by William Oday
The dozen or so insurgents at the intersection disappeared in a blink.
BOOM.
Another round fired to finish the job.
The hazy intersection flashed with the impact.
The sound of incoming fire went silent. Having a tank at your back made all the difference.
The tank chugged closer as Mason pulled himself up. He needed to check on his men. See how Channing was doing. See if anybody else got hit.
He stumbled as he got to his feet. His head spun with the ringing in his ears. Like that squeal when someone gets too close to a microphone, magnified a hundred times.
It took them a good fifteen minutes to get everything squared away. Nobody got a direct hit, but there wasn’t a patch of skin that didn’t bleed from taking shrapnel. Only the clear ballistic goggles they all wore kept their eyes intact. Their medic went from soldier to soldier, taping and bandaging as needed. Channing needed it most. His whole head was wrapped in bandages with two little eyes holes. It looked like a bad Halloween costume.
Mason thanked the Army 2-7 tankers before they got called away to another Marine unit needing assistance. He watched as the tank lumbered back down the street.
Lopes slapped his back.
“Sure wish those Joes could stick around with us.”
“You’re telling me, bro. Make life a whole lot easier.”
“Ahh, don’t look so glum, Sarge. We’re living the dream. Just a squad of grunts in paradise.”
Mason turned back to his men.
“Yeah right. Where’s my Pina Colada?”
“We don’t serve that sissy shit.”
“Fine. Straight Jack will do.”
Lopes pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Man, wouldn’t it?”
Mason laughed at the sudden change in tone. The wistful want of impossibility. He turned Lopes around and wrapped his arms over his shoulder.
“Don’t get soft on me, Lance Corporal Lopez. I need badass, knuckle-dragging Marines.”
“Well, this Neanderthal needs a rest.”
Mason looked at the dark sky. The firefight had chewed up the last of the daylight. His men were wiped out and torn up. They needed to find a spot to hole up for the night. He scanned the area and saw a single story building that looked like it might have been a restaurant in better days.
He pointed.
“Lopes, let’s go check that out. Might be a good spot to go firm for the night.”
Lopes adjusted the SAW and nodded.
“Miro and Lucky, let’s ride.”
“Coming, Sarge!” Lucky yelled.
They cleared the place and found a basement level that made it perfectly suitable for a night’s stay. There was even a pile of filthy rugs in the corner that they all passed around and used for blankets, despite the horrendous smell. Life in the infantry was like that. It stripped away all the artifice, until the smallest thing could mean so much.
Lucky swept the floor with a flat piece of wood. The floor was littered with discarded syringes and other medical paraphernalia. This must have been a muj hideout not too long ago.
Mason stationed a couple of guys on the first floor and sent the rest of the squad below to get some deserved rest. By the time everyone was settled, the sound of small arms fire started to pick up outside. Much of it centered on their position.
The insurgents had located them.
He got on the hook and called in for fire support. The last thing he wanted to do was to have to fight a protracted battle all night. They were all close to the edge already.
The volume of fire outside picked up.
The Air Force responded a short time later. An AC-130 somewhere in the sky above unleashed on the insurgents outside. Its 30mm Bushmaster cannon buzzed death on the streets below. It was their guardian angel.
The sounds of danger close fighting died down.
He did a final check on the men and then dropped to the dusty floor. Lopes tossed over a ratty rug. Mason accepted it with a nod. He was grateful to have it. A rug that in normal life he’d dispose of as toxic waste, he now wrapped tight over his body.
His eyes drooped as he lay back on the floor. He was too exhausted to think. A couple hours would get him going again. The chill in the air guaranteed they’d all end up nuts to butts to keep from freezing to death. They’d already spent one night packed together like sardines with only their shared body heat holding back the bitter cold.
He watched flickering shadows cast by dim flashlights. Conversation went quiet as more of the squad drifted off.
What a long day.
The longest.
Day.
Someone kicked his boot.
“Sarge,” a forced whisper hissed.
Mason came to the surface. Disoriented. Unhappy to so soon be in the waking world.
His face itched. Like a feather tickled his cheek.
Another hissed word.
“Sarge.”
It was Lopes, on his right.
What the hell? Mason wanted to itch his face, but his arms were too heavy. Too beat to comply.
“Don’t move, bro!”
The words louder now.
A flashlight blinded him and he saw the shadowed silhouette of long, articulated legs. Inches above his eyes.
“You’ve got a fucking camel spider on your face, dude!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The Last Day
Venice, California
Elio jumped off the South Lincoln blue bus at Venice Blvd. Towering palm trees lined the road west toward the beach. Cool marine air breezed in off the ocean less than a mile away. The salty tang sometimes strong enough to notice. A handful of stars peeked through a thick blanket of light pollution. Even on the clearest nights, you never saw more than a sprinkling of stars in Los Angeles.
He didn’t mind.
Too many stars made your place in the universe too obvious. Like they were a thousand reminders that you were infinitely small and unimportant.
