Page 26 of Spyder
“So you say. I’m just glad you finally did it. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey, I’ve got all the confidence in the world in you, man. Except when it comes to Bellamy Young. She’s your Achilles’ heel. Always has been,” he says.
I’m suddenly glad for the dark, so he can’t see my face turning red. I clear my throat and turn back to the compound below us.
“Can we, you know, focus on the task at hand here?” I say.
“Sure, we can. But isn’t it more fun to talk about Bellamy?”
“Not with you, it’s not,” I say with a laugh.
I look down at the depression below us, focusing on the activity. There are six men unloading one of the cargo containers. Plain brown boxes, it looks like. I don’t have to be a genius to know what’s in those boxes. Heroin. Cocaine. Probably really quality stuff brought up from Mexico. That’s how these guys work. Flood the streets with the quality shit, get everybody hooked and wanting their stuff, then gradually replace it with the stuff that’s been stepped on and is a bit more cost-effective. That’s just the way their business works.
“We need to get an idea how many guys Zavala’s got here,” I say.
“Right. Follow me.”
We slip down the backside of the rise we’re positioned on, using it as a natural screen, as we circle around to the rear of the compound they’ve built. As we settle down on the rise, I whistle low.
“Could be a few dozen guys in there,” I say.
“Zavala’s not fuckin’ around. He’s planning on a total takeover.”
Behind the warehouse are half a dozen prefab buildings that look like barracks. There are at least ten men I can see sitting around a bonfire in front of the buildings, and I hear the music from their radios in the air around us. Some of the guys are singing along, and there’s a lot of laughter.
“It’s a regular fiesta down there,” I say.
“Hey, when you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, might as well party it up.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But this is gonna get really messy.”
“With that many guys? Count on it.”
“Come on,” I say. “We should back out and give Prophet the heads up.”
“Yeah. Agreed.”
***
“Dozens?”
I nod soberly. “Yeah. I mean, we only saw maybe two dozen guys out front while we were there,” I say. “But the dorms they built out there can hold even more than that.”
Prophet leans back in his chair and sighs heavily. The worry lines on his face seem deeper than ever, and his entire body is tight with tension. I can’t say I blame him. The odds we’re up against are looking longer and longer.
I walk to the bar and grab some beers from the refrigerator, pop the tops then bring them all back to the table and pass them out. I take my seat across from Prophet, with Domino to my right. We drink in silence for a few minutes as Prophet processes everything we reported. It’s clearly a lot worse than he thought it was going to be, and like us, he knows this is going to get messy.
But I know the problem he’s grappling with, more than any other, is how we’re going to keep this war from spilling over into the streets of Blue Rock. With that many guys lining up out there, Zavala’s putting together an army. And there’s only one thing you plan on doing with an army… invade and occupy. He was apparently dead serious about taking over the town and making it his own.
“I figured it was going to be bad,” Prophet starts. “But I didn’t expect it to be this bad. If he’s bringing in dozens of his soldiers, he’s going to take the town. Unless we can find a way to keep him out of Blue Rock, a lot of innocent people are going to get caught up in this shit and get killed. Zavala doesn’t care about collateral damage.”
“We could talk to Sheriff Singer,” I offer. “Give him the heads up and—”
“Not yet. Singer’s already trippin’ out on shit. The last thing I want to do is give him any more reason to worry.”
“Yeah, he’s wound pretty tight. I can see him calling the feds if we drop this in his lap. And I think that’s the last thing any of us want,” Domino says.
