“Rio! You okay?” Paris reached over from the driver’s seat to feel if I had any bullet holes in me. The Suburban that had just shot at us had been joined by another, following in close pursuit, probably trying to herd us into a trap.
“No, dammit! Will you keep your eyes on the road?” I pleaded, trying to open my eyes sparingly. Even if it was keeping me alive, her intense driving was making me sick to my stomach. Just let it end already, I prayed.
“Bro, I’m almost out of gas. And these putas know L.A. too well for me.”
“What are you saying?” I almost yelped as we took another freeway exit at speeds way in excess of the limit.
“Three options,” she said, calmly checking the rearview mirror.
“Other than dying right here? Okay, I’m listening.”
“One, I get the po-pos involved and we go to jail. Their helicopters are gonna be out soon anyway. News choppers, too. But that doesn’t mean we don’t get shot up before the arrest.”
“On the plus side, we’d be famous,” I offered. “And maybe die on camera. Next option.”
“Two, I go somewhere crowded like a mall, and we probably get away. Probably. But it would be wet for civilians. Very wet,” she said. “Don’t matter to me, ’cause I’m down for whatever.”
“Going out as baby-killers. Tasty. And the final one?”
“We find somewhere secluded, like under the freeway, and play hide-and-seek. Give me a chance to do what I do. Pop, pop, pop. Can’t guarantee that one, though, ’cause I didn’t do any advance recon. All I can say is I’ll do my best, bro. Maybe we get lucky and my team gets here before it’s over.”
I opened my eyes just in time to see that we were drifting sideways into oncoming traffic on Venice Boulevard. I clenched the door handle in a death grip and stifled a scream, squirming at the sight of passing cars swerving to avoid us.
Once we straightened out and got back into the correct lane, I reached over and touched my sister’s arm, acknowledging my choice to her.
“Suit yourself,” she said, although I knew my sister well enough to know she would have picked the same one with or without my input.
The SUVs drew closer, and one of the drivers shot off the door mirror near Paris’s hand. She cursed out loud over the near miss. Our choice made, she began looking for the right conditions to end this.
As the low-fuel indicator light came on, our search became a little more desperate. Paris made a hard right turn onto a side street off Sepulveda, then crashed through the chained gate of a warehouse complex near the airport.
“Paris, they’re speeding up!” I yelled as the two black Suburbans in hot pursuit moved quickly to close the distance between us.
“Thanks. You’re such a fountain of information, bro,” my sister spat as she made a beeline for a warehouse and office building that reminded me of LC’s back home. She was gunning the Mustang’s motor, which seemed to be suddenly failing us. “Overheating,” she stated grimly.
“Give me a gun! Give me a gun!” I screeched.
“Here,” she said, tossing me something other than a gun.
“A phone? What the hell do you want me to do with this?”
“It’s off your buddy back at the hotel. Figured he had no use for it.”
“Oh! Wait! He told me stuff before Alejandro’s man busted in and killed him. I need to tell you—”
“Tell me later,” she blurted out in a tone that worried me.
I looked in the rearview mirror. The lead van looked like it was going to ram us.
“We gotta run as soon as I stop,” she said.
With the last surge of the Mustang, Paris brought it into a sideways slide, leaving the driver’s side exposed to Alejandro’s people, who’d declared open season on us. When it came to a halt ten feet away from the front door of the warehouse, I felt adrenaline surge within me.