I keep switching my gaze between looking out the windshield and peering in the side-view mirror, then glancing at my phone. I’m texting Pablo to get men over to Elle’s house.
Me
Elle’s house is under attack. Get men from tío’s over there.
Pablo
We know. We got the alert. Men are already headed over there.
Me
How far out are they?
Pablo
Less than a minute.
Me
Tell me exactly when they arrive.
Pablo
I’m watching the trackers right now. They pulled onto tía’s old street. They’re about to go through the gate now. How far out are you?
Me
Five minutes
Pablo
By the time you get there, they should be neutralized.
Me
They better be.
Pablo
Just get there in one piece.
I unmute the call. “O’Sheehan, if you had Madeline by now, you’d be crowing like a fucking rooster. But we’re cock blocking you. You know you’re not alone anymore.”
“You don’t know whether she’s already dead.”
“She’s not because there’s no way you would have her without making sure I know. You’d boast about it and make her beg while I’m listening. Supposedly, you have men in that house. If you do, I’m sure they’re nothing but corpses now. And why aren’t you leading this mission? You sitting like a little bitchin some van two miles away, making sure nobody can get you rather than leading?”
There’s noise in the background, and I hear a couple of voices. They’re definitely not any of our men. I know this for two reasons. One, I can hear them. Our men would never draw attention to themselves like that. And two, the accents. None of what I hear is coming from native Spanish speakers.
We have guys from other Latin American countries besides Colombia. We have several Puerto Ricans and Dominicans as well. They have that unique accent that’s a blend of Spanish and New York. That’s not what I hear right now. These are the folks who barely speak English since they’re fucking knuckle draggers. They definitely have Upstate accents.
All the noise goes silent, and my chest tightens. This could be very, very good or very, very horrible. I don’t know which one yet. I point to a spot on the side of the road a block away from ourtía’sold house. Jorge pulls over as I take the call off the car speaker, then we move silently as we head to the back of the vehicle. He pops the trunk, and we pull out the tactical gear I have in our go bags. We slip off our suit coats to put on our bulletproof vests and shoulder holsters. We each slide a gun under our left and our right arms. We have one holstered at our lower backs, and we have knives in each pocket.
We slip the suit coats back on as we run back to the front of the car. Jorge has it in drive before either of us gets our door closed. It’s convenient that our uncle developed the community our new aunt used to live in. Even though not every guy who works for the security company that patrols the neighborhood is one of ours, most have been there long enough to know everyone. My aunt and uncle met whenTíoEnrique was on a run inTíaElle’s neighborhood.
Fortunately, it’s one of our guys at the gate. He recognizes Jorge and me immediately. His eyes widen with a sense ofurgency as he hits the button to open the gate. I know he has cameras for various parts of the neighborhood. Jorge winds down his window as we pass the guy.
“I haven’t seen your ladies, but something’s happening right now.”
