Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “Who’s got an update on the camps?” Antonio asked.

  “We’re just starting to move product,” Frankie replied. “The other gangs are in the camps too, and they realized the same thing: the most valuable currency now is people.”

  “I didn’t give some of the gangs enough credit,” Antonio said, looking into the distance, “but don’t worry. The Crips, Bloods, and small cliques won’t survive long. Our main competition is the Norteño Mafia. That’s why we need to find out who their leadership is. We end them, and their organization crumbles.”

  “Yellowtail and I are working on it,” Lino said.

  “We’re still trying to find the crooked cops,” Frankie said, “but it seems they’ve already made deals with the other gangs.”

  “Leave that to me,” Antonio said.

  He gazed out the passenger window, but not for threats—his men could do that while he visualized the next step of his plan. It required a powerful ally in the LAPD.

  Pazienza, Antonio. Pazienza …

  The drive to East Los Angeles was broken up by multiple checkpoints. Most of the cops were rookies who hadn’t even made it through an academy. Above the face masks, Antonio spotted youthful eyes looking into the Suburban at each stop. The city had resorted to hiring high-school kids. And that was what had given him the idea.

  The police presence thinned out as they drove farther east. When they got within a mile of the Citadel Outlets, not a cop was in sight. Or anyone else, for that matter. Just a year ago, the parking lot surrounding the mall would have been jam-packed with vehicles, but a bomb from an AMP fighter jet had left a house-size pit in the asphalt.

  Christopher drove around the crater and into an industrial area on the other side of the shopping mall. Half of a fighter jet’s delta wing stuck like a fin out the side of a hotel.

  The fighting had been intense here, leaving most of the area uninhabitable. And that was precisely why Antonio had selected this to replace the warehouse in Compton. It was also the grid for his newest search, for a place to build the compound he had dreamed of since leaving Naples. Bel Air was nice, but the foothills were exposed and difficult to guard. Also, his men were too spread out, and with cell towers still down, it would be hard to call in his army on short notice.

  What he needed was something easily defensible, where his family and soldiers could live. A place like the Commerce Hotel and Casino.

  He eyed the abandoned resort in the distance. It had exterior damage, though nothing major from what he could see. But that didn’t mean it would be an easy buy.

  “Lino, I want you to do some research on the Commerce. See if it’s for sale.”

  “You got it, Don Antonio.”

  Once the Second Civil War ended, there would be endless opportunities to take advantage of: real estate, gambling, prostitution, human trafficking.

  Organized crime was the new American dream, and Antonio had a variety of businesses in mind to diversify the portfolio.

  Christopher drove into another industrial area, where companies had once stored their goods. Semi trailers sat idle in rows, their back doors wide open, the contents long since pilfered.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  A group of Moretti soldiers stood guard outside a building tucked behind several warehouses. One of them waved Christopher into an alley.

  Antonio got out in the shadows of the narrow passageway. He pulled at his cuffs, eyeing several lookouts positioned on the rooftops.

  Security was coming together, but they still had work to do.

  The front doors to the building were guarded by two Moretti guards wearing face masks and holding M4 carbines. They stiffened as Antonio approached, like soldiers in the presence of a general.

  Christopher opened the doors, and Antonio stepped into his new distribution warehouse for the first time.

  “Sure beats what we had in Compton,” Christopher said.

  “Indeed, brother.”

  The other soldiers fanned out through an open room furnished with metal tables. Masked workers were busy preparing the various products from the González family’s latest shipment. The most popular item was a hybrid opiate.

  Vito raised a gloved hand at Antonio. The big soldier was mixing cocaine with caffeine in a blender to “bulk up” the batch. He was the best in the business at this, having learned from the masters in Bolivia.

  A second floor of offices surrounded the open ground floor. More guards patrolled on the platform walkway, watching the workers.

  “Our security is operating around the clock to keep this place a secret,” Lino said. “But we’ll eventually need police protection.”

  “Leave that to me,” Antonio said. He walked up a stairwell to a second-floor office with a glass wall overlooking the first floor.

  Carmine was leaning over his desk when Antonio opened the door. He looked up, cocaine powder in his mustache.

  “Don Antonio,” he said, standing up and brushing the powder off his nose. “I didn’t know you were …”

  Antonio shook his head at the sorry sight. “What the fuck did I tell you about this shit?”

  Christopher walked into the room and stood in front of the door, arms crossed over the front of his pin-striped suit.

  “Sorry, Don Antonio,” Carmine said. “I was just testing—”

  “I didn’t make you captain to test this shit,” Antonio snapped back. “If I see you doing it again, you’ll wish for the luxury of those refugee camps, because you will no longer be working for me.”

  Carmine raised his scarred chin, clearly enraged but not stupid enough to argue.

  “You got something you want to say?” Antonio said. He moved behind the desk, stopping just inches from Carmine’s droopy face.

  “No, Don Antonio. I don’t.”

  Antonio snorted. “We don’t use the product, Carmine. Or test the product. Vito knows what he’s doing—he doesn’t need you running quality control. Don’t forget that, old friend.”

  “I won’t, Don Antonio.”

