I let him get a look at me as I pretended to be texting while driving; then I reduced my speed to fall back ever so slightly. A loud pop rang out, followed by swerving as the right rear tire on his SUV blew out, courtesy of the shot from my Walther .380. I moved the Mustang in his direction, guaranteeing the collision I was trying to accomplish. With a wrenching crash, our vehicles made contact.
I clenched the wheel as I rode my car to a stop. Both cars were scraped up, and only one was drivable—mine. It was decision time. If he wanted to escape, he’d need my car. If he wanted to stay, he would be calling for backup to come pick him up. When I saw him on his phone, I knew his decision. I needed to hurry. I didn’t have enough firepower for a shootout on the 405.
“What’s wrong with you?” I screamed, exiting the Mustang on the passenger’s side. “I need your license, registration, and insurance!”
“You don’t know how to drive, bitch?” he yelled back as he exited the Suburban in a huff and came around to inspect the damage. “Fuckin’ textin’. I saw you!”
“And you fuckin’ came over into my lane. Comprende, estúpido?”
“You got a fuckin’ mouth on you. You know that?”
“Whatever. This mouth wants to see your insurance ’n shit. Same thing happened to my last car. Motherfucker drove off. Ain’t happenin’ this time,” I said.
He shook his head, obviously wanting to strike me. With so many witnesses driving by, he restrained himself... for now. Then his eyes turned lustful. That caught me off guard a bit. I wasn’t expecting that with the high pressure conditions he was under, but I guess transporting bodies, pulling guns out in clubs, and shooting up hotels was just another day for him. Wow. A potential soul mate? If that bitch didn’t have my brother in there, maybe we... Oh, who was I kidding? We’d kill each other on our honeymoon. Literally.
“Tell you what. Give me your number, and I’ll get your car fixed at our shop. Good as new, no charge. Plus a little cash for your inconvenience,” he offered.
“For real? How am I supposed to believe you? You might be lyin’ to a sista ’n shit,” I said flirtatiously, playing in my hair and flashing my “you might get you some eventually” smile.
“Look, just give me your number. I’ll have a tow truck come over now and take care of you.”
“Okay. You sound like a man who knows what he’s doin’. You got a pen on you? ’Cause I don’t have one.”
“Just give me the number and I’ll put it in my phone.”
“Nah, I don’t trust that. You could put in the wrong number or just delete it. I wanna see you write it down on paper. Make it official. Old school. Like we in high school and you gonna ask me on a date.” I was making this thug think we were truly vibing.
He smiled, then sighed as he looked back at the Suburban. It took him a minute to decide, but just like all men, he couldn’t resist my charms in the end. As he walked toward his car, I followed on his heels.
“What’s your name, anyway?” I asked. “Somethin’ sexy soundin’ I bet. I was just breakin’ up with my man before you hit me.”
“By text, huh?” he said with a laugh as he reached over into the center console. He still didn’t give me a name.
Bet he’d tell me more if I let him hit it, I thought. I’d already let Miguel get some of this, though, and my rule was only one dick per organization. Too bad for this dude. Besides, I had much more important things to do at the moment, like getting my brother back.
Before he had a chance for more conversation, I wedged my gun up under his jaw.
“Is he alive?” I asked coolly as I removed his concealed handgun from his shoulder holster.
“Y-yeah,” he said, straining to swallow with my barrel pressing into his trachea.
I tossed his gun over the freeway railing, then hit the button to unlock the passengers’ doors. “Show me,” I ordered.
When I let him stand, he was smiling again. Trying to dazzle me with charm still. “You can’t be his girlfriend,” he joked.