The Last King of Texas (Tres Navarre #3)(15)

Kelsey put a piece of spear grass to his mouth. He bit the end and spit it out.

"This ain't that hard, partner. We going to bust Sanchez or wait here all day under the poontang trees?"

The second uniformed officer suppressed a smile. Kelsey grinned at DeLeon, waiting for her response.

"Probably be unwise to stay here," I broke in. "Been so long since Kelsey's smelled the real thing."

Kelsey's nose reddened.

Ozzie laughed louder than he needed to, slapped me on the back. "Smelled the real thing. That was good, Navarre. Joke, Detective. You know?"

Kelsey didn't smile. He pointed his middle finger at my chest. "You sign a release to ride in that car?"

"Sure he has," Gerson lied.

Kelsey nodded. "Which means something unfortunate happens in the course of our work, Mr. Navarre, I got no legal liability. With that said, you want to come along, fine by me."

He nodded to the uniforms and they fell in line as Kelsey trudged up the gravel drive. After a resentful glance at me, DeLeon followed. Ozzie and I brought up the rear.

"Kelsey's okay," Ozzie assured me. "First time I had to work with a piece of ass, it was tough on me too."

I told Ozzie that made me feel a lot better. Apparently Ozzie took me seriously, because he patted my shoulder paternally. "Nobody's going to hurt you, kid. Stick with me."

Friends are grand.

We walked toward the porch of the cinder-block building.

Kelsey stopped ten feet from the edge of the porch. He looked at the high grass and sticker burrs and swarms of gnats one would have to tromp through to get to the back of the house, assuming there was even a door on that side.

"This looks like the back entrance," Kelsey decided. He smiled at DeLeon. "I think you should have the honor of taking the front, since you're primary. Don't you?"

DeLeon didn't hesitate. She dropped her paperwork, took her Glock from the holster. "Absolutely."

She made a wide arc around the house, using her gun to part the weeds. Kelsey grinned at the uniforms, then directed one of them toward the white mobile home farther out in the field. He was about to step up on the porch when Ozzie nudged his arm. "Yo, Detective. Sheriffs jurisdiction?"

Kelsey waved him ahead with an exaggerated flourish. "Be my guest, Deputy."

Gerson pointed at me, then pointed far away. I backed up to the open edge of the porch. Kelsey and the other uniform moved to the other side, where the foot of the L-shaped house jutted out.

Gerson banged on the door. It was a particleboard job, thinly painted white, no window or peephole.

"Hey, Sanchez!"

Shouting erupted from the mobile home across the field. I looked over and saw a dark-skinned man standing in the doorway, yelling at the uniformed officer. The officer was holding up his hands, trying to get the guy to quiet down. The man in the doorway looked like he had been asleep thirty seconds before. He wore only grimy white boxer shorts. His upper body was well muscled and his head was bald and  rown as an egg.

"What the f**k is this, man?" he yelled. "Otra vez?"

He looked in our direction. When he spoke again it was even louder, like he wanted us all to hear. "I got to go to work in a few minutes, hijo de puta. Respectable job. What the hell, damn pinche cabrones on my chingate property—"

He kept cursing in Tex-spanol, shifting his weight stiffly from foot to foot. From the way the uniform was reacting, and from the bland look Kelsey gave the altercation, I got the feeling Baldie was not the man we really wanted.

Ozzie Gerson banged on the door again. "Yo, Zeta. Open up, man. Got some friends out here—"

Snap.

The first shot made a splinter-flower in the door. The second ripped a hole through Ozzie's left shoulder.

Immediately a third shot punched through the particle-board door, a little bit higher, but Ozzie had already turned and dived full force into the cement. He started scrabbling away, trailing blood.

Kelsey and the uniformed officer hit the ground on top of each other, their weapons drawn. The uniform swung around the corner of the building, firing two rounds into the door. On the second shot Kelsey lunged out at ground level and tried to grab Ozzie by the collar, but someone in the house returned fire and Kelsey fell back to the wall. Ozzie kept crawling on his own. Time slowed to the consistency of sap.

I remember standing paralyzed by the edge of the porch, then feeling a sickening momentum build up in my gut. I ran toward Ozzie, collapsing into a forward roll as another shot was fired, landing by Gerson, grabbing his bloody uniform shirt, beginning to pull. Kelsey shouted curses at me but then he was there too, helping. Together we lugged Ozzie around the corner of the building. Ozzie made wet sounds of pain.

The uniform next to me was yelling a code 10-11 into his field unit. The uniform at the mobile home was screaming at the bald guy to get on the floor. I looked over in time to see the officer's nightstick flash. Two strikes to the knees and Baldie crumpled awkwardly on the steps. At the count of three, his hands were cuffed in the small of his back.

No more shots came from inside the cinder-block house.

Ozzie Gerson was propped up against the wall, alternately cursing and screaming. There were so many voices I almost didn't hear the other noises coming from around the back of the building.

A door slammed. There was a muffled thud, some rustling. Then a very loud: "Hey!"