“I’ve got to watch them until my dad gets back,” Dom said. “But once he does, I’m going back out there with Moose.”
“Good. We need all the people we can …” Her words trailed off as she pulled onto their street.
“Oh my God,” Elena said, cupping her hand over her mouth.
Camilla slowed to a stop, and Dom hopped out of the car.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
Half the block was nothing but charred shells of houses. Graffiti covered an unburned garage of the house across the street. “pigs die!”
Dom took several steps toward the blackened studs and foundation that remained of their home. Monica and Elena got out of the squad car.
“My books,” Monica wailed.
Dom turned back to their house and held up a hand to keep his sister and mom back. They would be able to salvage nothing from the burned-out pile.
He put his arm around his sister and helped her back into the squad car.
“I’m really sorry,” Camilla said ruefully. “I didn’t know—haven’t been through this neighborhood recently. But I think I know why. What do you notice about all these houses? Think plumbing and electric.”
Dom gave her a puzzled look.
“Every one of these quarter-million-dollar houses got torched for a hundred bucks’ worth of copper.”
“Of course,” Dom muttered. “And that copper’s already gone up someone’s nose or arm by now—damn speed freaks.”
Elena held her daughter and let her sob against her shoulder.
“Where do you want me to take you guys?” Camilla whispered.
Elena heard the question. “Back to the school,” she replied. “I want to talk to my husband.”
“Okay, no problem.”
Camilla drove back to Downey High School, passing families who also seemed to be returning.
“They must have lost their houses too,” Dom said.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Camilla said. “Fires have destroyed a lot of residential areas. Most people will have to go to the camps until the city figures out something more permanent.”
“Aren’t the camps contaminated?” Dom asked.
“The city’s working on cleaning them up. Bringing in trailers and prefab housing units.” She looked over at Dom. “Basically, they’re making warehouses. For people.”
Dom watched the people on the sidewalk. Some were crying; others trudged ahead with blank stares.
So much pain and suffering, and despite the good news about the war’s end, things would get worse for the survivors before they got better.
Back in the Downey High School parking lot, a group of the marines were already loading up their remaining M-ATVs and Humvees. Several newly homeless people had already arrived at the school and were being directed back inside.
“Looks like we get to stay here a bit longer,” Dom said. He turned to his little sister. “I’m sure they have some great books in the library that you haven’t read yet.”
She looked up from Elena’s shoulder and wiped away a tear. “I wanted to sleep in my own bed.”
“So did I, but we have to make the best of what we have, and be happy we’re still alive.”
Monica looked down, and Elena thanked Camilla for the ride. They got out of the car, but Dom stayed a moment longer.
“How bad is it out there?” he asked.
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Same thing happened to Moose’s house, but his parents were still inside … Never made it out.”
“What? ” Dom said, his voice cracking from shock. He had known the Clarke family for the past five years. They were good people, always doing things for others. And now they were dead, burned alive in their own house by gangbangers or junkies.
“We’re being hunted,” Camilla said. “Anyone with a badge who doesn’t play by the rules.”
“What rules?”
“The rules the gangs are making. A lot of the cops on the force are working with them now.”
“What do you mean, ‘working with them ’?”
“They’re dirty,” she said. “So, you sure you still want to join?”
Dom avoided her gaze to look out the window at his sister and mom in the parking lot, their hair blowing in the wind, eyes swollen from crying.
He would do anything to protect them.
But part of protecting them was to fight against the very sort of animals who had burned down their house and killed Moose’s parents.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m not turning back now. The sooner I get a badge, the better.”
Camilla cracked a grin of perfect white teeth. “Okay, then. Let’s get started.”
He rolled down the window and called out after Elena, who had turned to wait for him. “Tell Dad I’m going out with Cam. I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Dom, wait,” Elena said, raising a hand.
“Go,” Dom said to Camilla.
She seemed conflicted as she put the cruiser in reverse.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, he drew his pistol and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. Since the nukes went off, life was never going to be what he had always thought it would be.
He would probably never go to college, never fight in the Octagon again, never work a nine-to-five job and raise a family in a safe world with weekend beach trips and backyard barbecues.
The American dream was gone, stolen by some of the very men who had sworn to defend it.
His destiny was clearer now than ever. He was a fighter like Camilla, and he would focus that strength on saving one of the last American cities from the demons hell-bent on destroying it.
* * *
“Stay where you are!” shouted a guard. “And show me your hands.”
Vinny stopped in front of the Los Angeles Police Department headquarters building on First and Main and slowly pulled his hands out of the pockets of his black hoodie.
“Turn around!” the officer yelled.
Vinny slowly turned with his hands in the air until he was again facing the LAPD headquarters. More of a fortress, really. The cops had transformed the building into what looked more like a high-security military base.
He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was what his uncle had envisioned for the nine-story Commerce Hotel: a modern- day castle in a sprawling postapocalyptic city.
