Schilling and Ibo stepped out from between the oil drums as if they had come through an invisible door, one moment impossible to see, the next their hands flashing fire, with the absolute efficiency of a striking snake. Pike had studied those drums, but seen nothing. They struck so fast that he could not warn Myers. It happened so quickly, and Pike was so far away, that he was nothing more than a witness to the execution.
They were as good as anyone Joe Pike had ever seen. Pike ran forward, trying to get into range, as Cole shouted. Pike and Cole fired at almost the same instant, but Pike knew they were too late; the limo's left headlight shattered and a bullet careened off its hood. The limo ripped away as Cole raced toward the truck. Pike didn't bother because he knew what Cole would find.
BEN
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Pike twisted around, searching for movement; someone had controlled the truck's lights, and that would be Fallon, somewhere nearby with a line of sight on the scene; now that Schilling and Ibo had the money, Fallon would also run, and might give himself away. Then a heavy shot boomed to the north, and Pike spun toward the sound. Not a handgun shot, but something loud and heavy. Light flashed in one of the parked cars, followed fast by a second boom. Pike saw shadows in the car. A man and a boy. Pike shouted at Cole as the car pulled away, then ran hard down the hill for his ]eep, his shoulder sending sharp lightning through his arm as he ran. Pike thought, I'm scared.
Mike wasn't like Eric or Mazi. Mike didn't bullshit or play the radio and leer at the hot chicks they passed on San Vicente Boulevard. Mike spoke only to give commands. He looked at Ben only to make sure Ben got the point. That was it. They turned into a parking lot at the airport, then sat with the engine running. Mike never turned off the engine. Like he was scared that it wouldn't start when he needed it. After a while, Mike had lifted the binoculars to watch something across the field. Ben couldn't tell what was happening because it was so far away. The shotgun rested with the muzzle on the floor and the stock leaning against Mike's knee. It wasn't a regular shotgun like the o-gauge Ithaca that Ben's grandpa had given him for Christmas; this shotgun was really short, with a black stock, but Ben saw a little button in the 306
trigger guard that he knew was the safety. His own
shotgun had the same kind of safety. The safety was off.
Ben thought, I'll bet he's got one in the box and good to go
just like Eric.
Ben glanced up at Mike again, but Mike was still
focused across the field.
Mike scared him. Eric and Mazi were scared of Mike,
too. If it had been Eric sitting here concentrating on
' something across the field, Ben thought he would go for
the gun. All he had to do was grab the trigger and the gun
would go off. But that was Eric and this was Mike. Mike
reminded him of a sleeping cobra, all coiled up and good
to go. You might think it was sleeping but you never
knew.
Mike lowered the binoculars just long enough to find
what looked like a small walkie-talkie from the dash board, then raised the binoculars again. He keyed the
walkie-talkie, and lights flickered across the runway.
Mike spoke on his cell phone, and then put the phone to
Ben's ear.
'It's your dad. Say something.'
Ben grabbed the phone.
'Daddy?'
His father sobbed, and just like that Ben cried like a
baby, gushing tears and hiccuping.
'I wanna go home.'
Mike took back the phone. Ben grabbed for it, but
Mike held him at arm's length. Ben clawed and bit and
punched, but Mike's arm was an iron rod. Mike squeezed
Ben's shoulder so hard that his shoulder felt crushed.
Mike said, 'You going to stop?'
Ben shrank away from Mike as far as possible, embar rassed and ashamed. He cried even harder.
Mike dropped the phone, then peered througl the 307
binoculars again. He keyed the walkie-talkie once more, and now the far lights flashed and stayed on.
Overlapping erratic pops came from the far side of the airport then, and Mike straightened, focused so
