Still beautiful, still relatively young, she could go away to Europe, find a new husband, a new life. Certainly the option is attractive-she has enough money to live well forever, and raise her children in peace and comfort.
Or will she step into her dead brothers’ and husband’s shoes and take charge of the family?
A woman.
There is already grumbling about it; she has heard it. How they will not serve under a woman.
Do you have a choice? she thinks.
A woman is all that’s left.
She lifts a black-gloved hand and Lado appears at her side.
Lado, the policeman now openly in her employ.
A killer-his black eyes as cold as the obsidian blades the Aztec priests used to disembowel their sacrificial victims.
“Lado,” she says. “I have a job for you.”
“Si, madrone.”
She’s decided.
190
Chon tosses his cane on the sand and limps toward the water.
Swimming is the best exercise to get him back in shape. Stretches his muscles, breaks up his scar tissue, improves his cardio, but puts no weight on the wounds.
The water is cold, but he doesn’t wear a wetsuit.
Not sure he could even pull one on, and anyway, he likes the pain of the sharp cold.
He starts swimming with easy overhead strokes, not pushing it.
Rhythmic, strong.
Peace lasted exactly one night.
Now it’s back to war.
191
EXT. STAIRCASE — TABLE ROCK BEACH — DAY
BEN and DUANE stand on a landing halfway down the long set of stairs. Waves smash against Table Rock.
Duane pats Ben down to make sure he’s not wearing a wire. Satisfied DUANE
What do we have to talk about?
BEN
I need to have a going-out-of-business sale.
DUANE
You just don’t fucking learn, do you?
BEN
Look, I have all this inventory DUANE
Your problems are your problems.
BEN
My problems are your opportunity.
DUANE
Speak.
BEN
I’ll sell cheap. Fifty cents on the dollar. To you.
DUANE
Why the fuck would you do that?
BEN
I wouldn’t, except what choice do I have? I can’t find a fucking buyer, they’re all too scared they’re going to end up dead in their cars.
DUANE
(smiling)
I wouldn’t know anything about that.
BEN
Yeah, okay. Look, the point is-you win. Just give me a chance to get some of my money out.
Ben watches anxiously as Duane considers this.
DUANE
Let me think about it.
BEN
Think quick. I’m dying here.
192
Chon follows Old Guys Rule away from the meeting.
OGR gets into his four-door Dodge Charger and heads north on the PCH, back up toward Laguna, turns south onto Arroyo and then onto Lewis up into Canyon Acres. Eventually he pulls into a driveway.
I could do him now, Chon thinks.
The VSS Vintorez sniper rifle-with a scope he doesn’t need and a sound suppressor he does-rests under a blanket on the passenger seat. It would be a simple matter of rolling down the window, waiting until OGR gets out of the car, and putting two in his head.
Yeah, except it doesn’t necessarily solve anything, Chon thinks. It does get justice for the murders, and it definitely sends a message that we’re not to be fucked with, but OGR is more the gofer type, not the boss.
OGR gets out of the car and goes in.
It’s a nice house-California bungalow-small and well maintained. But nothing about it says “kingpin.” Nothing about it says the owner is taking a “licensing fee” from every successful dope dealer in the OC and San Diego.
Unless, Ben thinks, OGR is just a guy who has a cop buddy and they thought they’d do a shakedown on a gullible pot grower.
The other possibility is that OGR is a big player who’s smart enough to lie low. Live under the radar until he has enough stowed away to pull out and go to some island paradise.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thinks.
Just take the next step, like get OGR’s name.
He puts in a call to an old buddy from the Stan.
193
Ben answers his phone.
Hears OGR say, “We’ll take your shit off your hands, but at thirty cents on the dollar.”
“You sure you don’t want to fuck me in the ass, too,” Ben asks, “while you’re at it?”
“You say one more word, it’s twenty-five.”