Razor-wire fences and a main gate separated Vinny from the parking lot. Two guard towers, each manned by a single officer with a scope-mounted automatic rifle, flanked the gates.
One of those rifles was now pointing at his head.
“What’s your business here?” the man yelled, his voice muffled by a breathing apparatus.
“Nathan Sarcone, here to see Captain Stone,” Vinny called up.
After a brief pause, the guy not aiming a rifle at him signaled down to the sentries on the other side of the gate. The chain-link barrier rolled aside far enough to let him walk through.
Vinny made his way through the gauntlet of checkpoints, receiving two pat-downs. He passed more officers in riot gear patrolling the front steps of the building, and a group standing behind a fort of sandbags.
He didn’t stop until he was inside the building, at the front desk. After he explained his business to two more officers, a door buzzed, and a heavyset man with acne scars and a weedy mustache stood looking at him.
“Yeah?” he said in the raspy voice of an inveterate smoker.
“I’m Nathan Sarcone, here to see Captain Brian Stone.” Vinny looked at the officer’s badge: Sergeant Billy Best.
“Nah, you’re with me today, kid,” Best said. “Come on.”
They walked down a hallway that ended in an open room with dozens of desks, all of them occupied. The place was a hive of activity. Officers walked back and forth carrying files or tablets.
>
They had power here, even air-conditioning. Probably a generator, Vinny thought.
Sergeant Best stopped at a small office and opened the door. He blew air from his mouth up into his bristly mustache.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Best said.
Vinny walked into the room, and the sergeant closed the door, shut the blinds, and faced him.
“All right, punk, I don’t give a flying fuck who your uncle was,” Best said. “I was three years away from collecting my pension when this war started. Now, instead of looking forward to sitting on a beach, eating lobster rolls and drinking Mexican beers, I have to babysit your sorry crooked ass.”
Vinny started to reply, but Best cut him off.
“You’re not a cop, and you’re not a CI,” he said. “Until you tell me everything you know about your uncle’s enemies and where they are, you’re nothin’.”
“How about I show you?” Vinny said.
The sergeant moved closer, and Vinny pulled back slightly from the rancid breath. Best gave him a coffee-stained grin from beneath his shaggy mustache.
“You’re going to show me, all right,” Best said. “And if you fuck anything up or get any of my boys hurt, Captain Stone has given me permission to throw you in jail with the rest of the dirtbags. And with that pretty face, dropping the soap is going to be the least of your worries.”
Vinny wanted to ask about Vito, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, he gave a crocodile smile. “Looks like I better not fuck up, then. Let’s start with the camp at Arcadia Park. Most of the refugees are living in the prefab shelters that got shipped in, right?”
Best scrutinized him for a few seconds.
“The Norteño Mafia controls that area with several of its affiliates, like the Eighteenth Street Gang,” Vinny said. “But you should already know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re making it harder to spot them, wearing long sleeves to cover their tattoos, but I can pick ’em out like a hooker on a corner.”
Best smiled, sort of. “All right, you guinea rat, time to prove your worth.”
Vinny clenched his jaw but let the insult roll off him. After all, he was the lady of the evening right now, and he was prepared to take one for the Moretti team.
An hour later, they were riding in an unmarked car, on their way to the refugee camp in Arcadia, not far from the border barriers the city was constructing. So far, everything that Don Antonio had told Vinny to say had worked.
But underneath the relaxed facade, he was sweating bullets.
He didn’t like Best or Darwin, the bald Viking-looking dude riding shotgun. A thick beard, the bottom of it braided and beaded, hung from his square jaw, and he had more ink than Doberman.
He looked like the kind of cop who enjoyed breaking skulls. No doubt, he would get the chance soon enough.
The radio chirped with reports of violence. A mass shooting in East Los Angeles, another shooting at a FEMA ration distribution point, and a riot at Cedars Sinai Hospital.
“Glad I’m not a rookie,” Best said. “They got more shit to wade through than a hog farmer.”
“I’m surprised the hospitals are even functioning,” Darwin said, looking out over the city. “Medical supplies are running low, and the gennies are running on fumes.”
“What surprises me is that Mayor Buren hasn’t ordered Chief Diamond to let them tap into what’s left of our supply.”
“If that happened, we wouldn’t be able to protect anyone, now, would we?” Darwin said.
Vinny sat in the back seat listening, recalling a conversation between his dad and his uncle about a gang hoarding fuel in an East LA warehouse. They had hijacked three full tanker trucks a few weeks before the nuke and were trying to sell them to the highest bidder.
“I might be able to help there,” Vinny said.
Best looked in the rearview. “You a doctor now too?”
“Hah,” Vinny chuckled. “No, I mean with the gasoline.”
Now both men were looking at him.
“The Sureños jacked some tanker semis a few weeks back. I don’t think they’ve moved anything yet, either.”
“Where?” Best asked.
“You want to go to Arcadia, or you want the gas first?” Vinny asked. It didn’t matter to him. Either way, he was about to prove himself.
“Tell us where the gas is,” Best said.
