'How the hell we gonna do that?' Rocky said, cocking a worried eyebrow at me. 'They're just gonna lay back and pick us off with those carbines.'
'Hold them back, but don't waste too many rounds. I'm gonna try and get inside this shed.'
'Why the hell are — '
I didn't wait around to explain. I headed for the front door of the line shack. Gunshots rang out almost immediately and little pieces of adobe dust flew off the edge of the building as I rounded the corner. I got to the front door, shot the lock off and, as bullets peppered the wall and wood above my head, I dove inside.
The shed held mostly field equipment-a big pipe wheel sprinkler that watered grass, lots of rusting metal farm stuff. Where's that spare submachine gun when you need it?
As I rummaged around in the junk, I heard the Jeeps moving again. The engines revved and growled as they moved in closer. Then I heard two more shots from Rocky's handgun.
I started pawing desperately through the mounds of junk stacked in the shack. There wasn't much, but I had come in here with an idea and finally found something I thought might work. It was a small pewter hose nozzle with a trigger, which was shaped roughly like a gun.
I snatched it up and ran back out of the building.
As soon as I was visible, more carbine slugs flew, but the shots were hurried and the bullets went wide, whining off into the distance. After another desperate run, I dove back behind the wall next to Rocky.
'What'd you get?' he asked.
I showed him the hose nozzle.
'Perfect. We can challenge these pricks to a water fight.'
'How good a shot are you?'
'I'm a prizefighter. I never needed a gun to win an argument.'
'Okay, here's how we do this. I'll yell out that we want to give up. We'll put our hands up, walk out. You throw your gun down, I'll toss this nozzle. Once they think we're unarmed, my bet is they'll get careless and come in closer. As soon as they're ten or fifteen yards away, I'll put down some cover fire with the Kimber. While they're ducking and dodging, you make a move, get to Manny's Jeep and drag him out. I'll be right behind you. Once I screw this nine in his ear, we got a whole new game.'
'Are you kidding? That's all you got? What's to keep them from just shooting us once we stand up?'
'They've had plenty of chances to kill us in the last nine hours and haven't. My guess is they want to set it up so it looks right. Stage it, so they can say we got in a beef and killed each other. Manny's got a lot going on in Haven Park. He doesn't want to be stuck down here as a U. S. fugitive in a double homicide.'
Rocky looked at me like I'd just grown antlers.
'I don't like this plan, homes.'
I shrugged. 'Let's hear yours.'
The Jeeps were in gear and again moving up eloser. Two more shots rang out, ricocheting off the low wall we were behind. 'Shit. This really sucks. Let's try it,' he said.
Chapter 56
The jeeps were still spaced out but were now only about one hundred yards away. Still a tough pistol shot.
'We're coming out, don't shoot!' I shouted painfully through my broken teeth.
'Stand up and throw your guns out in front of you,' the bullhorn commanded. It definitely sounded like Manny Avilas voice.
I glanced at Rocky. 'Ready?'
'How the hell do I get ready-for a dumb-ass move like this?'
But Rocky stood up anyway and stepped around the wall with me. Then he held his gun up high so they could see it. I held up my hose nozzle. I saw the sun glint off a pair of field glasses, so I knew they had a magnified view.
'Throw your guns down,' the bullhorn repeated.
Rocky tossed his gun away. It landed a few feet in front of him, kicking up a little puff of sand.
I was ten feet to his right as I threw the pewter hose nozzle away.
'Now move forward,' the electrified voice ordered.
As we walked toward the Jeep, I could feel the comforting weight of the Kimber jammed in my jeans out of sight at the small of my back.
'Move toward me,' the bullhorn screeched.
We started slowly toward Manny Avila s Jeep.
We were about thirty yards away when I saw something in the sky. It started out as a strange, distant movement camouflaged in the heat waves coming off the desert. A distortion of the horizon. A few seconds later, I heard the distant thump of a helicopter blade beating the air. Before I could react, I saw a muzzle flash over by the Jeeps and heard the simultaneous whine of a bullet streaking past my ear.
Rocky and I dove headfirst into the sand.
I snatched out the Kimber and started shooting from a prone position. Thirty yards is still a long ways out for a pistol with a four-inch barrel. The Kimber wasn't much good at that distance. But they didn't know what I was shooting and my gunshots were definitely changing their plans. The Jeeps suddenly went into reverse, backing away from us, throwing up clouds of sand and dust.
As I laid down a withering fire, Rocky used the moment to dart out and snatch his Glock from the desert floor.
I continued to fire the slide lock.
A large green and gold Schweizer 333 helicopter appeared out of the heat distortion and headed rig toward us. It was hugging the deck, the sound of the thumping blade growing louder as it choppered toward us at over a hundred miles an hour.
Then all hell broke loose.
Jeeps were scattering in every direction. One of them broke from the pack and headed back toward us. As it got closer I recognized Manny Avila in the passenger seat, still wearing his cool leather jacket and wraparound shades. He was clutching the electronic bullhorn, his mouth stretched wide in panic.
Rocky suddenly jumped up and charged in the direction of Avila s Jeep. I scrambled to my feet and followed. As we ran, the helicopter banked just overhead. I looked up and saw a big PJDF1 logo painted on the side — POLICIA JUDICIAL DEL DISTRITO FEDERAL. As the Schweizer flashed past, I caught a glimpse of Ophelia Love hanging in the open doorway, gun out, intensity etching her face.
The Jeeps were all in four-wheel drive, going about twenty miles per hour in the deep sand. Mannys was closing fast. Rocky was still four strides out ahead of me when Manny's driver swerved and headed right at us. The front bumper clipped Rocky, knocking him onto his back in the sand. He dropped his Glock, but I was able to scoop it up as I ran past. I dove into the Jeep and landed in the backseat.
In the next instant I was trading shots at point-blank range with the carbine-wielding bodyguard next to me. However, at three feet, Rocky's Glock was a far superior weapon. The bodyguard discharged an awkward, errant shot as he struggled to swing the three-foot-long barrel around in cramped quarters. I placed my muzzle on his shoulder and blew him right out of the speeding Jeep.
As my gun discharged, Manny Avila screamed in fright and started clawing for his sidearm.
But when the Glock fired, the driver flinched and jerked the wheel, flipping the Jeep. Everyone flew out of the vehicle and landed face-first in the sand. I rolled, and came up on my feet with the Glock still out in front of me. Manny Avila was ten feet away, trying to stand. I ran to him and jammed the automatic into his chest and shoved him back to his knees.
'Stay put,' I ordered, then snatched his chrome-plated pistol out of the belt holster and threw it a safe distance away. The driver of the Jeep was out cold.
The mop-up was right out of a Bruckheimer movie. The helicopter was herding Jeeps from the air, turning them and forcing them to stop. Finally, the green and gold Schweizer settled low and landed. Flak-jacketed,
