Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [65]
"Watch out, estupido," Hector warned. "You're cutting across traffic, man! You want to get us killed?"
* * *
9:24:03 p.m. PDT
Las Vegas Boulevard
"Would you look at that," quipped Sergeant Locklear. Still behind the wheel, he stared down his nose at a white van swerving none too safely across two lanes of traffic.
"Dude. That's a white Dodge Sprinter!"
Still staring, Officer Dallas read the stenciled letters on the side of the panel truck. "Sunflower Gardens Florist."
"I know the joint," Locklear said. "It's over near the University. A little late to be delivering flowers, though."
Officer Dallas grinned in anticipation. "What are you gonna do, Sarge?"
A thin smile crossed Locklear's worn face. He sped up, weaving through traffic to catch up with the white truck. They just made it through two traffic lights and ran a third, until the Metro squad car was finally tailing the rear bumper of the truck. Locklear flipped on the bubble lights, blasted the siren.
To both officers' surprise, the vehicle slowed down immediately. But it still rolled for half a block, along a fairly deserted stretch of road bordering on the newly built Wynn Hotel. Finally the truck turned off Las Vegas Boulevard, onto a service road made of uneven concrete, that led to a fenced-in construction site. The truck halted at the locked gate, perhaps fifty yards away from the busy boulevard.
Locklear rolled to a halt bumper to bumper with the Sprinter so the truck could not flee the scene, threw the police car into neutral.
"Check the plates. I'm going to talk to this guy."
Before Dallas could reply, Sergeant Locklear was out of the car and approaching the truck, one hand on his bolstered gun. The younger man entered the plate numbers and waited for the computer to spit out a report.
"I told you not to pull over, man," Hector hissed, a drop of saliva flecking his sweating lip.
"What was I supposed to do, drive away, have him chase me? This truck is full of explosives." Salazar clutched at Hector's arm. "Calm down, hermano. I can talk us out of this..." He reached down to clutch the handle of his own weapon. "Or I can shoot if I have to."
"Too late for talk." Quivering, Hector pulled the MP5K automatic from under the seat.
"No, Hector," Salazar cried.
Sergeant Locklear appeared at the driver's open window at just that moment. "Okay, step out of the car..."
Hector squeezed the trigger and the shot cut the Sergeant's command short. The burst blew past Salazar's face and the man howled. The policeman's head exploded, and the torso dropped from view.
Curtis made a desperate lunge over the seat, too late to save the officer. He looped his arms around Hector's neck and yanked the man backwards. The Maschinenpistole К continued to chatter until the 9mm magazine was spent. The shots went wild, firing into the seat, the dashboard. At least two bullets slammed into Salazar's abdomen. Face scorched by powder burns and gut shot, the man behind the wheel fumbled with the handle and opened the door — only to tumble to the pavement, his own weapon clattering to the ground.
Clicking on an empty chamber, Hector let the gun fall and clawed at the suffocating arms coiled around his throat. Curtis groaned as the wires around his wrists dug deeper, but he did not let up on the pressure. Bracing his knees against the back of the seat, he pulled until he heard Hector's neck snap. The fingers raking his arms went limp, and Curtis let the dead man slide out of his grip.
The passenger door opened. "Out with your hands up!" Officer Dallas shouted in a voice tinged with panic.
Curtis immediately raised his hands to show us the wires binding his wrist. "I'm not armed!" he cried. "I was a prisoner of these men. I'm a federal agent..."
"Shut up," Dallas screamed. "Shut the fuck up and get down on the ground."
Curtis could hardly move. The wires still bound his ankles as well as his arms. Instead of arguing with the cop, Curtis stumbled through the door, landed on the pavement.
The policeman loomed over him, gun waving in Curtis' face.