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CHAPTER
1
The
Avocado
Orchard
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Part
2
DENNIS
Their voices overlapped, Kevin grabbing Dennis’s arm, making the
truck swerve. Dennis punched him away.
“You killed that guy! You shot him!”
“I don’t know if he’s dead or what!”
“There was fucking blood everywhere! It’s all over you!”
“Stop it, Kevin! He had a fuckin’ gun! I didn’t know he would
have a gun! It just went off!”
Kevin pounded the dash, bouncing between Dennis and Mars
like he was going to erupt through the roof.
“We’re fucked, Dennis, fucked! What if he’s
dead?!”
“SHUT UP!”
Dennis licked his lips, tasting copper and salt. He glanced in
the rearview. His face was splattered with red dew. Dennis lost it then,
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certifiably freaked out because he’d eaten human blood. He swiped at
his face, wiping the blood on his jeans.
Mars touched him.
“Dude. Take it easy.”
“We’ve gotta get away!”
“We’re getting away. No one saw us. No one caught us. We’re fine.”
Mars sat quietly in the shotgun seat. Kevin and Dennis were
wild, but Mars was as calm as if he had just awakened from a trance.
He was holding the Chinaman’s gun.
“Fuck! Throw it out, dude! We might get stopped.”
Mars pushed the gun into his waistband, then left his hand
there, holding it the way some men hold their crotch.
“We might need it.”
Dennis upshifted hard, ignoring the clash of gears as he threw
the Nissan toward the freeway two miles ahead. At least four people had
seen the truck. Even these dumb Bristo cops would be able to put two
and two together if they had witnesses who could tie them to the truck.
“Listen, we gotta think. We gotta figure out what to do.”
Kevin’s eyes were like dinner plates.
“Jesus, Dennis, we gotta turn ourselves in.”
Dennis felt so much pressure in his head that he thought his
eyes were swelling.
“No one’s turning themselves in! We can get outta this! We just
gotta figure out what to do!”
Mars touched him again.
“Listen.”
Mars was smiling at nothing. Not even looking at them.
“We’re just three guys in a red truck. There’s a million red trucks.”
Dennis desperately wanted to believe that.
“You think?”
“They’ve got to find witnesses. If they find those two kids or the
woman, then those people have to describe us. Maybe they can, but
maybe they can’t. When the cops get all that sorted out, then they have
to start looking for three white guys in a red truck. You know how many
red trucks there are?”
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“A million.”
“That’s right. And how long does all that take? The rest of the
day? Tomorrow? We can be across the border in four hours. Let’s go
down to Mexico.”
The vacant smile was absolutely sure of itself. Mars was so calm
that Dennis found himself convinced; it was as if Mars had run this
path before and knew the turns.
“That’s a fucking plan, Mars. That’s a
plan! We can kick back for a few days, then come back when everything blows over. It always
blows over.”
“That’s right.”
Dennis pushed harder on the accelerator, felt the transmission
lag, and then a loud BANG came from under the truck. The
transmission let go. Six hundred dollars. Cash. What did he expect?
“MotherFUCKing piece of SHIT!”
The truck lost power, bucking as Dennis guided it off the road.
Even before it lurched to a stop, Dennis shoved open the door,
desperate to run. Kevin caught his arm, holding him back.
“There’s nothing we can do, Dennis. We’re only making it worse.”
“Shut up!”
Dennis shook off his brother’s hand and slid out of the truck. He
searched up and down the road, half expecting to see a highway patrol
car, but the cars were few and far between and those were mostly
soccer moms. Flanders Road from here to the freeway cut through an area
of affluent housing developments. Some of the communities were gated, but most weren’t, though most were hidden from the road by
hedges that masked heavy stone walls. Dennis looked at the hedges,
and the walls that they hid. He wondered if escape lay beyond them.
It was like Mars read his mind.
“Let’s steal a car.”
Dennis looked at the wall again. On the other side of it would be
a housing development filled with cars. They could crash into a house,
tie up the soccer mom to buy some time, and drive.
Dennis didn’t think about it any more than that.
“Let’s go.”
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“Dennis, please.”
Dennis pulled his brother out of the truck.
They crashed into the hedges and went up the wall.
OFFICER MIKE WELCH,
BRISTO CAMINO POLICE
Officer Mike Welch, thirty-two years old, married, one child, was
rolling code seven to the Krispy Kreme donut shop on the west side of
Bristo Camino when he got the call.
“Unit four, base.”
“Four.”
“Armed robbery, Kim’s Minimart on Flanders Road, shots fired.”
Welch thought that was absurd.
