Phoenix Burning

by Isabella Maldonado

  “Wait.” Salazar held up a hand. “You need to have her healthy and properly motivated, yes?”

  Carlos let the belt dangle from his hand. “We do.”

  Soft menace sharpened Salazar’s next words. “Where is her twin sister?”

  Adolfo motioned to Carlos, who gave Salazar an assessing look as he answered. “Mia is cleaning toilets and changing sheets in the bedrooms upstairs. She hasn’t recovered from Bartolo’s beating enough to entertain male clients yet, so she’s on housekeeping duty.”

  “Perfect.” Salazar’s feral grin exposed straight white teeth. “Bring both girls here. I’ll be back.” He headed toward the kitchen.

  Two minutes later, a coyote shoved Sofia into the living room. As she stumbled, the man leaned forward to grasp her hair, holding her upright. Her gaunt body trembled as she stood before Adolfo and Carlos.

  A loud grunt, followed by the slap of bare flesh and a stifled yelp reverberated into the room from the hallway. Another coyote dragged Sofia’s twin sister behind him. Gripping Mia’s stick-thin upper arm until his fingers dug into her skin, he yanked her roughly around to stand next to Sofia.

  Adolfo could tell Mia’s nose had been broken recently without being properly set, something he recognized when he looked in the mirror. Bartolo had smashed Adolfo’s nose when they were children. True to form, his father had left it crooked as a constant reminder of the consequences of weakness.

  Unlike her sister’s, Mia’s eyes blazed with fury. Her hair tumbled down from a messy knot tied at the nape of her neck, her T-shirt drenched in sweat from hours of rigorous housework.

  Salazar strode into the living room, concealing something behind his back. His hooded gaze swept both girls before he addressed Sofia. “You chose to defy us.” He stepped closer, looming over her. “But you were caught.” He used his free hand to snatch hers and lifted it up to eye level. “I should get a hammer and pulverize every one of your fingers so you can never use a keyboard again.” Sofia gasped as he guided her fingertips along the edge of his dark goatee. “But that’s not an option, because we need your skills.” He inclined his head toward Mia, still held in place by the coyote who had dragged her in. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Instead, your sister must pay for your crime.”

  Sofia’s eyes rounded in stark terror. “No!”

  Salazar dropped Sofia’s hand and pivoted to Mia. Cold, calculated wrath radiated from Salazar as he grasped Mia’s sweat-soaked shirt and ripped it off. He flung it on the floor, then tore away the thin white bra she wore underneath, exposing her upper body completely.

  “Hold her still,” he commanded.

  The coyote used one hand to pin the girl’s wrists behind her, while his brawny arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his large frame. Salazar swung a long metal rod out from behind his back. Adolfo recognized the glowing hot branding iron instantly. The stylized shape of a wolf’s head at the end of the rod seared the cartel’s logo on their heroin shipments. Or over the hearts of their prisoners.

  Both girls screamed and thrashed against their captors.

  Eyes boring into Sofia, Salazar spoke over the clamor. “Every time you defy us in any way, your sister will be punished.”

  As Salazar approached Mia, all traces of her defiance evaporated. Her anguished shrieks became hysterical, and Adolfo averted his eyes. He knew Salazar’s brutality would assure Sofia’s compliance. He was also aware that Mia had already been forced to pay a heavy price in lieu of her twin for their entry into the US. She was the expendable one.

  He understood what it was to be considered less important than a sibling. How deep such wounds went. Much deeper than the burn she was about to endure. It was this awareness that forced his gaze away.

  12

  Attention drawn by a dark flicker passing over her, Veranda squinted up to see a magnificent red-tailed hawk soaring above the police academy grounds. The bird was in for a shock if it lingered over the shooting range. The raptor glided high in the turquoise sky, riding thermals as it searched the desert ground for prey. Dipping a russet wing, it banked to the left, flying over the crest of South Mountain, its shadow grazed the rocky soil, silently sliding over the corrugated metal roof of the building at the base of the mountainside.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  Sergeant Grigg’s bellowed warning, muffled by her ear protection, brought her attention back to the tableau in front of her. Eight men, outfitted in black SWAT gear, lined up beside a steel security door. The first tactical operator angled the adapted muzzle of a 12-gauge breaching shotgun beside the lock and fired. Even from her vantage point twenty feet away, the concussion rumbled through her sternum as the blast shook the ground beneath her.

