The Night Horde SoCal: Fire And Dark Part 21

As Pilar was getting into her turnout gear, she had her attention focused on the information coming over the speakers. They were getting called in to a fire in progress. Third alarm. Residential location, multiple-structure involvement, brush at risk. And then the address: Mountainview Estates, Nutmeg Ridge Drive.

She bobbled her helmet. "Dios!"

That was Connor's parents' street.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The Horde had no charter in Vegas, but their old club had. Ronin had been a member of that old charter, and they still had contacts in the area. The new Brazen Bulls charter was based in Laughlin, which wasn't far from Vegas. And it was a point on their eastbound route for La Zorra. Besides, it was Vegas. It was an excellent place to hold a meeting.

They'd been leading the eastbound route for almost a year now, and yeah, it had occurred to Connor, and to all the Horde, to everyone with a sense of that history, that La Zorra and her guilas cartel were replicating the routes and reach of the Perro Blanco cartel. Hard to miss. She was taking over what that dead cartel had left behind.

That was just good business; in the years since the Perros had been taken down, those routes had mainly been left to fade out. What had filled in the gaps had been a hodgepodge of less organized and established 'entrepreneurs.' The cartel culture in Mexico and Central and South America had stabilized, but the trade in the north had become erratic-still profitable, but much less predictable. A free market.

A place where bands of hotheaded idiots like the Aztecs had thrived.

La Zorra had not announced it as her intention, but it had become clear nonetheless: she was bringing the trade under control. Her own kind of regulation and standardization.

Which was why she'd been pleased and impressed with the way the Horde had handled their Mexican c.o.c.kroach problem. It had taken a few weeks for Sherlock and Bart to gather intel and for Sheriff Montoya to get his ducks lined up, to take that intel and turn it into a raid, but when law had gone in, they'd gone in big. Almost the entire crew had been hauled in, and their property-the building and all their cars and bikes-had been seized. Permanently.

Keeping their distance, the Horde hadn't been able to be present for that beautiful sight, but it had made the local news, and Montoya had provided Hoosier with a report.

They'd caught them with their inventory showing. Sherlock had tracked some kind of a pattern somewhere-Connor didn't understand all that computer whiz-bang c.r.a.p and didn't care to-and had been able to suggest a date when a raid would be most productive. And the Aztecs had had a back room full of heroin and crystal, all packed neatly in a s.h.i.+pment of flour and sugar, ostensibly for the bakery next door.

Esposito had made bail quickly and gotten most of his guys out within a few days-everybody but Sam, whom they'd nailed on a rape and murder charge, using DNA they'd collected after the raid, and who was being held without bond-but their property was gone. The bar, all of it.

Since then, the Aztecs had been silent-possibly destroyed. That could have blown up in the Horde's face; the Fuentes cartel relied on the Aztecs to move their product in and beyond their turf. But Connor had clued in another crew, rivals of the Aztecs, and they were stepping in-at a lower cut.

The Fuentes were appeased, La Zorra had not been 'inconvenienced,' the Aztecs were crushed, and even Montoya was indebted: that raid was a magnificent feather in his cap. His name had made national news, even.

The Horde could have taken credit in their circle, if they'd wanted. But they'd decided to keep their name out of it. Despite the reach and impact of the coup, it stuck a little wrong that they'd used law to fight their battle. They were satisfied with the result, not proud of the play.

Connor was a little proud. It had been his idea, and it had had a lot of nuanced parts. Nuance wasn't usually his approach. He had a-well-earned-rep for going hard and full-frontal at a problem. He saw a fight in all its dimensions, but he preferred the direct approach. Sitting back and waiting to hear that Raul Esposito, a f.u.c.ker Connor truly hated, had been arrested, and that that was the sum total of his punishment for threatening Pilar...not easy. Connor wanted to feel that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's blood on his face.

But still, the plan had been intricate, had gone off without a hitch, and had had much better impact than a beatdown on Esposito would have had. So he felt a little pride.

Sitting in a party suite at a high-end Vegas strip club, drinking whiskey from a bottomless bottle, watching stunning women dance, Connor felt well satisfied, even when he gently set aside a third girl offering a lap dance. He was on a run, and a lap dance wasn't cheating, anyway, but he'd never really understood the appeal of a lap dance. Getting all worked up with no finish? And the point was...?

