Done Deal by Les Standiford

Author:Les Standiford [Standiford, Les]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Mystery & Detective / General
ISBN: 9781615953042
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2011-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

As the heavy glass doors slid closed, Alcazar put down the phone and emerged from the inner office. He glanced at Alejandro, who reassured him with a nod. The second thug was turning off the lights in the showroom. Leon was locking up the key bank, still snorting his disapproval.

The roar of the Lotus’s engines reverberated through the heavy glass as the car wound down the blacktop lane toward the freeway entrance. The brake lights flashed on as the car stopped at the juncture of the dealership property and the access road.

“Don’t know why we fuck with this guy,” Leon grumbled.

“Let him enjoy his car,” Alcazar said. “When the time is right, we…” Then he stopped.

Something seemed wrong. The Lotus was turning around, the headlights aimed at the building, flashing from bright to dim, back to bright again.

Leon started around the front of the limo, his hand going inside his coat. There was a tremendous engine roar outside, and a squalling of rubber that sent twin tendrils of blue smoke up into the bright sodium lights near the entrance to the complex. The headlights of the Lotus were fixed on Raoul Alcazar, or so it seemed. And they were growing very, very large.

The Lotus leapt up like some mechanized animal when it hit the ramp at the curb, and again when it clipped the ramp just outside the huge windows. When it roared through the thick plate-glass slabs, the driver’s door was flapping wildly open. It banged shut at impact, but flew open again as the car screamed on inside.

Alejandro had already bailed out over the hood of the limo. His partner dived through the doorway of the sales office. Leon was back-pedaling, a pistol waving in his upraised hand, but back-pedaling was one of the moves the several operations on his knee had curtailed. Still, he might have made it clear, if it hadn’t been for the door of the Lotus, which whipped into his good leg with a crack that was instantly lost in the chaos. He sent two shots into the ceiling as he went down.

The Lotus slammed into the limo, and glanced away, like a small-caliber bullet careening off the skin of a tank. It chewed its way up the hood of the Porsche, flattening the windshield, its right front tire dipping into the driver’s compartment and hanging up for an instant on the exposed bar of the Targa top.

That sent the Lotus catapulting end over end, ripping off the engine cover of the Porsche and slinging it high into the ceiling. The heavy sheet of metal tore out the main feeder for the sprinkler system and sliced the maze of ceiling wiring in a shower of sparks.

The Lotus dropped its hind quarters onto the rear of a Jaguar sedan, and snapped its front end into a kiss with the red Ferrari. The three cars slid against the “Miami Vice” imitation, squashing it against a section of outside wall. Shards of black Fiberglas snapped about the showroom like huge angry insects.

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