Page 2 of Casualties of War
Mike slowed. “They have him. Out on the street.” He shook his head with wry surprise. “He was moving fast.” Hisgaze shifted inward. “And the Secret Service are there now, too.”
“No problem,” Adán said. “They can intimidate the asshat into giving up the photos for me.”
“Oh, I think we can do a little better than intimidation,” Mike said. He pushed on the bar of the revolving door and nodded at the armed suits standing on either side of it.
Adán stepped into the door, shuffled around and out into theexplosively hot evening air. Welcome to L.A.Where summer melts tarmac and sours the milk before you get it home. Adán tore at the bow tie at his neck and undid the button on the collar. “Phew!” he breathed. “I thought the hurricane that crossed through northern Mexico was supposed to bring rain.”
“Isn’t it hotter on Vistaria?” Mike asked, his pleasant, round and forgettable face creasing intoanother smile.
“Nope,” Adán said. “By this time of night there’s always a sea breeze.”
Mike shrugged. “I like the heat.”
“Didn’t you grow up in Montana?”
“Idaho.”
“Well, then.”
Mike pointed. “Over there.”
Adán had already spotted the tight circle of suits on the footpath just beyond all the yellow tape and security barriers. His own detail looked no different from the Secret Service men,except Adán knew every man in his detail.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Mike added. “The team will make sure the photos go away. How many?”
“Two. Although I want to talk to him,” Adán said. “This is connected with Vistaria.”
“Vistaria?” Mike’s shock lifted his voice.
That was when something invisible walloped them both in the back and shoved them through ten feet of air.
Adán didn’t rememberlanding.
* * * * *
I’m lying on a torture board. The idea came together sluggishly.
A million somethings were digging into his back and buttocks and legs with sharp points. His head was ringing, muffling his hearing and fogging up his thoughts.
He hurt. All over.
A hand patted his cheek.
Adán groaned. He couldn’t hear himself make the sound.
“Up and at ‘em.” Mike’s voice, from far away.A hand on his shoulder, lifting him to a sitting position.
Adán poured energy into sitting up and opening his eyes. Now he could hear sirens and shouting. Screams and cries for help. Over the top of it all, crackling flames.
“Look at me,” Mike demanded, giving him a shake.
Adán opened his eyes wide and blinked, trying to pull his vision together. Then he looked at Mike. The man wore a coveringof gray dust, except for where a thick cascade of blood ran down the side of his face. His eyes were alert, though.
“You look like shit,” Adán told him.
“Wish I could say the same for you,” Mike told him. “Even covered in concrete dust, you’d make women faint. It’s just not fair. C’mon, up you get. We gotta get you somewhere safe.”
“What the fuck am I sitting on, anyway?” Adán asked, as Mikehoisted him to his feet with more strength than his medium-sized frame said he should have. Adán looked down at his feet. Chunks of concrete—big, small, tiny, and ground down into dust—were scattered everywhere.
