Rojas and Medina turned to leave, but al-Diri called after Medina.
“Medina, stay. I have something else.”
Medina turned back and waited. Al-Diri took a moment to be clear his thinking was right. He was not losing only the Koreans. He had decided to abandon the date farm, and without his sister’s access to properties, he had no place to keep them. He could not let them walk away, as they were witness to heinous crimes, so something had to be done.
Ghazi al-Diri was clear. He had made the only right and true decision.
“We will need another big truck. When Rojas is gone, we will leave this place. We have to get rid of the pollos.”
Medina studied him for several seconds, then shrugged.
“There are always more pollos.”
Vasco Medina was the right man for this job.
“You sure you don’t want to wait for Rojas? It will save us the cost of a truck.”
“We have no time to wait. We will meet Rojas elsewhere.”
Medina grunted thoughtfully, then slowly smiled to show the ruined crocodile teeth. Medina understood. They would not wait for Rojas because Rojas and the truck would probably not return.
“Okay. I can get us a truck, no problem. Bigger, maybe. We’re gonna have what, a hundred twenty, a hundred thirty?”
“Yes, something like that.”
Medina grunted again.
“We could leave them here. That would be fastest.”
Ghazi had considered this, but immediately discounted it. The date farm was connected to Maysan. Were so many bodies found here, the resulting investigation would eventually link her to Ghazi, and lead to his eventual identification.
“No, we cannot leave them.”
“Okay. I know a place we can reach with the truck. I’ll take care of it.”
He started away, but stopped.
“What about the rich boy? Him, too?”
Ghazi had soured on the uncertain chance a widowed mother would pay. Rich people could be trouble, so al-Diri wanted to get rid of the boy with the others.
“Him, too. We have no time to waste.”
“What about the asshole who’s in with the Sinaloas? I hate that fuckin’ asshole.”
“Everyone. Get the truck and get them loaded. I want to get out of here.”
“Can I take care of this how I want?”
Ghazi al-Diri cringed. Medina meant the killing. He was a man who would enjoy the killing. In Mexico, they did it with hammers.
“However you want, but not here. Wait till you get wherever you are going. Then you don’t have to carry them.”
Medina made the crocodile smile again, and Ghazi wondered why the man never fixed his teeth.
Ghazi al-Diri watched Medina walk away, then went to his car. He was driving a charcoal gray Lexus SUV Pinetta got cheap from one of his thieves. Pinetta would be difficult to replace; far more difficult than Ghazi’s brother-in-law, whose only talent had been Maysan’s love.
Ghazi lifted a short, black shotgun from behind the front seat. He did not trust these gangsters, and felt sure they would attack. He could feel them. Someone was hunting him.
Ghazi made sure the shotgun was loaded, then followed Medina inside. There was still much to be done before the killing began.
Kwan Min Park
Kwan was seated with Jack and Krista when Samuel Rojas and the other guards entered and went to his people. One of the guards lashed a man with his club to clear a path, and Rojas went to a girl named Sun Hee. Rojas used her as a translator because she spoke the best English.
Sun Hee jumped to her feet, listened to her master, then translated his words. Had she been male, Kwan would have hated her for cooperating and likely broken her neck. As a submissive female, he expected no less than her humiliating subservient behavior, but had sought to use it. He had instructed her to offer her sex to the guards so that she might steal a weapon, but so far she had failed.
As she spoke, the group traded glances, some smiling, and rose to their feet.
Jack said, “What’s going on?”
Kwan looked at his friend.
“Not know. How you?”
Jack Berman closed his eyes and touched the back of his neck.
“Hurts like a sonofabitch. You know headache? I have a monster headache.”
Kwan wasn’t certain what “monster” meant, but knew it must be bad.
“You better. See good. Talk.”
Krista smiled.
“Much better.”
Sun Hee interrupted. She begged Kwan’s forgiveness for daring to speak, and quickly explained as he watched his group straggle to the door. Kwan was surprised, but such a thing was expected.
Krista spoke as soon as Sun Hee hurried away.
Krista said, “Where are they going?”
“We go. Ssang Yong Pa make us free.”
He saw the confusion in Krista’s face.
“Family. Clan. Ssang Yong Pa my family.”
Kwan studied his new friends, and felt mixed about leaving them. He gripped Jack Berman’s arm.
“First night, guards beat, you try help. Kwan Min Park remember. Now, forever, we friends. My clan, much power. Kwan Min Park, much power. Great warrior. I kill many men.”
Kwan read the fear in Krista’s eyes before she interrupted.
“Kwan-”
The club crossed his back with a sharp explosion of pain. Kwan turned in time to see the club falling again, parried it to the inside, and stopped himself from punching the guard Krista called the Praying Mantis in the neck. Sun Hee was with him, as was the belligerent guard with the teeth, Medina.
Sun Hee was frantic.
“You must come. We go now. You must come.”
Medina pushed the Mantis and Sun Hee aside, and grabbed Kwan’s arm. Kwan let the man pull him to his feet, then shrugged off his hand. Kwan stood very close, nose to nose, eyes close. Medina grimaced almost as if growling and pushed his shock prod into Kwan’s side. The sharp pop when it discharged was like being kicked, but Kwan did not react. The prod tortured his flesh, but Kwan smiled to show his defiance.
The Mantis and Sun Hee both pushed him toward the door, ending the moment, and Kwan glanced back at his friend Jack Berman.
“Kwan not forget. I help you, Jack Berman, as you try help me.”
Kwan turned away, and allowed himself to be herded into line with the others. Outside in the hall, the remaining half of their group was being herded from the other room, and Medina disappeared.
Sun Hee, beside him, twittered like a wearisome bird.
“You should not antagonize them. He is very angry.”
“His anger does not interest me. Be quiet.”
“We are not yet free. You should be careful.”
“He should be careful. When we are free, he will meet the true me.”
Kwan pushed her ahead so he wouldn’t have to listen.
They passed through the kitchen and into the garage. The big truck had been backed to the door, and was waiting for them. Kwan noted the guards here in the garage carried shotguns or military weapons, and appeared nervous. He wondered why.
The end of the line slowed as those in front climbed into the truck. Kwan Min Park was near the end. He was happy that he would soon see his grandfather and cousin, and wondered if they would be on hand to greet him. He would miss Korea, but taking his rightful place among Ssang Yong Pa in the great city of Los Angeles had long been a dream. He shuffled forward, moving closer to the truck and to his destiny.
Kwan wondered if he would see his friend Jack Berman again. He hoped so. He was imagining them drinking soju and singing at one of his grandfather’s Noraebang studios, when some hard thing slammed into the back of his head.
The world sparkled.
Kwan felt himself fall, but had no power to stop. He opened his eyes almost at once, and realized he was on his back.
Medina grinned down at him.
Kwan felt a surge of fear, and tried to rise, but men held his arms and legs.