top from the crate, puffing on his stogie the entire time. He tossed the lid onto the floor and reached inside. I realized I was holding my breath.
He pulled out a long metal object, partially hidden by their three bodies. I had a good idea of what it was before he turned and held it to the light, admiring its sleek lines and form. I knew nothing about firearms, but this appeared to be some sort of a high-tech rifle, not the kind you’d go hunting with in the woods. I let out my breath. Boxes and boxes of rifles. Enough for a small army.
They turned to the boxes, their backs to me.
It was time to get the hell out of Dodge. Practically dragging my feet, I measured my distance to the door. I slid silently, afraid that actual footsteps would resonate throughout the hollow building. I could sense rather than see the door, and I was sure that with two more steps I would be within reaching distance. It was at that moment my phone blared “Born in the USA” at full volume.
CHAPTER FIFTY
I grabbed for it, yanking it out of my pocket as I reached the door. I was tempted to throw it on the ground and run, but I took one extra second just to see who the hell was calling me at the most critical time in my life. I couldn’t explain then, and I can’t explain now, why I would have checked the caller’s number, but I did. And as I twisted the door handle, pulled it open, and ran, I could hear the angry shouts from inside. I fully expected to be tackled from behind or have someone firing bullets at my back, but what surprised me more than anything was the gunshot from in front of me. One shot, a cracking sound like someone with a whip, then two more shots and I hit the pavement, just as the floodlight went dark.
Glass shattered and rained down around me onto the parking lot surface, and looking ahead I could see headlights flashing a rapid off and on pattern. I stumbled to my feet and ran again, my legs pumping like pistons, my chest heaving, gasping for air. How far was the damned Jeep. The passenger door was wide open and I leaped in as Angel tromped on the gas. We shot out of the parking lot and hit the road doing at least forty.
“I put a little extra in the engine.” Angel smiled in the dim light.
My breathing was ragged and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. Feeling like I might throw up, I leaned out the window, looking behind us. There was no sign of anyone following.
I gulped humid night air into my oxygen-starved chest and said nothing.
“Great shooting, Angel.” James reached out and patted the driver on the shoulder. “Hey, amigo, Angel shot out the floodlight. Trying to give you a little cover while you made your escape.”
I wanted to thank him, but all I could do was inhale.
“So what the hell did you see? And who saw you?”
I waved James off. If I talked in the next minute I knew I’d go into a coughing fit.
We were all quiet for that minute; the only sound was me trying to suck up all the air in the car. God, I was out of shape. This was the wake-up call. It was time to exercise, eat right, and lay off the beer.
Angel hit the main road back to the highway and I stared straight ahead as he blew through the first stop sign, and the second, and then a red light that I didn’t remember from before. I glanced at the sideview mirror about eighty times and never saw the first sign of another vehicle. We finally got to the entrance ramp to I-95 and I could breathe a little slower. Maybe I’d just cut back a little on the beer and just exercise occasionally. No reason to make a radical change.
“Guns.”
“What?” James didn’t understand.
“That’s what was in the boxes. Guns. Rifles. Sleek-looking rifles. If I knew anything about rifles, I’d say they looked like they were automatic with long clips. But I don’t have a clue. All I know is, there are boxes and boxes of the black things and they had one out when I ran. I don’t know why they didn’t shoot me.” “They weren’t loaded.” Angel, with the complete package, probably knew a whole lot more than I ever will about guns. “Some of those boxes probably contained ammunition.”
“I’m telling you, Angel, they could start their own army with all those weapons.”
James leaned forward. “They probably have.”
I glanced over at the speedometer and saw Angel was doing about eighty miles an hour. Given the hour, he probably figured the cops had better places to be.
“Okay, pardner, what happened while you were in there?”
I took a deep breath, feeling weak and somewhat disoriented. “How long was I in there?”
“Five minutes. Damn, it seemed like an hour, but Angel timed you.”
I told them about the cylinders, the boxes of guns, the balcony, and the three men.
“So it was the second Cuban?” Angel asked.
“No doubt. But I didn’t recognize the other two men and I didn’t see Vic. Maybe we were wrong.”
“Maybe.” James was cautious. “If it was Vic, my guess is they took him away in the Lexus.”
“Well, I didn’t see him. The three guys opened one of the crates and pulled out this black rifle and my phone went off.”
“What?”
“My phone. I swear it’s going on vibrate tonight and I will never program another song for a ringtone. Bruce Springsteen almost cost me my life.”
“It went off while you were in there?”
“Are you listening? It went off. Loud.”
“And what did they do?”
I shook my head. “Jesus, James. I didn’t stick around to find out. You saw the result. I think I ran the hundred in ten flat.”
“Who was it?”
“I looked. Habit. Look down and see who’s calling. All the time I’m thinking, ‘This is going to slow me down. They’re going to catch me because I’m checking the number on my cell phone.’”
“Em. Had to be.”
I thought of her for a moment. I was convinced that the kid almost lost a father tonight, and the thought made me sad. I at least wanted to meet the baby when he came into the world. All the work his father had done so far was pure pleasure and I needed some of the angst, pain, and agony to make it a real experience. I should probably quit putting myself in such dangerous situations.
“No. It wasn’t Em. It was Rick Fuentes.”
“Fuentes almost got you killed?”
“Caller ID said Rick Fuentes.” I pulled the phone from my pocket, punched in my code and listened.
“You have one unheard message. First message.”
“Eugene Moore? This is Rick Fuentes. I hadn’t heard anything, and I’m hoping you took the mail to the designated spot. Once again, I’m sorry you are involved and it will be much better for everyone concerned if you now just walk away.”
“Fuentes wants to know if we dropped off the mail, and he wants us to wash our hands of the entire affair. What else is new?”
James piped up from the backseat. “I think that suits me just fine. We can bill him for the overtime and finish with this whole mess.”
I looked back over my shoulder. “You got us into this, James. And now we stumble on Vic or someone who looks like him. I want to know if he’s still alive. And, we’ve just staked out the headquarters of this organization and we- I was found out. That doesn’t let us just ‘finish with this whole mess.’”
Angel kept both hands clamped to the wheel. “You’re right. You are now a prime target, and you have to finish what you set out to do.”
“Christ, I’ve lost sight of what we set out to do.”
“Find your school friend. You were hired to find out where he is. This Vic.”
Headlights filled the side mirror as a lone vehicle rapidly approached. Angel hit the gas, approaching a hundred miles per hour and the vehicle kept coming, gaining by the second.
