“Steal from the rich and give to the poor,” Cody added, tossing the tape beside the keyboard. “Or we’re coming back. You feel me?” Another nod. “Alright, my man. Have yourself a nice day.”
By the time Jay had Jamie’s general location pinpointed on his laptop, Grant and Cody were climbing back into the van through the side door.
“Any chance Pedro will bleed out in the next three hours?” Chase asked, starting the vehicle, and pulling onto the street.
“Nah.” Grant grinned, plucking his shades from the dash and plopping into the front seat as he put them on. “I didn’t aim for anything vital.”
Cody snorted around the lip of a water bottle. “Leg musclesarevital, dumbass.”
“Only if you need to outrun a jaguar, fuck face.”
“Turn left up here on La Unan,” Jay said. “Stay right at the traffic circle, and merge onto the main road.” About half a degree cooler on the highway with the windows down and the hot air at least circulating, he felt slightly less tempted to inflict his own damage to a deserving stand-in as an outlet for his over-heated temper.
Twenty-seven minutes later, after two wrong turns and a stop at a street vendor to pick up three dozen buñuelos to take back home, Chase rolled the van to the side of the road in front of a purple brick storefront with a neon green plus sign in the window.
Buildings packed tight together, and the street overflowing with pedestrians and vehicle traffic, there’d be no way to be surreptitious about hauling Jamie’s ass out, and no chance the motherfucker would come willingly.
“I’m coming up,” Jay said, shutting his laptop and setting it on the bench seat beside him. “Gimme your hat.” No one argued as Grant pulled the ball cap off his head and tossed it into the back.
Jay put it on and pulled the bill low. Not exactly a Mission Impossible level of disguise, but it’d have to do.
“Alright. Be quick,” Chase ordered, jamming the transmission into park and his communicator into his ear. “Find Jamie. Scrub any evidence. And get out. Move fast but with the least amount of disruption possible. No bloodshed, Kincaid. We don’t want a trail of stabbings leading here.”
“Copy that. You ready?” Grant asked.
“I was born ready,” Cody replied. “I’ll breach. Jay, you’re in the middle. Kincaid, you cover the rear.”
“You breached the last time,” Grant complained, sliding the side door open with a bang.
“That’s because I’m better at it. Let’s roll,” Cody said on his way by, and right behind him, Jay’s boots touched down on concrete while the oppressive heat pressed against him like a second skin.
In a flash, they were through an unlocked side door and halfway up a set of stairs, guns at the ready. At the top, they were faced with two choices. Apartment A at the front of the building had a bicycle leaning against the wall and a welcome mat at the door. Apartment B at the rear had a handwritten no soliciting sign and a shiny new deadbolt.
Cody went for apartment B, put his ear to the door, frowned, and tried the knob.
Locked.
He stepped aside, and a couple of hand signals later, Grant’s size twelve landed beside the deadbolt, splintering wood, and slamming the door against a wall. The shriek that followed was both ear-splitting and female.
Cody entered the small apartment first. “Vamos. Vamos,” he yelled at the woman washing a pile of dirty dishes at the sink. He waved his gun from her to the door, indicating she should leave. She didn’t hesitate, and after grabbing some crumpled bills off a tiny kitchen table, she sprinted out the door.
“You could have knocked,” Jamie said, exiting the bathroom soaking wet and butt fucking naked. He limped over to the same table and reached for a half-empty bottle of Flor de Caña rum sitting beside a bowl of gallo pinto.
“You gonna cover that?” Grant asked, shaking the barrel of his gun in the direction of Jamie’s junk.
Bottle in one hand, he looked down and frowned. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said before tipping his head back and polishing off the rum with one long swig.
“Dry off and get dressed,” Jay ordered, holstering his weapon behind his back as he circled around a lopsided recliner to pluck Jamie’s gun and wedding ring off a TV tray. “We’re leaving.” He pocketed the gold band and handed the Glock to Cody, who gave it to Grant, who jammed the fully loaded into the waistband of his pants.
“Fuck you,” Jamie said, slamming the empty down. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The limit of his patience reached, Jay’s frustration over the weeks of searching for and worrying about his best friend reached its peak, and his hands balling into fists, he crossed the room in two strides.
“No,” he muttered. “Fuck you.” He struck hard and fast, a knockout punch to the jaw that had Jamie folding in on himself as he crumpled to the floor.
“God dayum,” Cody said. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“He asked for it,” Jay replied, shaking out his left hand. Pretty sure he’d busted a couple of knuckles, he flexed his fingers, and yep, pain sparked along nerve endings, indicating he’d broken the first two. Not the first time, and if Jamie kept up with the asshole routine, wouldn’t be the last. “Besides, it’ll be easier to move him this way.”
