The sawed-off shotgun resting on the knees of former inmate 36691--large black print on his right breast--would have been about the only thing that would have gotten old Leroy to settle down. Gangster life had been a cold mistress to him, and he had the scars of six gunshot wounds to prove it. Firearms didn't sit well with Leroy any longer. In Juice's case it had been prison life that didn't sit with him.
The car raced at full speed down the crowded four-lane highway through the city. It weaved and dodged past the late afternoon commuters on their way home from work. Screeching tires and blasting horns mattered about as much to Cuz as the begging of the four hostages he had executed less than five minutes ago on his way out of the bank. The massive, bald Aryan-looking dude with the goatee clutching the wheel went at his driving the way he did everything else--like one crazy mother-fucker.
Police sirens were getting closer.
"Fuck! Fuck! Goddamn fuck!" Ace screamed from the passenger seat. "The batteries are fucking low!"
The skinny white boy with scarecrow hair was shaking a cellular phone wildly.
It took everything Juice had not to silence the goddamned excitable cracker once and for all, with one pull of the trigger. Fucking idiot was always getting himself worked up. If he'd stayed cool at the bank, they'd be on their way to New Orleans by now. But expecting Ace to be cool was like a whore expecting dinner and a movie.
"Move your fucking head, Juice," Cuz barked, "I can't see a fucking thing with that afro of yours. Goddamn nigger palm tree."
Juice's hand twitched. Mentally, he was still living by the harsh laws of the penitentiary. Three hours of freedom after eight of the fucking hardest years a man could stomach wasn't enough time for him to undo all the savage lessons he had learned in the name of rehabilitation. A comment like that would have gotten Cuz shanked in a heartbeat then, but Juice restrained himself. He needed these fucking crackers to get him down to Mexico. The bottom line was simple--there was no fucking way on God's green earth he was going back to prison.
The siren was getting closer.
"All right, ladies," Cuz said, "get the guns ready. We're almost out of gas, and if today is my day to die, I want to take a fucking herd of pigs with me."
Ace tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his denim vest. Then he lifted two 9mm automatics up toward the ceiling of the car. "Let's show these mother-fuckers resisting arrest like they've never seen it."
Yeah sure, what the fuck ever, Juice thought. Ace would be mister cool until the cops started shooting, then he'd turn into Lucille Ball on crack.
With a sudden whip of the steering wheel, Cuz ramped the Mercedes over the curb and into the parking lot of an old building. Sparks flew and metal crunched. It was a good thing he'd killed the old woman at the bank. If she could see her car now, she'd need to change her diaper.
The impact threw Juice against Ace's seat. Brakes squealed in response to Cuz's cowboy boot almost stomping through the floorboard, which brought the car to a dead halt in front of the Ink Dragon tattoo parlor.
With the setting sun at their back, the outlaws stormed from the mangled luxury car. As Juice climbed out of the backseat, he grabbed a black belt filled with shotgun shells from the floor.
A racing engine got Juice's attention, and he turned in time to see three black and whites barreling toward them. His face darkened with a cold stare as he pumped a shell into the chamber of the shotgun. Continuing to re-chamber shells, he fired repeatedly at windshield level, arms throbbing from the slug's recoil, ears ringing from the thunder.
The grill of the first car exploded under the fury of hot lead, and it veered off to the left. Seeing the twisted face of rage on the gun-toting escapee must have frightened the driver of the second car, because he slammed on the brakes, donutting out of harm's way.
Juice continued to squeeze the trigger of his gun as the third car charged toward him heedlessly. Unexpectedly, the windshield fractured. The police car swerved and smashed into a telephone pole in the center of the parking lot. The sight of flames erupting from the car's hood was Juice's cue to move.
Cuz, carrying two black briefcases, followed Ace through the front door of the tattoo parlor. More shots rang out. He hadn't even gotten off the street yet, and those damn crackers were already shooting the place up.
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