The woman driving the van wasn’t much more than a teenager. She thought of herself as a gangster, but true gangsters would dismiss her as a mere gangbanger, a bottom feeder in the cartel food chain.
“I’m telling you, man, that fucking Lucca is responsible for taking down that last stash house,” she said, her voice shaky as she looked over her shoulder, out the side window, before straightening to peer skittishly through the windshield at the small, unassuming house.
“Anybody could have done that,” the young man in the seat next to her said. “A houseful of trafficked goods–”
“People, asshole.”
“Whatever. A house full of trafficked people is a hell of a lot easier to find than a drug house. I’m not sure that house could be described as a stash house, anyway; more like a frat house.” The man was the only one who laughed at his own stupid joke.
“I don’t believe that,” she argued, shaking her head.
Her passenger studied her. She dressed more like a man than a woman, even though she had on heavy makeup with drawn-on eyebrows to replace the ones she shaved off every morning. Her shirt was plaid, her pants were khakis and she was wearing a toboggan even though it was hot as hell.
“I think Mr. Clean–”
“What, you mean Escondido?” the young guy asked, glancing nervously at the passenger in the backseat. He knew better than to talk trash about Escondido, but she had no such qualms as she continued her rant.
“—like I said, Mr. Fuckin’ Clean, who is so damned set on going straight, busted up our trafficking gig. Fucking ruined it. I don’t appreciate that shit. If we don’t shoot up his fuckin’ house and send a message, get some fuckin’ justice, people gonna think we’re weak. We gotta let him know we’re not scared of him and we’re not gonna just do as he says. Fuck him! And fuck him taking over Sinaloa cartel!” she said, raising her voice as she became more agitated. “If Mexico won’t stand up to him then we will. That’s the surest way into the Ramirez brothers’ good graces. That’s where the real fucking power is anyway.”
The woman had no way of knowing that it was actually the quickest way to make bitter enemies of the brothers. Her gang knew nothing of the hard-fought peace treaties the cartels had in place. They were outsiders, and outsiders knew nothing about cartel business. Outsiders were left to piece together rumors spread by shit-talking men who had nothing better to do than stand on street corners drinking and talking big and telling lies.
The man in the back reached over the seat and punched the kid good-naturedly on the shoulder. It was his first drive-by shooting, an initiation. Tonight, he would prove himself. “That’s right, ‘bro. You lose respect in these streets, you got nothin’.”
The kid nodded, gulping as he closed his eyes for an agonizing moment. He was in too deep and there would be no getting out of it now. The gang was all he had in the world. If he blew it tonight, his life would be over. He wouldn’t be allowed entry into his brother’s gang and would walk around with a target on his back. His brother couldn’t protect him anymore. It was ‘go time’.
“Put your ski masks on.” The words were spoken quietly from the backseat.
“Listen, I’m all for this, but we need more of a plan,” she argued as she smacked the steering wheel, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. “We don’t even know if he’s in there.”
The punch came from behind and whipped her head around. She froze in place, slack-jawed, eyes watering. She slowly straightened, looking straight ahead through narrowed eyes. She swallowed hard, determined not to cry. Her cheeks and neck flushed a deep crimson as she white-knuckled the steering wheel. Thinking ahead to the moment, someday, when she would shoot her attacker in the face, she pulled the ski mask over her head and put the car in gear.
Logan, Kodiak and Sergio watched the van intently. Logan had been the first to notice the van parked on the side of the road near the stash house. It looked odd there. Out of place. Something about it registered in her mind as a threat, but she wasn’t sure why. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and the driver’s head smacked against the window.
“Trouble in paradise?” Sergio murmured. Logan wished she could see inside the vehicle or hear what the occupants were saying. She peered through the binoculars, sighing impatiently as five minutes stretched into ten that stretched into what seemed like eternity.
Finally, some movement. The van pulled onto the road, moving toward the house at a snail’s pace.
“Something’s not right about this. They’re going way the fuck too slow,” Kodiak murmured from just behind her. “What the fuck?! It’s a fucking hit!”
When the van was directly in front of the house, things started moving faster—rapid fire faster. When the first crack of gunfire shattered the silence, Logan peered through the binoculars and saw Lucca throw himself on top of the little girl, showing no concern for his own life as he fought to save hers. The barrage of bullets shattered windows and blew chunks of brick off the front of the house.
Who the hell were the people in the van and what beef did they have with the people in that house? As an unnatural silence settled over the bullet-riddled house, Logan couldn’t help but wonder who Lucca was to the little girl. Regardless of what criminal activity he had gotten himself mixed up in, selflessness like his had to be a father’s love.