The two dead gunmen fifteen feet away are Asian Boyz.

Farther in are two more MS-13.

Now I’m to the dead guy I saw first, the one who never had time to get his painter’s mask off. He’s Asian. The mask has slid to one side. He looks about sixteen years old. I have a special affection for sixteen-year-old boys. He’s been shot up badly, which means the Salvadorans probably got themselves killed by using all their ammo on a car painter.

I stop for just a second and look back on the trail of bodies and blood.

You don’t have to be a cop to read this mess. First, the Boyz changed the meeting time from one A.M. to earlier, sometime during regular business hours. Why? Just basic security, to keep desperate Barry from trying something stupid. Barry tries something stupid anyhow-he brings his payment as agreed, but he’s cut in some Salvadorans to cancel his debt the permanent way, and probably save himself a few diamonds. Barry comes to the Boyz alone and they retire to the office and close the door. A minute later MS-13 arrives in the big white van. The Salvadorans don’t know anything about an office, so two of them just go straight to the heart of the matter and start shooting up the painter. Two of the Boyz take them out, but two more Salvadorans-the smart ones with the firepower-come up from behind and the Boyz go down. Then the last two Asian guns try to come in quietly from the office. They even take a second to lock the front door, figuring they’ll trap the invaders. They make their appearance with Barry in tow, and between two machine guns, the combat 12-gauge and a machine pistol, everybody’s dead in four seconds.