onto the main highway towards Ensenada. Both men mulled over the recent events and held deep reservations about the assignment returning a favorable outcome.
Chapter Eight
Trey pulled over at the next garage they came to and gassed up. Mancini reminded him to only pay by cash.
“What do I say if the guy asks me why I’m all wet?” Trey asked.
Mancini shrugged. “I don’t know. Just say you went fishing and fell in the sea or some other lame excuse. I can’t think for you all the time, you know.”
“Okay, man. No need to chew off my ass, geez.”
Mancini’s mind raced as he sat waiting in the car beside the gas pumps. Other drivers stared at the Thunderbird while filling their cars with gas and Mancini sensed the feeling of paranoia creeping up on him. The people were probably simply admiring the vehicle but they would also remember the occupants as well; if they had to recount their sighting to any law agency.
Trey returned a few minutes later, squelching towards the Thunderbird in his wet training shoes.
“We got to find a change of clothes,” Mancini sighed as Trey climbed back into the driver’s seat. “We look too damn conspicuous as it is . Two soaking wet guys in an old Thunderbird. They might as well sling the cuffs on us now.”
Trey started the engine and they pulled away from the garage. Mancini spotted a row of small, shabby stores to the right of the highway.
“Pull over,” he barked. “Let’s go shopping.”
“Shopping?” Trey blurted, taking the right turn. “You sure about this?”
Mancini nodded as Trey parked in the center of empty spaces outside the stores. They both slipped on their sunshades and Trey replaced his yellow beanie hat on his head. He followed Mancini into the store to the right of the line of buildings with metal grills covering the front windows. A couple of thuggish guys, who stood leaning either side of the doorway, eyed them up and down as they moved between them. The store interior was dimly lit, narrow and cramped, with an abundance of clothing racks and beachwear fighting for room amongst the floor space. Loud mariachi music pumped from large speakers, hanging on the walls in the corners of the shop.
“You think the wheels are safe out there, man?” Trey hissed.
Mancini studied a rack of bright colored, garish shirts. “These colors will look good on you.” He lifted the sleeve of a lemon yellow garment with lime green stripes. “It’ll match your hat.”
“Ha fucking ha, very funny, man,” Trey sneered. “Can we please hurry the fuck up and get out of here? The place is giving me the shits, plus, I thought you were in kind of a rush to get the job done?”
A sweaty, overweight man, dressed in a black vest glanced up at them from behind a service counter. A lit cigarette drooped from his lips and he studied Mancini and Trey with a look of apprehension.
“If we’re going to hide in plain sight, we need to look like we’re on vacation,” Mancini muttered. “We need to look like tourists instead of a pair of soaking wet ass clowns.”
“All right, I hear you but at least let me pick my own clothes,” Trey said. “I really will look like a fucking clown if I wear that crappy shirt.” He pointed to the garment in Mancini’s hand.
Mancini chose a baggy black shirt and a pair of fawn colored cargo pants, while Trey plumped for a long sleeved, crimson red sports top and some loose-fitting, white shorts. The guy behind the service desk crushed out his cigarette and glanced up from his porno magazine. He slowly bagged the clothing and took the cash from Mancini without uttering a word.
“Don’t mention it,” Mancini grunted sarcastically.
The guy watched them leave the store with an expression of uneasiness. The two guys who’d been standing beside the store doorway huddled over the Thunderbird on each side of the doors.
“Excuse me, pal,” Mancini muttered, as he brushed by the guy standing
Chapter Eight
Trey pulled over at the next garage they came to and gassed up. Mancini reminded him to only pay by cash.
“What do I say if the guy asks me why I’m all wet?” Trey asked.
Mancini shrugged. “I don’t know. Just say you went fishing and fell in the sea or some other lame excuse. I can’t think for you all the time, you know.”
“Okay, man. No need to chew off my ass, geez.”
Mancini’s mind raced as he sat waiting in the car beside the gas pumps. Other drivers stared at the Thunderbird while filling their cars with gas and Mancini sensed the feeling of paranoia creeping up on him. The people were probably simply admiring the vehicle but they would also remember the occupants as well; if they had to recount their sighting to any law agency.
Trey returned a few minutes later, squelching towards the Thunderbird in his wet training shoes.
“We got to find a change of clothes,” Mancini sighed as Trey climbed back into the driver’s seat. “We look too damn conspicuous as it is . Two soaking wet guys in an old Thunderbird. They might as well sling the cuffs on us now.”
Trey started the engine and they pulled away from the garage. Mancini spotted a row of small, shabby stores to the right of the highway.
“Pull over,” he barked. “Let’s go shopping.”
“Shopping?” Trey blurted, taking the right turn. “You sure about this?”
Mancini nodded as Trey parked in the center of empty spaces outside the stores. They both slipped on their sunshades and Trey replaced his yellow beanie hat on his head. He followed Mancini into the store to the right of the line of buildings with metal grills covering the front windows. A couple of thuggish guys, who stood leaning either side of the doorway, eyed them up and down as they moved between them. The store interior was dimly lit, narrow and cramped, with an abundance of clothing racks and beachwear fighting for room amongst the floor space. Loud mariachi music pumped from large speakers, hanging on the walls in the corners of the shop.
“You think the wheels are safe out there, man?” Trey hissed.
Mancini studied a rack of bright colored, garish shirts. “These colors will look good on you.” He lifted the sleeve of a lemon yellow garment with lime green stripes. “It’ll match your hat.”
“Ha fucking ha, very funny, man,” Trey sneered. “Can we please hurry the fuck up and get out of here? The place is giving me the shits, plus, I thought you were in kind of a rush to get the job done?”
A sweaty, overweight man, dressed in a black vest glanced up at them from behind a service counter. A lit cigarette drooped from his lips and he studied Mancini and Trey with a look of apprehension.
“If we’re going to hide in plain sight, we need to look like we’re on vacation,” Mancini muttered. “We need to look like tourists instead of a pair of soaking wet ass clowns.”
“All right, I hear you but at least let me pick my own clothes,” Trey said. “I really will look like a fucking clown if I wear that crappy shirt.” He pointed to the garment in Mancini’s hand.
Mancini chose a baggy black shirt and a pair of fawn colored cargo pants, while Trey plumped for a long sleeved, crimson red sports top and some loose-fitting, white shorts. The guy behind the service desk crushed out his cigarette and glanced up from his porno magazine. He slowly bagged the clothing and took the cash from Mancini without uttering a word.
“Don’t mention it,” Mancini grunted sarcastically.
The guy watched them leave the store with an expression of uneasiness. The two guys who’d been standing beside the store doorway huddled over the Thunderbird on each side of the doors.
“Excuse me, pal,” Mancini muttered, as he brushed by the guy standing
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