The Jaguar bore down on the four men. They stood frozen. They held their guns in a trance of terror, paralyzed by fear. Their horrified eyes stared at the car that rushed straight at them.
Then the instant broke, and they all dove wildly out of the car’s deadly path. They sprawled on the littered floor, clawing for safety.
Max the gunman landed hard on his gun arm, cursed in pain, and lost the pistol.
The two mechanics scrambled over each other in their frantic dive out of the path of the hurtling Jaguar. The pistol popped out of the armed mechanic’s pocket and skidded into the scattered parts of the dismantled Maserati.
Jake Hatch was the only one to keep his head. He rolled as he hit the floor, then came back up halfway with his pistol aimed straight at the Jaguar and Pete behind the wheel.
Bob pushed Kelly out of the path of the car and kicked the pistol out of Jake Hatch’s hand with a yoko-geri- keage snap side kick. The pistol skidded part-way across the room. Hatch lunged at Bob, who countered instantly with an elbow strike to the head that sent Jake sprawling.
The Jaguar screamed to a stop inches from the dismantled Maserati.
Pete flung himself out of the car and leaped on Jake Hatch as the chop-shop boss tried to get up once more.
Ty was out and running at Joe Torres, who still stood near the open wall, apart from the others, trying to pull his pistol from his pocket. The two went down in a flurry of arms and legs as Ty made a flying tackle on the bodega owner.
Jupiter ran toward Bob, who was battling Max. The powerful thug was back on his feet, lunging toward his pistol. Bob tried to reach the compact gunman with a tobi-yoko-geri jumping side kick, but Max held him off with a sweeping back arm block of his own. He bent to grab at his gun.
Jupiter slammed into the bent-over gunman, sending him down again. Swearing, Max bounced up and charged. This time Jupiter felled him with a hip throw, then dove on top of him. Bob piled on top of Jupe. The angry gunman cursed and swore but stayed down under the weight of both of them.
Untangled, the two mechanics started to get up, then stopped. They stared into the angry eyes and steady hands of Kelly Madigan. The cheerleader had picked up Jake Hatch’s big pistol. She held it now in both her small hands, aiming it at the two suddenly frozen mechanics.
“Easy, little lady.”
“We ain’t gonna move, girl. You just hold that thing easy.”
The two held out their hands toward Kelly as if to ward off the bullets her nervous trigger finger might let loose. It was obvious they weren’t even going to try to get up.
“That’s good thinking, guys,” Kelly said, waving the gun a little. “You just sit right there.”
Pete chopped Jake Hatch with a sharp nukite sword hand strike to the solar plexus, which knocked all the wind out of the boss of the gang. Hatch lay on the littered floor and groaned, holding his chest.
Ty knocked the out-of-shape Torres out cold, took his gun, and put it into his belt. He crossed the room to Kelly and took the gun from her hands.
Bob and Jupiter found a length of wire and tied Max’s hands and ankles. He lay swearing and struggling, but helpless.
Grinning, Bob stood up. “Well, I guess that takes care of the stolen-car gang.”
“We’ve got them!” Pete cried.
“And the evidence,” Jupiter added, nodding at the stripped Maserati.
“Better tie them all and pick up the guns,” Ty said. “I’ll hold this gun on them.”
Pete and Jupiter found some rope in a corner, then tied up the two mechanics and Torres. Bob retrieved the mechanic’s gun from among the car parts and picked up Max’s pistol from the floor. Pete and Jupiter turned to tie up Jake Hatch. He was still groaning and holding his bruised ribs as if he’d never recover.
But before they could take care of the agent, they heard feet pounding, and a gang of men poured into the room from an alcove beyond the Maserati.
“Hey, we got six nice hot wheels waitin’ for the elevator down on the first floor,” El Tiburon said as he strode in through some door the guys hadn’t seen. He stopped and stared. “Ay chihuahua! Look at this, hey?”
The four Piranhas and some hangers-on stood behind the handsome Latino bandleader, who still wore his white stage suit.
Jupiter stepped out to face them. “It’s over, Tiburon. We’ve got your boss, his gunmen, Joe Torres, and the stolen car. You all better give yourselves up.”
“Yeah?” Tiburon said. He looked around. He looked at the guns in Ty’s and Bob’s hands. He looked at the four Piranhas and the others behind him. Then he said to Jupe, “Hey, man, I don’t know, you know? I mean, there’s a lot more of us, right?”
Jake Hatch sat up on the floor, suddenly recovered. “Take care of these kids, Tiburon! Jump them!”
Tiburon shrugged. “I don’ know, bossman. They got guns, you know? You guys ain’t gonna be a lotta help.”
“They’re just stupid kids! They don’t even know how to use the guns. You can take them.”
“Maybe, hey?” the smiling Latino said. “But I been figuring it’s maybe time me and the band was getting raises, you know?”
“I pay you too much now!” Hatch raged. “Get these kids. You and your dumb extra cars got us into this, you stupid pachuco”
Tiburon stared at Hatch. Behind him the Piranhas muttered angrily. Tiburon seemed to listen to the rumble of anger in their voices.
Jupiter saw the change. He moved quickly and talked straight to Tiburon.
“He’s been using you, Tiburon. Using all of you. He hasn’t any respect for you. You and the Piranhas are just useful jerks to him.”
Tiburon didn’t appear to hear Jupiter. He was too busy staring at Jake Hatch. “Hey, you want help from a gang of dumb pachucos, bossman? Hey, you don’ know one from the other, right? They all look the same, them dumb pachucos, right?”
Hatch turned purple where he sat on the floor. “Get us out of here or you’re finished, you hear! Take care of these kids, you brainless cholo, or you’ll never work for me again, you hear?”
Tiburon shook his head. “Hey, what can a bunch of dumb pachucos do? Cholos estupidos? Hey, they’re all lazy an’ greasy, right? Fat greasers.” He smiled at Hatch, then looked at Jupiter. “Hey, fat Anglo, we tell you all about this smart bossman an’ his big-time operation. You tell the cops they should go nice an’ easy on Tiburon and the Piranhas, okay?”
“You know we can’t tell the cops what to do, Tiburon,” Ty said, still holding Hatch’s gun and watching the Piranhas.
“But we’ll do everything we can,” Jupiter added quickly. “We know you mostly only delivered the cars here. Other guys stole them for Hatch, professional crooks. The gang’s mechanics chopped them up, not you guys.”
Tiburon nodded. “You pretty smart for a young guy. Yeah, they give us the cars all painted up to look like our regular wheels, and we drive ’em to the gigs an’ back here. Or maybe they take us to the gig, and we only drive ’em back.”
“What about that red Mercedes?” Ty asked grimly. “The one you stole in Oxnard.”
Tiburon shrugged. “Okay, so I steal a couple cars myself when they don’t got no cars ready for us. It was dumb. I louse it up anyway.”
Jupiter said, “If you turn state’s evidence and testify in court against Hatch and his gang, the judge will give you a break for sure.”
“Don’t listen to them!” Jake Hatch cried, pulling away from Pete and lunging toward Tiburon. “I’ll give you a raise. All of you. You’ll be the richest wetbacks in town.”
