But Andy doesn’t move. He stands tall and holds his pistol in front of him.
“Move away from the car,” the man in the mask says again.
“I want your word first,” Andy says.
The man holds his magnum in front of him and whispers a sort of prayer. “To those who leave, we pay our last respects,” he says. “To those who stay, we give the gift of death.”
Andy breathes out. I can hear the fear in that breath. A gunshot echoes across the desert, and he falls onto the dirt.
“No!” Rowan screams, but Jeffco’s hand covers his mouth.
“Anybody else want to disobey my orders?” the man asks, shooting another round into Andy’s lifeless body.
His boots crunch against the dirt, and in the distance a few coyotes can be heard howling.
“Now, where is Rowan?” he asks.
Rowan steps out from the car, and I find myself saying, “Don’t do it. We need to leave.”
Jeffco doesn’t turn, but I hear him whisper, “There’s no turning back now.”
His voice sounds heavy, like he’s suffered a huge loss. His friend Andy is dead. Though he was my captor, I feel for the both of them.
“What do you want with me?” Rowan asks him. “I’m playing ball and following your orders now. That should make you happy enough.”
“You owe me,” the man says to Rowan.
“Do I?” Rowan asks in that cocky tone of his.
I’m extremely worried. I don’t want to be seen, but the man is walking by the vehicle, toward Rowan. I duck on the floor and hold my breath, trying my hardest not to move.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he says, voice deeper than the devil’s. “You know what you did.”
“All I know is that shit went wrong,” Rowan says, lighting a cigarette. “These things happen. We paid you back. You deserve nothing more.”
“I deserve your respect,” he screams. “You should fall to your knees when addressing me and my men.”
“I’ll do whatever you ask of me. But I won’t fall to my knees,” he says. “That’s where I draw the
line.”
“My men died out there,” he howls, finger against the trigger of his gun. “My best men.”
I’m on the floor of the car, but I can peak out of the corner of the window if I’m careful enough. I witness the man aim the gun at Rowan, and I can feel the hatred radiating from him.
“Put the gun down. I’m not a threat to you,” he says. “I didn’t kill your men. Police killed them. It was a butchered job. The other gangs in the lower counties need to stay united if we’re going to continue to make money through this channel. Don’t destroy our business relationship over this.”
“United? That’s humorous, considering the circumstances. No, I think it’s about time we withdraw our alliance,” he says. “The Hunters have always acted alone. We’ve been the outcasts since day one. Now is the time to declare our secession.”
“Then, I guess we have nothing else to talk about. We brought gifts in the trunk. But you just killed my partner. People have died on our side too,” Rowan says, grabbing his gun from his holster.
“You’re outnumbered,” the man says. “What are you going to do? Shoot me? I cannot die.”
“All men die. Even the hardest of men fall,” Rowan says, throwing his cigarette onto the dirt.
“The deal is, you come with us. If you don’t, we’ll kill you right here,” he says.
His gang stays silent, watching and waiting. They wield rifles and they aim solidly.