  The breaching officer pumped a second round in and peeled away while the second operator raised a booted foot. The door crashed open with one powerful kick.

  Veranda’s pulse quickened, catching the excitement as she watched Sergeant Grigg and his SAU team rush inside the Shoot House. She’d been on enough operations with them to know they were fanning out, clearing each room as they went, with a tail gunner to watch their six. Live fire training always ratcheted her adrenalin, even though this time she only observed the exercise.

  “Clear!” Grigg’s shout echoed from within the cinder block walls. Scenario concluded, he appeared from the interior gloom, his bulk filling the empty doorway. He stepped over the broken metal door, which dangled from its lower hinge, and treaded in her direction.

  “Where’s everyone else?” she called out to him. The eight-man group practicing the door breach was only a small fraction of the entire SAU team. Her question was answered when a wave of black-clad tactical personnel poured through the heavy gate separating the range from the Shoot House.

  Sergeant Grigg lifted the helmet from his head, revealing a dark buzz cut glistening with sweat as he continued his approach. Easily the tallest man on the team, he towered over her when he halted, the toes of his boots almost touching hers. His cobalt blue eyes bore into her.

  She’d seen hardened criminals wet themselves when he glowered down at them with that expression, but she refused to be intimidated. She crossed her arms, tilted her head back to meet his gaze, and waited him out.

  The silence grew awkward. Sam, Rios, and Lopez shifted on either side of her, but said nothing. Apparently, they didn’t understand the relationship Veranda had with Grigg, who had been on countless operations with her in a tactical support role when she was a narc. Over time, they’d come to trust each other. In truth, the crusty SAU team leader was her favorite sergeant on the department. She suspected he had a soft spot for her too—if such a thing was possible. This ritual dance was one they had engaged in many times before.

  Grigg thrust the helmet under his arm, freeing his hand to poke a finger at her. “I can’t believe you’re laying this steaming pile on my doorstep,” he finally said in his deep, gruff voice. “Why do you always do this shit to me?”

  She raised a brow. “You’re not up for it?”

  He waved the question away. “Don’t blow smoke up my skirt, Cruz. I don’t care how good we are, this kind of turnaround time for a major tactical operation is insane. Even for you.”

  “There’s more.” She braced herself for his reaction. “I can’t guarantee how much lead time we’ll have. If there’s another fiasco like the one at the mall, we might have to execute the op even sooner.”

  Grigg snorted. “Peachy.” He ran a meaty hand over his damp hair and eyed the two Mexican agents standing next to her. “Can the federales offer any intel?”

  Sam grimaced. “Federales. Is that okay to say?”

  Agent Lopez chuckled. “It’s like when people call American police officers ‘cops.’ And it’s easier than saying we’re agents from the Policía Federal Ministerial.” He grew serious as he turned to Grigg. “In Mexico, when the Villalobos cartel sets up a long-
term location, they build hidden escapes, like tunnels. They also have countersurveillance.” He inclined his head toward his younger counterpart. “Agent Rios can tell you more. He was on our SWAT team until a few months ago.”

  Rios straightened. “I went on some raids at Villalobos strongholds.” His gaze traveled to the Shoot House and a wistful expression crossed his features. “I miss the action.”

  Veranda had thought Rios seemed physically fit when she met him, but now she noted his calloused hands, the wary set to his eyes, and a faint scar just above his left brow. Signs of battle.

  Grigg gave Rios a nod. “Bet you had more than the fifteen minutes Cruz is giving me to plan your ops.”

  “Sure.” A dimple creased Rios’s cheek. “We had at least twenty minutes.”

  Grigg guffawed, then turned to Veranda. “I’ll need to coordinate with outside agencies to pull this off. Even though our unit is good-sized, hitting that many sites at once is manpower intensive.”

