The Devil's Necktie (27 page)

Then a second car.

Jack fired into the first one. The windshield spidered and caved in on the driver. It was David Reyes. The thug managed to juke his car around Nick's vehicle, smash the gate off its hinges, and skid sideways onto the road, where Ontario PD blew out his tires.

Nick stood up, took dead aim, and fired an assault rifle as the second car passed. The driver was dead before he hit the street. His car drove straight into one of the unmarked police cars and ramped up the hood.

The trunk of the Angels car snapped open.

One hundred twenty kilos of cocaine were flung out in a cascade. They smashed as they hit the concrete road. Billowing clouds of crystal white powder scattered in the wind. The car flipped, rolled, and came to rest, spinning on its roof.

The ten armed men who were part of Nick's assault team fanned out and slowly exerted pressure on the gangsters.

One of the Angels showered the team with AK cop-killer bullets.

“Ahhhhhh! My leg. I'm hit. I'm hit . . . !” came the primal scream of a wounded detective.

Nick ran out without any hesitation. Automatic-weapons fire sizzled by his ears and sent up plumes of dirt at his feet. Nick grabbed the wounded man by the collar and dragged him to the safety of his vehicle. He tightened his belt around the cop's leg and returned to the battle.

The Angels shooter let out another short burst and ran up the metal ramp. He turned and aimed his AK at a pursuing agent.

Hector's speeding car exited the building and hit his own man squarely in the back, breaking his body. The impact sent the gangster flying, his arms flailing, his rifle spinning, off the platform to the ground below.

Hector's blue Impala missed the ramp and went airborne, out and over the broken dirt surface.

Jack saw his chance and ran from cover. He held pistols in both hands and fired into the engine block. The car landed hard, the chrome bumper ate dirt. The tires bounced, fought for purchase, and Jack emptied his clip into Hector's car, being careful not to hit his prey. He wanted Hector Lopez alive.

Jack holstered the Colt and slammed a full clip into the automatic.

Hector floored the vehicle, but the steering column locked. He lost control, and smashed into the front of the double-wide trailer, splitting it open like an aluminum can.

The Impala's engine dripped fuel and caught fire. Hector shouldered the twisted car door open and fell to the ground seconds before flames inundated the front seat.

He dropped his gun and scrabbled for it as the blaze spread to the wood-paneled walls of the trailer.

Hector desperately extended his fingers, reaching for the Glock nine millimeter, but Jack's boot savagely kicked it away. “You!” Hector roared. He grabbed Jack's leg and dragged him down. He raised a bloody fist to smash his face. Jack saw the blood, saw red, and exploded a left into Hector's neck. The big man grabbed for his throat, gulping for air. Jack flashed on Mia and hammered a right into Hector's face, knocking him back.

—

Kenny Ortega and the eight government cars were now fully deployed in front of Royce Motors. One of the DEA agents, in a heroic move, ran up to the second tank, pulled the pin on a flash grenade, and dropped it down the turret. It clattered, men shouted, and it blew. Smoke poured out of the turret and all of the gun portals. Seconds ticked down. Kenny and the men had weapons trained on the monster. The side door was flung open, and four Zetas gunmen stumbled out of the armored vehicle, where they were met with overwhelming force. “Drop your weapons! Now! Drop your weapons now!” They assumed the position and were led away in handcuffs.

The men in the lead narco tank were firing from the gun portals on both sides of the armored vehicle. The four Angels cars that were supposed to exit the front of Royce Motors had been disabled, the drivers dead or on the run.

Kenny Ortega and his team responded to the attack by shooting out the tires of the monster, crippling the behemoth but not shutting it down. Reinforcements were on their way, but Kenny had to stop the killers inside the tank before there was any more loss of life. He slammed a four-shot magazine extension into his TAC 4 and started cautiously forward.

—

Arturo Delgado and Roman shook hands and split up. Delgado headed toward the back entrance, where he thought he had the best chance of escape. He slapped another clip into his assault rifle and hugged the shadows.

Roman climbed into one of the million-dollar buses and fired up the engine. He shifted the vehicle into gear and slowly pulled out of the row and into the center aisle. He opened the door and whistled. Roman was joined by his dogs.

