Marks parked the Explorer and heaved a sigh.
“Sure I can’t change your mind?” Ronaldo said.
The staff sergeant shook his head. “I’ve got to find Bettis and Tooth and get the Desert Snakes back in this fight.”
“I understand,” Ronaldo said. “I wish I was coming with—”
“You got to take care of your family, brother.”
Marks kept the engine running and the doors locked. Having a working vehicle made them a target, and Dom again scanned for hostiles as the two old friends said goodbye.
Most of the faces Dom saw were people just like his family: people fleeing the city and trying to get to safety. But he knew there were bad people out there, like those beating the guy in the park, and the ones who had robbed his neighbors.
“Be safe, brother,” Marks said. He reached over and shook Ronaldo’s hand.
“You too, Zed.”
The two men embraced, and Marks twisted around to the back seat.
“Dom, you’re a man now. Take good care of your pops and your mom and sister.”
Dom shook Marks’s hand firmly, the way his father had taught him when he was a kid. Marks then turned to Elena, exchanged a nod with her, and waved at Monica.
“I’ll see you again soon,” Marks said. “Be safe out there. I love you all very much.”
“We love you too, Zed,” Elena said. “Please be careful.”
After a brief pause, Marks got out of the Explorer, grabbed his gear from the back, and trotted over to the checkpoint.
“You’re TC, Dom,” Ronaldo said.
Dom paused, a confused look on his face.
“Take shotgun,” Ronaldo explained as he climbed over the console and got behind the wheel.
Dom almost unlocked his door to get out, but as soon as his hand touched the latch, he remembered what his dad had said about security. With a struggle, he clambered into the passenger seat and belted in as Marks joined the other marines outside.
Ronaldo watched, and Dom could tell that he wanted to go with Marks, to fight the AMP soldiers and the gangbangers, but right now his duty was to his family.
“It’s going to be okay, you guys,” Ronaldo said, putting the Explorer in gear.
“Where are we going, Dad?” Monica asked.
“To Aunt Lydia’s in Santa Fe,” Elena replied.
Ronaldo exchanged a glance with his wife—just the barest flash of uncertainty, but Dom easily picked up on it. He didn’t like the idea of going through Arizona to get to Santa Fe, no matter which way the wind was blowing.
“I’m taking us somewhere safe,” Ronaldo said. “I promise.”
Monica seemed to relax at his soothing voice, but Dom felt another cold twinge of anxiety. They pulled out onto the street after a driver in a pickup truck waved them ahead.
“There are still some good people,” Elena said. “Don’t lose sight of that.”
The small gesture of goodwill was overshadowed by another fight, in an intersection where a car had stalled. A man was getting his family out of the vehicle when pedestrians started banging on the windows of his car and yelling profanities. Someone knocked him to the ground and kicked him.
“Dad, we should do something,” Dom said.
Ronaldo kept his focus on the road, and Dom turned to watch as the car was surrounded. He wanted to believe his dad that everything would be okay, and he wanted to believe his mom about there being good people left in the world, but the sight of the family in need, who could just as easily have been his, told him something else.
-11-
Wind whipped through the exposed levels of the high-rise parking garage, rippling the black track jacket that Vinny had zipped to his chin. A violent gust came up, knocking his bandanna out of position.
He pulled it back up over his nose, but the thin cotton did nothing to keep out the smoke still drifting across downtown Los Angeles. Plumes rose from a hole in the Staples Center, and Dodger Stadium no longer had an outfield.
The financial district had taken the most damage, the granite cladding of the skyscrapers pocked from high-caliber rounds and missile impacts. The Bank of America Financial Center was no longer standing after AMP bombs turned it into a mound of rubble, rebar, and glass.
The sirens of emergency vehicles wailed through the city.
Dazed and shell-shocked civilians emerged from their loft apartments to view the destruction. Others, finally realizing that it was time to get the hell out of the city, were carrying their belongings as they set off on foot or bicycle.
The fighting between rebel forces and AMP had moved away from downtown, leaving the police and other law-enforcement agencies to restore what order they could.
From what Vinny could see, they weren’t making much of a dent.
Christopher snorted at the view. “What a mess.”
Vinny knew that his father had seen far worse than this, but seeing it in the American city known for movies and glamour seemed especially shocking.
“Forget the view; we’re late,” Yellowtail said.
A barrage of gunshots sounded in the distance, and no one even flinched. The sound was common as skirmishes continued between AMP and the rebels, and police and the gangs.
Vinny didn’t see any sign of fighting in the empty parking garage.
“Keep sharp,” Christopher said to the men guarding their vehicles.
“Don’t worry,” Vito said in his thick Italian accent as he plucked shells from the bandolier across his wide body and loaded them into his shotgun.
The other nine Moretti soldiers were mostly hired muscle; only one was even Italian. They fanned out to hold security and protect the quarter million in cash, and two bags of gold jewelry in the trunks.
Vinny still couldn’t believe that his uncle was doubling down and buying a massive shipment of drugs from their Colombian contact, especially now that their AMP customers were either dead or on the run.
