Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [69]
My heart beat so fast my eyes pulsed.
The engine quit. The door opened. Booted feet hit the road, kicking up a cloud of fine snow. A slight hesitation and then the feet stopped by the driver’s side door of my truck.
I barreled around the front end, gun in hand. “You lookin’ for me?”
A look of utter surprise.
“Hands above your head, asshole, and don’t
move.”
He started to back away.
“I said, don’t fucking move.”
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He didn’t utter a peep; he just kept backing up. Which pissed me off. I fired at the ground so close to his feet snow puffed over the toes of his boots like marshmallow topping.
Then he froze.
I inched closer and yelled, “On the ground.”
He stared at me with his mouth hanging open so far I saw his fillings.
I fired again. “Now!”
He hit the snow.
“Stretch your arms above your head. Pretend you’re Superman.” I loomed over him. “You try anything while you’re moving them up there and I’ll shoot you in the ass.”
Glove-covered hands zoomed up.
“You carrying?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“I-it’s in the car.”
“Where?”
“On the passenger’s seat.”
“Where’s your cell?”
“In my pocket.”
“Did you call this in to whoever is making you follow me?”
Pause. “Not yet.”
“Lucky for you.”
Crunching tires signaled Jimmer’s arrival.
The guy lifted up, caught sight of the muzzle I’d 243
aimed at his head, and lowered back down.
The cold settled into my bones on a number of levels beyond the air temp.
Jimmer climbed out of his Hummer with a
Remington 870 Wingmaster shotgun in hand. He sauntered over, held it aloft, and pumped it. The man yelped at the distinctive sound.
Impressive.
Jimmer said, “You know who he is?”
“No. We skipped formal introductions.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
The guy turned his face to the left. “Dietz.”
“What’s he told you so far?”
“Just that he’s got a gun on the front seat.”
While Jimmer checked it out, I crouched five feet from my captive. “Who do you work for?”
No answer.
“Don’t piss off a woman with a short temper and a big gun, Dietz. Who do you work for?”
“I-I can’t tell you.”
“You can, and you will if I have to shoot it out of you. Tell me who the fuck you work for.”
“You don’t understand. He’ll kill me.”
Jimmer said, “Start talking or I’ll kill you.”
“Do it. Because you don’t scare me as much as he does.”
“Wrong again. Talk.”
I had a bad, bad feeling.
Dietz babbled, “Do you know what he’ll do to 244
me when he finds out she picked up on the tail right away?”
“Actually, your buddy fucked it up last night, so I was on the lookout for another tail this morning.”
Dietz looked me in the eye. “What?”
“Your buddy, in the Blazer last night at McDonald’s.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Today’s the first day we’re supposed to—”
“Bullshit. I didn’t imagine that snoopy fucker cruising by my house eight times last night. So try again.”
Jimmer put the small gun he’d found in the Toyota at the base of the man’s skull. “Answer the question. Who told you to follow her?”
No hesitation. “The Hombres.”
Fuck.
“You a member? Or a hire?”
“I’m a pledge, man, I just do what I’m told.”
“Who’d the order come down from? Did you verify it?”
I hadn’t considered that. What if Martinez hadn’t given the order?
“PT passed it along to me after the meeting last night.”
There went that idea.
Jimmer dug the gun deeper into Dietz’s neck.
“Still don’t answer the question, boy. Who gave the order?”
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Dietz mumbled.
“What?”
“Mr. Martinez.”
I slowly released the breath I’d been holding. Why did the mysterious Hombres shit he’d mentioned in passing somehow involve me to the point I needed constant surveillance?
“Why’d he pick a dumb fucker like you?”
“He was looking for a guy she wouldn’t recognize. He thought I had experience.”
“Why’d he think that?” I demanded.
“I lied and said I did, okay?”
“For that Martinez’s security team will eat you for lunch.”
“I know.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Because I wanted to prove I was worthy of the patch. I tried to do something that’d get me noticed.”
“Got you noticed, all right. How do you think El Presidente is gonna react when he finds