“Exchange Avenue, next to that big meat company.”
The sergeant looked over at his partner and said, “Get a team.”
“Sarge, isn’t that a dead zone?” Darwin replied.
“For three tankers of gas, I don’t much give a shit.”
Instead of reaching for the radio, Darwin pulled out one of two walkie-talkies he had up front, and relayed a message in Spanish.
“All right, Nate the Rat,” Best said. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
“Better fucking be,” Darwin said. “Or he’s gonna learn what it’s like to fly.”
Vinny had heard that one before, but he wasn’t worried. He was playing these two goons like a violin.
Two hours later, they were climbing to the top of an abandoned warehouse two blocks away from the meatpacking business. The rooftop gave them an eastern view of the building. Darwin used binoculars to check out the street.
“There’s some guards outside,” he said. “And something else … Oh, shit. You better see this.”
He handed Best the binoculars.
Vinny didn’t need the optics to see a human body hanging from a light pole.
“That’s the Sureños’ calling card,” Best said. “Skinned the poor bastard alive.”
Vinny had seen their brutality before, but flaying a guy alive and hanging him from a lamppost? That shit didn’t go down even in Italy. Not since Mussolini, at least, but at least they had shot the traitorous bastard first, and they let him keep his skin.
This sort of truly barbaric shit was exactly why the Morettis hadn’t come after the Sureños yet. They were strong, and Don Antonio wanted Vinny to help thin out the pack.
Screeching tires distracted him from the grisly view.
Several black undercover cars raced toward the Downey Road intersection, turning onto Exchange Avenue. Tan pickups entered down the street, their beds full of men in black fatigues and wearing masks.
“Here we go,” Best said. “Better get your head down, kid. Wouldn’t want to mess up that nice slick ’do with a bullet.”
Vinny crouched and peered over the parapet at the warehouse’s loading gates. The guards there were already fanning out to engage the pickups that had slammed into the metal gate at the front.
Gunfire lanced into the vehicles, but it was already too late.
The men in the pickup beds fired, cutting down the minimal security in the open lot.
The black cars followed the pickups, screeching into the cleared area. Dozens of men jumped out, firing at the Sureños, who were now retreating. Several men emerged on the rooftop, firing rifles at the tide of cops. Both snipers went down in a flurry of automatic gunfire, falling over the half wall and smacking into the concrete.
In moments, all the Sureños were dead or on the way, and the LAPD officers were streaming into the facility through multiple entrances.
Vinny squatted behind the cinder-block parapet, impressed. Ten less Sureños the Morettis had to worry about. Antonio would be pleased.
“Let’s go,” Best said.
They took the fire escape down to the first floor of the building and made their way back to their car, parked in the alley and facing the street. But when they got inside, the sergeant didn’t fire up the engine. He just sat and waited.
“What are we doing?” Vinny asked.
Neither man responded.
The sporadic gunshots tapered off, and static cr
ackled over the radio.
Darwin spoke in Spanish again.
“It’s done,” he said.
“And?” Best asked.
“Kid was right. There were three tankers of gas, plus a whole shitpot full of guns.”
Best and Darwin both twisted around to the back seat.
“Told ya,” Vinny said. He grinned but then tensed up when he saw men approaching from the end of the alley.
“Bogeys at one o’clock,” he said, pointing.
Darwin and Best turned back around to the windshield.
“I’ll handle this,” Best said. He got out of the car, leaving Darwin with Vinny.
Two Latino men wearing button-down patterned shirts and jeans with silver belt buckles walked toward the vehicles, their weathered features half hidden under expensive cowboy hats.
Six more men accompanied them, all wearing fatigues and face masks and carrying AK-47s angled at the ground.
“Those don’t look like cops,” Vinny said.
“You’re smarter than I thought,” Darwin replied.
The two men wearing cowboy hats spoke to Sergeant Best, and one of them handed him a small paper bag. They shook hands and parted ways.
One of the guys looked back at the car and tipped his cowboy hat. Vinny squinted, trying to make out his features. He looked … familiar, maybe.
Best opened the door, wearing a shit-eating grin.
“You did good, kid,” he said as he fired up the engine. “The Vegas paid a pretty penny for that find.”
He looked in the rearview mirror, meeting Vinny’s gaze, but Vinny looked away, unable to keep his poker face as realization stabbed him like a knife to the gut.
Best had never called in LAPD backup. He had called in the Vegas. Instead of hurting their biggest enemy, Vinny had just helped them.
But how the hell was he supposed to know that Best and his crony cops were in bed with the narco king, Esteban Vega?
“Keep this shit coming, and I might tell Captain Stone to get you added to the anti-gang task force,” Best said, still smiling. “Hell, might even give you a piece of the action.”
-21-
A swath of the Angeles National Forest burned, choking the skyline with dense smoke. Ronaldo said a prayer for the firefighters deployed to keep the flames from reaching the city limits. They certainly weren’t going to be getting any air support or water tankers.
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