"Conman! What is up, my brother? You're batting p.u.s.s.y away like you got it to spare." Eight Ball, the President of the Brazen Bulls mother charter in Tulsa, plopped down next to Connor on the ornate, leopard-skin sofa.

Connor laughed and finished his whiskey. Before he could set the gla.s.s down, a nude, sparkly girl came up and refilled it. "Not p.u.s.s.y, Eight. Just the suggestion of it. I'm happy to look."

Eight Ball shrugged as a girl came up to him. He spread his arms, and she started her routine. As she writhed on him, he turned to Connor. "Thought I'd see Hooj at a meet this big."

Connor took a drink from his refreshed gla.s.s. "Yeah, he planned to be. Got laid out hard with some kind of flu bug. Bart's on point, though. Why-you got something more to bring up?"

"d.a.m.n. That's too bad. Yeah, I do, actually." He paused as his lap dance got more intimate, and when the girl moved away from his head again, he continued, "The Bulls are thinking about expanding again, starting a charter in Northern Cali."

That had Connor's attention. The Bulls Nevada charter was still pretty fresh, not yet three years old. But the Bulls had never stopped being outlaw. They had a small but healthy gun-running business that had been going for a couple of decades. "Why NorCal?"

"Our Russian friends are looking to move product into Canada, and they asked us to vet partners. We're thinking why pull in a partner if we can set ourselves up out that way."

Connor nodded. "Makes sense. What's that got to do with the Horde, though?"

Eight Ball patted the girl's a.s.s. "That's enough, sugar t.i.ts." When they were alone again in their corner, he turned to Connor. "They're also wondering if your hot Latin Queen might be in the market for some Russian steel."

Ah. "I'll talk to Hooj and Bart. We'll bring it to her." Connor could already see the complications in making the routes two-way. Everything got bigger-the payoff, the danger, the risk of exposure, the interest of the players. Connor liked it as it was. They were all making good bank, and things were running smooth as clockwork. It wasn't his call, though. The Brazen Bulls were friends, and La Zorra was an ally. If they wanted to work out an arrangement, then an arrangement would be worked out. But he had a question: "Did you bring it up with Bart?" Bart was the senior officer here in Vegas.

Eight Ball gestured around the room. Bart was back at the hotel; strip clubs hadn't been his scene for a long time. "Hard to find him havin' a quiet moment."

"Yeah," Connor chuckled. "Our boy is tied down hard."

"Looks like you might be, too, brother. I know we don't see each other much, but I don't think I've ever seen you turn in by yourself before. You've been pa.s.sing on some prime-quality booty."

"Happens to the best of us." Connor finished his drink and waved off the eager girl with the replenis.h.i.+ng bottle.

Eight Ball watched her go. "And you're turning in now, ain't ya? d.a.m.n. It's barely midnight."

He shrugged and patted his old friend on the shoulder. "Pick up my slack for me, Eight. I'll see you in the morning."

Pilar was at the station and hopefully sleeping; he knew he couldn't call her now. But he could call it a night and jack off to the memory of the freaking incendiary s.e.x they'd had the morning he'd last seen her, and that was worlds better than any random hookup, no matter how prime the offerings in Vegas were.

Sweet f.u.c.k, that had been intense. He'd never felt anything like it. Their s.e.x was always great, pretty much always the best s.e.x he'd ever had, often the most inventive, too. But that had been...emotional. And not just because she'd ended up crying, something he'd not seen her do before. h.e.l.l, he'd almost been brought to tears himself.

He loved the f.u.c.k out of that woman-and that scared the f.u.c.k out of him. He was lost to her, and if she bailed...

But she wouldn't. He'd seen that in her eyes the other morning. She was as gone as he was.

And he'd been jacking off to that memory for the past three days.

He was in his room, settling in to do just that when his phone rang-once, then was silent. That got his attention: their code for an emergency was a single ring, then a call back, to let the receiver know to drop everything and answer, even if they were on the road.

He had the buzzer and the tone on; when the second call came in, he picked it up as soon as the phone started to move. "Yeah, what's wrong?"

