The rap music thumping loud and deep from the car’s speakers had not prompted the driver’s knees to shake. Nor had that same steady beat encouraged the front seat passenger to tap his fingers on the dashboard.

From the back seat, using an irritated tone Stitch asked, “Rico, what’s the time?”

The man to his right glanced toward his Rolex. “Just after eight.”

“They’re late and it’s hot,” Emilio muttered from the driver’s seat. He gripped his knees to stop them from shaking.

Its headlights off, the black Ford Explorer remained unmoving on the narrow gravel road leading to a private beach on Florida’s Gulf coast.

“Too many freakin’ trees on my side. Can’t see a damn thing out there,” Rico said, then added, “Turn up the A-C, Emilio.” He checked his watch again.

“Just relax. They’ll be here.” Manuel clicked open the glove box and removed a large packet of cash encased in plastic wrap. “They won’t blow this deal. It’s too big a haul to shrug off.”

Emilio shut off the radio and lowered his visor. “I’m not worried about them shrugging it off. We’re sitting here with one hell of a wad. They could be tempted to simply off us and take it.” He fidgeted with the gun set on his lap.

“There.” Rico leaned forward to point between the front seat occupants toward the windshield.

Two hundred feet up the road a pair of headlights blinked twice. Daylight prevailed, but the low sun lay positioned behind the arriving vehicle making it difficult to see by the four men in the Explorer.

“That’s the signal,” Manuel said. “Okay, now remember. We all step out and stand by the open doors for protection, just in case. I’ll take this first package forward and bring back the first block of coke. While that creep, Kobbi, counts the cash at his end, Rico will taste the stuff and weigh it back here.” Manuel looked toward Rico and received a nod.

“Emilio will then pop the rear gate to store the coke and I’ll get out another package of cash. We’ll repeat it three more times until it’s all traded. Ready?” Manuel heard several grunts of acknowledgement before he adjusted his trademark granny glasses.

“I don’t like it,” whispered Rico as Manuel trekked up the road. “It’s a stupid plan.”

Their compatriot almost half way there, the remaining trio lost sight of him in the glare.

“Any gunshots and we’re outa here, right?” Emilio asked.

Rico replied while darting his eyes left and right. “We couldn’t just leave him out there. He’d kill us.”

“What if they wait ‘til we’ve got all them drugs, then their friends attack us from behind?” Stitch asked.

Rico raised a hand. “All right. Easy chumps. We’ve planned this; remember? I mean, the rear’s clear since we got Sergeant Torillo under our thumb. He’s patrolling back there. It’s okay.”

Emilio stepped over to bum a cigarette off Stitch. “Hey, you see that sexy cherry Manuel picked up at the bar last night.”

“Yeah, he sure likes ‘em young. Wonder what she saw in him, though?” Stitch asked with a smirk.

Emilio took a long drag. “Money talks, pal.”

Stitch whispered, “Quiet. There’s a car coming up from behind.”

“Crap. It…it’s Torillo,” Rico said. “Yeah. That patrol car’s not hard to miss. But he should’ve stayed back. Maybe something’s gone wrong.”

“He would’ve phoned. Hey, he’s stopped. Now we’re blocked in. I don’t like this,” Emilio said.

“Son of a…Torillo’s just sitting there. We…wait, look.” Rico had turned around to peer forward and now pointed in that direction. “Manuel’s coming back. His hat, see?”

Emilio grinned while moving to the rear of the Explorer. He opened the tail door and flicked his smoke to the ground. “One down, three to go.”

Rico walked forward to take the package from Manuel’s hand. He drew up close. “How’d it go?”

The man dressed in Manuel’s shirt, hat and glasses raised his head and replied, “Not like he planned I don’t think.” From the brown bag held in his hand, a forty-five emerged to press against Rico’s abdomen.

“Hey!”

A sudden sharp crack caused Rico’s now bleeding torso to slap against the side of the Ford.

“Bastards,” Stitch shouted. He leveled his Glock toward Freemont, the man disguised as Manuel, but the next gunshot was not his as Sergeant Torillo’s round tore through Stitch’s neck.

Emilio watched his friend collapse to the ground. Newly frightened, he jumped into the driver’s seat. First, he revved it in reverse, slamming it into Torillo’s cruiser. Then, he gunned it forward, running over Stitch’s body. The other gang’s vehicle now pulled up close in front, preventing passage.

Emilio jerked the Explorer back and forth, alternately steering it side-to-side. He was desperate to extricate himself from the treachery that had befallen his gang. Emilio’s frantic action did not help that cause, however. The SUV’s drive wheel now became stuck in sand on the shoulder of the road. With all doors locked and windows closed he continued to jam the gears between forward and reverse even as five thugs drew closer to the front of the Ford.

As if a high-pitched, unstopping scream powered by his lungs might somehow melt the several gun barrels rising to point toward him, Emilio continued making the horrific sound. He stopped only when a hail of bullets along with a barrage of window glass shards ripped through his body.


The red glow of a burning, black Ford Explorer lit up the emerging night above a private beach road. The vehicle again being occupied by its four original felons, all now dead, its glove box no longer contained any cash. Nor did the Ford hold any cocaine.

The event posed no real mystery to the police.

“The evidence suggests a drug deal having gone terribly wrong,” said the lead investigator.

His lieutenant merely shook his head before attending to the papers on his desk. “They just never learn.”