Hot Shot, page 16
“The Lobos gang is known for cutting off limbs, murder, and drug trafficking. Right here in southern Nevada, they are actively recruiting, and every member of the Scorpions has applied for membership. In anticipation of being accepted, they’ve all gotten Lobos tattoos on their chests. Looks to be maybe around eight thousand Lobos members in Nevada, and they’re ready to branch out by recruiting from other gangs. While they’re the deadliest, the Mexican gangs recruit more actively.
“Their weapons of choice are firearms, heavy chains, machetes, and clubs. Their favorite targets are middle school and high school students.
“I think that’s enough background for now. We can beat it to death later, when we fine-tune it all for background. Right now, this is what we all need to know. As I said earlier, Abner has a theory he’d like to share.”
“I think—and this is not just my opinion but Phil’s as well—we think killing Cosmo Cricket was the Scorpions’ initiation exercise and they botched it. The Scorpions have lost face among the various gangs. In other words, they aren’t worthy of being invited to join the Lobos, which was and probably still is their goal.”
“Are the Lobos here? I mean here in Vegas,” Jack asked.
“We think so. They’re swallowing up the smaller gangs, indoctrinating them, and still actively recruiting,” Snowden said.
“Phil thinks something else is going on. The missing tenants. Avery and I didn’t think so until he took his search down to the bottom level. We have the pictures that he took.”
“What does that mean?” Maggie demanded. “Do you mean two separate gangs working at cross-purposes? What?”
Up until now, Charles had remained quiet. He locked his gaze with Snowden and said, “The tenants are separate and probably kidnapped for their money. As I understand it, those who left had robust portfolios and probably large insurance policies. It’s all about money. It’s one way of looking at it, and the only one that makes any kind of sense, at least to me. The big question is, who called the shots on that one and who collected the payouts, if there were any. I think that the gang angle, and Cosmo’s getting shot, are exactly what you stated—an initiation exercise to get accepted into the Lobos. Unfortunately for them, they botched the job. If I am right, shooting Cosmo was about prestige and no money changed hands. Since I could be wrong, I’m open to any and all theories.”
An eerie silence settled around the table, but no one said anything.
“This might be a good time to . . . um show you the pictures Phil took. If you’ll give me just a minute. I can bring them up on the TV. Ted, bring it here to the table, then we’ll all be able to see what goes on the dark web. Be warned, it is not pretty.”
Jack felt his stomach start to rumble. He looked over at Abner’s ashen face and said, “Hey, Ab, you mind taking Cyrus for a walk?”
Cyrus was at the door before Abner could get out of his chair.
The silence was total as Snowden fiddled and diddled with his phone and the memory stick and with situating the TV. Jack coughed, just to hear some sound.
“Just a few seconds. Phil didn’t keep the camera on any one shot for more than a second, so what you’re going to see is what he saw and was able to capture. Okay, gentlemen and one lady, here we go.”
The TV came to life with images so ugly no one was able to utter a word until Maggie gripped the edge of the table and said, “What is that?”
Avery Snowden looked across the table at Charles and said, “That, my dear, is the head of Ellie Harper, who lived at one time at 202 Lilac Lane. She disappeared on April 17. I believe you said you were in her apartment, that her friend and neighbor took you there.”
Maggie bolted from the table and ran to the lavatory, where she slammed the door shut.
“I think the rest of the pictures tell their own story. The bodies were cut up. Legs in one pile, arms in another, feet in a box, torsos on the top. Heads all by themselves.” Avery turned off the TV and ejected the memory stick.
“Do we know who . . . who is responsible for what we just saw?” Charles asked.
“Phil thinks it was the Scorpions, but in a deal that had nothing to do with the Lobos, one that predates any idea about joining the Lobos. Undoubtedly a separate contractor. They were paid to kill the twenty people who disappeared from Happy Village, obviously kidnapped and probably tortured to get them to change their wills, take funds from their stock portfolios, whatever. We don’t know yet who collected the insurance or how that was done. My people are working on it. Cosmo was probably an initiation, pure and simple. It could have been anyone that day according to this theory, but he was the one who happened to show up in the middle of the afternoon. We have to run with that until Cosmo can tell us himself what he was doing at Happy Village the day he got shot.”
