"Yeah, we're thinking South America too," Books says.
"So enough chit-chat. Now we do serious talking, yes?" Lola maintains her killer stance, both arms extended, the Berettas pointed at Cutter and Sophia's foreheads.
Cutter makes a move, cocks the M2 machine gun, click, and lines up Lola. "Lady, we're not doing anything until you lay down those portables."
"Easy there, Son," Jim calms Cutter.
"Listen to your master and be a good boy," Lola goads.
"Never been me one of those, sister." Cutter does not flinch.
"Let me explain something to you." Lola steps closer to Sophia, then closer again. "This Beretta M9 is one of the most reliable handguns in the world. I am applying three and a half pounds of pressure on each trigger. At four, they go BANG."
"Kill her, Cutter," Sophia grits her teeth.
"You again!" Lola inches forward and presses the tip of her pistol between Sophia's breasts. "Books, your scrapbooking friend begins to annoy me."
"She means no harm," Books says.
"Wrong answer," Sophia says. "Go ahead, Cutter—take her out—she's bluffing. She knows Books. She's not going to pull that trigger. Send her to hell."
Cutter tells Lola, "Unless you want to end up looking like a Jackson Pollock, I'd drop those guns, bitch."
Unblinking, Lola stares into Sophia's soul. "Books, tell the boy who hides behind a gun so much bigger than his manhood that I never bluff."
"Cutter, loosen up. We're just talking here," Books says.
"Just fucking shoot her, Cutter! She's full of shit," Sophia yells.
"Is that so, American?" Lola runs the pistol slowly up and down Sophia's cleavage. "I know fear. I see fear. I create it in others, and I see fear in you." Lola moves the Beretta's tip up toward Sophia's neck and presses the gun into her throat.
"Hey, Lola, that's enough," Books says.
"Then tell your inadequate, brainless fuckwit friend over there to lower that machine gun or I will kill them both."
"I'll take my chances," Cutter says.
"Then you'll have blood on your hands." Lola moves the pistol upwards and rests the gun's tip on Sophia's lips. "If you kill me, there go your precious codes." She glides the end of the pistol around Sophia's mouth as if they are filming some kind of perverse, erotic gun porn—"and then your heads explode. A girl has to take precautions."
"You got too much to lose," Cutter says.
"Then let's roll the dice, brave man."
"Lola. Cutter. Just put the goddamned guns down," Books orders.
The standoff is interrupted by a loud beep, and a blue LED lights up on each of the Americans' collars.
"Matt and Jedi—coming in," Jim says. He looks over the salt pan and sees the KTM rocketing toward him. "They must have got the code."
"Anything I need to worry about, Books?" Lola asks.
"They're with us. They've got the remote—its signal beat them here. That's all."
Matt pulls up the bike nearby. Jedi skips off the seat.
Matt glances around at the carnage. "Have I come at a bad time?"
"Why don't you ask the she-devil over there." Cutter keeps the M2 sighted on Lola. "She's the only one of them left alive."
"Well, that's mighty impressive." Matt looks Lola up and down. He gives her his best smile and runs a hand through his hair. "Looks like my day just got a whole lot better. Is someone gonna introduce me?"
