turned and glanced at him. "Nobody important, Miguel."
Miguel looked distrustfully at the banker. When Chris used to buy quantities of pot in college things were a lot different – no guns and gangs; just a trip to a hippie's house in the country with a little cash. They used to party together. Trade some cash for some pot. Those were the days.
"I'm worried, Miguel," the banker said.
"Me too," Jake chimed in.
The banker shot him a 'keep your mouth shut' look.
"About what?" Miguel asked.
"About you. I've got fifty pounds of shit in the trunk of my car with your name on it, but I like to feel good about who I do business with. I don't feel good about you anymore."
"What do you mean?" Miguel asked as he took a step toward the banker. "We've always done good business. I've got your money in the car."
"I think a couple of things," the banker said calmly. "First, I know that you're buying elsewhere and that pisses me off, but I can live with it. It's the second thing that's got me upset."
Miguel rocked from foot to foot bobbing his head rapidly. This could turn ugly in a hurry, and Chris slowly moved further behind the car.
"I've got a friend; let's call him Frank, just for the hell of it," the banker said. "My friend Frank just happens to work in the San Francisco Police Department. He likes to smoke a little reefer; we go way back. Anyway, he tells me that the cops busted this kid selling quarter pounds. Oh well, that happens every day, right?"
Miguel stared back at the banker blankly.
"Right?"
Miguel nodded. "I suppose."
"Do you know what doesn't happen every day, though?"
"What?"
"My name doesn't come up when the kid's spilling his guts to the cops. That's never happened before. The kid sings and drags me into his little fucking mess."
"Hey, man, I don't know nothing about that. Roach hasn't been busted in a year as far as I know."
"What'd I tell you," Jake said to Ted.
The banker looked at them, nodded, and continued, "That's the problem, Miguel. You're out of touch. These are your people. You've got to be in control and you're not. Each time you come here, you've got at least one new person with you."
The banker stepped forward to one of the men standing at Miguel's side. "Who the fuck are you?" The banker asked him. He turned back to Miguel without waiting for an answer. "Your organization is too loose for us to do business anymore, Miguel – too loose."
"So what are you saying?" Miguel asked. "You won't sell to me anymore?"
"Exactly," the banker replied. "Not unless you get a grip on what you're doing. You're doing too much volume to be as stupid as you are."
"This isn't good," Miguel replied. "We have people expecting us to come through tonight, and if we don't, there's going to be trouble."
Jake and Ted both leveled their shotguns at the others.
"Then it sounds like you're going to be in trouble because right now I wouldn't give you the sweat off my balls."
Miguel glared at the banker. His dark eyes narrowed. Chris could hear him cursing under his breath in Spanish. "This is not good, my friend, not good at all," Miguel said.
"It doesn't have to be good, Miguel. It's business. That's what you've got to learn. Now get back in your car and hit the road. I never want to see or hear from you again. Understand? And tell that rat Roach that his ass is mine."
Miguel glared at the banker for a solid minute before motioning with his finger for his men to leave. He turned and followed them back to their car. "You're making a big mistake," he said as he walked away. "A big mistake."
Jake was about to say something, but the banker tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't."
Jake and Ted kept their guns aimed at the car as it backed away down the road rapidly. After about fifty yards, it whipped around and sped off in a cloud of dust that hid the taillights from view.
"That was what I expected," Jake said.
"I'm just glad they didn't pull something stupid," Ted said. "You never know with guys like that."
The banker grunted.
Chris stood motionless. The confrontation had scared him. It was probably the norm for these guys – just another day at the office.
"Come here, Chris," the banker said. "This is the deal. I'm not sure why, but I believe your story. We'll take you over to the McGuire place and drop you off there. Then you'll forget this whole scene. We don't exist. Can you do that?"
Chris just nodded. He tried to say something but nothing came out of his mouth.
"That's right, just keep quiet," the banker replied. "Get in the car."
Chris would rather have just run as fast as he could in any direction than get into the car but he didn't feel he had a choice in the matter as the banker pushed him into the back seat.
Ted climbed into the backseat with him while the banker sat up front and Jake got behind the wheel. The car vibrated and the heavily
modified engine growled as it started – the family wagon wouldn't do in this business.
