Page 45 of Spyder
He pats me on the shoulder. “Well, thanks to you, the objective was achieved. That was brave and reckless as hell. You did good,” he says, mollifying me a little. “But don’t do something like that again. I don’t want to lose any of you. Better we all go home and lick our wounds and figure out the next step than go home with anybody in a body bag.”
I frown, thinking I’d done a good thing but feeling as if I’m being chastised like some kid straight out of boot who’d fucked up something huge. But then, Prophet grabs hold of my forearm, giving it a firm squeeze, an earnest expression on his face.
“You did good. We’re taking the W because of what you did. You’ve got stones, kid. Massive stones,” he says. “But it’s more important to me that we all go home alive and in one piece. And from what I’m hearin’, you’ve got somethin’ good to go home to.”
A small grin crosses my lips and I nod. “Suppose I do.”
“Good. That’s good, kid. Then don’t take risks like that again. If shit goes sideways, we can always fall back and regroup. Live to fight another day and all that shit. You got me?”
“Yeah. I got you, prez.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Good. Then—”
“Prez,” Monk calls from the doorway of the cabin. “We got a live one in here. Should we put him down?”
Prophet’s face darkens for a moment and he frowns. “Nah. Let’s talk to him first. See if he’s got anything useful to say,” he replies, then looks at me. “C’mon. Let’s go see what this asshole has to say for himself.”
Prophet turns and heads for the cabin and I hesitate a moment, looking around at the other guys milling about out here. Doc is tending to Tank and Popper, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned, so I assume their wounds aren’t too serious, which is good. Cigarette tips glow in the darkness and the laughter and conversation are picking up. The adrenaline rush of battle is fading as everybody, realizing they’ve survived the fight, is starting to unwind.
It’s a good night. We took the W. But what that means moving forward is unclear. The only thing that’s certain is that this war is going to escalate. And it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.
Chapter Nineteen
Spyder
The interior of the cabin is sparsely furnished with a table that’s littered with fast-food wrappers and bags, and eight cots. It’s a bit cramped inside, but I remind myself they’re not here for a comfortable vacation. This cabin serves as a barracks for an enemy force tasked with taking us out.
There are two bodies on the porch, the guys Domino dropped, and five more on the ground in here riddled with holes. But Monk has his weapon trained on another guy who’s sitting down, his back against the wall. He’s bleeding from a bullet wound in his shoulder and one in his thigh, but he’s otherwise all right. The guy is dark-skinned, has a shaved head, and a neatly trimmed goatee. And I recognize him.
I look at Monk, the question on my lips, and he merely nods. The man on the ground looks at me, his eyes burning with rage.
“You got somethin’ to say,puto?” he spits.
“To you? No. I got nothin’ to say to you,” I reply.
“You should kill me now,” he sneers. “If you don’t, you can be sure that I’m goin’ to kill you,ese.”
I exchange a look with Monk, who just rolls his eyes. Prophet and Cosmo are standing in a corner of the cabin, quietly conferring with each other. I’m guessing they’re busy determining this guy’s fate. Prophet gives Cosmo a nod, then walks over to where we’re standing, his eyes glued to the man on the ground.
“You fucked up, X,” Prophet says. “You settin’ up in here was a bad mistake.”
“Nah. The bad mistake you made was killin’ Mr. Zavala’s men out that old hunting lodge. Everything that happens you brought down on yourself,carnal.”
X is Zavala’s personal sicario. His right-hand man. The fact that he’s here at this cabin with the cartel soldiers tells me they had something happening. Soon. You don’t send your top general in unless there’s a fight coming… and coming soon.So, it seems to me that we headed something off before it could get started. Which is good news for us.
“What’s Zavala’s next move?” Prophet asks.
“Like I’d tell you,” X replies, his voice thick with a Spanish accent.
“Does he really think he can take this town from us?”
“It’s inevitable,cabron.It’d be good for you if you just left. At least you’d still be alive,” he says.
“This is our town,” Prophet snaps.
“For now. But not for much longer. Mr. Zavala’s got more money. More men. More guns,” he replies smoothly.
I scoff loudly and motion to the bodies on the floor. “If this is any indication of the quality of your soldiers, I like our chances.”
