Shooting Scars: The Artists Trilogy 2 (23 page)

Gus grinned at me uneasily. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.”

“And so will Javier.” At the moment all we had was the moment of surprise. Shit, I hated to even think it but I really hoped Dan was knocked out. Looking back we should have tied him up or, well, if it had been anyone else, we should have shot him and put him out of his misery. Now there was a chance he could alert Javier that we were on our way.

Who the fuck are you?
I asked myself, feeling the chills spread all over me. Suddenly I was talking about offing someone like it was no big deal.

I shook my head and concentrated on the task at hand. The car was still behind us, having taken the same corner. I brought the GTO onto the other street Gus told me about. Sadly, it was nothing bigger than a bike path, lined with low stone walls.

“Shit!” I yelled as we squeezed through, both of the side mirrors of the car smashing off and flying behind us. The car bounced and rocked back and forth, her sides scratched as we sped through the narrow passageway without more than an inch to spare on either side. I couldn’t help my wince at the damage the car was taking on, the paint job it was going to need when this was over. Ellie was going to have a hissy fit. Her poor Jóse.

That thought alone, that I’d see Ellie again, kept me focused. I gunned the car harder, even when I heard the cop car coming to a screech far behind me, probably a few inches too wide to come after us.

We almost made it out of the passage when a little girl with her skipping rope suddenly appeared around the corner, coming toward us, her form small between the stone walls.

Gus and I both screamed in unison as I slammed down on the brakes, burning brake pads and rubber filling our ears and noses. The car fought and weaved with what little space it had as it plowed toward the little girl.

I took in her purple summer dress, the braids in pigtails, the pink rope in her hands, her bare feet, her eyes as they stared me down in horror.

The GTO came to a jerky halt, a feet away from her, the cloud of dust from our wake billowing forward.

My hands were frozen on the wheel, my foot on the brake, my eyes on the girl. My chest heaved, remembering to breathe while Gus clutched at his chest. For a minute I thought he was going to have a heart attack, that this was his mysterious health condition, when he waved me off and spat out, “I’m fine. Should we check on her?”

I looked back to the girl. She was giving us a pouty look but turned around and skipped back out of the passage, finding another way to wherever she was going.

I slowly eased the car forward once she was out of our path, inching the nose out until the coast was clear. Then I stepped on the gas and took her down another road that led us onto the highway.

Once we got there, it was smooth sailing.

For about five minutes. Then we heard more sirens behind us. Someone had called the cavalry.

Gus and I looked at each other as if to say, “time to do this again” and I gunned the car, the engine slightly less responsive now. I swerved it around the commuters on the highway, getting angry glares, horns and curious glances. I guess with the mirrors off and the side banged up, we were going to attract a lot of attention. Perfect.

Gus was back to reading the GPS “We’re approaching Tihuatlan, the highway is going to start branching off in different directions. We won’t be able to stay on this one, even though it’s leading us to Veracruz. We’ll have to take the side roads and the smaller highways. We can still get there but, sorry boy, it’s going to take longer now. The cops are going to be looking for this car.”

I kneaded the steering wheel and swerved around a car just before we almost collided with the back of a semi-truck

“Well, let’s see if we can get out of this one first.”

And we almost did, until a cruiser pulled up beside us, the cop wasn’t wearing a ski mask which meant he was probably doing radar on the side of the road. He did have a gun pointed at us though.

He pulled the trigger, the bullet puncturing the back door.

I yelped and slammed on the brakes again, trying to get out of his way. The car behind me screeched and swerved off to the side trying to avoid being rear ended. Unfortunately the cop car did the same maneuver as me and the car ended up flying off the road trying to avoid it, crashing somewhere behind us. More and more cars crunched and squealed and I knew I’d left a massive pile-up in my wake.

Not that it was exactly my fault. The cop was aiming for me again and I jerked the GTO into the other lane as he shot again. The bullet missed, striking the rear window of the car next to us. Screams filled the air. The cop didn’t give a shit if everyone on the highway ended up dead.

“We have to get the fuck out of here,” I said as Gus reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his gun. “Oh please, let’s not add to the carnage.”

