Page 525 of Devil’s Disciples

Not knowing what in the hell was going on, they both managed to stand. Teetering from side to side with taped ankles, they hobbled half the distance to the door. I paused and turned to face them.

“You have no idea what’s up, do you?” I asked. “Well, in case you don’t, here’s the dealio. Carmelita? She was never yours. But for saying’s sake, she’s mine now. You won’t be hurting her, or anyone else for that matter. Ever again.”

Using the cop’s gun, I shot Alacrán once, in the chest.

He fell dead on the floor at Manos’ feet.

I looked at Manos. “Don’t. Move.”

I walked to the cop. He was still on his back, heaving to catch his breath.

“Do you think that Manos fella will prove useful as an informant,” I asked. “Or do you think he can be trusted?”

Rocking from side to side in agony, he looked at me like I’d asked him the impossible. He sucked a quick breath. “I don’t have…any…fucking…idea.”

“Personally, I kind of like the fella,” I admitted. “But I don’t think he can be trusted. And he knows who we are. Bad idea to let him live, huh?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. Then, he opened them and started to speak. It didn’t matter, I’d made my mind up. I faced Manos and shot him once in the chest. He stumbled, and then fell a few feet from Alacrán.

I faced the cop. “Am I going to get that reward money?”

“I wasn’t…planning on…”

I pulled Alacrán’s pistol from my waistband and pointed it at his face. “‘San Diego County Sheriff’s detective Marc Watson died today while serving a felony warrant in San Diego’s Ocean Beach neighborhood.’” I cleared my throat. “Or, you promise me the reward money. Then, the headlines read this: ‘An unnamed San Diego County Sheriff’s detective is hailed a hero for taking down the notorious El Alacrán Ramirez in what authorities are calling the end of one of the most intense manhunts in history. In the raid, he was shot twice before returning fire and killing Ramirez and an unnamed accomplice.’ Which will it be, detective?”

“I’ll go with…the…latter.”

I tossed the gun at his side. “Good choice. You’ll need to fire a round and have Alacrán do the same, so there’s cordite residue on your hands, but I’m sure you’re aware of that, being a dirty cop and all. Oh, and I prefer that money be in cash, okay?”

He raised himself onto his elbows. “I’ll see…what I can…do.”

193

Carma

Goose’s kitchen was large enough for thirty people or more, and it was packed. A handful had migrated back to the rooftop, but most were in the kitchen celebrating.

Surreal. It was the only word I could think of to describe the situation. Angel was dead. Reno was meeting my parents. They were two things I feared may never happen. Having them both occur in the same night was inconceivable.

“Dead?” my father asked. “How can you be sure?”

“I watched him die,” Reno responded. “I was there when he took his last breath.”

For as long as I was able to remember, my dreams had been haunted by the cartel. Now, for the first time, I could sleep easily and without fear, thanks to Reno. With the burden off my shoulders, I felt weightless and energetic.

“Did you kill him?” my father asked.

“There’s an ongoing police investigation,” Reno replied. “They’ll make an announcement in the morning, if not sooner. I’m sorry, I can’t comment on how things unfolded.”

My father studied him for a moment, and then extended his hand. “Thank you.”

There was no doubt in my mind that Reno killed him. He had yet to admit it, but he didn’t have to. I could see it in his eyes. I’m sure my father could, too.

Reno shook his hand. “Anything for Carma’s safety, Sir. It was my only concern.”

My father sat, lowered his face into his hands. and then let out a long breath. He looked up. “I’m forever grateful.”

Goose sauntered to where we were and looked us over. “Eat something,” he said. “There’s enough food here for a small army.”