  Grigg had switched from belligerent to strategic, and now concerned himself with how to accomplish the objective. Despite his bluster, he always came through. She grinned up at him. “Your group occasionally trains with other SWAT teams in the region, right?”

  “Of course. I’ll reach out to DPS, Scottsdale, Tempe, Mesa, and the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. See who’s up for it.” He threw her another scowl, but it was halfhearted. “I don’t look forward to explaining why we should do this when I think it’s a clusterfuck myself.”

  Veranda had no doubt he would get everyone on board. Grigg was well-respected in the tactical arena. His excellent reputation would go a long way to garner support.

  He hooked a thumb in his tactical belt. “How many places did you say you wanted to hit?”

  “I’m not certain yet. The rest of the team will finalize the list for the search warrants. Since SSS is strictly a local gang, they should only have two or three locations. The cartel will take up most of our resources. Our list of potential front companies, warehouses, residences, and drop houses contains about twenty sites around the city. We can’t get warrants for all of those. We’ll narrow it down to the top twelve places most likely to yield arrests and contraband.”

  “So I should plan to execute about fifteen simultaneous warrant services?”

  “Should cover it.”

  Grigg grunted. “All right, Cruz. I’ll start pulling teams together and running through scenarios. I’m going to need that final list of locations from you ASAP.”

  “Deal.”

  “Also, I want to set up a practice run before we go live on this.” He nodded toward the Shoot House behind him. “Right here.”

  She extended her hand. “Thanks, Sarge.”

  His hand engulfed hers in a firm grip. “Just remember to have a backup plan for that thing.”

  She mentally reviewed her ops plan for a flaw. “What thing?”

  “The thing you never see coming.” He released his hold. “The one that fucks up all your plans.”

  13

  Veranda raised her glass of beige liquid and rotated it slightly, watching a droplet of condensation course down the smooth side to drip on her finger.

  Sam tilted his head. “What the hell is horchata anyway?”

  She chuckled. “A cold drink made from rice milk, cinnamon, and vanilla. My mother also uses almonds when she makes it. Sweet and delicious. Everyone loves it.”

  After leaving the Shoot House, Veranda had driven Sam and the federales to the Hyatt Regency downtown. After checking Rios and Lopez in at the front desk, they had all agreed to eat lunch at the hotel café upstairs in the mezzanine.

  Lopez nodded. “My mother always used almonds too. She used to make homemade horchata ice cream when I was a boy.” He chuckled. “Of course, that was many years ago.”

  Rios picked up a white ceramic mug. “I like coffee.” He took a long sip. “This is good, but when I brew my own at home, I add pure cocoa powder and some agave nectar.” His eyes slid to Veranda. “Because things taste better when they’re hot, and a just little bit sweet.”

  Veranda choked on her drink, unable to miss the innuendo.

  Lopez gave his younger counterpart a sidelong glance and spoke into the awkward silence as Veranda dabbed her chin with a white linen napkin. “The world has Mexico to thank for inventing chocolate,” he said. “We put it in a lot of things.”

  Moving to safer conversational ground, Sam picked up on Lopez’s lead. “Good to see they have horchata on the menu at such an elegant hotel.”

  Veranda put down her napkin. “I’d prefer a mimosa, but I’m on duty.”

  “A mimosa?” Sam snorted. “That’s not a cop’s drink.”

  She raised a brow. “I suppose you drink straight whiskey from a dirty shot glass? Is that what you guys did back in the day after your patrol shift was over? I’m sure it gave your horses a chance to rest before the long ride to the homestead.”

  Sam looked at Lopez. “Can you believe how she talks to a senior detective?” His tone was full of mock outrage.

  “Emphasis on senior,” Veranda said.

  Lopez laughed. “It’s the same where I work. I’ve been there over thirty years. They call me El Viejo, the Old Man.” He shook his head. “No respect.”

  “It’s this generation.” Sam tipped his head toward Veranda and Rios. “They don’t appreciate that it takes years to develop the skills we have. They were in diapers when we started our careers.”

  Veranda couldn’t resist the opening. “And you’re going to be in diapers before you finally pull the plug and retire. When are you going into DROP, Sam?”