The usual dull orange that tinted the sky had a brighter color to it. Especially to the north, where the fires were going off. The hum of traffic faded as he got further away from Lincoln Boulevard. He cut north to avoid Abbot Kinney. It was a swanky street that always promised good cruising, but he wasn’t in the mood for people watching tonight.
Venice had it all. He hoped to live here someday. If he could ever afford it.
But how could he ever? He barely made passing grades. No college would accept him. What were his prospects for a good career? None that were obvious. He’d be lucky to get a job washing dishes. There were always five guys in line ahead of him who wanted the same job. They had families to support and no school to interfere with their work hours.
The highway to the good life seemed to have all the entrance ramps shut down.
Which brought him back to the Venice 10. He knew banging wasn’t a life that offered long-term security. He knew there were a hundred ways to die once you became a member. But his life wasn’t panning out to be all that viable either.
As hard as his mom worked to give him options, it wasn’t enough. She could barely keep them in a shared apartment in Inglewood. He didn’t blame her. He just didn’t look to her to solve his problems.
One thing above all others attracted Elio to Cesar and the life he promised.
No fear.
Those guys feared no one.
And for Elio, that was unimaginable. He lived in fear. Of disappointing his mom. Of not living up to the memory of his father. Of showing his feelings for Theresa. Of what might happen if joined the gang. Of what might happen if he didn’t.
Fear was his constant companion.
He pushed the jumble of thoughts in his mind aside as he arrived at the front gate of Cesar’s house. The place was going off. He heard it from a block away. Crazy. The only reason nobody called the cops was because the whole street were either fellow members or lived in fear of retaliation.
If Elio had to choose, he wa
nted to be the one instilling the fear, not the one drowning in it.
Speaking of fear, he wondered how Cesar was going to react to what happened that morning. Elio had nothing to do with it, but that didn’t guarantee anything. You could never tell with the shot caller. It might be nothing. Or he might be walking into the final minutes of his life.
The one thing he knew for sure was that Cesar could never find out that Elio knew Mason. He’d force Elio to give up his address. He’d go there to hurt Mason. Maybe to hurt Theresa.
Damn Mason. Why did he have to stick his nose where it didn’t belong? Did he have any idea of the tight spot Elio was now in because of him?
If Cesar thought Elio was holding out on him…
Elio shivered. He didn’t want to think about how that would turn out. Best to claim ignorance and hope for the best.
“Yo Elio, pasale pasale,” one of the guys at the front gate said. They all knew him. He knew some of them from kids, before they joined. But this was the first time he’d been to Cesar’s house, the informal headquarters of the gang.
Elio nodded as he parted through three bodies that welcomed him in as their own. They knew he might be a fellow soldier soon and so extended him a little respect. Maybe word got around about him facing up Evil. They either respected the move, or figured he was a dead man who deserved a last kindness.
Four dark figures loitered on the porch. Elio couldn’t make out who was who until he got to the bottom step.
“You got a death wish, chavala?”
One of soldier’s soldiers bled out of the shadows and stepped into Elio’s path. A long dagger glinted in a pocket of light.
“Nah man. Just showing up like Cesar wanted.”
“Smart move. Maybe.”
Elio dropped his gaze to show he didn’t intend a challenge.
The soldier nodded toward the door.
“Jefe’s gonna want to see you. Go ahead.”
Elio nodded, trying to keep his legs from collapsing under him. One of the other guys pushed the door open and he headed inside.
The music buffeted his body with a physical force.
It was loud.
He wandered right and ended up in what appeared to be a living room. Not that it looked at all like one. Nothing his mother would recognize.
Elio had drank more than his share of beer and even smoked enough weed to build a tolerance. But what he saw in the living room sent a stutter through his carefully orchestrated stride. The surface projection of confidence cracked.
He’d never seen anything like it.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
He was glad Theresa couldn’t see him here. This was so not her scene. Not that it was his either. But it was hundreds of miles from hers.
What would she think of him choosing to be around all this?
She’d see him for the lowlife thug the world had already decided he was. Maybe the world was right.
He glanced around. Obvious piles of weed, coke, smack, meth, and shit he couldn’t identify buried the coffee table. There was enough shit to get everyone here locked up for life.
To get him locked up for life.
There was even a messed up couple in the corner going at it like doped-up bunnies. Elio shook his head and continued on, hoping to run into Cesar before Evil. He just had to show some face time. Let the shot caller see him hanging with the others. Assuming it went okay, he’d take off after that. His brain definitely wasn’t prepared to soak up a full night of what was going on here.
He wondered if he ever wanted to call this normal.
He strolled into the kitchen and thought about raiding the fridge for a beer, but decided against it. His luck he’d be sipping a beer, one of Evil’s beers.
Elio seriously wished he hadn’t popped off that morning. Especially now, knowing he could run into Evil any second. It did feel good to lash out. Amazing to have gotten away with it. With nothing more than a bloodied nose and busted lip. But it might not be over. The scales not yet balanced.