The bus gained speed as it drove through the spotlit pools, past the crashed Angels car and the downed Zetas commando. Roman was doing twenty by the time he got to the end of the long line of buses.

Roman pulled hard on the wheel, and the bus jerked to the left, barely making the opening that led past the service bay to freedom. He clipped the back of the lead narco tank, stunning the occupants, and shearing off the bus's mirror. He was doing thirty now. The Zetas gunmen shattered the bus's rear windows as it powered past, gaining more speed.

Roman was doing a Hail Mary play with his life on the line. He'd had a good run, he thought. Time to pay for some sins. He drove straight toward the feds, cops, and sheriffs.

—

Kenny Ortega thought the mission couldn't get any worse until he saw the bus clip the back of the tank and power toward his men. He stepped front and center and fired his Remington TAC 4 shotgun, once, and again and again into the bus's windshield. Red blood sprayed from Roman's mouth as he choked and stomped with his full weight onto the gas pedal. Ortega dove out of harm's way as the bus hit the retaining wall that surrounded Royce Motors, ramped sideways onto its left eight tires, and continued to barrel-roll over onto its side. The bus's forward momentum wiped out four government vehicles before coming to a spark-flying, metal-screeching halt beyond the big rigs that were beached in front of Royce's blown-out front entrance.

The door to the bus wheezed open and the two English mastiffs jumped out, green eyes ablaze. Ortega's men were about to fire on the beasts, but without Roman to give the kill order, the dogs were docile, in shock, and walked in aimless circles. Blood still dripped from their muzzles as they waited faithfully for their master.

It would be a long fucking wait, Kenny Ortega thought as he slapped a fresh magazine into his shotgun and ran toward the lead tank with the blown-out tires.

The turret turned toward the cops and Kenny could see that a rocket-propelled grenade was about to be launched. He leveled his TAC 4, fired, and missed. The concrete around Kenny pinged with bullets. He chambered another round and fired.

His second shot found its mark.

Buckshot filled the turret like angry wasps, and the grenade launcher dropped out of sight.

There was a muted explosion. Kenny could hear screams from inside the armored tank. The door opened, smoke poured out, and three Zetas gunmen dismounted with their hands held high. The man who was going to fire from the turret was dead, and the driver fell out of the vehicle, dazed. He assumed the position where he landed.

—

Hector Lopez spit blood, wrapped Jack in a bear hug, and rolled him farther inside the burning double-wide. Grunting fiercely, he grabbed him by the throat and muscled him down with all of his might. Pieces of the insulation and tar roof were raining down like flaming pieces of napalm. The smoke was thick and noxious. But the men were oblivious.

Jack was not going to tempt death again. He let a roundhouse fly that found its mark on the side of Hector's head. The bear of a man flinched and Jack let loose with a blistering combination of punishing blows to Hector's head and face and neck that knocked him onto his back. Jack rolled to his knees and threw a punch from his core. He felt Hector's cheekbone shatter, and he hit him again and again. For Mia, for himself, for Hector's father, and for all of the people Hector would have killed in the future if he wasn't taken down at this very moment. Jack unleashed so much fury that his knuckles bled, sweat stung his eyes, and when he pulled himself back from his blinding rage, Hector was out cold.

Jack saw his stolen weapon on the floor of the flaming double-wide. He reached over and pulled his old Glock from underneath a smoldering ember.

He thought about leaving Hector behind. There would be a certain poetic justice. Instead, growling at his own conscience, he grabbed the killer by his hair, and dragged him from the burning office structure, down the steps, to the hard-packed dirt. Hector's eyes blinked open and he was about to put up more of a fight when Jack yanked back his head, and shoved his Glock into the killer's mouth.

Hector Lopez closed his eyes and tried to calculate a way out. Nothing.

Jack was breathing hard, and his finger was itching on the trigger.

Nick Aprea stepped up next to his friend and calmly said, “The building's gonna blow. Here.” And threw down a pair of handcuffs.

Bertolino uncocked his weapon, but before he could slap on the cuffs, Hector's head exploded, sending clots of blood and gray matter spraying Jack's shirt.

