The Beasts of Juarez, R.B. Schow [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

Esty asked. “Because this is a big city and we’re just two people out of one point five million.”

“Unless there’s something wrong with the congressman and his bodyguard—” Leopold started to say.

“There’s definitely something off with Congressman Fox,” Esty said. “He seemed a bit too detached, didn’t you think?”

“He’s a politician,” Leopold reasoned. “Most of them are soulless pricks with no hearts and serious emotional deficiencies anyway.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she said. “Still, there was something off about him.”

“I agree,” Leopold replied. “The bodyguard was on the level, though. He’s on his way to the hospital so we can likely rule him out. Do you feel like you’re in trouble?”

“I’m not saying we’re in over our heads here,” Yergha said, “but this was pretty quick.”

“I’m about to enter an ultra-secure facility,” Leopold explained, “so if something is on your mind, spill it now because I’m going to be out of range for a few hours.”

“Are you picking up the other assets?” Esty asked.

“One of them.”

“Atlas or Kiera?” Esty asked.

“Kiera.”

“Is she much better than us?” Yergha asked.

“Yes,” Leopold said without hesitation.

Yergha looked at Esty and frowned. She frowned back then pointed to the road. Yergha put his eyes back on the road and said, “Is she better looking than Esty?”

Esty punched him in the arm, causing him to groan and roll his shoulder.

“If you’re into bald assassins,” Leopold said.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Yergha replied with a grim laugh.

Leopold gave him a rare consolation laugh, then said, “Text me if you run into anything else. If it’s urgent, contact Cira. She’s already en route to pick up Atlas. I’m thinking we’ll need the whole team for this one.”

The two cars in front of them were going under the speed limit by a mile or two per hour, which was not only slowing Yergha down, it was starting to piss him off too. He sat on the horn a bit too long.

“Thanks, Boss,” Esty said. “Good luck with Kiera.”

“Roger that. Talk to you soon.”

Esty hung up, saw and felt Yergha’s frustration with the cars in front of him, then said, “They’re probably not even awake yet.”

He glanced up at the rearview mirror, returned to the road then flicked his eyes back up in a snap. “Mother of balls,” he grumbled. “These idiots are back.”

The SUV was closing the distance between them fast, causing Yergha to frantically search for more extreme ways around the two cars blocking him. He laid on his horn again, but the cars braked in retaliation. That was not the reaction he had wanted.

“Freaking morons,” he growled, hammering the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Get the guns ready.”

“On it,” Esty said. She was already readying her pistol.

“Not the pistols,” he said. “We’re going to need the carbines.”

The SUV was getting much larger in the rearview mirror. All along the road, Yergha saw open fields secured by chain link fencing. There was almost no way around these jack hounds in front of him unless he pulled into the opposite lane of traffic. As light as the traffic seemed to be on the other side of the median, guys only charged into the opposite lanes in high-speed chases in the movies and only with lots of planning and under strong supervision.

He and Esty were in a tin can on wheels with a beast of an SUV crawling so far up their ass, the backs of their collective teeth tickled.

“You want to hurry it up there?” he asked. “I can’t see daylight in the rearview mirror.”

She had hauled the large duffle bag over the seat and unzipped it. She looked up, saw the SUV, and pulled out the twin M4 carbines. Both assault rifles were outfitted with thirty-round mags and 5.56x45mm ammo.

“Hurry up!” he barked.

“Almost there. I see them watching me, Yergha. They have their guns ready.”

With no time to spare, he made a bold last-minute decision.

“Hang on,” he said.

She quickly jammed the duffle bag in the foot well, pinned both carbines to her lap with one hand, and grabbed a handhold for what was coming next.

Braking hard, Yergha spun the wheel and ducked into one of the few bare lots he could access. The subcompact bottomed out on the curb then bounced into a dirt lot the size of a fenced-in football field. He stood on the brakes and spun the wheel. The baby blue tin can slid sideways to a stop in a cloud of dust. He grabbed the carbine, kicked open the door, and fired on the SUV the second it followed them into the lot.

Over the back of him, propped up on the roof of the car, Esty unleashed her M4. They’d cleared only half their mags when the mystery party returned fire.

Esty stitched the SUV’s windshield with a half dozen bullets before taking two shots to the chest. Yergha heard the thumping sound of bullets hitting center mass. He turned in time to see her topple over backward.

“Motherfuckers!” he roared, opening up.

There were too many of them, though. He hit one of their men in the face, but before he could take out another, he was punched in the chest with at least four rounds. His knees buckled and he found he couldn’t breathe. His fingers went numb for a second as he struggled for air. The M4 fell from his grip as he slid down the side of the car.

Five hard-looking Mexican men stepped out of the SUV and walked over to him. One of the guys aimed his gun at Yergha and said, “Vaya con Dios, pendejo,” and then he fired a shot, hitting Yergha center mass.

Yergha couldn’t hang on much longer than that. Slumped over with red saliva drizzling out of his mouth, his vision blurred as