"It's Sherlock. Brother, you gotta get back. Right now."

He sat up. "What is it? My dad sick?" It was just the flu, just a bad flu. His dad was getting up there, past seventy, but still hearty. He was fit like a man fifteen or twenty years younger.

"I got an alert for the alarm at their house." Sherlock was patched in to everybody's home security system. It was all custom s.h.i.+t that went to him, not to any company, and not to emergency services until he pushed it through.

He was up and grabbing his clothes. "Break-in? They okay?"

"Not a break-in. A fire. The whole neighborhood is going up, and the woods behind. Connor, listen. There are casualties. I'm on the scanner. There are dead at the scene. I don't-f.u.c.k, I don't know more. I don't know if it's them. I can't reach them."

Dead? His parents? "GET THERE. JESUS f.u.c.k! GET THERE NOW."

"Lakota and Fargo are on their way. Just get back, Con."

"Call everybody else. I'm out." Connor hung up and grabbed his s.h.i.+t. Feeling panic and desperation ma.s.sing at the base of his skull, he forced his brain into work mode, narrowing his focus on the task at hand: get home. On his way down the hall, be pa.s.sed Trick's room. He paused. He needed to get on the road, but he...f.u.c.k, he wanted his friend. This was too big to deal with on his own.

Before he could decide to knock or to go, the door to Trick's room flew open. Trick was there, in open jeans and nothing else. "Con! Jesus. Gimme two minutes, and I'm with you."

Connor only nodded and stepped out of the way when a half-dressed girl cleared out of his friend's room.

They were back in Madrone in less than three hours-all the Horde. By the time Connor and Trick were pulling out of the hotel parking lot, Demon, Muse, Ronin, Bart, and J.R, everybody else who'd gone on the run, were running to their bikes, too.

Before they'd crossed into the Madrone city limits, Sherlock had updated Connor, and he knew that his parents had been taken away from the scene injured but alive. They were headed straight for the hospital.

He also knew that Pilar had been called to the fire and was still working it. He didn't know if it had been her who had saved his parents.

The blaze was still raging. Six homes had been consumed, three of his parents' neighbors were dead, four others injured, and the crippling drought of the summer and fall had turned the field and woods that ab.u.t.ted the neighborhood into a wildfire.

He spared a slice of his worry for Pilar, hoping she was safe. But she was well-trained and tough as f.u.c.k. He had faith in her. He turned all of his attention, all of his worry, all of his fear to his parents.

They met Lakota, Jesse, Diaz, Fargo, and Keanu at the hospital. Faith, Sid, Riley, and Veda, all the old ladies but Diaz's, were there, too. The Horde family filled the waiting room. Connor didn't bother to wonder who had the kids-they were probably at Riley's with the housekeeper or something. He didn't care.

Faith got to him first. She'd been crying. Oh, f.u.c.k, why had she been crying? He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. He didn't know why he was shaking her, but he couldn't stop. And then Demon was there, trying to pull him loose. He knocked him away and grabbed Faith harder. "What happened? How are they?"

Demon shoved him back, his face darkening. "Back off, Con. You hurt her and we have another problem."

"It's okay, Michael," Faith said. "I'm okay." She reached out and grabbed Connor's hand. "We don't know much yet. They're both in surgery, but n.o.body's told us much. You need to tell them you're here. They've been asking for next of kin."

Trick was at his side, his hand hooked over his shoulder. "C'mon, Con. I'm with you."

Feeling so full of emotion he was numb, he nodded and let Trick push him toward the nurse's desk. The woman behind the desk looked up and asked if she could help him.

He had no idea. "I'm Connor Elliott. My parents, Hoosier and Bibi-um, I mean, Jerome and Bedelia-Elliott...were in the fire? They're in surgery? Somebody's been asking for me?" Everything he said was coming out a question. Nothing felt real enough for certainty. He barely felt like he was even present.

The nurse nodded and picked up a phone. Connor stood there and watched her, not registering what she was saying into the receiver. When she hung up, she gave him the kind of smile you gave someone who was about to get very bad news. "They're sending someone out." She gestured at a row of empty seats nearby. "If you want to have a seat?"