As they started to move, Ted lit up a bone. The sweet smell of marijuana soon filled the car. He passed it up to the front seat where Jake and the banker each took turns on it before it came back to Ted.
So much for handing this over to the FBI and washing his hands of everything, Chris thought as they raced through the woods along the dirt tracks. Why hadn't he just stayed out of this? He should have driven Pell to the hospital, told the FBI what Pell had told him and gone back home. What was he thinking coming all the way out here? Right now, he had no idea if he was being driven to a shallow grave in the woods or right into the hands of Sarah Burns. If they do let me out at the McGuire house, at least the odds are low that it was Sarah Burns and her entourage staying there, he thought. Hopefully, he could get some help from whoever is there and get the hell out of this place.
A shout from the front suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
"Miguel!" Jake exclaimed as he stomped on the accelerator, the engine roared and the car lurched forward.
12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California
Camilla smiled at Sarah as she opened the fifth bottle of wine. Sarah was feeling a little tipsy. Standing up would be the test but there was no need to do that right now. They had spent the evening playing cards at the kitchen table, drinking excellent wine and listening to music. Exhausted from the long drive, Albert had gone to bed hours ago.
As Camilla came back to the table with the fresh bottle, Jerry stood up and said, "That's it for me. I've got to get some sleep."
"Me too," Seth said as he too stood with a groan. "See you in the morning."
He looked awful – burnt, uncomfortable and worn out from the events of the past week. Sarah smiled at him. After hearing the details of what happened back in Maine, her anger had faded quickly. Thank God all of them hadn't been killed. That would've ruined the entire operation. Their departure left just Sarah, Camilla, and Mike at the table.
"Are you two up for another game?" Mike asked.
"Hell, it's too early to go to bed," Camilla said.
"You're still a night owl," Sarah said.
"Always have been, always will be," Camilla replied as she refilled everyone's glass. Mike shuffled the cards. They had been playing poker, dealer's choice.
"I think that this place will work out well," Sarah said. "It's so quiet."
"It certainly is that," Mike agreed dealing out the cards.
"I can't believe we're here," Camilla said.
"Me neither," Mike replied. "It almost seems like we're on a set, doesn't it?"
"That's exactly what I feel like," she replied. "All that's missing are the cameras and directors."
"Well, we're definitely not acting here," Sarah said. "This is as real as it gets."
"There is no going back now," Camilla said.
"Not a chance, at this point we're all committed," Sarah replied.
"We're doing the right thing, aren't we?" Mike asked.
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked.
Mike placed the deck on the table and leaned back in his chair. He combed his short beard with his fingers. "I feel kind of different now that it's achievable. Almost like I'm second-guessing my ideals. The other day when you were explaining how it works and what it's going to do – at first I was happy. I felt successful. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to question what we were doing."
Camilla frowned as she said, "It's the right thing, Mike."
Sarah was frustrated. "The Earth simply can't support this many people indefinitely," she said. "We've been through this. Slowly but surely, day after day, we're consuming the planet. Resources aren't infinite. There's just too much of everything. We have to – we can – do something about it."
"And look at all of the suffering," Camilla said. "Remember how you felt after you went to India a few years ago? What about our trip to Mexico City? It's all a matter of population and we've got a relatively painless cure."
"This is no time to be questioning your commitment and ideals Mike," Sarah said. "Don't let the emotions of the moment skew your view."
"I know," Mike said. "But before it was less tangible – a dream, a philosophy. Now it's going to be a reality. Doesn't that make it different for you?"
"Not at all," Sarah said. "This was always reality. I need to know that you are one hundred percent committed at this point Mike. I don't want to hear that you're having doubts."
The music stopped. Camilla walked across the room and fiddled with the iPod that was inserted in a portable speaker system. Stevie Ray Vaughn started singing that 'The Sky is Crying' and she turned up the volume. "Lighten up, Mikey," she said as she strode seductively back to the table. "We're doing the right thing. You're doing the right thing. There's no question about it."
"You're right," Mike nodded filling his glass with more wine. "I'm not sure what I expected. But I am committed, no second thoughts. You can trust me one-hundred percent. Maybe it's from the trouble back in Maine. I don't know. You know me, Camilla. I'm never tense but, man, my shoulders are in a knot."
Camilla walked behind him and started rubbing his shoulders.
