the cheese. “You’re in it now, bitch,” he said. “You’re a genuine outlaw. They gonna put you on a table and stick a needle into your arm, unless you disappear.”
Cox had started to cry, and Cole said, “Stop that. We’ll figure this out. Who’s gonna do what tonight?”
Deese: “What’s there to figure out? We almost did it already.”
Cole said, “Man, I’m doing my best to get you out of this mess. Marion and I ran our LA ring for three years and never had a speck of trouble until you showed up. But we’re doing a raid tonight, and that’s what I do best. We got to get organized—the chains and padlocks. Gotta look at some maps and satellite pictures. There’s lots of shit to do.”
* * *
—
THEY GOT the backpacks ready, and the guns and chains and padlocks and masks, and looked at satellite pictures. Cox turned on the TV and found a news station. All the talk was about the shootings at the mall, with some memories of the Las Vegas music festival massacre in 2017, which killed fifty-eight people and left more than eight hundred injured.
“Shit, we’re small-timers,” Deese said.
They ate mac-and-cheese microwave dinners, hauled their gear out to the Cadillac, and took off. Cox found another news station. They were halfway to Tina’s Wayside when the woman newscaster said, “We’re getting word of a SWAT team raid believed connected to the shootings at the Show Boat mall. Our reporter, Jennette English, is with Metro police on Windmill Lane.”
Cox flinched. “Oh my God, they got the house.”
Deese: “What?”
“That’s where we were,” she said. “We were on the first street off Windmill Lane. We can’t go back. They’ve got all our clothes, everything. My shoes.”
Cole: “Jesus, we got lucky. They couldn’t have come in more than a few minutes after we left.”
“Fuckin’ cameras, I bet,” Deese growled. “When I was in London, they could track people all over town, step by step, with their cameras. Bet they’ve got them here, too.”
“What do we do?” Cox asked.
“If they were tracking us, they know the cars,” Cole said. “This car. And the truck. They’ll be checking everything that looks like us. We need to get out of sight right quick.”
Cox started to cry again. “I want to go home.”
“We really need to get out of sight,” Cole said.
“It’s a Cadillac,” Cox wailed. “You can’t park a Cadillac in the woods without somebody looking at it.”
“No, but you can hide it . . . Turn left at the next light.”
* * *
—
COLE TOOK THEM to a Cadillac dealership five minutes way. The place was closed, but there were rows of parked Cadillacs facing the street, with a few empty slots. “What if there’s a guard?” Cox asked, as she backed into one of the vacant spaces.
“I’ll handle it,” Deese said.
“Aw, jeez, you’re gonna kill a security guard?”
Deese didn’t say no. Instead, he looked around the crowded lot, then asked Cole, “How’d you know about this place? This is pretty fuckin’ smart.”
“Saw it when we were out driving around,” Cole said. “We still gotta get down to Tina’s without being spotted to see if Harrelson’s there. That’s not for an hour yet. We need to wipe the dirt off the license plates—at this point, it’s a giveaway.”
They did that, then settled in to wait.
A foil sack rustled in the backseat. “Anyone want some Cheetos?” Deese asked.
* * *
—
THEY ARRIVED at Tina’s Wayside at ten minutes after nine o’clock, in full darkness, and immediately spotted Harrelson’s Yellow Cab–colored Porsche Cayenne sitting under a light in the parking lot. “Aw, man,” Cole said. “He’s here.”
“I hate sitting around in this Cadillac,” Deese said. “Find a place we can wedge it in, where you can’t see it.”
They drove once around the parking lot, decided on a spot in the street that ran parallel to the backside of the lot, between two other SUVs, from where they could still see Harrelson’s truck. More waiting. The last time, Harrelson had left at ten o’clock. And he did on this night, as well.
One difference: there was a short, round-headed man with him. They both got into the Cayenne and Deese said to Cox, who was driving, “Gotta go! Gotta go fast! Fast! Go! Go!”
She threw the Cadillac into gear, yanked the SUV out of the parking space, and hit the gas. “Not too fast,” Cole said, “We don’t want some cop stopping us.”
“Gotta take the chance,” Deese said. “Fast! Fast! Go! Go!”