Isaac and Billy were on the ground quickly, herding the broken men to the cliff side of the trailer, ordering them to their knees.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be already,” Isaac said without preamble. “You guys are operating under a black flag. Is this your deal or is somebody running you?”
Moustache just stared at the ground. Red attempted to speak. Blood from his severed tongue spilled down his chin as he worked his shattered jaw in an effort to form words.
“Shut up #######!” Moustache yelled. “We ain’t no goddam snitches.”
The outburst was ignored by Isaac butt Billy took the opportunity to kick him in the kidney region. “No, you shut up, #######. The boss is talking.”
By this point Isaac had no use for Moustache and didn’t care what Billy did to him for he was tapping into a reliable source of information; clandestine cigarette and liquor warehouses, prostitution rings, missing jurors and compromised cops. And citizens executed for knowing, or often just suspecting, too much.
The confessors words sounded like somebody trying to talk underwater with a mouth full of marbles, but Isaac’s apparent comprehension of the garbled nonsense confirmed what Billy had suspected for some time now.
His boss had a special gift. Whether it came and went at random times or Isaac could turn it on and off at will was still a mystery to him. The source of this power was a mystery as well. Did it come from God or Satan and did it really matter? Raised in the Pentecostal church, Billy was taught there was no middle ground and made a quick prayer of forgiveness for doubting his childhood teachings.
After being pulled aside and given instructions by Isaac, Billy went to the cab of the truck and removed an old shop rag from under the passenger seat which he rolled lengthwise in the fashion of a tube. He then dipped the makeshift wick into the right side diesel tank, allowing the rag to absorb the flammable liquid.
Meanwhile Isaac led their captives to the Buick at gunpoint, directing them into the back seat where he buckled them in. Moustache may have had the ability to unbuckle himself with his good arm but he seemed to lack the strength. He was growing paler by the minute due to the amount of blood draining from his severed limb and the kick to the kidneys seemed to have robbed him of whatever remaining resolve he may have possessed.
Red, despite his caved in face and sore neck, was in otherwise good physical condition but made no effort to resist or escape. He gave off an aura of one who has made peace with himself and his maker and was prepared to accept his fate.
Billy returned with the diesel soaked cloth as Isaac closed the door on his passengers. He instructed Billy to insert it into the car’s gas tank, working it in slowly as to not let it bunch up, and leaving only a couple of inches on the outside.
Isaac started the Buick then backed it up a few yards enabling him to swing out in an arc and put the front of the car more or less square with the edge of the drop off. With the car in position he motioned for Billy to light the fuse.
As Billy withdrew his Zippo from his jean pocket Isaac turned to face the two men in the back seat. “Well, gentlemen?”
Red mumbled a few indecipherable sounds, a tear escaping as he made eye contact. “You’re welcome, son. You’ve done the right thing.”
He turned his gaze to Moustache who merely said, “#### you.”
Not bothering to answer, Isaac opened the door and placed the gear selector in DRIVE while keeping his right foot on the brake pedal.
Still on level ground, if not at a slight upgrade, the Electra barely crept forward as Isaac released the brake and slid from the seat in a smooth motion, shutting the door as he got both feet on the ground. Red actually gave him a little wave while Moustache was emotionless. Motionless also, for his skin was as pale as possible for a person who was still breathing, if in fact he still was. Isaac thought he would expire from loss of blood before the explosion took him.
The front tires dropped over the hump giving the driverless car some momentum, covering the first stage of the slope in a few seconds before taking the big plunge. The rear tires rose into the air as the nose dropped on the severe incline, an incline that was nearly vertical. Bouncing and teetering all the way down it was a miracle the vehicle never rolled over completely. Now Billy understood why Isaac buckled the passengers in, not wanting them scattered along the slope where they could be more easily identified on the off chance they were found before the coyotes that roamed at night found them first.
The big blue Buick came to a complete stop at what would become its final resting place, nose first against a boulder the size of a billiard table.
“I’ll just be ######,” Billy said, almost in a whisper as one of the rear passenger doors slowly swung open. Before he had time to contemplate who was sitting where the car blew up.
The deep WHOOOOMPH resonated through the gorge like dry thunder. Mini avalanches sprang to life as if wishing to participate in the mayhem. An eruption of fowl in the grove behind them was actually more startling than the explosion for it was unexpected.
The secondary explosion, this one more visual, occurred as the gasoline itself went into a blaze, the primary detonation being the more volatile fumes.
“Time to skedaddle, son,” Isaac said.
As he turned to walk away Billy saw the sizeable blood spot on Isaac’s trouser leg.
“Dang, Boss, you’re hit. We need to tend to that,” Billy said.
“No, we need to roll. We’ll tend to it later.