Sarah watched the massage and listened to Camilla and Mike change the conversation and banter between themselves playfully. She didn't like the way they had both referred to this as like being in a movie and now here they were laughing and joking. She hadn't really trusted Mike from the beginning but now she had reason to mistrust him. He wasn't committed. He had just admitted as much and then as quickly changed his mind, almost protesting too much about how committed he was. She had better keep a very close eye on him over the coming days.
12:05 am PDT Humboldt County, California
The rapid, percussive pops of machinegun fire erupted outside. The car accelerated rapidly. Ted and the banker tried to get to their guns. Chris ducked down. Bullets peppered the car. The windows blew out. Jake's head jerked back and to the right violently. Chris pressed himself down on the floor.
The banker and Ted screamed as the car spun out of control and launched off the road into the woods. They rammed into a tree head-on. Chris slammed into the back of the front seat with incredible force. The engine was running at full throttle as the car came to a stop. It howled at an unsustainable pitch. They must have shattered the axle or blown out the transmission and the accelerator was stuck at full throttle. Ted and the banker moaned, obviously injured. Chris flung his door open, rolled out onto the ground, and stumbled into the dark forest, away from the car.
Tripping on a log, he fell to the ground. His chest heaved. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack as he sat up against a tree and forced himself to take deep breaths – to calm down. He couldn't see any signs of Ted or the banker. Through the trees, he caught glimpses of Miguel and one of his men approaching on the road. As they swaggered along with their weapons leveled at the car, they exchanged a low-fisted high five and spoke loudly in Spanish. The other thug drove their car. Its lights illuminated the wreck. A thick cloud of steam and smoke poured out from under the hood. The engine continued to howl. The men opened fire. Their machine guns blasted away at the now-shattered hot-rod until the engine made a loud sound and went silent, as did their guns.
The three men walked down to the car. Chris watched in horror as they pulled the bodies of Ted, Jake, and the banker out and laid them on the road. Miguel fired a single shot into each of their heads.
"My name is Miguel," he said before pulling the trigger each time. "And don't you forget it."
"What about the other one?" One of the other men said to Miguel.
"He must be in the woods," Miguel replied.
Miguel seemed to look right at him as he yelled into the dark forest, "This is what happens when you cross us."
He sprayed a burst of bullets into the woods. One hit a tree about ten feet from Chris. He couldn't have moved if he had wanted to.
"You tell your friends that if the
y ever do business with Miguel, they better treat me with respect."
"Yeah, we are businessmen too," one of the other men said in his Latino street accent.
They popped the trunk on the wrecked car and pulled out a bale of pot.
"I guess we're getting this at a bargain," Miguel said.
"It's a sale," another one of them said. They all started to laugh as they loaded the pot into their idling car and sped away down the road.
The dark lumps of the dead men lay in the road.
"What the hell," he muttered as he stood up noticing for the first time the sharp pain in his left arm. The adrenaline rush had numbed it temporarily but now an intense pain flared on his forearm – a jagged edge of his ulna or radius protruded through the skin, blood ran from the wound. His knees weakened as he felt the sharp edge of bone. Damn.
The sounds of tires sliding on dirt and the low rumble of a powerful engine drifted through the woods. A car sped down the dirt road. It skidded to a stop just before running over the bodies, and machine-gun fire erupted from the vehicle into the woods all around him. Miguel and his boys had come back to see if he had gone up to the road. Falling to the ground, trembling, he listened to the bullets tearing through the woods.
After a few seconds, the car drove over the bodies, spun around, and drove over them again as it sped away with its occupants hooting and cheering.
Paranoia gripped him. Would they be back? He hurried deeper into the woods. He wanted to get as far away from those bodies and the road as possible. His arm throbbed with each step. What had he gotten himself into? How could this all be happening at once? David Rose, Sara Burns, Pell, Karen, The Banker and Miguel – it was too much, too coincidental, as if fate had somehow chosen him to see how far one man could be pushed before snapping.
As he staggered along, he ripped a piece off his shirt and wrapped it around his forearm to control the bleeding.
1:15 am PDT Humboldt County, California
"Weren't we going to play some cards?" Sarah asked.
"Yes," Camilla said as she sat back down at the table and sloppily refilled their glasses "Let's have some fun."