Chapter 11“Drop it.”
“This lolo jerk started it, man. Self-defense. All the way.” The young Hawaiian spoke calmly. Didn’t flinch, didn’t move. “Ain’t that so, brah?”
Jabar’s fleshy lips pulled into a tight line while caramel-colored eyes glared at the tall man behind Benny: Cash Layton Jones.
“The police will be here any minute.” Cash’s tone was as cold as his expression.
A cacophony of noise and sounds—rock and rap music, curses, shouts and laughter, planes and vehicles—grew in intensity and enveloped us like angry hornets thrust from a hive. Sirens from ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers had been sounding steadily since we’d arrived and at least two were now in close proximity.
“I was defending myself,” Benny repeated flatly, lowering the gun but not relinquishing ownershi
