I tried not to concentrate on the barrel of the gun, which started looking more like a cavern than a tunnel.
“I think we’ve invested in one too many businesses already.” I watched James, who was now sitting on the ground and shaking his head.
The greaser, with papers in hand, leaned close and I could smell his foul cigar breath. “You were never to have seen these. This changes everything. Both of you, get up. Pick up all those papers, envelopes, and boxes and put them in the trunk of the Buick over there.” I hesitated, still not believing this scenario. Apparently I was moving too slowly.
“Now!” The gunman shouted. “I’ll shoot you, and your friend will have to clean that mess up too. Do you understand?”
James struggled to his feet, and I tried to fathom a way to knock the gun out of the man’s hand. It was only a dream. This was no time to be brave.
“You won’t shoot anybody. Because if you don’t lay down the gun, I’m going to blow the back of your head off. Do you understand?”
Angel, big, black, and menacing, had a gun in his hand and it was pointed at the back of the mouth’s rather large head.
The big-mouthed man spun around, his right arm stiff and the pistol aimed at Angel’s midsection. It was a split second and it seemed to last forever. Angel squeezed the trigger, and I swear I could see it in slow motion. The explosion thundered in my ears and I thought I saw fire belch from the barrel of his pistol. The Cuban jumped into the air and swatted with his left hand like he was fending off a wasp. He came down on his hip and crumpled there on the asphalt pad outside Jackie Fuentes’s storage unit. Blood ran freely, a stream of the sticky, red fluid heading toward a drain.
“Jesus.” The greasy guy’s head swiveled from Angel to James, back to Angel and then to me.
James didn’t move, but tried to speak. “A…” He said it again. “A…” Finally he got it out. “Angel. You killed him.”
Angel looked down, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. Then he leveled the pistol at the other Cuban. “Would you like to try something?”
The man was wide-eyed, frozen in his spot.
Angel shook his head. “I prefer rogues to imbeciles, because they sometimes take a rest.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “James!” He seemed to snap out of his trance. “Pick up the mail. Get it into the back of the truck.”
We threw the mail into the truck in less than sixty seconds, and I pulled down the sliding door. Angel stood still, his gun aimed at the Cuban’s head. The man never moved an inch. He just kept breathing heavily-like he’d run two miles.
James and I jumped into the cab, and Angel backed away from the man, finally climbing into the passenger side.
“What the fuck do we do? Just drive away?” James seemed frozen, his hand clutching the truck key.
I shoved him. “Hey, it was self-defense. And there’s still one of them alive. I’ll like our chances a lot better far away from here, James. Come on.”
He turned the key and stepped on the gas and the truck threw gravel thirty feet from where he spun the tires. I was happy we’d left the gate open. We hit the road forty seconds later and never looked back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“C AN’T CALL THE COPS.” James was hunched over the wheel, staring at the road. I had no idea where we were going.
“We’ve considered that how many times in the last three days?” There was always a reason not to call the cops.
Angel rode shotgun, silent since we took off.
“Angel, where did you get the gun?”
“The Colt 380? Part of the package.”
I must have looked surprised.
“When you hire Angel, you get the complete package.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know any more.
“He may be dead.” James looked like he was in a trance as the truck raced down the road.
“I can’t imagine what kind of trouble we’re in.”
“Hey!” I couldn’t let that stand. “Angel probably saved our lives. Jesus, the man was shot in self-defense and you’re worried about the trouble we’re in. James, think about not knowing the trouble we’re in. Think about us not being here to worry about it.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. There’s that.”
“Angel, what was the thing about rogues and imbeciles?”
He smiled. “Alexander Dumas.”
James and his movie quotes. Angel’s quotes from great literature. And I had nothing.
When we pulled into the apartment complex, it was almost dark. No one had said another word.
“Do you think this is a good idea? Here, where we live?”
James shrugged his shoulders. “Where would you go? These guys have tracked us through the DMV, so they obviously know where Emily lives. They know where we live. I would guess they know where Jackie and Fuentes live. Maybe you have a better suggestion.” Bitter and cold, and he was right. We’d run out of options.
Angel stepped out and I scooted over the seat and saw Em’s T-Bird right in front of our apartment. Not a good time.
She was dozing in the driver’s seat and I tapped on the window. She blinked and opened her door.
“Hi, babe.”
“Em, what are you doing here?”
The three of us stood there, looking into the car.
“Em, this is Angel. Angel, Em.”
They nodded at each other.
I figured she had to know what had transpired. I didn’t want to go from beginning to end, so I started at the end. “Angel saved our lives tonight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
M Y FATHER NEVER CALLED ME. When he left, it was as if he’d disappeared, maybe died in a foreign war, and what memories I had would have to suffice for my lifetime. Oh, I heard about him from time to time. He sent my mother regular checks, although they were a fraction of what the courts ordered him to pay. Someone sent my mother a notice from a Phoenix, Arizona newspaper that he’d been picked up for DWI. A friend sent my grandfather a picture of my dad winning a father and son Halloween contest somewhere in Arizona, so I knew that he’d started another family.
In my fantasy life I wondered if I had been rich and famous-a movie actor or recording artist-I wondered if my father would have come out publicly and announced that I was his son. And I always wondered if I’d done something wrong. Had I been less than a diligent offspring? Had I somehow been a bone of contention in my mother and father’s relationship? Something had caused him to leave our family. Maybe he didn’t want children. I worry that question to this day. And when it’s feasible, I’ll find him. I’ll hunt him down and make him answer the only question that seems to have any merit. “Why did you leave?”
I often considered that when I was stressed. What would cause me to leave? I really had nothing to leave. Em? She wasn’t mine to leave. James? He was my best friend, but eventually we’d split and go our own ways. My