Jack shook his head violently. “I’m not buying that, Snowden. What was Zack Meadows doing out at Happy Village at four o’clock in the morning in his own car sporting a pilfered license plate? Nah, I’m not buying your theory. I think he’s up to his eyeballs in this unholy mess.”
Maggie returned to the table. Espinosa handed her a stick of gum. She accepted it gratefully, then apologized and only gagged once before she headed for the coffeepot and proceeded to clean it out to make a fresh pot. It was something to do, and she wasn’t ready to defend her bolt to the lavatory. She knew in her gut it would take forever to live that down, especially since she was the one who pressed and pressed to see the pictures.
“All I’m saying, Jack, is what Phil told us. That was his theory, or maybe Abner’s, I’m not sure anymore. I do know they both agreed, and they are the world’s best hackers, so we have to pay attention to what they say. Doesn’t mean they’re right. And remember this—they didn’t know about Meadows’s middle-of-the-night run to Happy Village when they came up with this scenario.”
“So what do we do now?” Ted asked.
All eyes turned to their fearless leader, Charles.
“At this precise moment, it pains me to say that I do not have a clue.”
“How about we do a snatch-and-grab on Meadows?” Jack suggested. “We sweat him till he tells us what we need to know.”
“How about we call Lionel and ask him where and how we can get in touch with the Scorpions and snatch-and-grab them?” Dennis said.
“Meadows might be easy to snatch. Then again, maybe not,” Fergus said, pouring fresh coffee into everyone’s cup. “I don’t see how you could possibly take on the Scorpions and snatch them all. We’re outnumbered.”
“No, we’re not outnumbered. We have all of Harry’s friends. We help them with the pillows, they help us with the Scorpions. Sounds fair to me. Dennis, run that by Harry and see what he thinks. How’d the pillow deal go over?”
“He didn’t get back to me on that yet. I’m thinking that the longer it takes is a plus for us. Means he’s talking it up and hasn’t yet convinced his guys it’s a good deal.”
“So send our query,” Jack said.
“I did.”
Cyrus bounded through the hall the minute the penthouse elevator came to a stop. Jack looked up at Abner, who seemed to have regained the color in his face. “It’s raining out,” he said inanely.
“Good for the gardens,” Charles said.
“Terrible for traffic, though,” Fergus said. “I’m thinking the casino owners pray for rain so that customers stay in the casinos and gamble.”
Dennis reached for his phone when a zippy little tune filled the room. Everyone turned questioning eyes on him.
Dennis grinned. “It’s Harry.”
Chapter 11
Rap music vied with the thunder that rumbled overhead. Streaks of lightning zipped and danced across the black sky, lighting up the night like a Fourth of July fireworks display. The members of the Scorpions all huddled under a cluster of half-dead trees, watching what they considered a light show and hoping for a stray breeze or a few drops of rain. Anything to drop the temperature even a few degrees. It wasn’t happening, though.
It was one-thirty in the morning, and the temperature was a mega ninety-seven degrees, making sleep impossible for the gang members. The cold beer was all gone, the ice long melted. Now there was nothing to do but listen to rap, watch the lightning, and hope for rain.
With the rap music at full throttle and the thunder booming, Alonzo Zuma Santiago was glad he’d put his cell phone on vibrate; otherwise, he never would have known he had a message coming through. He looked at his phone, saw the time, and felt a tickle of alarm. It was late to be getting a call or a text. He debated a few seconds about clicking it on. Did he really need a problem on this bitching, miserable night? No, he did not, but his thumb clicked on the right button anyway. He stared down at the image he saw on the small screen. His heart took on an extra beat. Salty sweat rolled down from his forehead and into his eyes, burning them. It didn’t matter; he could still see the image he had been shown, which was not going to go away.
