are here,â Chopo said.
âOkay, so letâs do what we discussed. You tell âem youâre from another crew. Say youâve got the girl and want to get paid a few bucks to hand her over. Point them around the corner to that alley. Once theyâre there, Iâll put my pistol to the driverâs head and force them out of the car. You really have to sell your offer, though. Let them know youâre not greedy, just looking to make a little green.â
Chopo nodded. âIâll make it easy for them.â
The Mustang cruised at a walking pace into the main parking lot and stopped. Two men got out and leaned against the car. Tall, dirty white boys with long hair, wearing leather jackets and black jeans.
As Chopo began sauntering in their direction, I positioned myself next to a Dumpster in the alley and kept my pistolâs safety off. I scanned up and down the street, occasionally checking the buildings behind me. I couldnât hear what Chopo was saying; the traffic noise was starting to get loud and was interspersed with sirens. The two men appeared to be laughing. Chopo wasnât. He took a step back, his hand twitching by his side.
Three pairs of hands flew and three pistols appeared. Two shots rang out. Chopo was already on the move, running back toward me as the other menâs bodies crumpled to the ground. I had my pistol aimed at the bodies, watching Chopo crouch and run below my sights. Bad. This is bad.
It got worse. âGet in the damned car, Barr!â Chopo yelled as he ran past me and yanked the driverâs door open. âYour plan was shit.â
I reached for my door as a second car roared around the corner toward the park. A man in the passenger seat pointed a shotgun out the window. A shot boomed and steel pellets rang off our hood, shredding paint and cracking glass. I squeezed the trigger three times, aiming at the receding taillights of the shotgun car.
The back window shattered, then the car was out of sight. I wallowed in the passenger side as Chopo slammed his car in reverse and tore off, wheels spitting rocks and trash. Chopo yanked the wheel, the front end spinning 180 degrees, before he threw it into drive and headed east through town.
Son of a bitch . My hands shook as I put the pistol on mylap. The barrel was warm and the car reeked of burnt powder. âWhat the hell just happened?â
âWord came down from Mr. Alvis. You and the bartender are dead. They couldnât figure my angle at first; then one of them recognized me and put me with Alejandro. They drew down, saying that us Mexicans will never get it back. I dropped them.â
âThe second car?â
âWho knows? You sure as hell arenât very popular, Barr.â I could tell he was mad at the situation, but other than that he didnât seem fazed at all. Another day at work.
âIf Alvis is gunning for us, then we need to get Allie. Now.â
âFor sure. My cousinâs junkyard on Antlers Lane?â
âYeah.â
We headed east out of town, driving a reasonable speed on back roads. Once we got on US 6 we picked up speed, watching for cops. Our car was missing a lot of paint and would be pulled over on sight. Horses and cows stood listlessly in fields to our left, nibbling on the short, sweet green grass. Chopoâs car smelled strongly of a different kind of grass and expensive cologne. It was clean though, not a piece of typical car trash anywhere.
How I could be so stupid? All along Iâd underestimated Alvis. It made sense that once I told Brent I was in Rifle, the troops would be called in. Somehow in a matter of days, Iâd gotten involved with multiple drug-dealing gangs, Feds, and a girl who was starting to mean something. To me and everyone else. So much for the quiet life in the Yukon.
A train rumbled down the tracks on our right, a long one carrying heaping piles of coal. It belched gray smoke as it clanked away in the opposite
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