On The Grind

Chapter 56

The jeeps were still spaced out but were now only about one hundred yards away. Still a tough pistol shot.

"We're coming out, don't shoot!" I shouted painfully through my broken teeth.

"Stand up and throw your guns out in front of you," the bullhorn commanded. It definitely sounded like Manny Avilas voice.

I glanced at Rocky. "Ready?"

"How the hell do I get ready-for a dumb-ass move like this?"

But Rocky stood up anyway and stepped around the wall with me. Then he held his gun up high so they could see it. I held up my hose nozzle. I saw the sun glint off a pair of field glasses, so I knew they had a magnified view.

"Throw your guns down," the bullhorn repeated.

Rocky tossed his gun away. It landed a few feet in front of him, kicking up a little puff of sand.

I was ten feet to his right as I threw the pewter hose nozzle away.

"Now move forward," the electrified voice ordered.

As we walked toward the Jeep, I could feel the comforting weight of the Kimber jammed in my jeans out of sight at the small of my back.

"Move toward me," the bullhorn screeched.

We started slowly toward Manny Avila s Jeep.

We were about thirty yards away when I saw something in the sky. It started out as a strange, distant movement camouflaged in the heat waves coming off the desert. A distortion of the horizon. A few seconds later, I heard the distant thump of a helicopter blade beating the air. Before I could react, I saw a muzzle flash over by the Jeeps and heard the simultaneous whine of a bullet streaking past my ear.

Rocky and I dove headfirst into the sand.

I snatched out the Kimber and started shooting from a prone position. Thirty yards is still a long ways out for a pistol with a four-inch barrel. The Kimber wasn't much good at that distance. But they didn't know what I was shooting and my gunshots were definitely changing their plans. The Jeeps suddenly went into reverse, backing away from us, throwing up clouds of sand and dust.

As I laid down a withering fire, Rocky used the moment to dart out and snatch his Glock from the desert floor.

I continued to fire the slide lock.

A large green and gold Schweizer 333 helicopter appeared out of the heat distortion and headed rig toward us. It was hugging the deck, the sound of the thumping blade growing louder as it choppered toward us at over a hundred miles an hour.

Then all hell broke loose.

Jeeps were scattering in every direction. One of them broke from the pack and headed back toward us. As it got closer I recognized Manny Avila in the passenger seat, still wearing his cool leather jacket and wraparound shades. He was clutching the electronic bullhorn, his mouth stretched wide in panic.

Rocky suddenly jumped up and charged in the direction of Avila s Jeep. I scrambled to my feet and followed. As we ran, the helicopter banked just overhead. I looked up and saw a big PJDF1 logo painted on the side — POLICIA JUDICIAL DEL DISTRITO FEDERAL. As the Schweizer flashed past, I caught a glimpse of Ophelia Love hanging in the open doorway, gun out, intensity etching her face.

The Jeeps were all in four-wheel drive, going about twenty miles per hour in the deep sand. Mannys was closing fast. Rocky was still four strides out ahead of me when Manny's driver swerved and headed right at us. The front bumper clipped Rocky, knocking him onto his back in the sand. He dropped his Glock, but I was able to scoop it up as I ran past. I dove into the Jeep and landed in the backseat.

In the next instant I was trading shots at point-blank range with the carbine-wielding bodyguard next to me. However, at three feet, Rocky's Glock was a far superior weapon. The bodyguard discharged an awkward, errant shot as he struggled to swing the three-foot-long barrel around in cramped quarters. I placed my muzzle on his shoulder and blew him right out of the speeding Jeep.

As my gun discharged, Manny Avila screamed in fright and started clawing for his sidearm.

But when the Glock fired, the driver flinched and jerked the wheel, flipping the Jeep. Everyone flew out of the vehicle and landed face-first in the sand. I rolled, and came up on my feet with the Glock still out in front of me. Manny Avila was ten feet away, trying to stand. I ran to him and jammed the automatic into his chest and shoved him back to his knees.

"Stay put," I ordered, then snatched his chrome-plated pistol out of the belt holster and threw it a safe distance away. The driver of the Jeep was out cold.

The mop-up was right out of a Bruckheimer movie. The helicopter was herding Jeeps from the air, turning them and forcing them to stop. Finally, the green and gold Schweizer settled low and landed. Flak-jacketed, machine-gun-wielding PJDF cops poured out of the chopper door and surrounded the startled ranch bodyguards, who quickly threw down their rifles, jutting their hands in the air.

Ophelia ran over to me. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, but we better check Rocky."

We moved over and helped Rocky to his feet. He was shaken but unhurt.

"\Maravillosol" the little fighter said with a grin.

"How the hell did you find us?" I asked.

Ophelia reached into my shirt pocket and removed her DCST unit. In all the excitement, I'd completely forgotten it was still there.

"You left it on and we backtracked the signal from space." She grinned at me. "How's that for your tax dollars saving your ass?" Then she triggered her hand rover. "Alexa, it's me. I got him. He's safe."

"Thank God," I heard Alexa say. "Get him over here."

"I'll have him to you in ten." Then Ophelia turned off her radio.

"Ten minutes?" I said, and Ophelia nodded. "Where is she?"

"We split up. I was following this signal, but she insisted on following the belt tracker because she was sure that was where you'd be." She pointed at Cielo Ranchero. "She's over there."