Miggy poked Alonzo in the arm and asked what was wrong. Alonzo didn’t bother to respond. He simply showed Miggy the picture on his phone.
Miggy stared up at Alonzo and started to shake, just the way Alonzo was shaking. They both peered down at the three eyeballs glaring up at them from the small screen. “Mig, turn off the music and gather everyone close. Like right now.”
One minute later, all eighteen members of the Scorpions were hunkered in a tight circle under the half-dead trees. The thunder continued to boom while the lightning continued to dance across the night sky. And then it started to rain, fat drops of water that splashed down, making loud splat sounds as they hit the upturned faces of the Scorpions. All they knew was that they weren’t hunkering together to talk about the rain finally falling from the sky. And then Alonzo held up his phone and waved it around so all the members could see the image staring back at them.
A voice from the outer circle grumbled. “You said this would never happen. You swore it wouldn’t happen. Now what happens to all of us?”
“We need to relocate, and we need to do it right now. We talked about this two days ago. We put a plan in motion, so now we’re going to carry out that plan. Pack up. Don’t leave anything behind.” The rain started to fall harder, forcing Alonzo to talk louder. “This is no time to panic. We always knew this was a possibility. We talked about that, too. At least we have a plan.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” someone shouted.
“If it happens, we’ll deal with it when it happens. If you all do your part, we should be safe and sound before daylight. Move!”
“Where are we going?” someone else shouted.
“You’ll see where we’re going when we get there. Now move, and don’t ever question me again,” Alonzo bellowed to be heard over the rain, thunder, and the cracks of lightning. Heat lightning.
Miggy got to his feet and stared down at his friend. “I’ll get the cycles ready. This is not good, Al.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know. The one thing we have going for us is we’ve done this drill already. If no one screws up, we should be okay.”
“How long do you think we have before the stuff hits the fan?” Miggy asked, fear ringing in his voice.
“An hour. Maybe an hour and a half. We need to move now.”
Ten minutes later, all ten Harleys were ready to hit the road. The sound equaled that of a 747 directly overhead. One by one, rider and machine peeled away and headed for the highway, the saddlebags loaded with everything the members could gather up.
Alonzo drove the lead Harley, Miggy clutching him around the waist, hanging on for dear life. The rain continued to fall as steam spiraled up from the highway, making it hard to see. Alonzo cursed the sudden absence of lightning. When he needed light, where was it? Even with the fog lights on, the steam continuing to spiral upward in gigantic swirls from the road almost blinded him. His guts churned.
Miggy could feel his friend’s tenseness. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts travel to the magical place he hoped to live in one day, where he would sleep on silk sheets and have a refrigerator full of good, nourishing food and tons of cold beer. The magical place where the closets would be full of designer clothes and aftershave lotion that would drive women insane.
It wasn’t going to happen, and he knew it. The rest of the gang believed it—even Alonzo believed it—but he didn’t. He wondered if that meant he was smarter or stupider. Three eyeballs! Miggy shuddered just as Alonzo slowed down, which meant they were close to where they were going to stash the Harleys. The plan was to make it the rest of the way on foot.
If ever there was something to be thankful for, it was the rain coming down like a waterfall, which meant no one would be looking out their windows at this hour of the night. Maybe Alonzo knew what he was doing after all, and they would be safe. But Miggy didn’t believe it for a New York minute. Not even half a minute.
Alonzo throttled down and stopped the Harley. He cut the engine and proceeded to walk the Harley into a dense copse of trees. Under the canopy of leaves, the rain was reduced to droplets. He felt as if his body were steaming from the combination of heat and cool rain. He walked a quarter of a mile and stopped. He whistled sharply, which meant for the others to gather close and park their machines. They knew the drill. Everyone fell into line and saluted smartly, something Alonzo insisted on when a job was completed.