  “What is DROP?” Rios asked.

  Veranda heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Die Right On Premises. It’s a scheme the old guys cooked up to stay on the job until they’re wheeled out of their offices in a body bag.”

  A smile played under Sam’s heavy mustache. “You’re lucky I like you, Veranda.” He turned to Lopez. “It actually stands for Deferred Retirement Option Plan. It’s a program where you retire, but you’re allowed to keep working another five years. The department keeps its most experienced officers and we get to add to our deferred comp account.” His gaze traveled back to Veranda. “Your pension won’t get any better, but you can build up a nest egg in case you need extra money for a motorized scooter.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” she said. “He won’t go into DROP because he knows they’ll kick him out after five years. It’ll ruin his plan for leaving his cubicle toes up.”

  Sam straightened and took on a dignified air. “I haven’t done it yet because there’s no one ready to take my place.”

  “Sounds familiar.” Lopez tilted his head at the younger federale. “I’m supposed to be training Rios, but he’s not ready yet.”

  Rios looked affronted. “Ay, that hurts.” Then grinned. “And I thought I was like the son you never had.”

  Sam lifted his coffee to his lips. “I bet if you asked Special Agent Gates, she’d tell you Agent Tanner gives her heartburn on a regular basis.”

  “That’s a low blow.” Veranda pointed back and forth between Rios and herself. “You can’t compare us to the Junior G-man.”

  Lopez cocked his head to one side, a thoughtful expression in his eyes, which were on Sam. “This conversation has made me realize Hector Villalobos has the same problem we do. He wants to retire and turn the business over to his children, but he thinks they are not ready.”

  Sam regarded Lopez, slowly nodding. “Bartolo turned out to be a disaster and Adolfo seems weak.” He stroked his mustache. “Looks like he’s letting Adolfo give it a try, though.”

  Veranda turned the concept over in her mind. Adolfo’s behavior had become more erratic lately. “Adolfo’s overcompensating. That’s the only explanation for the increased chaos on our streets. He’s El Lobo’s firstborn. There’s a lot of pr
essure on him to step up.”

  Lopez remained pensive. “Did you know Hector Villalobos used to be a federale?”

  Veranda and Sam exchanged glances. They both knew Hector Villalobos had started out as a law enforcement officer before turning to crime. When Sam didn’t comment, Veranda understood he was deferring to her to acknowledge she was aware of Hector’s history.

  Veranda decided she wanted this fresh perspective on El Lobo’s background. “Yes.” She didn’t elaborate, but posed a question. “He would have been on the force about the same time you were. Did you know him?”

  Lopez stirred cream into his coffee and carefully set the spoon down before he began. “I was the junior agent on his squad when I was first hired more than thirty years ago. Back in those days, our agency was called the Policía Judicial Federal, the Federal Judicial Police.”

  He gazed upward, as if to summon a distant memory. “Hector was always ambitious. He grew up in poverty and desperately wanted success. He worked hard, but advancement did not come easily to him. He was … how do you say? A bit rough. I think the breaking point came when another agent on our squad got the promotion Hector thought he would get. We didn’t find out until later, but that was when Hector began taking bribes from the cartels. He was finally caught in a sting by the man who was promoted in his place, Ernesto Hidalgo.”

  Veranda’s hand tightened around her glass. She’d believed Ernesto was her father until that damned DNA test Bartolo had done six weeks ago. Now she and Sam were the only ones outside the Villalobos cartel who knew Hector was her biological parent. What would Agent Lopez think of her if he found out? The man had spent his entire career in a dangerous battle with the cartel in Mexico. Like everyone else, he would probably feel she had tainted blood.

  She didn’t realize her attention had wandered until Lopez’s words interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hector murdered Ernesto and burned his office to the ground. All evidence against him, destroyed in the fire. But Ernesto had already informed his chain-of-command that Hector was the traitor.” He absently stroked his silvery goatee. “In fact, I have often thought that is why Ernesto was killed. Someone in upper management tipped off Hector.” He shook his head. “But I’ve never been able to figure out who.”