Page 11 of Bad Attitude
“Thirty seconds,”Kurt replies, voice terse.
I kick my bike into gear and peel out, gentle and slow. Twenty seconds to reach Cammy’s van. Declan’s in my mirror, following. I don’t bother to check on Kawasaki.
“Cop’s coming around the side,”Tasha says.“Ten seconds to the van.”
“Shoot the fucker,”Kawasaki says on the radio.“I’ll do it.”
“Negative,”Kurt snaps out.“Zero body count. Stand down, Pablo.”
Pablo? Is that how he gets to ‘Diablo’? Dick Face suits him better.
“Bunch of pussies. Scared to kill?”
“Where d’you find this guy, Kurt?”That’s Cole’s voice, echoing the question in my head.
“You kill a cop, this becomes a manhunt,”Kurt explains in a patient voice for our stupid novice.“That’s every informer they have, every agency, FBI, US Marshals, and death penalty eligibility. In simple terms, you kill him, we kill you. Got it?”
“Fuck,”Kawasaki spits, then mutters a reluctant,“Got it.”
“Cop’s at the van.”Tasha’s voice drops to a whisper.“Wait on exit.”
I pull over half a block shy, fully expectingPabloto ride past me. But Hale pulls in behind, and to my relief, so does Dick Face.
“Cop’s walking on,”Tasha says quietly, not even a hint of relief in her voice. But it’s not our first rodeo.“He’s heading for the back door. Go quiet.”
We sit at the side of the main road, trying to blend in. It would be a lot easier if one of us wasn’t on a fuckingdirt bike, looking like his parents bought it for his fourteenth birthday.
“Cop’s gone full circle, heading back to his cruiser. Go active. We’re at minus one-thirty.”
Shit.We’re ninety seconds over our time, and that means the police response will be here any moment, in full. That cop’s probably gone to meet them.
I drop my clutch and open my throttle, the front wheel coming up six inches off the ground as I fly forward, and ten seconds later hit the brakes, turning into the alley where Cammy’s van sits, quiet andgrey, doing its best impression of a hole in space. Kurt and the others come out just as I arrive, their balaclavas covering their faces, and he hands me my bag. It’s heavier than I expect. I pull the straps over my shoulders, fasten the waist belt, give him a nod, and I’m gone.
His voice follows me.“That’s it, we’re done. Good luck.”
I’m already on the road, heading east, farther into the city.Awayfrom LA to the northwest. Passing cop cars coming toward me, lights and sirens in full, but none of them stop. I don’t know where Hale’s gone, and I don’t care where Kawasaki is heading. Except on that, I’m pretty sure Idoknow.
“Well, we have a late response, but they’ve arrived in numbers now,”Tasha tells us, a minute later.“And we have a chopper. Be aware, chopper.”She still sounds like she’s updating us on the latest discounts at Walmart.
There’s nothing in my mirrors, but that doesn’t mean it’s not following me. I’m on Ramon Road, heading east. It’s wide, dead straight, and I’m fucking obvious. So damn obvious that I speed slightly. A nice fifty-five in a forty-five zone. Just another happy biker, absolutely not running from a robbery with a bag of loot, a gentle weave through the traffic. This road runs six miles through the city and keeps going, but my goal’s closer than that.
“Status update,”Kurt requests.
“Route 111 south,”Hale replies, his radio crackling with distance.“No attention.”
“None here either. North through the city,”I lie, notgiving a shit. I’m not telling them my plan.
“Heading for Joshua Tree,”Dick Face replies.“Lose them in the desert.”
I can’t help my curse. I fuckingknewit.
“Pablo, speed?”Kurt must’ve heard me, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s focused onPabloinstead.
“One-ten. They won’t catch me.”
Kurt’s sigh is loud enough to transmit.“Drop to forty, immediately. You’reverynoisy, drawing all the attention.”
“Fuck that. I alreadyhaveattention.”
