Hot Wire (26 page)

The effect only lasted a couple seconds, but it did a number on my head. The still-life faded away, then the movie started up again with a mob of SWAT goons charging into the space in front of the office. They rushed in from all sides like space aliens in body armor and gas masks, yelling and screaming, firing at everything in sight. Deacon and Heberto scrambled to get out of the way and a bunch of dazed thugs ran back and forth in total confusion, tripping over bodies, banging into crates. My eyes were burning from the tear gas. Arn coughed beside me. Brown was trying to breathe through his sleeve.

"Over here!" Arn started crawling to the other side of the car.

We squirmed under the drive shaft and the three of us huddled by the front tire, gagging from the tear gas, trying to see what was going on. Brown stared at me through a tangle of hair, his eyes bloodshot, his face smudged with dirt and oil. Arn crawled under the tirewell and stuck his head out, then he yanked it back again when a shotgun went off and a dozen goons ran by the Lexus with a pack of dogs on their heels. The
locos
were making their break.

"Come on!" Arn yelled. "Maybe we can make those stacks!"

We crawled out from under the car and staggered to our feet just as a couple of German Shepherds ran up snarling and snapping at our legs. Arn fell down again, rolling around on the floor. I kicked at the dog tearing at his jeans and another dog latched onto my arm and pulled me down beside him.

This buzz-saw with teeth and wet fur snapped at my face, slobbering and growling while I scrabbled around and banged its head with my fists. Brown hit the dog with his briefcase and it rolled yipping across the floor, then it jumped to its feet and attacked a fed who'd taken cover behind the Lexus. The other dog forgot about Arn and went after the cops and goons running through the fog of tear gas. Somebody screamed and I saw a
loco
writhing on the floor with a German Shepherd gnawing on his face. Shotguns went off and magnums boomed and glass shattered all around us.

I stumbled to my feet, shouting at Arn and Brown, then we piled into the Lexus and I ended up behind the wheel, Arn sitting beside me, Brown diving into the back. Rounds slammed into the car and one of the tires went flat. Arn ducked and Brown groveled on the back seat with the suitcase and briefcase, covering his head with his hands. I groped for the keys – Crewcut had left them in the ignition – but when I found them, the engine wouldn't start.

"Hit it!" Arn yelled. "Hit it!"

I tried again.

"Check the transmission!"

One of the side windows blew out, spraying us with glass. I screamed and Arn covered his head, yelling "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I hunched down behind the wheel, working the ignition, screwing with knobs, but I couldn't think straight with all the ringing in my ears. Even if I got the car started, there was no place to go in all that madness.

The cops had screwed up. The SWAT goons made their move a couple seconds late and most of Heberto's crew had been hiding behind the crates, so they were shielded from the flashbang. After it went off, the
locos
tried to get away, running out of the stacks in a crazy panic, firing their shotguns in every direction. There must have been a dozen of them and more of them poured out on the other side of the table, driven into the killing zone by the dog teams and tear gas. Crewcut's thugs had crowded together and they were trading shots with Matthew's team when the flashbang went off, then the SWAT goons made their rush and the
locos
ran out shooting with the dogs at their heels. Trapped inside the Lexus, I watched them collide in front of the office.

They blasted each other at point-blank range in a grisly mass panic. If they didn't have guns, the
locos
attacked the cops with machetes and baseball bats, and I saw feds rolling around on the floor with dogs snarling at their throats. Chang and the CHP dyke tried to get away, crouched over and firing blindly as they ran for the stacks, then a shotgun blew the dyke through the air and she crashed into a pillar, sliding down to the floor. Chang turned and fired over his shoulder, his trench coat flapping around his legs, then a round knocked him off his feet and a load of buckshot blew him against the wall by the office. A SWAT goon shot a
loco
, then another
loco
shot
him
, then a cop shot
him
and a greaseball whacked the cop with a machete and got jumped by the dogs. Blood spattered the windshield. Shadows staggered around in clouds of tear gas, tearing at each other in the glare of the spotlights.

