“Pull into the clearing,” David said. “Make them come to us. They get pissed off about us giving back the bodies, we’ll want a clear exit.”
“Only one way in and out,” Ruben said.
“Then we want to be in front.”
Ruben made a clicking sound in his mouth, thinking. “This is going to tell them something is different.”
“Fine,” David said. “Let them worry about it.”
RUBEN PARKED THE HEARSE IN THE OLD TOWN SQUARE, LEFT THE ENGINE running. In the headlights, David made out the ruins of a church—not much more than a cross and the frame of a building—with a well, surrounded by a three-foot-tall rock wall, directly in front of it. To the left of the church were the remnants of smaller buildings, dilapidated walls and exposed foundations encircled by hitching posts. The field of Joshua trees extended back and to the right of the church, dying in the blackness of the hills.
“What now?” Ruben asked.
“You said you wanted to do the talking,” David said. “Talk.”
Ruben reached into the glove box, took out a Glock, checked the magazine. “I only got fifteen.”
“You think there’s twenty guys in that hearse?” David asked.
“Could be motherfuckers coming down the hills.”
Shit.
David gave him one of his two extra magazines and then both exited the SUV. Stood in the glow of the headlights, let whoever was in the other hearse see them. Across the dark expanses of desert, the driver’s side door opened, and a man walked out, headed toward them, hands open, arms loose at his sides. He was about six feet, wore a black Adidas sweat suit. David still couldn’t make out who was in the passenger seat.
They headed toward him. Friendly. Normal night.
“You recognize him?” David asked, quietly.
“Guy I’ve been dealing with was half his size,” Ruben said. “This is the OG I told you about.”
“What’s his name?”
“Lonzo,” Ruben said.
Shit.
“You sure?”
“Could be Alonzo, but yeah.”
Ronnie’s Gangster 2-6 triggerman, now working for this Peaches fool. Was Ronnie’s guy on the streets for years. Middled every deal they made since the early 1990s, took care of any street business that Sal was too busy to take on. A pro. A good guy, in David’s estimation, who still would have killed Ronnie’s wife and kids, would have had no trouble putting Matthew Drew’s kid sister to sleep or signing up to work alongside Peaches. Followed the money.
David tugged his hood low on his face, looked down.
“What up, dog,” Lonzo said.
“Chilling,” Ruben said. “Where’s Mike at?”
“You’ll be dealing with me now. Mike is out of the picture. In fact, he’s in the box.” Lonzo motioned over his shoulder to his hearse. Just one of those things. “You got a problem with that?”
“Can’t say I do,” Ruben said. “But look. This is gonna be our last run for a bit. We’ve got some heat on us, so we gotta take a hiatus.”
“How long?”
“Could be three months.” Ruben making shit up as he went along.
“What kind of heat?”
“Yo,” Ruben said, “I’m just driving.”
“All right, all right,” Lonzo said. “No worries.”
“Another thing,” Ruben said. “Mike gave us some bad cargo last time. You gotta take it back.”
“The fuck you mean?”
“We don’t put New York families from an open city into the ground. Rules are rules. Your boss knows them.”
“Rules?” Lonzo said and started laughing. “You out here in a hearse, in the middle of the desert, talking to me about rules. How about this, bossman, you do what you’ve been paid for, we all keep quiet.” Not apologizing, David noticed.
“It’s the principle,” Ruben said. “I got cash in the car to pay you back right now on the three bodies; we’ll take the one you got on credit. And then we’re square. You got a problem, take it up with my boss.” He pointed at David.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked David.
“I’m the rabbi.” His hands were inside the front pocket of his hoodie, guns in each.
“You make the rules?”