“Say again, shots fired. Are you kidding me?”
“Three white males, approximately twenty years, jeans and T-shirts,
driving a red Nissan pickup last seen west on Flanders Road. Get over there and see about Junior.”
Mike Welch was rolling westbound on Flanders Road. Junior’s
service station was straight ahead, less than two miles. Welch went
code three, hitting the lights and siren. He had never before in his
three years as a police officer rolled code three other than when he
pulled over a speeder.
“I’m on Flanders now. Is Junior shot?”
“That’s affirm. Ambulance is inbound.”
Welch floored it. He was so intent on beating the paramedics to
Kim’s that he was past the red truck parked on the opposite side of the
road before he realized that it matched the description of the getaway
vehicle.
Welch shut his siren and pulled off onto the shoulder. He twisted
around to stare back up the street. He couldn’t see anyone in or around
the truck, but there it was, a red Nissan pickup. Welch waited for a gap
in traffic, then swung around and drove back, pulling off behind the
Nissan. He keyed his shoulder mike.
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“Base, four. I’m a mile and a half east of Kim’s on Flanders. Got
a red Nissan pickup, license Three-Kilo-Lima-Mike-Four-Two-Nine. It
appears abandoned. Can you send someone else to Kim’s?”
“Ah, we can.”
“I’m gonna check it out.”
“Three-Kilo-Lima-Mike-Four-Two-Nine. Rog.”
Welch climbed out of his car and rested his right hand on the
butt of his Browning Hi-Power. He didn’t draw his weapon, but he
wanted to be ready. He walked up along the passenger side of the
truck, glanced underneath, then walked around the front. The engine
was still ticking, and the hood was warm. Mike Welch thought,
sonofabitch,
this was it, this was the getaway vehicle.
“Base, four. Area’s clear. Vehicle is abandoned.”
“Rog.”
Welch continued around to the driver’s-side door and looked in-side.
He couldn’t be sure that this was the getaway vehicle, but his
heart was hammering with excitement. Mike Welch had come to the Bristo police department after seven years as a roofing contractor. He
had thought that police work would be more than writing traffic tickets
and breaking up domestic disturbances, but it hadn’t worked out that
way; now, for the first time in his career, he might come face-to-face
with an actual felon. He looked either way up and down the road,
wondering why they had abandoned the truck and where they had gone. He
suddenly felt frightened. Welch stared at the hedges. He squatted
again, trying to see under the low branches, but saw nothing except a
wall. Welch drew his gun, then approached the hedges, looking more
closely. Several branches were broken. He glanced back at the truck,
thinking it through, imagining three suspects pushing through the
hedges. Three kids on the run, shitting their pants, going over the wall.
On the other side of the wall was a development of expensive homes
called York Estates. Welch knew from his patrol route that there were
only two streets out unless they went over the wall again. They would
be hiding in someone’s garage or running like hell out the back side of
the development, trying to get away.
Welch listened to the Nissan’s ticking engine, and decided that
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he was no more than a few minutes behind them. His heart rate in-creased.
He made his decision. Welch burned rubber as he swung out onto the road, intent on cutting them off before they escaped the
development, intent on making the arrest.
DENNIS
Dennis dropped from the wall into a different world, hidden behind
lush ferns and plants with leathery green leaves and orange trees. His
impulse was to keep running, haul ass across the yard, jump the next
wall, and keep going, but the siren was right on top of them. And then
the siren stopped.
Kevin said, “Dennis, please, the police are gonna see the truck.
They’re gonna know who we are.”
“Shut up, Kevin. I know. Lemme think!”
They were in a dense garden surrounding a tennis court at the
rear of a palatial home. A swimming pool was directly in front of them
with the main house beyond the pool, a big-ass two-story house with
lots of windows and doors, and one of the doors was open. Just like
that. Open. If people were home, there would be a car. A Sony boom
box beside the pool was playing music. There wouldn’t be music if no
one was home.
Dennis glanced at Mars, and, without even looking back at him,
almost as if he had read Dennis’s mind again, Mars nodded.
JENNIFER SMITH
Sixty feet away through the open door, Jennifer Smith was thoroughly
pissed off about the state of her life. Her father was behind closed
doors at the front of the house, working. He was an accountant, and
often worked at home. Her mother was in Florida visiting their Aunt
Kate. With her mom in Florida and her dad working, Jen was forced
24/7 to ride herd on her ten-year-old brother, Thomas. If her friends
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wanted to go to the Multiplex, Thomas had to go. If she lied about going
to Palmdale so she could sneak down to LA, Thomas would tell.
