Free The Devil's Right Hand by J.D. Rhoades

Sanchez
said.
    “ I don’t think so,” Raymond said. “We
need you to get him to open the door again. Go back and knock. Tell
him you gave him the wrong change or something. We’ll be on either
side of the door.”
    “ Wait,” Sanchez said. There was a note
of pleading in his voice.
    Raymond smiled. “Don’t worry, buddy-ro. We’ll
be doin’ all the hard stuff.”
    “ And then you will kill me,” Sanchez
said. “Like you killed the old man. So there will be no
witnesses.”
    Raymond’s face hardened. “You don’t
know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said. “I tell you one thing,
though, Sanchez. You don’t get a move on, I will shoot you.”
    Sanchez bowed his head. He turned back
towards the house, shuffling like a man walking in his sleep. He
was muttering something underneath his breath.
    “ Dios te salve,
Maria ,” he was saying, “ Llena
eres de gracia ..” Hail Mary,
full of grace...
     
    Keller saw what looked like an argument
between the three men standing in the street. Suddenly, the
argument seemed to resolve, with the Latino turning and heading
back towards the house. The other two men followed. He held the
shotgun across his lap, waiting to see what developed. He eased the
driver’s side door open and set his foot on the asphalt, ready to
move. As soon as I figure out what the
hell’s going on , he told himself.
     
    “ You go knock on the door,” Raymond
said. “He knows you, sorta. When the sumbitch opens the door, step
back. We’ll take it from there.”
    Sanchez didn’t look up.
“ Santa Maria ,” he murmured.
“ Ruega por nosotros pecadores...” Holy
Mary, pray for us sinners.
    Raymond looked over at John Lee. “What the
fuck’s he talking about?” he whispered.
    John Lee shrugged. He looked as nervous as
Sanchez. Raymond briefly regretted not bringing a couple of
professional hitters along, but dismissed the idea after a second.
This was a family affair.
    They had reached the front steps.
Raymond and John Lee moved to opposite sides of the door, out of
sight of anyone inside. They raised their pistols. Sanchez reached
up and took a deep breath. “ Ahora y en la
hora de nuestra meurte. ” Now,
and in the hour of our death .
    He knocked on the door.
     
     
    In the dim yellow glow of the bug-light on
the porch, Keller saw the glint of guns in the hands of the men on
either side of the door. He realized at that instant that he had
waited too long. He swore under his breath and got out of the car.
He held the shotgun across his chest and began to run.
     
    The knock on the door was loud inside the
house “Who the hell could that be?” DeWayne said. With a mouth full
of pizza, it came out as “oof ell at mee?”
    “ I’ll get it,” said Leonard. He got up
and walked down the hallway. He peered out of one of the narrow
side windows that framed the door. “It’s some Mexican
dude.”
    “ Aw right!” DeWayne crowed. “He musta
come back with the beer. Let ‘im in, cuz.”
    Leonard opened the door.
     
    Keller was at the foot of the walkway leading
to the house when he saw the door swing open. He saw the
curly-haired man beside the door reach out and yank the Latino off
the narrow stoop. The curly-haired man stepped into the Hispanic’s
place. Keller saw a look of surprise cross the face of the man who
answered the door. There was a bang and the face disappeared as the
heavy-caliber handgun punched the man back into the shadows behind
the doorway. The last thing Keller saw of it was the mouth opened
in a silent “O” of amazement.
    “ Police !”
Keller yelled. It wasn’t true, but people instinctively knew what
it meant, unlike “Bail Enforcement!” which people had to think
about. “ Put the gun
down !”
    The man in the doorway ignored him and
moved forward into the house. The man on the other side of the door
turned, his face registering the same shock as the guy who had just
been blown backwards into the hallway. He raised the pistol in his
hand.