He did not want to have a seat, so he paced instead. About five or ten, or a thousand, minutes pa.s.sed before the steel double doors swung smoothly open, and a woman in full scrubs walked out. She glanced at the desk and then came right to him. "Mr. Elliott?"

"Yeah." Trick still stood right at his side. He could sense the others approaching, too. And then a small hand slid into his, and he looked down at his other side and saw Faith. "How are my parents?"

"I'm Dr. Sugarman. Why don't we sit?"

"No. Just talk."

Dr. Sugarman looked surprised and intimidated. She nodded. "Okay. I've been a.s.sisting Dr. Philpott, who is operating on your father. He sent me out to give you a quick update and ask a couple of questions. I have information about your mother, too. I'll start there. Your mother is stable." The breath Connor took then felt like the first since Sherlock had called him in Vegas. "She has a badly broken left arm, and she's in surgery to set it. She has some first- and second-degree burns on the left side of her body, and some mild smoke inhalation effects. But she is stable. Her prognosis is excellent."

He felt Faith squeeze his hand, and he smiled a little at the doctor. "Thank you. Thank you. And my dad?"

When Dr. Sugarman took a long breath before she answered, Connor's knees felt weak. It was bad. He knew before the doctor said another word. "Your father experienced severe head trauma, second- and third-degree burns, and his smoke inhalation sickness is much more p.r.o.nounced than in your mother's case. Dr. Philpott is working to alleviate the pressure and swelling in his brain. We're doing everything we can for him. But I'm afraid his condition is grave." She paused and took another of those ominous breaths. "This is a difficult thing I need to ask you, but your father's organ donor information isn't listed. In the event that-"

"Jesus f.u.c.k! Shut your b.i.t.c.h mouth!" Connor's fist was clenched and his arm c.o.c.ked before he realized it. Trick grabbed it and held on.

"Chill, brother." Trick turned to the doctor. "I know you gotta ask s.h.i.+t like that, but not now. Do your job and save him."

Dr. Sugarman nodded, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry. We are doing everything in our power. But think about that question. If I have to ask it again, there won't be much time for an answer." She stepped back. "I need to get back. Dr. Harris will be out to speak to you when your mother is in recovery, and Dr. Philpott will come talk to you after your father's surgery is complete."

Connor only nodded. The doctor turned and went back through the steel doors.

When Faith pulled on his hand and led him to sit among his family, he went. But he needed Pilar. He needed her, but he couldn't have her. He couldn't even call her.

She was being a hero, and he was alone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Moore pulled up at the hospital entrance. "I'll park and come up, okay?"

Pilar opened the door of his truck. "Yeah. Thanks." She jumped out and ran inside.

It was a brightly sunny morning. They'd worked past the end of their watch, but they'd finally gotten the fire contained before it had become a full-fledged wildfire. The brush and about a hundred feet into the woods at the back of the neighborhood were charred and dead, and six homes had been completely leveled. Three others were damaged. Four people had died, and five, including Connor's parents, were injured.

Pilar had seen the path of the fire. Like the one back in August. That one, it had been determined, was arson; the accelerant used had been isopropyl alcohol. She was sure that this fire was the same. It wasn't her job to be sure, but it was her job that made her sure.

She felt anxious about that, like there was something she should understand, something just beyond her grasp. Something she s.h.i.+ed away from grasping.

As she headed toward the bank of elevators across from the hospital gift shop, her phone buzzed. She'd texted Connor twice on his personal but hadn't heard back. Hoping it was him calling now, she pulled her phone out. But no-it was her grandmother. She'd ignored a couple of calls from her already, so she answered now, pulling to the side of the elevators.

"Hola, Nana."

"Mija! You always call after a fire. I've been so worried!"

"Lo siento, Nana. I didn't have a chance. Todo bien." She'd been so worried about Connor that she'd barely given anybody else a spare thought.

Her grandmother sighed into the phone. "Bueno. Any word from Hugo?"

"No, Nana. Not since Sunday. Let him go."

"Pilar, you know I can't."

Thinking about Hugo made her weary. "Well, I have to. Nana, I gotta go. I'll call later, si?"

"Mija..." She stopped and sighed into the phone. "Si. Please."