Jennifer Smith was sixteen years old. Having a turd like Thomas grafted to
her butt 24/7 was wrecking her summer.
Jen had been laying out by the pool, but she had come in to
make tuna fish sandwiches. She would have let the turd starve, but she
didn’t mind making lunch for her father.
“Thomas?”
He hated it if you called him Tommy. He didn’t even like Tom. It
had to be Thomas.
“Thomas, go tell Daddy that lunch is ready.”
“Eat me.”
Thomas was playing Nintendo in the family room.
“Go tell Daddy.”
“Just yell. He’ll hear you.”
“Go get him or I’ll spit in your food.”
“Spit twice. It turns me on.”
“You are so gross.”
Thomas paused the Nintendo game and looked around at her.
“I’ll get him if you ask Elyse and Tris to come lay out.”
Elyse and Tris were her two best friends. They had stopped
coming over because Thomas totally creeped them out. He would wait in
the house until everyone was lying by the pool, then he would appear
and offer to rub oil on them. Even though everyone said ooo, yuck, go
away, he would sit there and stare at their bodies.
“They won’t lay out with you here. They know you watch.”
“They like it.”
“You are so gross.”
When the three young men stepped inside, Jen’s first thought was
that they were gardeners, but all the gardeners she knew were short,
dark men from Central America. Her second thought was that maybe
they were older kids from school, but that didn’t feel right either.
Jennifer said, “May I help you?”
The first one pointed at Thomas.
“Mars, get the troll.”
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The biggest one ran at Thomas, as the first one charged into the
kitchen.
Jennifer screamed just as the first boy covered her mouth so
tightly that she thought her face would break. Thomas tried to shout,
but the bigger boy mashed his face into the carpet.
The third one was younger. He hung back near the door, crying,
talking in a loud stage whisper, trying to keep his voice down.
“Dennis, let’s go! This is crazy!”
“Shut up, Kevin! We’re here. Deal with it.”
The one holding her, the one she now knew as Dennis, bent
her backwards over the counter, mashing the sandwiches. His hips
ground against hers, pinning her. His breath smelled of hamburgers
and cigarettes.
“Stop kicking! I’m not going to hurt you!”
She tried to bite his hand. He pushed her head farther back
until her neck felt like it would snap.
“I said stop it. Relax, and I’ll let you go.”
Jennifer fought harder until she saw the gun. The bigger boy was
holding a black pistol to Thomas’s head.
Jennifer stopped fighting.
“I’m going to take my hand away, but you better not yell. You
understand that?”
Jennifer couldn’t stop watching the gun.
“Close the door, Kevin.”
She heard the door close.
Dennis took away his hand, but kept it close, ready to clamp her
mouth again. His voice was a whisper.
“Who else is here?”
“My father.”
“Is there anyone else?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“In his office.”
“Is there a car?”
Her voice failed. All she could do was nod.
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“Don’t yell. If you yell, I’ll kill you. Do you understand that?”
She nodded.
“Where’s his office?”
She pointed toward the entry.
Dennis laced his fingers through her hair and pushed her toward
the hall. He followed so closely that his body brushed hers, reminding
her that she was wearing only shorts and a bikini top. She felt naked
and exposed.
Her father’s office was off the entry hall behind wide double
doors. They didn’t bother to knock or say anything. Dennis pulled open
the door, and the big one, Mars, carried in Thomas, the gun still at his
head. Dennis pushed her onto the floor, then ran straight across the
room, pointing his gun at her father.
“Don’t say a goddamned word! Don’t fucking move!”
Her father was working at his computer with a sloppy stack of
printouts all around. He was a slender man with a receding hairline
and glasses. He blinked over the tops of the glasses as if he didn’t quite
understand what he was seeing. He probably thought they were friends
of hers, playing a joke. But then she saw that he knew it was real.
“What are you doing?”
Dennis aimed his gun with both hands, shouting louder.
“Don’t you fucking move, goddamnit! Keep your ass in that
chair! Let me see your hands!”
What her father said then made no sense to her.
He said, “Who sent you?”
Dennis shoved Kevin with his free hand.
“Kevin, close the windows! Stop being a turd!”
Kevin went to the windows and closed the shutters. He was
crying worse than Thomas.
Dennis waved his gun at Mars.
“Keep him covered, dude. Watch the girl.”
Mars pushed Thomas onto the floor with Jennifer, then aimed at
her father. Dennis put his own gun in the waistband of his pants, then
snatched a lamp from the corner of her father’s desk. He jerked the
plug from the wall, then the electrical cord from the lamp.
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“Don’t go psycho and everything will be fine. Do you hear that?
