The Opal (Book 2 of the Matt Turner Series) by Siemsen Michael

The Opal (Book 2 of the Matt Turner Series) by Siemsen Michael

Author:Siemsen, Michael [Siemsen, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Fantome Publishing
Published: 2012-10-29T16:00:00+00:00


TWENTY-THREE

“Why are we stopping here?” Rheese asked, peering about at the quiet, seemingly impoverished neighborhood.

“We need to get some things,” Garza answered, grabbing his cell phone from the center console. “Just stay in your seat.”

Rheese glanced behind him to where Fando sat, arms spread across the back of the bench seat, eyes looking dead behind the semiopaque sunglasses. Rheese wished he could find a way to cut these two criminals loose.

Fando said softly, “Turn your fuckin’ ugly-ass face around.”

Rheese turned around, in the process catching a glimpse of Turner beside him. The fingers of his left hand, resting on the opal on his lap, quivered ever so slightly. The timer read “00:16.” Outside the van, Garza was shaking hands with a skinny Cuban in cutoff jeans and a white tank top. The Cuban winced and acted as if Garza had squeezed his hand too tightly. Rheese thought he looked like a clown. Garza turned around and walked to the patchy front yard and paced for a few minutes before returning to the front door. The Cuban handed him a black backpack and two long, black cases. At that point, Garza turned and gave a quick nod toward the van.

Fando leaped up and climbed past Rheese to the driver’s seat. “Stay put, asshole!” he growled. “Something’s goin’ down!”

As Fando started the engine Garza slid open the door and sent one of the big hard-shell cases whizzing past Rheese’s head to the backseat, then opened up the other case on the floor.

“What’s going on?” Rheese asked.

“Shut up and sit tight,” Garza said as he lifted from the case the biggest rifle Rheese had ever seen. He shoved in a loaded magazine, grabbed another one from the case, and slipped that into his hip pocket.

“Flip a bitch, slow,” Garza said to Fando. “Meet me on the alley west end in two.” Then he slammed the door and ran off down the block. Fando checked his watch and brought the van around to the other side of the street. A moment later, gunshots rang out.

“He’s shooting!” Rheese gasped. “He’s bloody shooting!”

Fando ignored him as more shots were fired. Then Fando took off, made a left at the end of the block—sending Turner’s limp head against his window—and stopped the van.

“Open the door—now!” Fando shouted. Rheese jumped and fumbled with the handle until it finally slid open. Now he heard bursts of automatic fire. It sounded like an all-out war to him, and he ducked for cover. The van lurched forward, tires screeching, and Garza jumped in and slid the door shut.

“Who was that, bro?” Fando asked.

Garza ejected the magazine from the rifle and began reloading it with rounds. “American law. I think I only took out the vehicle, though. We need to get out of town,” he said, reinserting the loaded magazine.

Rheese turned on his charming voice. “I . . . I think we’ve had a bit of a breakdown in communication amongst us, gentlemen. How can we better work together—you know, moving forward?”

Neither man bothered to answer.



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