"Go!" Arn yelled in my ear. "Goddammit, go!"

I realized that the transmission was in drive and slammed it into park. The engine started. I released the emergency brake and grabbed the wheel.

"Which way?" I checked behind us.

"Just get us out of here!"

Everywhere I looked, clouds of tear gas drifted through scenes of mayhem. Deacon and Heberto were still alive, hiding behind the wrecked table in the middle of the carnage. They ran towards the office, firing at somebody in one of the aisles, then a spotlight exploded and I saw Baldy and Crewcut huddled next to the bomb, shooting at everything that moved. Over on the left, Matthews was crawling through the bodies piled up around the table, but he jumped to his feet when the dogs attacked him and somebody blew him away with a shotgun. It was crazy. Nobody could survive out there. Deacon shot one of Crewcut's guys trapped against the wall by the office, then somebody shot Heberto and he went down, kicking and grabbing at his neck. Deacon tried to help him, but he never made it. A dozen rounds knocked him flat and the dogs jumped all over him, snapping and ripping at his throat.

"Jesus Christ!" Arn yelled. "Did you see that?"

I hit the gas, but the transmission was still in park and I was so freaked out it took forever to get it into drive. The car lurched forward and banged into a pile of crates, then I backed up and slammed into the wall by the office, Arn shouting at me the whole time. Just then, Baldy and Crewcut made a break for the stacks, crouched over and shooting blindly as they ran past the bomb. Baldy made it, but Crewcut didn't get very far. A slug punched through his chest, spinning him around, then a burst knocked him off his feet. He was trying to crawl away when a
loco
whacked his head off with a machete.

"Fuck!" Arn screamed.

The windshield blew out – right in my face. I yanked the wheel hard to the left, stomped on the gas and we veered across the space in front of the office, crashing into the concrete pedestal holding the bomb. A fed landed on the hood and tried to pull himself inside, but I put it in reverse and he rolled off as we squealed backwards, slamming into a stack of crates that fell on top of the car just as a burst of rounds punched into the fenders and doors. Arn dived to the floor and I crouched as low as I could, peering over the dash with blood in my eyes and this weird buzz like a giant busy signal in my head. Everybody was yelling.

I put it in drive and aimed for one of the aisles leading to the dock. We bounced over some bodies and the wreck of the table, the flat tire thumping, goons diving to get out of the way. A side window blew out. The rear window exploded. We clipped a pillar, spun to the left and crashed into the stacks, knocking over some barrels. The aisle was too narrow for the Lexus. I backed up again, the tires shrieking, and yanked the wheel to the right, cutting a reverse donut that spun us around and knocked a couple SWAT goons off their feet. The cops were shooting at us from all sides now. Another tire blew out. A slug nipped my ear.

The Lexus was a wreck: two flat tires, the windows shattered, glass all over the seats and floor. I hit the gas and made for the garage door on the other side of the warehouse, fighting the wheel as the car veered back and forth on its flats and battered suspension. Goons jumped out of the way. A cop bounced off the hood. I clipped some guy in a trench coat, plowed through a stack of crates, then burned rubber down the aisle leading to the exit.

The warehouse was swarming with lunatics – no wonder Chang had lost control. Hanging onto the wheel as I raced down the long passage, I caught these blurred images of shadows fighting in the stacks –
locos
running through the aisles, spooks shooting at each other in the rows of cargo. There was only one way out, but we were never going to make it.

Up ahead, the garage door was open, blocked by a squad car with flashing cherries. Cops huddled behind the barricade, shooting at the Lexus as I headed straight towards them, cursing and yelling, completely out of my mind. Bullets smacked the grille. A headlight shattered. Sparks jumped off the hood. I knew we were going to crash, but I was frozen at the wheel. Then a round hit one of the gas pumps by the door and this huge fireball surged through the passage, coming right at us.

I slammed on the brakes, but nothing happened.

