“Hang tight,” I say as we approach another intersection. The light is red on this one, and the traffic is too heavy to barrel through it without serious risk of being smashed to bits, but I have a plan.
I yank the steering wheel to one side, skidding across the road and into the intersection while everyone cries out in mortal peril. We turn into the road, quickly correcting to move in the same direction as the oncoming traffic, but not before slamming the side of the car against another one, bouncing off and leaving major damage to the side of the convertible. It’s only cosmetic, as far as I can tell, because we keep moving, weaving in and out of traffic like I was playing Atari.
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Honey yells at me.
“Better than getting caught,” I reply.
“Jesus, you’re insane,” she says, shaking her head.
“That’s why you love me,” I say without thinking.
“Why I what?” she asks, taken aback.
Shit. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but it flowed out so naturally.
Before I can think of a response, I spot a large mall towering over the shabby roads surrounding it. I’d bet anything it’s packed with people, probably floor-to-ceiling since it’s the middle of the day on the weekend. We’d disappear into the crowd there, especially because other tourists are probably bustling around in the shops instead of outside in the sweltering heat.
“Be prepared to ditch this convertible in about thirty seconds,” I say, disregarding Honey’s reaction to my slip-up. I pat her on the thigh. “We’re going to do a little shopping.”
She nods, shifting away from the somewhat embarrassing conversation back to business. That kind of mood switch is ingrained into everyone in the mafia. It’s necessary for our survival, as things can go from zero to a hundred at any given time, morning, noon, or night.
Everyone unbuckles their seatbelts as I undo mine, the clatter and glint of metal indicating that we’re ready to leave. The police are no longer behind us, likely still caught up at the intersection, but they’re trailing us like wasps, angry and unwilling to give up the hunt. I don’t expect them to stop their search just because we managed to outrun them again. The didn’t stop the first time.
I pull off a ramp from the main road and spiral down to the parking garage that connects with the circular shopping center. It’s the size of a football stadium, but the crowds are lighter, and security is just about as lax as possible. We won’t run into any trouble here.
I park the convertible in a normal sparking space, trying to tuck it close between two large silver SUVs so that it won’t be found so quickly. By the time they review the security footage from the parking deck, we’ll be long gone. I even hope to be out of the country by then, leaving Bheka’s corpse somewhere in the desert for the buzzards to pick clean.
I hop over the damaged door, not bothering to open it because I’m not even sure if it will open properly with how crumpled the metal on the side is. Looking at it from the outside, it’s a lot more beat-up than I expected it to me. I guess I’m used to armored vehicles that would sooner snap your neck during a collision than crumple in the slightest to pad your rapid deceleration.
Honey’s hand slides into mine as we rush toward the entrance of the mall, Henry and Amy behind us, their faces painted with grim determination. I’m sure they’re just as eager to get through with this mission as I am, but they both understand the imperative nature of what we’re planning to do. The healthy and longevity of the Dormer-Calandro Mafia is hinged on successfully taking out our target and disrupting his disturbance in our ranks. We can’t lose, or the entire mafia family will lose.
I’m not one for spending my weekend in overcrowded city malls, but the air inside of this one is fresh, and the atmosphere is casual and innocent. The sweat that so eagerly ran down from my hairline to my eyes shies away at the crisp coolness of the air conditioning unit that hums away near the entrance like a heavy-duty refrigerator.
Honey breathes a sigh of relief. “God, I hate the desert,” she says.
“Me too,” I agree, leading her into the crowd.
Henry does his signature walk on my heels, looking around for threats like this place would have any at all, and Amy meanders around a few feet from our group, trying not to look as conspicuous as Henry does. All in all, we look like normal tourists.
“Desert soap for a desert beauty,” a man bellows as he springs in front of us, sending a jolt of alarm through me.
“Fucking Christ, man. Get the hell out of the way,” Henry shouts at him, already going for his gun.
“Cool it,” I say, waving him back and giving the salesman a sympathetic smile. “The heat gets to you after a while.”
“Which is why you should try out new mint soap. It cools you even after your bath,” he says, his eyes wide as he glances over at his initial target – Honey.
They always go after the woman. It’s an old sales tactic that dates back to more traditional times when the woman was the one who convinced her husband to hand over his wallet for something that they ‘needed’. I’m impervious to sales tactics such as these, but I’m not sure if Honey is. She strikes me as being more polite, thus softer, and easier to sell something to.
“Fuck off,” Honey says to the salesman.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Honey
Love.
I never thought I’d be thinking of something so domestic at a time like this, but I can’t shake the words from my