He cocked the gun dramatically. “Our lives are carnage now. Deal with it.”

There was truth to his words. We’d gone from two guys watching
Arsenic and Old Lace
in his living room, to torture-tattooing drug lords and igniting ex-best friends. Now we were on the run from the law, in Mexico, nearly taking everyone down with us.

All for a girl. But she wasn’t just any girl.

She was mine.

And I was hers.

Until the bitter end.

“Camden, watch it!” Gus yelled.

The cop was right beside us again. I only got a quick glimpse of him as I turned my head to see, cursing the side mirrors that were gone.

I saw the gun pointed at me.

That was it.

Then my window exploded, glass fragments flying everywhere, lacing the air like confetti. Immediately a searing hot pain erupted in my shoulder, like a molten knife had stabbed me there, twisting it through. I didn’t have time to worry about it though. I had to act fast. I grabbed the wheel and did what the psycho cop wasn’t expecting me to do. I rammed the GTO into his car, hit it at enough of an angle so we’d both spun out. Only I was still in control, with one good arm, and was able to get the car straightened out before Gus had to take control of the wheel and I handled the gearshift.

There were a few close calls, another semi changing lanes to get out of the way, a family-filled sedan staring at our car in horror as we nearly rammed them. But we managed to escape from crashing and navigated the moving maze by the skin of our teeth. I felt like I was in a deadly, real-life version of Frogger. My hands started to get cold and clammy, the gearshift slipping under my palm.

Once we were back at optimal speed, I took the wheel back and started booting up the shoulder, overtaking everyone and leaving them in a storm cloud of loose roadwork. It was then that I chose to look down at my arm. I saw nothing but blood, starting from the shoulder where it met my collarbone and soaking its way down, a red ink blot that started taking on new shapes before my eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” I said, grinding my teeth together as the pain began to manifest itself. “I’ve been shot.”

“Where?” Gus said alarmed and peering over at me.

“My shoulder,” I grunted, then screamed. “This fucking hurts!”

He seemed to consider that for a moment before he said, full-on smart ass, “Yes, being shot hurts.”

I glared at him, my glasses fogging up. “If I die on you, you’re going to feel really bad about it.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said. “Just keep driving. I think we’ve lost them for now. Get us to Ixtapa road, the next exit’s coming up on your right, then take the road until it intersects with 132. Take 132 …” And Gus droned on. I was having a hard time hearing him, my vision was beginning to blur and my ears felt like they had cotton balls in them. I guess I subconsciously took it all in because together, with him steering the wheel sometimes, we followed his directions and ended up at an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of a small town. The cops hadn’t followed us.

But I’d been shot. And before I could do anything about it, the world around me started getting fuzzy.

Then nothing.

A
s to be expected, sleeping with Javier was awkward. After we returned from our mini-trip to Veracruz, case of beer in hand, we all had a few and then retired to our rooms. I could sense Raul’s eyes on me the whole time, but Javier didn’t act any different around him. I was glad for that because I didn’t want Raul to think I’d snitched – he wasn’t someone I wanted to further antagonize.

Javier shut the door behind me and flicked on the tall standing lamp in the corner, kitschy Mexican décor. “What side of the bed do you want?” he asked.

Then he proceeded to take off his suit. He flung the jacket onto an armchair across the room and began unbuttoning his shirt. I didn’t know where to look, my cheeks growing hot like I was a naïve teenager. I’d seen him shirtless before. Hell, I’d seen and felt every single part of that man. Still, it didn’t make the feeling go away.

“Feeling bashful?” Now his tone was smug.

I looked up and his shirt was off. His body was pretty much the same as I remembered, but wider, in a more athletic and lean kind of way. He’d grown into it and taken great care of his body over the years. His abs and arms looked like he’d do chin-ups in his spare time, yet it was still very elegant and subtle. His skin was a dark bronze, shadowed by the lamp.

“No,” I answered.

“Good.” And then his pants dropped.

And I’d totally forgotten he liked to go commando.

“Oh my god,” I cried out, shielding my eyes and facing the wall. “Please, put some pants on. Or underwear.”