Another pump exploded with a flash that torched my eyes and splattered globs of white-hot metal that landed all around us. The Lexus was skidding to the left, out of control, tires squealing as flames blew through the stacks and boiled in the rafters and burning gas slopped across the floor, then the blast wave hit us and the fireball gusted through the broken windshield. Screaming, I rammed the back of the patrol car, spinning it around, then we shot through the garage door into an alley and crashed into a row of dumpsters.

A brick wall jumped at me. Fell back again.

I bounced off the wheel, Brown slammed into the front seat and Arn flew through the busted windshield, rolling across the hood like a crash-test dummy and landing in the trash. Flames billowed around us, flapping like sheets in a tornado, then they blew themselves out and I found myself slumped over the wheel, steam gushing from the buckled hood.

We were outside the warehouse.

The Lexus was totaled – engine blown, tires shot, the radiator cracked and steaming. Puddles of gas flickered on the seats, but we must've been going too fast when we crashed through the barricade to really catch on fire. Rain splattered the dash and hissed on the mangled hood, leaking through the cracked moon roof and dripping on my face. An orange glow fluttered in the alley behind the warehouse.

It was kind of peaceful.

I must've blacked out for a second. I don't know. When I opened my eyes again, I saw this huge fire raging in the fractured rearview. The warehouse was burning on the other side of the alley, the roar of the flames muffling the sounds of chaos inside the building – shotgun blasts, screams, dogs barking, cops yelling over bullhorns. The whole thing sounded far away, like it was happening in another dimension.

Brown stirred in the back seat, then he flew into a panic, slapping at his smoking hair, his sleeves on fire. Yelling and fighting with his door, he managed to get out of the car and smother the flames while I watched in a groggy stupor. One of the warehouse windows blew out about fifty yards away. Somebody inside was going crazy with an assault rifle.

"Emma!" Brown yelled. "
Emma
!"

Sparks stung my neck, biting like flies, and my last working brain cell squealed at me to get out of there. My door was jammed, but I managed to squirm through the window, falling into a puddle full of trash and scum, the rain lashing my blistered face. Brown helped me up, then Arn climbed down off the hood and the three of us huddled together like refugees, coughing up smoke and looking around.

We were alone. Completely alone.

The squad car the cops had used as a barricade lay on its side, burning in the middle of the alley. A couple bodies sprawled on the blacktop – cops or feds torched when the pumps exploded. The fire was out of control, a wall of flames and oily smoke gushing from the garage door and thrashing in the rain. Nobody was going to follow us that way, at least. The alley was deserted in both directions, but that wouldn't last very long. A million sirens howled in the bottoms, closing in all around us.

"Jesus Christ." Arn started coughing and sagged against the Lexus, blood mixed with rainwater glistening on his battered face. Turning his back, he leaned over and hurled on the pavement, clutching at his stomach. Brown stared at me, his eyes glassy. Somehow, he'd managed to hang onto the suitcase and briefcase through all that madness. Holding them at his sides, holes burned through his shirt, he looked like an insurance salesman trying to find his way out of a disaster zone.

"We've got to get out of the city," he gasped.

I stared at him blankly, my hair streaming in the rain.

"The bomb," he said. "They're going to set off the bomb."

#

We staggered down the alley, too banged-up to run, slopping through puddles and trying to stay in the shadows next to a cinderblock wall. Security lights glowed in the container yards and I could see the haze of the port to the north. Behind us, the fire billowed up through the rain, the warehouse windows flashing, gunshots going off with muffled booms. I didn't say anything, but I figured we didn't have a prayer. The sirens were getting closer and when Crewcut's bosses found out about the massacre, they were going to push the button. We had to get out of there, find a car, get as far away as we could, but we could hardly walk. Even if we managed to dodge the cops, the whole city could go up in a giant mushroom cloud at any second.

"Why don't they set it off?" I asked. "What're they waiting for?"

"Maybe they can't," Brown said. "The trigger could've been damaged. It
must've
been damaged." He was still lugging the briefcase and suitcase, grimly determined to hang onto them. "We've got to protect the documents. They're the only evidence we've got now."