Stick by Elmore Leonard

die against that cement wall. The next moment DeJohn’s face grinning, showing him glints of gold and a pink tongue, DeJohn saying, “Man, you my frien’. Don’t you know that?” Stick shaking his head, still thinking he was going to die, and DeJohn saying, “Man, I hear you the one did the motherfucker put me in here. Tell me your pleasure, you want weed, you want shit, tell me what you want . . .”
    Moke had been saying, “Turn here, hang a left the next corner,” saying, “I got a Two-eighty Z’d put this fucker on the trailer in reverse.” Saying, “About a Hunnert and fifteenth. It’s before you get down to Montgomery . . .”
    Now he said, “Past the school.”
    â€œI don’t know where in the hell I’m at,” Rainy said.
    â€œGo on around the other side . . .  Yeah, see the drive? In there.”
    Rainy said, “We going to school? I think it’s closed.”
    They moved along the side of the old building, a playground or athletic field extending off to their left.
    â€œPark along here,” Moke said, “facing out. Turn your engine off.”
    â€œI can’t see nothing,” Rainy said.
    They sat in silence.
    â€œYou got any weed?” Rainy said.
    Moke didn’t answer him.
    â€œHow about some music?” Rainy said. Then said, “Here comes somebody. Man, I hope it ain’t cops.”
    Stick kneeled up. He saw headlights coming across the field toward them, creeping, coming out of darkness. In the beams now he saw a baseball diamond.
    Moke said, “Pop your lights on and off . . .  I said off, asshole!”
    Stick remained quiet, watching as the headlights came to a stop maybe fifty or sixty feet away, along the third base line. The headlights went off. Then came on again glaring, switched to high beam.
    Moke said, “Okay, get out,” and watched as Rainy opened his door and stepped down. Moke shoved the suitcase at him. “Wait now. I want this boy to take it over,” glancing around at Stick.
    Rainy said, “Man, I got it, I’ll take it. What’s a difference?”
    Moke said, “This boy here’s suppose to take it’s what I’m saying to you.”
    Rainy said, “No, man, I’m the one,” backing away from the van with the suitcase.
    Stick was looking at Moke’s face, eyelids heavy in the light beams. He said, “Why would I do it? I come along for the ride.”
    He heard Rainy, outside, saying, “I’m going, okay? I want to say hi to Nestor. I haven’t seen him.”
    Moke was shaking his head. “Jeez-us Christ—hey, come back here, will you!”
    Stick saw interior lights go on as a door opened behind the headlights, giving shape to a full-size American car. A figure appeared at the right front fender. Rainy was in the beams now, out in front of the van. He called out, “Nestor? . . .  Who is that?” Raised the suitcase in one hand and gave it a pat with the other. “I got it, man!”
    Moke said, “Well, shit, I don’t care.”
    All that was happening was there in front of Stick, watching from a second-row seat. He saw Moke’s right hand dig inside the worn-out jacket.
    Moke saying, “We’ll make ‘er a two-for-one special, today only.”
    Stick yelled out, “Rainy!”
    Through the windshield he saw Rainy look back. Saw the figure by the headlights raise something in his hands and saw the muzzle flash as he heard the burst of gunfire, a hammering sound out in the open. Saw Rainy, outside, stumble and saw nickel-plate gleaming inside, the big revolver coming up in Moke’s hand.
    Stick lunged hard with his hands and shoulder into the back of Moke’s seat and felt it rush on its tracks and stop dead and heard Moke’s grunt as hishead slammed against the windshield. Stick didn’t wait, stop to look.