Now, it seemed like a huge, stupid mistake. Standing up to the Venice 10 lieutenant was like a Chihuahua barking at a wolf. It was wasted noise. The outcome was never in question.
He left the kitchen and passed a bathroom on the right. A fat guy inside was passed out on the floor by the toilet. No shirt and his pants around his ankles. A girl sat on the toilet with her panties around her knees. Her black boots rested on his big belly like it was a foot stool. She raised an eyebrow at him and beckoned him in.
Elio didn’t want to know more.
He kept going and saw some Goth Latina girl he didn’t know stabbing gashes into the wall. He gave her a wide berth as he walked passed. She muttered to herself as she slammed the thin blade home, again and again. “…gut that pretty pig…”
He nodded at a couple of guys he’d met before. He took a left, and bumped into a huge guy he’d seen once or twice. Like the gangster Shaq version.
“Sorry, man,” Elio said as he edged to the side and made for the stairs. Maybe Cesar was up there. He’d check the backyard next if not.
The guy bumped him back and shook his head. A flat look in his eyes warned against any nonsense.
“Just looking for Cesar,” Elio yelled to make sure he was heard over the music. “He said I should come by tonight.”
“Wait here. Don’t do something stupid,” he said as he raised his shirt to reveal a semiautomatic pistol tucked into his pants.
Elio nodded. He had no intention of pushing this behemoth’s buttons.
The guy lumbered up the stairs and disappeared. He reappeared a moment later and waved down to Elio. It felt like he was being ushered behind the velvet rope. Back to the secret party. The one all the regular folks never got to see.
This is what membership could be. Open doors, protected by his brothers. He skipped up the stairs and followed the hulking form down the dimly lit hall. He passed an open door on the right.
A half-dressed girl lay on a bare mattress on the floor. Her top was missing and she didn’t seem to care. She scrambled around the room like she’d been bitten by a cobra and the antidote was hidden somewhere in the room. She caught his gaze and turned to face him. The tracks on her arms showed she’d been bitten by something, again and again.
“Don’t look at me!” she screamed. Her voice raised another octave, to a shriek, “Don’t look at me!”
His escort laughed, “Puta loca,” never breaking stride.
Elio stayed on his heels, wondering if he should glance back to make sure the girl wasn’t coming after him.
They arrived at the door and the giant literally ducked his head in the doorway.
“Kid’s here.”
He turned back to Elio and nodded toward the open door.
Elio flattened into the wall to get by.
He entered the room and nearly fell over.
His heart spasmed in his chest. Clenched so tight the pain shot through to his back. The music seemed to fade to silence. Twin bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling painted a surreal scene.
A nightmare.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Cesar sat in an old chair that looked like it could barely hold his muscled bulk. Theresa’s best friend Holly sat on his lap. Her black tank top stretched under her boobs. Her nipples exposed and all. Cesar had an arm wrapped around her with his other hand snaked between her legs. Holly barely turned as Elio entered. She looked through him like he didn’t exist.
Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused. Her head lolled from side to side. He doubted she had any idea what was going on. He hoped she didn’t.
That was horrible enough. But the person standing by a table piled high with a huge collection of weapons made it infinitely worse.
Theresa!
What were they doing here? Why were they in their pajamas? What the hell was going on?
“Elio! Come in!” Cesar said with a grand wave. He took a huge hit on a nearly done roach and then turned Holly’s head to his. His lips attached to her
s and he blew his lungful of smoke into hers. She didn’t pull away.
She was blitzed. In serious trouble.
Elio took a step in and watched Theresa. She leaned against the table, her eyes a little less dulled. She looked at him and recognition flared in her eyes. He shook his head and turned away, hoping she understood his meaning.
Cesar pulled back from Holly and squeezed her boobs. He finally turned to Elio.
“Glad you came.”
Elio stood still as stone, at a total loss of what to say or do. As much as he wavered about entering this world, he wanted Theresa to have no part of it. She was better than this. She was too innocent. She had no idea what could happen. He had to get them out of here. But it wasn’t like he could just tell Cesar to let them go.
That would gain him nothing more than an ass beating and the girls would still be no better off. Probably worse off. He did the only thing he could do. He played along.
“Hola, Cesar,” he said, “you preparing for war?”
“Preparing to win one. You know what’s going on out there?”
“Not really.”
“The beginning of the end, ese. Chaos.” He smiled like a shark. “Opportunity, for those willing to take it.”
“Who is the enemy?”
Elio prayed his name didn’t spring to mind.
Cesar ignored the question and leveled dead serious eyes at him.
“Did you know that hero from this morning?”
The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
“No, Cesar. No idea. Some wannabe Bruce Wayne.”
Cesar watched him, studying him like a player at a high-stakes poker table. Because he was, betting his life instead of chips.
“I ran into him again. Found his house. Look what turned up there.” He looked from Holly to Theresa.
Elio had to get them out of here. Before it was too late. It already felt like it was too late.
“A couple of dumb blancas? You should kick their asses out on the street. Send ‘em back to the Third Street Promenade where they belong.”