Free Once Upon A Wish : Book One by Richard Poche Page A

her. Wearing a
three-piece suit with a paisley necktie, he pinched the girl's butt
as she scooted away from him. “Baby girl got booty,” he said.
Nestor slammed on the gas and the tires
squealed forward. It took less than three seconds for them to reach
the target. Nestor put the car in park as Hernan threw his door
open.
Hernan's first shot hit dead center of Fast
Eddie's forehead. The ex-con went down with a thud.
Racing over to his victim’s prone body,
Hernan’s shadow came over the man like a grim reaper. He shot him
two more times in the heart. Nestor’s bullet ripped open the side
of the chauffeur’s temple. He went down in a heap, his hand stuck
in his coat pocket as he reached for his gun. Nestor shot him in
the head once more for good measure.
The Puerto Rican girl stood frozen taking
it all in. Then she screamed so long and loud the music inside the
club stopped.
Nestor heard the crackle of the gun before
he felt the searing pain of a bullet go through his shoulder.
“FBI!”
Nestor dropped to the ground and rolled
toward the truck. He heard the men running toward him. Then he
heard Hernan return fire.
His first shot nailed the agent who shot
Nestor. His partner ducked for cover.
“Run!” Nestor commanded.
“No,” Hernan fired again at the remaining
agent. The bullet blasted a window and the glass cascaded down on
his pursuer.
“Come on!” Nestor got up and pushed Hernan
forward. They sprinted toward the street and turned the corner
before they heard the sirens.
People emerged from the club in
open-mouthed shock. One of the patrons took out his cell phone and
filmed the blue-vested agent pounding on his partner's chest.
“Vince!” the FBI agent screamed.

Nestor and Hernan ran down the street as
fast as they could. One, two, and then three blocks down. They
stayed on the main strip running through red lights and causing
cars to careen sideways.
“Come on,” Nestor instructed.
Wanting to get on a less populated street,
they turned a corner and ran down a dark alley.
That's when they saw her. The blonde-haired
girl with pink streaks, squatting in the corner.
She stood up, scared and shocked that they
found her.
Nestor struggled to catch his breath and
leaned his back against the wall. Hernan pointed his gun at the
girl. Mascara tears scrawled down her cheeks.
“My parents are lawyers,” she stammered.
“Both of them. They could help you.”
“Shut up,” Nestor wheezed at the woman. She
spoke with a bearing that made him think she came from an educated
background. Probably got involved in drugs and her rebellious
spirit carried her into the armpit of East Oakland.
    “ I can help you guys!” the
woman snapped, now taking trying to take a tone of superiority. “Do
you understand English? How fresh over the fence are
you?”
The girl saw the revolving blue lights
reflecting off one of the storefront windows in front of the alley.
Hernan followed the girl's eye-line then put his hand over her
mouth.
The young woman bit into his fingers and
sprinted away “Hey!” she called. “Over here!”
“Come on!” Nestor climbed over the wooden
fence.
Hernan waited for a moment then aimed his
pistol at the woman. Nestor could only watch as he pulled the
trigger.
The girl fell face first down on the
concrete before she reached the end of the alley.
Hernan hopped the fence and ran.
They crossed through a backyard and dogs
barked. Sprinting past a chained pit bull, they hopped another
fence and raced toward the train tracks.
Away from the streetlights, they cloaked
themselves in the darkness. Their running feet dredged up broken
glass, McDonald’s wrappers and used condoms. They didn’t stop until
they could hear their wheezing breath over the fading sirens.
     
Hernan ran a sponge over Nestor's shoulder
wound.
“It just grazed me,” Nestor said, punching
his own thigh in frustration. “Why didn’t we see those FBI guys!
Fuck!”
A siren blared as a police car raced by the
apartment outside. Hernan