  Antonio held his gaze for a moment and then turned, tilting his head for Christopher to follow. Now that he had seen his warehouse, he was ready for the main purpose of this trip.

  The soldiers returned to the Suburbans and drove back toward Bel Air, not stopping until they got to the refugee camp, where they pulled into a parking lot. Christopher pulled up next to a pickup truck, and Vinny and Doberman got out of it. Dressed in grubby civilian garb, ball caps, and ratty sneakers, they looked like refugees.

  Frankie and Lino got out of the Suburban Antonio and Christopher were in, and gestured for Vinny to get into the back seat with Antonio. The doors shut behind Vinny, and the other soldiers turned their backs, standing guard outside.

  “Don Antonio,” Vinny said.

  Christopher turned from the front seat.

  “What’s this about?” Vinny asked.

  “We have a new mission for you,” Antonio said.

  He could see the trepidation in his young nephew’s face as he awaited the new orders.

  Antonio looked at his brother for any last-minute objections. Christopher nodded.

  “What do you need me to do?” Vinny asked.

  “We need a mole,” Christopher said.

  “A mole?” Vinny said, looking at his dad and uncle in turn.

  “We need you to join the LAPD.”

  * * *

  Sitting down to dinner, Dom smiled for the first time in days, and not because of the tasty meal being served. His ears no longer rang, and he was looking forward to talking with their guests.

  Joining his family tonight were three of his father’s marine friends: Marks, Bettis, and Tooth. He was thrilled to be sitting with the warriors he so respected.

  But the marines weren’t cracking jokes and bantering as they had in past gatherings. They
were too exhausted and banged up from weeks of fighting against AMP.

  Dom was brimming with questions, but with Monica and Elena in the kitchen, he decided to hold back. He would hear the stories soon enough.

  “I hope this is good,” Elena said, though it always was.

  She set a bowl of mashed potatoes in the center of the table, then returned to the kitchen and came back with roast beef, green beans, and macaroni.

  “Smells great, Mrs. Salvatore,” Tooth said politely.

  Bettis smiled as he loaded his plate. “Thank you for having us. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

  “I’ve missed your cooking, Elena,” Marks said.

  Candles placed around the dining room cast an eerie glow over the plentiful food and the rifles leaning in the corner.

  Ronaldo, sitting at the head of the table, steepled his hands together. “Close the book, kiddo,” he said to Monica, who had an open novel next to her plate.

  “Are these MREs again?” she moaned as Dom scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.

  “Nope, these are the real deal,” her mother said. “Go ahead, I promise you’ll like it.”

  “Let’s pray first,” Ronaldo said.

  Dom looked at his father. He wasn’t used to praying before a meal.

  “Bettis, will you do the honors?” Ronaldo asked.

  “Of course.” Bettis folded his hands together and bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord, for bringing us all together tonight and for the food that is about to nourish our tired bodies. But most of all, thank you for watching over us during these dark times.”

  “Amen,” Tooth said.

  Bettis touched his forehead and crossed his chest, and Dom followed his lead.

  “All right, let’s eat,” Elena said.

  Monica took a bite, chewed, and said, “Not bad, Mom.”

  “Very good,” Tooth said.

  Dom savored every bite. It was his first meal in weeks that didn’t involve government rations or energy bars.

  “So …” Elena said. “Are you guys going to tell us what’s going on?”

  Marks looked to Ronaldo, who nodded back.

  “AMP is on the run in California,” said Marks. “But they’re winning the fight in other states. You guys saw how easily they beat the Oregon rebels. Our CO is saying to prepare for an invasion soon.”

  “That’s why we’re still here and haven’t been deployed elsewhere, is my guess,” Bettis added.

  Elena lowered her fork. “Invasion?” she said quietly.

  “Don’t worry,” Ronaldo said. “It won’t come to that. I truly believe this will all be over soon. As soon as Elliot is dead, there will be peace, and we can start to mend.”

  Ronaldo must have noticed how crackpot his words sounded. There would be no mending anytime soon. America was on its last legs, and Los Angeles was hanging on by a string of gristle.

  That was why Dom wanted to do his part. Why he had to do his part.

  As they were finishing dinner, a knock came on the door. Ronaldo shot up from his chair and grabbed his rifle. The other marines did the same while Dom shepherded Monica and Elena into the kitchen.

  Ronaldo cautiously made his way to the boarded-up window and looked through a crack between the plywood sheets. “I can’t see who it is.”

  Tooth moved to the living room for a better view. “Looks like a cop,” he said. “There’s a squad car in the driveway.”

  Dom stepped away from his mom and sister. “It’s probably just Moose.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming,” Ronaldo said.

  “Me either,” Dom replied.

  Ronaldo opened the door to find his son’s best friend standing on the porch, looking surprised at all the firepower that met him.

  “Whoa there, Mr. Salvatore,” Moose said, raising a hand.

  Ronaldo slapped Moose on the shoulder. “Good to see you, bud.”

  “You too, sir.”

  “Not ‘sir.’ I work for my pay.”

  The other men grinned at the standard reply by a noncom addressed as an officer.