Jack looked toward the rear entrance and saw the wide brim of a black hat, then a muzzle flash as a series of bullets struck wide of their intended mark.

Arturo Delgado.

Jack took off running at him. He power-loaded his backup weapon, ran a zigzag pattern, and returned fire as he forced Delgado into the building in search of cover. Then Jack sprinted up the ramp and disappeared into the inner recesses of Royce Motors.

Nick Aprea said a silent prayer for his friend as he dragged Hector's lifeless body clear. In another few seconds the double-wide and Hector's 1960 blue Impala sports sedan with the white roof and white side scoops were enveloped in flames and black acrid smoke.

—

Pools of lights alternated with areas of total darkness in the cavernous hangar that housed the rows of million-dollar buses. Jack heard movement deeper inside the warehouse and followed his ears, trusting his senses as he stalked Arturo Delgado.

Delgado was dressed in black and with his black hat all but disappeared in the dark shadows.

Bertolino moved closer as he dodged from the safety of one bus to the next. When he thought he was close, he stood stone still, trying to get a bead on his prey. He wanted to take Arturo alive but would be happy to put a bullet into his forehead.

—

Delgado moved through the pitch black as he neared the center aisle and muted shadows that separated the two long rows of buses. He had already spent half of his AK rounds. Still, he had enough left to destroy his quarry. He decided he would start with Bertolino's knees and move north from there.

He felt Jack more than he saw him, but knew he was a heartbeat away. Jack took a step into a shallow pool of light to get his bearings. Delgado stilled his breath and slowly turned to fire.

From out of nowhere, a bloody hand snaked up and grabbed Arturo Delgado by the metal brace on his leg and started to drag him down. Delgado roared. He lowered his AK and fired wildly. One-handed, the weapon arced up, spraying bullets in a crazy pattern of death. Delgado kicked and struggled to stay on his feet, finally planting two hands on the weapon and firing a head shot that killed the Los Zetas commando who had been mauled by the English mastiffs and left for dead.

Silence.

Delgado fought to control his panicked breath and ascertain Jack's position. He hoped Bertolino couldn't hear the pounding of his heart.

Jack's fist exploded out of the darkness, knocking Arturo's head into the side of the bus. His hat went flying as he spun into the center of the aisle. He tried to fire again, but Jack punched him hard, snapping the cartilage in his nose, and blinding him for a second. The AK-47 went sliding across the concrete floor, under a bus, and out of Delgado's frantic reach.

The man who had faced the cartel's tribunal took off running into darkness while Jack pursued.

“Why'd you come back?” Jack shouted, hoping his words would slow the man down.

“I could ask the same question, but we both know the answer,” Delgado said as he spit blood from his mouth. Bending down, he yanked a nine-millimeter pistol from one of the dead Angels' hands. He let four rounds fly toward Jack's voice.

—

Jack could have shot him dead, but they'd been down too many roads for such an easy end. Delgado was going to pay.

“You can't get out,” Jack said in calm, measured tones.

“How well do you know me?”

“I know things about you that would shame your mother.”

“She'd tell me to pull out the white flag.”

“Better than being carried out.”

“Not if you've been where I have.”

“You're breaking my heart, Delgado.”

“I got close.”

Jack started having second thoughts about not shooting Delgado in the head when he had the chance, as he moved silently toward the sound of Arturo's voice. He stopped, and then turned ninety degrees. He looked upward and noticed a catwalk running around the circumference of the great room.

The sound of metal tapping metal caught Jack's attention. Delgado was climbing the metal ladder to the catwalk, fifty feet above the showroom floor, used to service the air-conditioning units. A faint red light at the far end of the narrow walkway signified an emergency exit. The man's metal brace had given him away.

Jack ran toward the sound and started up the ladder, taking two rungs at a time.

Delgado sighted and shot the nine millimeter twice. Jack jerked his body out of the line of fire. One of his hands slipped and he swung sideways. He dangled thirty feet above the floor before he managed to regain his footing and continue his pursuit.

Delgado dry-fired twice and in frustration threw the empty pistol down at Jack, grazing his shoulder before it clattered to the floor below.