“We’re running out of time,” he warned Aolani.
“Doing the best I can,” she said. “It’s just a Datsun, not a rocket sled.”
“Expect the cruisers any minute,” he replied.
“We won’t be here!”
Polunu moaned again and sank completely out of sight, which was the best thing he could do, if shooting started up again.
“Here’s San Antonio,” Aolani said, still intent on keeping Bolan posted on their progress. He said nothing, focused on the two chase cars that followed them around the loop, spiraling toward the cemetery that would have fresh corpses on its grounds before another hour was gone.
“THEY’RE HEADING for the Punchbowl,” Ehu Puanani said.
“I see that,” Tommy told his brother, his hands pale-knuckled where he clenched the steering wheel. His mini-Uzi rested on the seat beside him, wedged against his hip.
“I know I hit their car,” Billy Maka Nani said, from the backseat.
“Well, it didn’t slow them down,” Tommy replied. “Next time, try shooting at the goddamned people.”
“Yeah, okay.” He muttered something else, as well, but Tommy Puanani didn’t catch it.
The rearview mirror showed him John Kainoa keeping pace, despite his fender-bender with the taxi back on Iolani Avenue. Tommy knew it would’ve been the shits to lose three men in traffic, but he would have left them where they sat without a second thought.
Polunu was what mattered now, squeezing his nuts until he told them everything he’d spilled to the police or Feds, whoever he was talking to. And finding out what Aolani had to do with it, since she wasn’t exactly friendly with the cops.
Now, they’d picked up another player out of nowhere. Tommy didn’t recognize the haole, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There were a million Feds to choose from in the new police state. No one could pretend to know them all.
And if he wasn’t a Fed? What, then?
The question out of left field angered Tommy, made him wish he’d never thought of it. For damned sure, there was no time to debate it with himself right now, when he had urgent, bloody work to do.
“See there? They’re turning in.” Ehu seemed almost giddy with excitement. “Man, I told you they were going to the Punchbowl.”
“Like this road would take them someplace else,” Tommy replied, determined to rain on his brother’s parade.
“I’m just saying—”
“Shut up, and be ready to rock when they stop.”
The Punchbowl’s public access roads were laid out roughly in concentric circles. Pele’s Fire had scouted the graveyard as a possible target for the main event, then rejected it on grounds that vandalizing headstones or messing with corpses seemed both petty and perverse.
Better to kill the living than disturb the dead.
The crater’s three circular roads included Inner Drive, Memorial Drive and Outer Drive, arranged in the logical order. There was also Link Drive, running south to north, which earned its name by linking Inner Drive to Outer Drive.
Simple.
Unfortunately, the graveyard alone sprawled over 112 acres, and the Punchbowl proper was larger than that, leaving more than ample room for three persons to run, duck and hide.
Or to fight, if they had the guts and guns to go for it.
So, we make sure they don’t get the opportunity, Tommy thought.
Hit them hard and fast, keep Polunu breathing if they could, but in the end, the most important thing was to silence him for good. If Tommy had to kill the traitor here and now, he’d find some other way to learn what information Polunu had provided to their enemies.
“Watch out! They’re turning!” Ehu blurted out.
“I’m not blind, damn it!” Tommy snapped.
There were no other cars in sight, a slow night at the bone orchard. Tommy supposed there had to be caretakers or guards around the place, somewhere, but if he did his business fast enough they wouldn’t be a problem.
And if they got in his way, tough shit for them.
The Datsun swung right onto Outer Drive, as if to make a loop around the outskirts of the military graveyard. Tommy knew he had to watch them closely now, stay on their tails, since they could brake and bail in seconds, scattering into the night on foot.
“Be ready if they bail,” he ordered, flooring the accelerator to remain close on the Datsun’s tail.
“We still want Polunu, right?” Maka Nani asked from the backseat.
“I’d prefer it,” Tommy said. “But if he pulls any shit, protect yourself.”
“I hear you, brah.”
“I hope he has a piece,” Ehu said, hunching forward with his AK-47 poking up above the dash. “I fucking hope he does.”
AOLANI WISHED she knew what she was doing. Okay, driving, that was obvious, but driving for her life while men with guns tailgated her was something new and terrifying.
Something that could make her lose it, if she wasn’t very careful now.
“Start looking for a place to stop,” Bolan said.
“Stop what? The car?”
“And try to take them by surprise, if possible.”
“Any suggestions?” she inquired sarcastically.
“When you see a likely spot, first kill your lights, then turn in without braking. Throw them off. Something like that.”
She understood about the taillights and the brake lights giving her away, but with the chase car riding on her bumper, Aolani didn’t think she’d be deceiving anybody with a sudden swerve.
“They’ll see me, anyway,” she said.
“With any luck, they’ll overshoot,” Bolan replied. “Buy us a few more seconds to get ready.”
Ready? Sure. Ready to die.
Her only weapon was a can of pepper spray, unused since she had purchased it. Polunu, at her personal insistence, was unarmed. That gave them one gun against six or more, and Aolani didn’t even know if Cooper was a decent shot.
We’re dead, she thought. I may as well just drive around until I find an open grave, and jump right in.
And it was her fault, damn it. Had to be. The gunmen had to have followed her to Polunu’s place, or had the rundown little house staked out. In either case, they’d clearly followed her to the Royal Mausoleum and waited to see who showed up. Now Cooper was at mortal risk, along with Polunu and herself.
Focus!
A place to stop.
A place to—
There!
“Hang on!” she warned her passengers, and did as Cooper had suggested—killed her lights and swung the steering wheel hard right, onto a graveled access road that pointed toward some kind of prefab shed, presumably where maintenance equipment would be stored.
Thirty or forty yards along the road, she stamped down on her brake pedal and slid the Datsun to a halt. Cooper was out and on the move before the sound of crunching gravel died, dust swirling in the headlight beams of the approaching chase cars.
“Perfect,” Aolani muttered. “Now we’re trapped.”
“Trapped here?” Polunu was in a panic, cringing in his seat, half-crumpled to the floorboard. “Why’d you stop?”