CHAPTER 58

JOSe RETURNED TO HIS TRUCK, TAKING GREAT CARE TO KEEP TO THE darker shadows. After he slid behind the wheel, he scanned the street carefully before pulling away from the curb and setting off down Commerce. When his phone rang, he dug it free from his pocket and saw Casey's number. He looked at the display for a moment and placed it on the seat beside him, just driving and thinking.

The phone kept ringing.

He focused on the road, then scooped it up and flipped it open.

"Yeah," he said.

"Jose," Casey whispered.

"What the hell?"

"Elijandro's brother killed Gage," she said.

"Good riddance.''

"I saw it.''

"Call the cops.''

"I have a slight problem right now,'' she said.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Well, I'm in a trunk for one thing. I called 911 but they thought I was nuts and I don't know where I am."

"Slow down. Whose trunk?"

"Elijandro's brother is driving Gage's car. He killed Gage at the quarry, and now I'm pretty sure he's going to kill me. So let's put our differences aside, good by you?"

"You're at the quarry?" Jose said, stepping hard on the gas, heading for the interstate.

"I was."

"Which way did you go?" he asked, punching Wilmer up on his GPS.

"I'm in a goddamn trunk."

"Which way did you turn? When you left the quarry?"

The line was quiet and Jose swallowed before hearing her say, "Left. It was left."

"How long?" he asked.

"A minute ago."

"Stay on the phone. Tell me when you turn again."

"Jesus, this trunk stinks," she said. "Smells like chewing tobacco and piss."

"You're in Gage's vehicle?" Jose said, pulling onto Route 45 himself and rocketing down the left-hand lane. "A cop car?''

"Yes. This guy just showed up.''

Jose glanced at the GPS, then touched the zoom.

"You'll hit Belt Line any minute," he said. "I'm on 45 already. I'll be there."

"No problem," Casey said. "Take your time. The trunk is roomy and I have a homicidal maniac at the wheel. It's all peachy.''

CHAPTER 59

TEUCH SENT ADULIO OFF IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION IN THE Impala while he turned left out of the quarry, heading for Interstate 45. He checked himself in the rearview and poked at where the gauze sagged on his forehead. He looked like shit and turned away from his reflection, gripping the wheel tighter. He liked riding in the cruiser. It had a big macho engine, and no one would mess with a Po Po's ride. No one would find an empty cop car, either, and start looking for the cop who went with it. He didn't need that. The cop was just one down. He still had the senator to go.

The Kings had a junkyard and chop shop in Irvine, where he could lose the whole package, except for the girl. You couldn't chop down a girl. He knew some people who would do that for a price but that wasn't the way Teuch rolled.

He felt like he'd seen her before even though he had no idea where. Teuch punched up the cop radio and listened to the regular chatter about speeders and grocery snatch-and-grabs and then turned it off, finding a good Norteno station, letting the windows down and lighting up a fat spliff he'd saved for the right time.

The pain subsided to the sounds of Los Tigres del Norte. The smoke and the sweet accordion took him back as he listened to "Directo al Corazon." He found the switch for the flashers and siren and gave them a twirl, laughing, and reaching into the glove compartment to find a sweet.38 Chief's Special fully loaded.

A bridge came into view, rising up over the Trinity River, a high point where he would be able to see traffic coming and going. The guardrails glowed in the beam of the headlights, nothing but blackness beyond. Teuch checked the mirror for traffic behind and saw the same kind of empty road that lay before him. He drove to the high point of the bridge and pulled over as far as he could and carefully studied the landscape around him to make sure they were alone.

He smoked the spliff down to a roach, seeing nothing but the lights of a distant farm and hearing nothing but the sweep of water beneath the bridge. Satisfied, he popped the trunk, hopped out, and rounded the car. On his way, he tossed the bloody knife over the guardrail, pausing to hear it splash as he rounded the back bumper.

He hoped the bitch could swim, as he tucked the newly found.38 into the waistband of his jeans.

The woman lay blinking up at him in the weak light of the trunk, a cell phone in her hand.

"Stupid," he said, reaching for the phone.

The woman clutched the phone but Teuch grabbed for it and twisted away. He shook his head and drew the gun from the back of his pants.

"Puta."

From the corner of his eye, Teuch now detected a faint glow from up ahead. He snorted at the sight of headlights, distant, but moving his way. He cursed in Spanish and slammed the trunk shut again and hustled back behind the wheel. With the cop car in gear, he eased away from the guardrail and started across the bridge.

Instead of continuing, the oncoming vehicle, a truck by its size, swerved into the middle of the bridge, blocking Teuch's path. Thirty yards away, it came to a stop. The truck's high beams kicked on and Teuch winced and jammed on his brakes. Blocking the bright lights with an arm, Teuch threw the car into reverse. He sped backward, but the truck advanced and bumped his front end, spinning him and causing him to crash into the guardrail.

Teuch punched the gas again, but the car only whined and tugged against the guardrail, which had hooked its crumpled edges into the car. The truck stopped again, high beams still blinding him. Teuch dove across the seat, flung open the passenger-side door, and rolled out onto the bridge. Still shielding his eyes, he drew the gun with his other hand, popped up the roof, and fired into the truck.

Ducking down, he scurried up to the front end and eased around the bumper, ready to fire again. Nothing moved. The truck's engine rumbled over the top of Teuch's rapid breathing. Teuch studied the shadows inside and around the truck and moistened his lips.

The red-and-blue lights on Gage's cop car flashed; the sounds of the Mexican radio station came softly from inside the car.

Finally Teuch yelled, "Come out!"

Nothing happened. No one moved. Teuch crept along the guardrail, staying in the shadows, his eyes locked onto the truck with his gun aimed and ready. He inched closer, heart hammering fast. Out of the headlights' beams, he could see the bullet hole at the center of the frosty web that made up the damaged windshield. When he reached the door, he stood listening for several minutes before wrenching it open. Instead of a bloody body, only the soft sound of a bell and the dim glow of the dome light greeted him.

"Drop it, fucknuts," a voice behind him said.

Teuch stood still and raised his hands, turning slowly.

The voice told Teuch to drop it again, this time in Spanish and including a nasty curse on his mother.

Teuch saw an automatic pointed at his head and he dropped the.38. When it clattered to the pavement, the man covering him allowed his eyes to flicker at the sound. Teuch dropped and rolled, hitting the pavement for an instant before finding his feet and propelling himself forward into the shadows. The blast of the gun seemed to split his head open, but the bullet zipped past his ear in the same instant. He dodged twice, first one way, then the other, before reaching the guardrail and leaping into empty black space.