“Listen up. We go in in teams of two. Ten minutes apart. I’m going first and will enter through the back door. I know for a fact there’s an alarm system, so I’ll cut the power line as soon as I get there. For all we know, power might be out with this storm, but I don’t want to take a chance. Once I’m inside, I’ll go around and open the French doors. Stick to the timing, and we should all be in and secure in ninety minutes. If any of you have anything to say, now is the time to say it.” The silence in the mini forest was profound. “Okay then, Miggy and I go first. Check your watches and follow at ten-minute intervals, and for God’s sake, do not get lost.
“You think this is a mistake, don’t you?” Alonzo said as he sprinted off, Miggy at his side.
Miggy swiped at the rain on his face and said, “I don’t think this is the best plan you ever came up with, if that’s what you mean. Three eyeballs means we head for the hills and take cover. Somehow we’re now on everyone’s radar. It’s just a matter of time before the cops come calling.”
“That’s not going to happen, Mig. You need to trust me. So they managed to infiltrate the site on the dark web. What? You thought that would never happen? When we signed up, that was the first thing we were told. Yes, they said it was unlikely, but they did admit that it was still possible. So they shut it all down, but the damage is done. Everyone has scattered. We’re on the move. This is all tied into Cricket and the shooting and the people investigating that shooting.”
“I don’t see anyone coming to our aid. Everyone is running for cover. What about Mr. Hot Shot. What about our payout? We’re swinging in the wind here, Al.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ll figure something out. This came out of nowhere in the middle of the night. Once we’re settled, even if it’s just temporarily, we’ll figure out a course of action. We might even have to reach out to the Rats and call a temporary truce. By now, the Lobos have gotten the three eyeballs. If we’re lucky, they might take pity on us. I’m not counting on it, I’m just saying.
“Okay, there’s our target dead ahead. The power is still on. At least the lights on the posts are still on. The houses are too far apart to see any others through this heavy rain. I’ll look for the power box, you go to the back door, and the minute you hear my whistle, use your elbow to crack the glass on the door and get in as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you. You unlock the front door, and I’ll take the back. Go!”
Alonzo slogged his way through the ankle-deep water as he made his way around to the back end of the house, where he assumed he would find the power box. Using only the light from his cell phone, he finally saw it just as a horrible thought struck him right between the eyes. What if there was an emergency generator that kicked in when the power went off? He knew diddly-squat about generators. Should he take that out first, assuming he could find a way to do it? Time was marching forward. He looked around but didn’t see anything that even remotely resembled a generator. Unless he wanted a bottleneck and chaos, he had to act quickly. He opened the box, held the phone up, and hit the master switch at the top of the panel. Then he turned all the others off, one by one, to make sure the entire structure was without electricity. Seven minutes! Three minutes to spare. He raced around to the other side of the house to see if there was a generator but could see nothing.
Alonzo ran back around the corner just in time to see the back door swing open. He bolted through it, slammed the door shut, and shot the dead bolt. He looked up at the alarm’s keypad. He sighed when he saw no lights, green or red. Obviously, there was no generator, or else it would have kicked in by now.
Following his own instructions, he ran through the massive house till he found the family room and opened the French doors just in time for his two top lieutenants to bolt through.
Ninety minutes later, every member of the Scorpions was gathered in Cosmo Cricket’s monstrous kitchen, with its one-of-a-kind, custom-made twelve-burner stove that Cosmo had specially built for Lizzie, the stove on which one could spit-roast an entire pig while using the oven to prepare the rest of the meal to feed a small army.
“Listen up! This might be our only chance in a while to take a shower and get clean. I want each of you to shower, wash your hair, and get some clean clothes. These people have a kid who is ten years old, but he’s a big kid, so I’m thinking his clothes will fit most of you. Bundle up your rags and shoes and bring everything back here to the kitchen. There are four bathrooms upstairs, and there’s a shower somewhere off this kitchen. That makes five. Get moving, and scrub till your skin is raw. Hang up your towels!”
