The ringleader scoffed. "You expect me to believe that shit? How do you just lose $150 million?"
"If I knew where it was, we'd be digging it up right now, you fucking moron."
That enraged the runt. He shoved the barrel in Mickey’s face. "What did you call me?"
"I called you a moron, and I think that’s being generous. I can't give you what I don't have.” Mickey had had enough of this kid’s nonsense. This wasn’t the first time Mickey had a gun pointed at him. He wasn’t about to back down.
"You guys are the morons,” Ringleader said. “Do you know how many booby-traps you walked through coming into this meadow? Idiots. It's a miracle you're still alive.”
We all exchanged an uncertain glance. It wouldn’t be unusual for drug dealers to booby-trap their grows. Maybe we had gotten luckier than we realized.
“What are the odds of that?” the ringleader asked. “That’s fate. We were destined to have this meeting, and I’m destined to have that cash.”
"We’re not the only ones searching for it," I said.
"Did I ask you?” the ringleader said, swinging the barrel around in my direction.
"I’m just saying. Even if you find that money, you think you can just walk away with it without repercussions?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. That’sfuck youmoney. That’s financial freedom.”
“That money was stolen from Pepe Sandoval. His son wants it back.”
The ringleader scoffed. “Pepe is dead. Why should I care what his son wants?”
“Because Pedro Sandoval is one of the most ruthless people I’ve ever met,” Mickey said. “People feared Pepe, but it was because Pedro was a nutcase. I watched him kill women and children in front of me for no reason. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”
“Shit. You think I wouldn’t do the same? You haven’t seen ruthless till you’ve seen me in action,” he boasted. He swung his rifle back at Mickey, taking aim. “Now you better remember where that money is, or you’re gonna see what I’m capable of."
Blue Bandanna leaned in and muttered to the ringleader. "We can't kill Mickey Malibu. He's like the patron saint of drug smuggling. That would be bad luck.”
Ringleader dismissed him. "What do you know about luck?"
"I know a lot about it. And I’m telling you that shit would be bad. Plus, I recognize this guy,” he said, pointing to Flynn. “He was in that movie, Blood Inferno. He also does those car commercials.”
“Car commercials?”
"Yeah, you know the ones.You just gotta ride the wave, go with the flow, let the universe be your mojo."
"That actually came from a movie, then we used it in the car commercial," Flynn said.
They both stared at him.
"Nobody asked you, man," the ringleader snapped.
Flynn raised his hands innocently.
Just then, a bullet snapped across the field. It narrowly missed the ringleader.
“Get down,” I shouted.
Across the meadow, muzzle flash flickered from the tree line. We were caught in the middle of a turf war.
38
We crouched low in the high grass as bullets crisscrossed overhead.
The ringleader and his band of thugs had their hands full. Rifles hammered against shoulders, and muzzle flash flickered. The tangy scent of gunpowder wafted. Ejection ports spit scalding hot brass onto the grass.
