"She just likes telling us what to do," said Arturo. "She thinks she's smarter than anyone else."
"Something's happening," said Thorpe as the driver of the Town Car got out, walked around to the other side, and opened the passenger door. No one there.
"What's he doing?" asked Arturo.
The driver opened the trunk. It was empty, except for the spare tire. The two rear doors remained shut. "He's showing us that there's only him and Guillermo," said Thorpe.
"I can't see from this angle," said Vlad. "The windows are blacked out."
"Guillermo isn't going to show himself until we get down there for our parley," said Thorpe. "He's probably got a couple of pistoleros stuffed alongside him on the backseat for insurance."
Arturo checked his machine pistol. "That won't be a problem." He looked at Thorpe. "Time for you to earn your pay, gringo."
Thorpe nodded. "I'll go down, check things out. When I give you the sign, you start down to the clearing. Take it slow. I don't want Guillermo getting jumpy."
"I know what to do; you just hold up your end," said Arturo.
"As soon as Guillermo realizes that Clark's not with you, it's over, so as you drive down, keep turning around as if you're talking to somebody in the backseat. Then, when you make your final approach, drive past the Town Car so you can jump out and rake the inside through the open doors."
"I told you we don't need any advice," growled Arturo. "Your job is to convince Guillermo that we're here to settle our problems about the cookers. You think you can handle that?"
"We're going over the plan whether you want to or not," said Thorpe. "If you get killed down there, I get killed, too. Guillermo's only going to hold off on me until you arrive, so the timing is crucial. Don't come on too fast, not too slow, and make sure you kill them all. You think you can handle that?"
Arturo slightly tilted the machine pistol. He didn't aim it at Thorpe, not exactly, but his intentions were clear. He smiled. "Maybe I keep you waiting, huh? Maybe I go bird-watching or decide to stop and shoot some rabbits?"
"That's a good plan, Frank," said Vlad. His nose was dripping blood again. "We're all… you know, excited."
Thorpe locked eyes with Arturo. "You should watch out for head shots down there. Although, looking on the bright side, there wouldn't be a mark on that suit-they could bury you in it."
"That's not so funny, Frank," said Vlad.
"Sure it is." Arturo's eyes were black and shiny as beetle wings. "Frank is a joker. That's why Missy likes him so much. She likes a good laugh, and there's Frank, ready, willing, and able to tickle her funny bone."
"Don't fight, you guys," said Vlad. "Please?"
Thorpe got into the Land Rover. "Wait a minute or two after I wave; then come on down. Don't wait too long; otherwise, Guillermo's going to think something's gone wrong."
Arturo picked his teeth with a fingernail. "What could go wrong?"
33
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."