Chako had driven in and out of several neighborhoods looking for the address Eugene (Rattler) scribbled down from the phone book. "There it is," Eugene said. He was darkly pleased at the number of windows facing the street. It would be impossible, he determined, to pump a full clip from his .45 into the house without hitting someone. Either Jon Van Home, his wife, Stephanie, or maybe even a kid—it didn't really matter to Rattler. Somebody in this house was going to pay for messing with the De Sotos at the rec center.
Seeing the gun, Chako said, "It's broad daylight, man. There are people on the street. This is bad timing, dude." Just then, a boy was walking from the targeted house to the driveway. It had to be Van Horne's kid, Eugene decided. A lethal burst from the .45 and the kid wouldn't have a chance. And Jon Van Horne—wherever he was—would wish to God he had never crossed or humiliated the De Sotos. But Chako's warning made sense. He would do the deed someday soon, but not with the whole neighborhood watching.
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