But he trusted that Don Antonio knew what he was doing. He also respected the boss now more than ever after seeing him risk his skin to get to Anaheim, and then confront the gangsters back at the warehouse.
Someday I’ll be like that, Vinny thought. Like my uncle and my dad.
Christopher opened a door to a concrete stairwell and went inside. Normally, Antonio would have been with them for a meeting of this size, but he was back at the warehouse, resting up with Marco and Lucia.
When this was over, Vinny would join them and they would finally get a chance to celebrate the death of Enzo Sarcone, even if the rest of their plan was starting to go awry.
Vinny heard panting behind him and stopped to see Yellowtail hunched on the landing below, hands on his knees.
“Wait … up,” he said between gasps.
“How is someone so strong so out of shape?” Christopher said.
Yellowtail shot him a glare but knew better than to talk back to the underboss. Vinny saw a chance to get a shot in.
“You need to do more cardio,” he said. “And you got those peg legs.”
Yellowtail was too winded to mount a comeback.
They continued up to the twenty-first floor to look for their Colombian contact, who Christopher referred to simply as “Chuy.”
Vinny had never met the drug runner before, and he was excited to finally get a chance to do something else, something bigger, and to prove himself yet again.
It was time to shake the guilt for helping kidnap Carly Sarcone. Her dad had betrayed the Moretti family and may as well have fired the gun that killed Vinny’s mom.
Enzo Sarcone was weasel shit and deserved to die.
“Why do they want to meet here?” Yellowtail asked as they continued up the stairs. “I mean, we’re in the middle of a fucking war zone.”
“The entire city is a war zone,” Christopher said. He st
opped at the next landing and brushed off his suit.
Vinny did the same thing. Dust and grime from the general destruction had coated them on the way up the stairs.
“Let me do the talking,” Christopher said. “We’re not just meeting with our friend Chuy; we’re meeting with his jefe.”
“His boss?” Vinny asked.
Christopher nodded.
“Well, shit, you coulda told me earlier,” Yellowtail said. “I would have worn a suit.”
“Do you even own a suit?” Christopher said.
Yellowtail grinned. “Nah. Hard to find one that fits me.”
Christopher shook his head and opened the door to the top level of the parking ramp, letting in a draft of smoky air.
Four men were already waiting outside. All were dressed in sharp suits except for one, a skinny man with a beard and thick eyebrows. The hood of his black sweatshirt whipped in the wind behind his bald head.
Vinny figured that was Chuy and found the boss next. He was the only well-dressed man not holding a submachine gun. The handsome Colombian had a perfectly trimmed beard, black hair parted on the side, and a sharp nose.
“Chrissy, good to see you,” said the hooded guy. He walked over, and they exchanged formalities with a kiss to each cheek.
Christopher looked over to the leader, who walked forward.
“Christopher.”
The jefe shook his hand. “Javier González,” he said in a thick Spanish accent.
Javier fixed Vinny with a piercing gaze that quickly moved to Yellowtail and then back to Christopher.
“I don’t want to waste any time,” Javier said. “We’re here tonight to talk about the future between our two families.”
“We have very much appreciated the business we’ve done together over the past decade in Naples, and now here,” Christopher said.
“As have we,” Javier said. “My brother likes the Moretti family and regrets not being able to join us tonight.”
A sharp grin broke across Javier’s bearded face as he looked out over the city. “Due to these unfortunate circumstances, he decided to stay in Colombia, and tomorrow I will be leaving to return home, which I should have done weeks ago.”
He pointed at an expensive apartment high-rise a few blocks away, and the smoldering penthouse.
“My condo didn’t fare well during the attack.”
Now Vinny understood why they had met here. It was close to the boss’s stomping grounds.
“We had considered leaving the states too,” Christopher said, “but Don Antonio—who also regrets not being able to make it—decided Los Angeles is the future for our organization.”
Javier turned back to the view of devastation, his brows raised. “There is little future here, mi amigo.”
“We believe there is.” Christopher remained stone-faced. “In fact, we believe there is opportunity. That’s why we have a quarter million in cash, plus a gift to give you tonight, in exchange for more product and a guarantee that it will keep coming.”
Javier had a contemplative look in his eyes. The man was clearly intrigued.
“The country is at war, and you want to buy more?” he asked. “You might just be loco, my friend.”
“That’s correct,” Christopher said.
Javier shrugged. “I suppose it does not matter what happens to the product after we sell it to you, but I’m afraid our price must go up due to security concerns.”
He gestured out toward the city. “You understand that this is a risk to our business, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Our price goes up twenty percent for future shipments,” Javier said, studying Christopher like a poker player watching an opponent for a tell.
Christopher paused a moment to think before securing the new deal with a shake.
“Good luck to you, mis amigos,” Javier said.
“Be safe on your journey home,” Christopher said.
Javier nodded politely at Vinny and Yellowtail before turning away. He jerked his chin at Chuy, who took his place.
“We’ll do the exchange on the fourth floor, okay?” he said.
“Sure,” Christopher said.
They took the stairwell back down to the vehicles. The constant aural backdrop of emergency sirens screamed outside as they made their way back down to the level where the Moretti soldiers guarded the vehicles.
