“Like a terrorist, man,” Jamal said softly.

“What are you talkin’ about now?”

“I was just thinkin’ about how those guys feel when they know somethin’ big is going down while everybody else worries about their own shit. That’s got to be some heavy power trip.”

“Yeah, well, you only have to worry about that Land Rover and not some damn 9/11.”

“I’m on that,” Jamal said. “Just sayin’.”

Jamal was getting excited. Leon was right, but if power was the lesson of jacking a random car, he was ready to learn it.

They watched the Arab pump his gas, then get in and start the engine. The swarthy man fussed with the side-view mirror, adjusting it this way and that, then grabbed the wheel and rolled toward the exit.

Leon popped his transmission into gear, glanced at Jamal. “You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Leon shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator and eased after the Land Rover.

***

They followed the Rover straight to the Loin-the part of the city that had long ago given itself over to liquor stores and strip clubs, where anything and everything was bought and sold, twenty-four/seven.

Jamal wondered what a well-off Arab was doing down here. If he was looking for action, all he had to do was pick up the phone. He didn’t have to cruise through wine country. Maybe he had holdings here, invested some of that oil money in hookers and crack dealers.

An’ the government tells us businessmen are responsible for everything that’s wrong, he thought.

“Next red light,” Leon said.

Leon’s voice was soft, steady. It pumped Jamal up, like the gun. He wanted to impress his brother, win his respect.

A few seconds later the car came to a stop at Eddy and Larkin. The red light burned like the devil’s own eye, fueling Jamal’s own sudden, intense focus on the moment, the gun, the target “Go!”