Part 36 (1/2)

Two rows up and across the aisle, Aaron Monteforte buried his face in his hands. ”Jesus Christ.”

Zeke took a deep breath, waited for Enoch to step off the bus, and crouched in the aisle beside Aaron. He put a hand on the young man's arm.

”Hey, brother.Take a breath.”

Aaron glanced at him, swallowed hard, and nodded. ”I'm trying, Mr. Prater.”

Beside him, up against the window, his dead sister had left a streak of drool on the gla.s.s. Zeke had to fight to keep from recoiling at the sight, telling himself that it was good, that body fluids meant life, but his stomach roiled in disgust.

”Zeke,” he managed to say. ”Call me Zeke.”

Through the window beyond Trish Monteforte's drool, he saw Enoch talking with one of the men as the others unloaded two heavy gray plastic boxes from the back of the SUV. Enoch reached inside his jacket and handed over a thick envelope that Zeke realized must be cash, and then two of the men carried the plastic boxes on board the bus. Neither of the men, both young and dark-eyed Mexicans, so much as glanced up at the pa.s.sengers as they set the boxes down in the aisle.

And then they were gone.

Enoch climbed back onto the bus as the SUV tore away across the ragged, dusty plain, headlights popping on, brake lights like devil's eyes in the dark.

Zeke took his seat as Vickers first closed the bus door and then rose to help Enoch open the crates. Enoch had told them what would be expected of them, so Zeke knew what was to come- they all did-but the sight of moonlight glinting off gun barrels still made him catch his breath. He'd been trained to use a gun since childhood and knew the same would be true of nearly everyone on board the bus, but these were no hunting rifles or protective sidearms. The guns in the cases were Herstals, Belgian-made pistols that fired armor-piercing rounds, so popular with the cartels that they were more commonly known by their street name, Mata Policias. Cop Killers.

Either Enoch had just bought guns from the same people who supplied the Matamoros cartel, or he'd bought guns from the cartel itself.The little man had told them as part of the plan that they'd be picking up weapons on the Mexican side of the border-trying to sneak them across would be idiotic-but the presence of the Mata Policias on the bus gave the moment a terrible, weighty reality.

”You'll each take one of these,” Enoch said, a golden glow in his eyes that could not be attributed to the moonlight. When he spoke, his upper lip curled back like a wolf's. ”We'll wait until it's time for us to abandon the bus, and then you'll take one gun and give it to the person you came here for. Remember why you're here and you won't hesitate.There are enough guns that you can also take one for yourself, but if you do as I ask, there should be no reason for it. Once you've played your pipes and given instructions, you'll just wait for it all to be over.”

Lester cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, trying to regain some of the dignity stolen by riding in a school bus.

”What happens if one of them doesn't come back?” he asked. ”If I send my boy in there and they shoot him full of holes-”

”I told you, he'll heal. Whatever damage they do-”

”-heals eventually,” Lester interrupted. ”But what about tonight? If he's too damaged to come back to where we're waiting?”

Enoch stared at him, the glow in his eyes seeming to brighten. Zeke knew that there must have been others on the bus who had questions, but Lester was the only one who had dared to ask. This close to satiating his thirst for revenge, Enoch did not want to deal with their trifling doubts and fears, that much was clear.