  “Andre, how are you?” Elena asked as Moose stepped inside the house.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Salvatore,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. I came to pick up Dom and take him to the station. It’s his first night …”

  Moose looked to Dom and shut his mouth.

  “Moose is going to show me the ropes before my training starts,” Dom announced.

  “Training? ” Elena looked at Ronaldo, who remained silent.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be careful, and this is the only way I can help put food on the table. There aren’t any other jobs, and I’ll make a good cop.”

  “Great cop,” Moose said.

  “I can’t believe this,” Elena said. “You’re both just boys, and with such bright futures. Andre, you—”

  “My dreams of playing pro ball or acting are over, Mrs. Salvatore,” Moose said. “I’ve accepted that, and I’ve joined the force like my brother because it’s the only option.”

  “We’re not boys, Mom,” Dom said. “We’re men.”

  “Yes, you are,” Ronaldo said. He looked at Elena. “The world has changed, and it’s not going to be the same for a while. Maybe never.”

  “I’ll go grab my stuff,” Dom said before his mother could protest again.

  “Can I come?” Monica asked.

  “No,” Elena and Ronaldo chorused.

  Monica lowered her head, pouting as she turned to the hallway with her book in hand.

  Seeing his sister like this tugged at Dom’s heart. “Hey, sis,” he called out.

  She turned in the hall outside her bedroom door.

  “Maybe when I get my own squad car, I’ll take you to the Griffith Observatory, okay?”

  Her dimpled face lit up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded eagerly and ran over to give Dom a hug. He said goodbye to his parents and the marines.

  “Be safe out there,” Bettis said.

  “Don’t worry, I got his back,” Moose said. “And thanks. You guys did a hell of a job against AMP. The LAPD is really grateful. All of us are.”

  “Doing our duty, son,” Marks replied.

  Dom followed Moose out to a squad car that had seen some rough duty.

  “Damn, she—”

  “Runs just fine, baby,” Moose said, patting the hood.

  “Are those bullet holes?”

  Moose ran a hand over the punctured body metal. “Got hit in a drive-by a few days ago.” He patted his vest. “Lucky I had this on.”

  Dom opened the creaky passenger door, which had also caught several rounds. Brown stains discolored the black seat. A computer with a cracked screen glowed as Moose started the engine.

  The car rattled to life, and the dash-mounted radio chirped.

  “Be right back,” Moose said. He popped the trunk and returned holding a Kevlar vest. “Put this on.”

  Dom took off his hooded sweater and pulled the Glock from the back of his jeans. “You okay with me bringing this?”

  “Dude, I wouldn’t want you riding with me without a piece,” Moose said.

  A spiderweb of cracks obstructed the view out the windshield on the passenger side, but Dom could see the house’s boarded-up windows as Moose pulled into the street. He couldn’t see his mom, but he had a feeling she was watching.

  She still hadn’t quite accepted that the old world was gone and that this was the new one. But Dom and Moose knew that their old dreams were dead.

  Dom looked ahead. This was his future now.

  “You ready for this, baby?” Moose said, a note of excitement in his voice.

  Dom shared the excitement, and not just because he was getting out of the house. He was ready to
fight—something he knew he was good at.

  “Good to see your pop’s doing well,” Moose said. “And his buddies too.”

  “They’re all lucky to be alive.”

  “I heard it was bad, man.”

  Dom sighed. “A lot of good men died in Anaheim.”

  “We’ve been hit hard too. Lot of cops are dying on the streets, as you probably know. Camilla almost ended up a statistic yesterday.”

  “What!” Dom said, looking over at him.

  “A group of Bloods attacked her car, killing her partner, and then broke the passenger window and pulled her out. They were going to rape her, but backup showed just in the nick of time.”

  “Jesus,” Dom said. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s already back to work. Got a few bruises, but it’s the inner wounds that are going to be the worst.”

  Dom shook his head. Just six months ago, he was talking with her about colleges and what they wanted to do after. He had dreamed of being a professional MMA fighter but knew he didn’t have the talent to make it pay, and had decided to pursue a degree in business.

  She wanted to be a teacher. And Moose could have gone into acting or played pro soccer. Now they were fighting for survival as beat cops.

  It didn’t seem to be bothering Moose, though. He grinned as he accelerated past pedestrians, people on bicycles, and a pickup loaded with junk.

  “The fight for the city might be over for now between the rebels and AMP, but it’s just beginning for the LAPD,” Moose said. “I’m glad you’re with me, man. Maybe I can convince the LT to assign you as my new partner.”

  Dom looked away from the road. “What happened to your old one?”

  “He got killed on his third …” He shook his head sadly. “Killed on his third day on the beat. Was our age, man. Kid named Skip.”

  “Wow,” Dom said, not knowing what else to say. He felt the wind seeping in where the bullets had punched through the door and into Skip’s flesh.

  Reaching down, Dom tightened his vest.

  The dashboard radio crackled, and the dispatcher’s voice filled the car.

  “Two forty-five, assault with a deadly weapon. Multiple suspects, officers request backup. Any available unit.”