Page 83 of Reno

Manos’ eyes were bulging from their sockets.

“Don’t kill him,” I said. “Duct tape’s in the glovebox. Toss him on the couch and go get it. Grab your phone, too. Car’s unlocked.”

“Are you calling the police?” Alacrán asked past bloody lips. “For reward money?”

Blood trickled from beneath each of his swollen eyes. His nose was mangled, as were his lips.

I glared back at him. “Fuck off.”

Crip tossed a confused and breathless Manos on the couch at Alacrán’s side.

“If you release me,” Alacrán began, “I will let you keep the drugs and the money, Mister Tiddlewood. If not, from my prison cell I will direct the torture and murder of your family. You will watch, Mister Tiddlewood. Then, they will start on you.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Amigo,” I said. “Your threats aren’t going to work with me. You’re torturing no one else after tonight.”

Thankfully, Crip returned with the tape in no time. After taping both men’s ankles, wrists, and mouths, he called his corrupt cop buddy. Fearing Primo and friends would soon return, I anxiously paced the floor in front of the open front door, alternating my attention from the two men on the couch and the driveway.

In minutes, a car entered the drive.

“That’s him,” Crip said.

The cop came to the door, glanced at the two men on the sofa, and paused. “Holy shit. It’s him.” He stepped just inside the door. “It’s fucking El Alacrán.”

“You get Brownie points whether he’s dead or alive?” I asked.

He shifted his eyes to me. “What do you mean?”

“If he’s dead, do you still get recognition?”

“Sure.” He looked at Alacrán. “I doubt he’ll bleed to death before I get him hauled in, though.”

I nodded in acknowledgement of his remark. “One more thing. You wearing a ballistic vest beneath that jacket?”

“Sure am. Wh—”

I shot him in the chest. As he stumbled toward the door, I shot him again. He fell backward, into the doorframe, and then onto the floor.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” Crip shouted. “God fucking damn it, Reno!”

Before the cop could retrieve his weapon, I rushed to his side and pulled his gun from the holster. I yanked open his jacket and looked at his body armor. Two flattened .45 caliber slugs were in the center of his chest.

“Just breathe, buddy,” I said. “It’ll only hurt for a while.”

With the cop’s gun in my hand, I walked in front of the sofa. Alacrán met me with wide eyes.

I waved the gun in his direction. “Both of you. Stand up. We’re leaving.”

They looked at each other, and then at me.

“Stand up,” I said. “Or I’ll shoot you both.”

Not knowing what in the hell was going on, they both managed to stand. Teetering from side to side with taped ankles, they hobbled half the distance to the door. I paused and turned to face them.

“You have no idea what’s up, do you?” I asked. “Well, in case you don’t, here’s the dealio. Carmelita? She was never yours. But for saying’s sake, she’s mine now. You won’t be hurting her, or anyone else for that matter. Ever again.”

Using the cop’s gun, I shot Alacrán once, in the chest.

He fell dead on the floor at Manos’ feet.