Total Immunity Read Free Page A

testify against me. Because, my friends, you are all going to die.”
    Jack looked at his partner and laughed.
    â€œYou hear that, Oscar? We’re all dead men walking.”
    â€œYeah,” Oscar said. “Scary.”
    But Ron Hughes wasn’t laughing. He looked at the German with contempt.
    â€œHey, fuck you, fatboy. You scare nobody.”
    â€œYou’ll see,” Steinbach said. “You’re all going to find out. My reach is longer than any prison cell you assholes can throw me in.”
    â€œCreepy,” Jack said. “Now shut the fuck up, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for smuggling, and anything else you’re dumb enough to say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
    Before Jack could cuff him, Hughes stepped forward, knee deep in water.
    â€œJack, you got his name wrong. It’s not Karl, it’s Fuckface.” He punched the German in the head and watched as he fell back in the filthy water. Then he waded out a little farther, raising his right fist to give him another little shot.
    But Jack grabbed Hughes from behind and pushed him back toward the beach.
    â€œTake it easy, Ronnie.”
    â€œThat was for my old partner, Terry Masters, who this germ shot over in Munich. We got your ass now, Karl. You’re never gonna get out.”
    Jack clicked the cuffs on Steinbach and pulled him out of the water. Behind the three cops, Zac Blakely came with the remaining two live smugglers, both of them cuff ed from behind. In the distance they could hear sirens, and a paddy wagon was rolling in at the corner.
    Jack pushed Steinbach down the street as a crowd gathered, mumbling and chattering.
    â€œYou guys will all pay with your lives,” Steinbach said. “All of you are going to fucking die. I promise you.”
    â€œYou’re repeating yourself, Karl,” Jack said. “Sign of an inferior mind.”
    â€œI’ll take him from here,” Blakely said, as the wagon pulled up.
    Jack pushed the smuggler toward Blakely as the paddy-wagon door opened.
    Steinbach turned and looked at Jack with intense hatred.
    â€œRemember what I said, Jackie,” he said, then turned again and stepped inside the wagon.
    â€œHe’s not a very good sport, is he?” Jack said to Oscar.
    â€œVery bad loser,” Oscar said. “But that’s how the Germans are. My grandfather used to say,
‘Los mama huevos son en sus rodillas o tu garganta.’
Which means, ‘The cocksuckers are either at your knees or at your throat.’”
    Jack laughed.
    â€œI hope to meet your grandfather when I die,” Jack said.
    â€œI’ll see to it,” Oscar said. “But don’t make it anytime soon, okay?”
    Jack laughed.
    â€œYou kidding? And give up all this? What say we stop into Charlie’s and get us a couple of nice cold drinks on the way home? We speed a little, we can hit there just around the end of happy hour.”
    â€œExcellent suggestion,” Oscar said. “You’re buying, of course.” “Well, of course.”
    The two men turned to break through the little crowd, when
    both of them simultaneously saw an old Mexican Indian woman, dressed in a bright orange-and-black dress. She wore a scarf with orange parrots painted on it. She looked at them and shook her head mournfully.
    â€œQué pasa, señora?”
Jack said.
    The old woman stared intently at both of them, then turned and looked at the now-receding paddy wagon.
    â€œNada bueno,”
she said.
“El es malo. Señor
give you the evil eye, mister.
El se ve muy malo.”
    â€œYeah, right,” Jack said. He was going to tell her that he wasn’t afraid of such superstitious crap, but somehow the words got caught in his throat.
    He looked at Oscar, who sighed.
    â€œYou go home now,
señora,
” Oscar said. “And thanks for the warning.”
    She turned and shook