Page 83 of Dirty

Crip glanced at me. “Give us a minute?”

I motioned toward the patio. “I’ll be outside.”

It was late afternoon, and the bar wasn’t busy yet. I walked out to the empty patio, and sat down at one of the larger tables. I realized there was very little we could do about the situation Cholo was in without help – and a lot of it – but sitting and drinking a beer while one of my brothers was in danger wasn’t my way of doing things.

According to Crip, going to the dope house in daylight would assuredly lead to our arrest, and I couldn’t disagree. Drinking a beer with Crip’s SEAL buddies while Cholo was being held hostage, however, ground on my very last nerve.

Before I’d taken a drink of my beer, Crip sat down beside me. “Just hold tight. We’ll have some company in a few. Let me do the talking.”

“You’re the boss,” I said snidely. “But I’ve got a question.”

He took a drink of beer. “What’s that?”

“There’s nothing we can do right now? Nothing? I have a real tough fucking time believing that.”

He crossed his arms, met my stare, and narrowed his eyes. “Cholo’s not your brother. He’s our brother. I want to save him just as much as you do. If we go there during the day, they’ll see us coming. We’ll be gunned down, and he’ll be executed. Or, the neighbors will see us, and then call the cops. The possibilities are many, but they all end with us, and him, being killed. We have to wait until after dark.”

I let out a sigh. I didn’t like it, but it made sense. “Alright. But, swilling beers with you’re your old buddies ain’t fucking cool. Not now.”

Two guys about Crip’s age – and two seemed to be in their latter twenties – stepped to the table, interrupting our conversation. The all wore beards like the bartender, and had similar builds.

No names were exchanged, and it was clear that they’d never met Crip, but they started talking like they were old friends.

“What’s the mission?” the one at Crips side asked.

“Extraction,” Crip said.

“How many tangos?”

Crip shrugged. “Uncertain. Maybe a dozen.”

The man nodded once. “Zero dark thirty?”

Crip shook his head. “Twenty-two hundred. Tonight.”

The man looked at the other three men. Each man nodded once.

Crip leaned onto the edge of the table and looked at the man at his side. “The five of us--”

“Excuse me?” I growled. “Six of us.”

Crip glanced over each shoulder, and upon determining we were alone, locked eyes with me. “This isn’t going to be easy, Peeb,” he whispered. “We’re going to be up against--”

“I don’t give a fuck who we’re up against,” I snapped. “Cholo’s my brother. My fucking brother, Crip. Just like these four whistledicks are yours. Looks like this bearded bunch of fuckers are willing to help you. Well, motherfucker, I’m willing to help Cholo. So, you can include me…” I stood up and clenched my fists. “Or, you can fight me. Take your pick.”

The man on Crip’s left chuckled. “Looks like there’ll be six of us.”

“God damn it, Peeb.” He shot me a glare. “You could get killed. No bullshit. Killed.”

I shrugged. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

***

Following an impromptu training session at our shop that included hand signals and the proper use of weapons, I was fitted with modern-day military gear and loaded into a van.

Thirty minutes later, just before 11:00 p.m., and we were poised and ready to enter the home.

Our instructions came over a headset.