Instead, from behind the wet hair that screened her eyes, she winked at him.
"You know what?" He turned back to Playboy. "You're right."
Jason moved fast, a quick lunge sideways. Brilliant fire exploded in front of him, the bullet ripping the air where his head had been. In the sudden glow he saw the other two gangbangers scrabbling at their waists, guns coming up, and then Cruz stepped forward and pressed a small automatic pistol under Playboy's chin.
"Don't believe the movies," Cruz said, her posture straight and her voice steady. "This is a Glock 27. It'll fire under water. Our little swim won't even slow it down."
Playboy stood frozen, his gun arm out, pointing at nothing. Jason locked the gangbanger's arm with his right hand and twisted the Ruger free with his left. He sighted down the barrel at Playboy's soldiers. They had weapons up, the taller one swinging the gun back and forth between Jason and Cruz.
In the silence, Jason could hear the rain patter on the river. Tension tightened his shoulders, made his muscles sing. The twitchy one was making Jason nervous, swiveling back and forth between him and Cruz. "Curtis. You look like a man making a decision. But stay cool for a second. I just want to talk."
The tall man didn't say anything, but stopped swinging the gun.
"Now," Jason said, hoping his voice didn't betray his tension, "it would be the easiest thing in the world for us all to open up right now. We could all die here, beside this shitty river. But if we do, nobody gets any satisfaction. You know why? Because we didn't kill C-Note."
"You say so." Playboy's eyes were half-closed, like he couldn't be bothered with the situation.
"Think about it, man. Who set you on me in the first place? DiRisio. And I'll bet you he was the one said that we killed C-Note, wasn't he?" Playboy's eyes confirmed it. "I thought so. How'd he know a thing like that? The cops hadn't even left the scene, he knows what's going on?"
"Street knows what it knows."
"Does the street know that DiRisio is also selling hardware to La Raza and the Latin Saints? You didn't think you were the only ones getting some of his love, did you? He's arming your enemies."
Playboy shrugged. "Says you."
"You want proof?" Jason gestured to the river. "Go for a swim. It's in the back of the car you drove off the bridge. We were going to use it to take DiRisio down."
"Not just him," Cruz said quietly. "A dirty cop, too. Tom Galway. He works gangs."
"That a fact."
"It is." Jason stepped forward. "They killed your boy, then sent you to finish us before we brought them down. Hell, this way they don't even have to get their hands dirty. You've been conned, man. We all have."
Playboy narrowed his eyes, then reached into his pocket. Cruz pushed the Glock harder into his neck. He looked down at her with a bulletproof smile. "Easy." Took his hand out slowly, turning it up to display a pack of Pall Mall Menthols and a green Bic. Pulled out a cigarette and lit it casually, using both hands, like he were chilling in a club instead of standing on the bank of a polluted river with a pistol at his throat. "Saying that's so. What then?"
"We're going to go take care of him."
Playboy shook his head, blew smoke. "Can't let you two walk out of here."
Cruz laughed. "You're not letting us. We're walking. The question is whether you are."
Playboy shrugged. "Ain't afraid to die."
"I believe you," Jason said. "But I also think you're not stupid. DiRisio killed your friend. He's equipping your enemies. He's just as much a problem for you as he is for us. But he's got connections, so you can't take him on directly. We can. Him and a dirty cop." Jason shrugged. "There's no angle to killing us."
"Unless y'all are lying to me."
Something tightened in Jason's chest. This would be the most dangerous part. "You're right. After all, a man will say anything when he's at gunpoint." He swallowed hard, then slowly lowered the Ruger. Lightning raced up his thighs. He locked the safety, then, adrenaline shaking the world, spun the pistol butt first and held it out to Playboy. "So we're clear, I don't like you, man. But you're not my enemy, and I'm not yours."
Cruz looked at him wild-eyed. "What?"
"It's okay, Elena. Let him free." Jason kept his eyes locked on Playboy's. "Go ahead. It's not a trick."
The gangbanger looked at the gun, looked at Cruz. She had her teeth clenched, the line of her jaw hard. She seemed unsure. He didn't blame her, but she could still blow it.
"Elena." Jason spoke softly. "I need you to trust me."
She stiffened. He could see her wrestling with it. Then, slowly, she stepped away. Kept the gun in her hand, but lowered.
Playboy's eyes moved back and forth between them. His lids were narrowed, but not in the half-asleep pose he'd been affecting. He reached up slowly and took the pistol.
"I'm giving you this because I want you to know that we aren't lying." Jason spoke quietly. "We didn't kill C-Note." His heart was pounding. The safety would slow Playboy down enough for Jason to tackle him, but his friends were the real problem. Jason was counting on them following their boss's lead. If they didn't…
Playboy took a last drag on the cigarette, then flicked it away. He held the gun at his side, his arm loose. Tilted his head up so the rain ran down his shaved skull. "And you're going to take care of DiRisio."
"And Galway. And everybody in with them."
"If y'all are playing me-"
"You're a general now," Jason said. "You got a hundred soldiers standing behind you. We know what happens if we play you."
The man nodded slow. "Guess that's so." He tucked the Ruger into the back of his pants, and Jason started breathing again.
Then the wrestler cocked his pistol. "Fuck that. Let's take care of business." Beside him, Curtis nodded, his gun aimed at Jason's chest. Cruz brought her Glock back up, holding it beautifully, two hands, legs spread in a target-shooter stance.
"Nah. Man's got a point. Besides," and Playboy smiled a thin, brutal smile, "not like we can't find him again. Him and his little nephew."
Jason felt his lips twitching, fought the urge to close his hands into fists.
The wrestler said, "I say we-"
"I ask your opinion, motherfucker?" Playboy glared at him. "Man, I've had crotch lice got more brains than you, you're going to tell me what to do?"
"No, but-"
"But what, bitch?"
The wrestler straightened at that, his nostrils flaring. Glared at Playboy, a hard look between hard men. If this went wrong, Jason knew, then things were going to get ugly. Bullets flying, everybody shooting at everybody, who knew who'd get hit.
Finally, the wrestler looked away. "It's your world."
"Goddamn right. It's my world." Playboy held the stare for a moment, then turned to Jason. "So we're clear, I don't much like you either." The gangbanger reached in his pocket, pulled out his cigarettes. Shook one out slow, held it to his lips, fired it up with the Bic. "But keep your end of this, and we 'aight."
"You come after me or mine again, we're going to mix it up."
"Do right, I won't have to." In the distance, a siren wailed. Playboy glanced over his shoulder. "Now. Do yourself a favor and don't be leaving for a bit. I see you coming after us, might be I take that the wrong way."
Jason nodded.
Playboy turned and walked away, his cross-trainers carving trenches in the soft mud. Curtis and the wrestler followed him, walking backwards with guns out. Jason stood with his skin vibrating until they were out of sight.
Then he heaved a sigh. "Jesus."
Cruz stared at him. "How'd you know that would work?"