“Say ‘oh my god’ again, I liked the sound of it,” he said and I could hear him coming closer. “It reminds me of old times.”

“Javier, I’m serious.”

“When are you not serious, Ellie?”

I kept my eyes clamped shut until he started shuffling through the drawers. “Okay, okay, calm down. There, I have pants on now.”

I bent down and snapped up my pajama bottoms and a t-shirt then walked past him to the door, not wanting to risk a look in his direction. When I came out of the bathroom, after a long, hot and much-needed shower, he was already in bed with the lights off. This was exactly what I was counting on. I wanted to go to sleep on my side of the bed and be done with it. No thinking about the situation, no chit chat.

I carefully closed the door and eased my way across the room, my bare feet padding on the woven rugs, the moonlight outside the open window illuminating my passage. With the sea breeze coming in and the sound of the fishing boats rising and falling in their berths, the whole thing was soothing. Even romantic.

I crawled in, pulling only the sheet over my body and faced the wall. The moon was bright on my face.

After a few moments, when my heart rate had started to calm and I was beginning to forget where I was, Javier called out softly. “Angel?”

I wanted to pretend to be asleep. I wanted to ignore him. But he’d used a name I hated and I was sick of hearing it.

“Please don’t call me that,” I whispered back, pulling sheet closer around my shoulders.

He turned over in the bed and suddenly he was right behind me, causing the hairs on my neck to rise. “Why not?”

I tried to steady my breath. “I’m not your angel.”

“You’re someone’s angel. God’s.”

“God’s? How can you call me an angel when you think I’m no good?”

He was silent for a moment. Waves crashed outside.

“There are fallen angels, too. Angels with dirty wings.”

“Lucifer was a fallen angel,” I pointed out.

“You’re right. But Lucifer had no moral code. You and I, angel, I think we fell somewhere in between all of that. We made our place. Our own home.”

I closed my eyes at his words, my soul and heart and everything getting sucked back into a vortex of memories, all bright, shiny, and good. Memories of him and I together, memories I thought I’d erased.

His lips were at my ear, his warm hand on my shoulder, holding me in place rather than giving comfort. Instead of stiffening, my whole body relaxed.

“We evolved, Ellie,” he whispered, sending shivers down my back. “And we’ll keep evolving.” Then he moved away, back to his side of the bed, cozying up under the covers.

I didn’t fall asleep for hours.

The next day Peter and Raul went off somewhere in Pedro’s tiny Toyota and Javier and I took the Rover into Veracruz to meet this new contact of his, a woman called Amandine.

We had dressed appropriately for the occasion. I was wearing a long peasant skirt and gladiator sandals that wrapped up to my knee, covering my cherry blossoms even if anyone could see them. On top though I was showing a lot of skin. No bra under a low-cut and tight low-back white lace tank. I spent extra effort on my hair, styling it until it lay straight and smooth, just past my chin, and put on more makeup than usual. Nothing trashy but I knew I had the ability to stand out when I wanted to.

“That’s perfect,” Javier said when he saw me, his eyes savoring my body. “Of course, if you were still mine, there’s no way I’d let you out in public like that.”

“Good thing I’m not yours,” I’d told him.

The way I looked like an attractive American tourist, Javier looked the complete opposite of a drug lord. Jeans, a black and orange San Francisco Giants jersey, aviators and a plain black baseball cap.

Actually it was kind of weird being with him looking like that. Javier had always been a very smooth and elegant dresser and now here he was looking like any twenty-nine-year-old baseball fan, albeit one with high cheekbones. Even dressed down he still looked extraordinarily … pretty.

We cruised through the busy streets of the city, both of us taking comfort in the bulletproof glass, until we found the address. It was a café across from one of the various small lakes and lagoons that were sprinkled throughout Veracruz.

We parked across the lagoon and took the long way around, following a small boardwalk. He took my hand and squeezed it before I could take it back.

“You’re just an American girl and I’m your Mexican boyfriend,” he said with a cheery smile that made him look terribly young. “We’re the modern day Romeo and Juliet.”