This time, Yellowtail led the way, having a much easier time going down than on the way up. When he got to the door, he opened it and staggered back, his body jerking twice before he crashed to the concrete.
Christopher grabbed Vinny by the back of his jacket and yanked him back. It took Vinny a second to realize what was happening, and in that time two more bullets hit Yellowtail in the leg and arm.
A gunshot cracked behind Vinny, making his ear ring. Bullets from his father’s gun hit the concrete wall by the door before the shooter could come inside and finish Yellowtail off.
Christopher moved down the stairs, firing again and again. “Vinny!” he yelled.
Vinny snapped out of his trance, pulled his Ruger SR9 out, and moved down the stairs.
“Stay back!” Christopher shouted. He moved to the wall, looked at Yellowtail, then turned and fired off several shots into the parking garage while Vinny moved down despite his father’s orders.
Yellowtail was sprawled on his back on the stairs. Blood flowed from a hole in his right leg, and more leaked from his right biceps, A third bullet had grazed his right trapezius, which he gripped with his left hand, groaning in pain.
The cross hanging from his neck was pressed into his chest, just over his heart, with a 9mm bullet lodged in the middle. Flecks of gold leaf had come off around the bullet, showing that the cross was really made of steel.
The cheap, gaudy necklace, the cause for endless ribbing from his fellow soldiers, had saved him for now, but looking at the wounds, Vinny wasn’t sure he would make it. Bright arterial blood now spurted from the hole in his right leg.
Vinny pushed down on it, trying to stop the flow while his father fought whoever had ambushed them in the stairwell.
Was it one of their own?
If not, then what had happened to their men?
“Vin,” Yellowtail said.
“Don’t talk, and don’t move, man,” Vinny replied.
Gunshots cracked from the garage, and tires screeched. Vinny glanced up as Christopher retreated into the stairwell.
“Get him up,” he said. “We gotta move.”
“We need to stop this bleeding,” Vinny said.
“No time,” Christopher said. “Do it in the car.”
Vinny bent down and grabbed Yellowtail under the good arm. The man was heavier than he looked. He let out a moan as they pulled him up. Together, Vinny and his father carried him across the open garage toward their two vehicles. It was then that Vinny saw the trunks, both wide open.
Crumpled bodies of Moretti soldiers lay on the concrete, with blood pooling around them. Vinny counted only nine corpses, and none of them was Vito.
A car rounded the corner at the end of the garage, and he saw the back bumper of a purple Cadillac that he instantly recognized.
Lil-fucking-Snipes.
The boom of a shotgun echoed through the garage, and a loud voice with a sharp Italian accent rang out.
“Fuck you! ”
Christopher and Vinny helped load Yellowtail into the back of one of the cars, and Vinny jumped in the back. He pulled off his track jacket and ripped his T-shirt to make a tourniquet.
“God damn it,” Yellowtail muttered, trying to look at his wounds.
“Stop moving,” Vinny said.
Christopher finished checking the other men and then jumped in the front seat.
“Are they all gone?” Vinny asked.
“Not all
of ’em. Either one got away or one betrayed us.”
Christopher peeled away from the scene of carnage, leaving the dead Moretti soldiers in the garage. He squealed around the turn, pulling down a ramp to the next level.
Vinny looked back down at Yellowtail, who gripped his hand tighter.
“Lil Snipes,” he grumbled. “That piece o’ snake shit.”
They tore down the parking lot, wheels screeching.
Another boom of a shotgun sounded.
Yellowtail gripped Vinny’s hand harder as they rounded another corner and raced down the ramp to the next level.
“Hang on, bro,” he said. “Just—”
Christopher slammed the brakes, knocking Vinny into the back of the front passenger seat. Yellowtail nearly fell onto the floor.
A burly man ran down the ramp, panting.
“Vito,” Christopher said out the window.
“go! ” Vito yelled back. “Stop those fuckin’ pricks! ”
The race down the parking levels continued. At the bottom, gunshots and the screech of tires echoed through the garage. Then came a crash of metal and glass.
Vinny looked up and saw a car that had been T-boned on the first level and slammed up against a wall by a pickup truck. Two other vehicles were smoking, and a group of men were walking toward them, rifles shouldered.
“Stay with Yellowtail,” Christopher said. He put the car in park and grabbed his rifle.
Sirens sounded in the distance, closer than before. The battle may have attracted the attention of the police. Vinny moved back into position. He had already put a tourniquet around Yellowtail’s arm and leg, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the bleeding from his trapezius except to press down.
Yellowtail winced in pain as Vinny clamped his hand over the wound.
Across the garage, men in black fatigues surrounded the two shot-up vehicles and the T-boned purple Cadillac. Lil Snipes was still strapped in the front seat, his head slumped to the side.
Seeing the gangbanger filled Vinny with rage. It wasn’t Javier and the González family who had ambushed his men after all—it was the little slime-bag Blood whom Vinny had once considered a friend.
Limbs dripping blood hung out of the open windows of the other cars, the doors littered with holes, the windows shattered. The scent of gasoline drifted through the garage.
Sons of War Page 15