I’m gonna take your car. I’m gonna tie you up so you can’t call the cops,
and I’m gonna take your car. I don’t want to hurt you, I just want the
car. Gimme the keys.”
Her father looked confused.
“What are you talking about? Why did you come here?”
“I want the fucking car, you asshole! I’m stealing your car! Now,
where are the keys?”
“That’s what you want, the car?”
“Am I talking fucking Russian here or what? DO YOU HAVE A CAR?”
Her father raised his hands, placating.
“In the garage. Take it and leave. The keys are on the wall by
the garage door. By the kitchen. Take it.”
“Kevin, go get the keys, then come help tie these bastards up so
we can get outta here.”
Kevin, still by the windows, said, “There’s a cop coming.”
Jennifer saw the police car through the gaps in the shutters. A
policeman got out. He looked around as if he was taking his bearings,
then came toward their house.
Dennis grabbed her hair again.
“Don’t fucking say a word. Not one fucking word.”
“Please don’t hurt my children.”
“Shut up. Mars, you be ready! Mars!”
Jennifer watched the policeman come up the walk. He
disappeared past the edge of the window, then their doorbell rang.
Kevin scuttled to his older brother, gripping his arm.
“He knows we’re here, Dennis! He must’ve seen me closing the
shutters!
“Shut up!”
The doorbell rang again.
Jennifer felt Dennis’s sweat drip onto her shoulder and wanted
to scream. Her father stared at her, his eyes locked onto hers, slowly
shaking his head. She didn’t know if he was telling her not to scream,
or not to move, or even if he realized that he was doing it.
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The policeman walked past the windows toward the side of the house.
“He knows we’re here, Dennis! He’s looking for a way in!”
“He doesn’t know shit! He’s just looking.”
Kevin was frantic, and now Jennifer could hear the fear in Dennis’s voice, too.
“He saw me at the window! He knows someone’s here! Let’s
give up.”
“Shut up!”
Dennis went to the window. He peered through the shutters,
then suddenly rushed back to Jennifer and grabbed her by the hair
again.
“Get up.”
MIKE WELCH
Officer Mike Welch didn’t know that everyone in the house was
currently clustered less than twenty feet away, watching him through the
gaps in the shutters. He had not seen Kevin Rooney or anyone else
when he’d pulled up. He’d been too busy parking the car.
As near as Welch could figure, the people from the red Nissan
had jumped the wall into these people’s backyard. He suspected that
the three suspects were blocks away by now, but he hoped that some-one
in this house or the other houses on this cul-de-sac had seen them
and could provide a direction of flight.
When no one answered the door, Welch went to the side gate and
called out. When no one responded, he returned to the front door and
rang the bell for the third and final time. He was turning away to try the
neighbor when the heavy front door opened and a pretty teenage girl
looked out. She was pale. Her eyes were rimmed red.
Welch gave his best professional smile.
“Miss, I’m Officer Mike Welch. Did you happen to see three
young men running through the area?”
“No.”
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Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. Welch noted that
she appeared upset, and wondered about that.
“It would’ve been five or ten minutes ago. Something like that. I
have reason to believe that they jumped the wall into your backyard.”
“No.”
The red-rimmed eyes filled. Welch watched her eyes blur,
watched twin tears roll in slow motion down her cheeks, and knew that
they were in the house with her. They were probably standing right on
the other side of the door. Mike Welch’s heart began to pound. His
fingers tingled.
“Okay, miss, like I said, I was just checking. You have a good
day.”
He quietly unsnapped the release on his holster and rested his
hand on his gun. He shifted his eyes pointedly to the door, then
mouthed a silent question, asking if anyone was there. She did not have
time to respond.
Inside, someone that Mike Welch could not see shouted, “He’s
going for his gun!”
Loud explosions blew through the door and window. Something
hit Mike Welch in the chest, knocking him backward. His Kevlar vest
stopped the first bullet, but another punched into his belly below the
vest, and a third slipped over the top of his vest to lodge high in his
chest. He tried to keep his feet under him, but they fell away. The girl
screamed, and someone else inside the house screamed, too.
Mike Welch found himself flat on his back in the front yard. He
sat up, then realized that he’d been shot and fell over again. He heard
more shots, but he couldn’t get up or duck or run for cover. He pulled
his gun and fired toward the house without thinking who he might be
hitting. His only thought was to survive.
He heard more shots, and screaming, but then he could no
longer hold his gun. It was all he could do to key his shoulder mike.
“Officer down. Officer down. Jesus, I’ve been shot.”
“Say again? Mike? Mike, what’s going on?”
Mike Welch stared at the sky, but could not answer.
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