“They had help. That guy.”
“That guy? What guy?”
“You remember the woman and dog. It’s him.”
Bill’s brow creased. “He’s dead.”
“No, he’s not. I saw him.”
“So you saw him but never stopped him?”
“Bill, no, what I mean is…”
The gun erupted and with it, the man before him dropped.
He turned to face the others, the ones that were not responsible for watching over the product that had all gone up in smoke. “Anyone else got any excuses?”
Heads shook. Eyes diverted down.
He’d arrived that morning to witness the aftermath for himself. He’d been in Gustine dealing with another problem when the bad news reached him.
Before unleashing hell on his men, he’d stood outside the hotel in Santa Nella, staring at the charred remains, unable to believe what had happened.
It wasn’t meant to happen. He’d specifically picked Santa Nella due to its size, location, and because it was evacuated. It was off the beaten path. No cops. No National Guard were returning here as long as the grid remained down. The same applied to Gustine. He would operate out of Gustine, and once he had the additional firearms from the store in town, he’d take Merced County Correctional and free every damn prisoner.
It was perfect. It would have been perfect.
From the moment the power went out, the cars stalled and phones stopped working, he’d seen it play out in his mind’s eye. He’d already been using the Santa Nella hotel back when he was involved in trafficking. Back then though it was a small game. One or two women. Easy to control. Once he’d made connections in the drug trade, his income soared, his lifestyle improved, and the number of those he could control tripled.
“Give a man a fish, and you feed him for the day, teach a man to fish and you will feed him for a lifetime.” Someone higher up the chain had told him that before they taught him to fish, and fish he had, reeling in every damn tweaker he could get his hands on. They were cheap labor. Morons. Pliable in his hands.
All they cared about was that next hit.
The only downside was they weren’t the most reliable.
As for the women, they were just there to bag product. A product that was like gold now that people were spiraling into depression. He was like the candy man, handing out free baggies of sunshine to get people hooked, only to turn around and add them to his crew.
Oh, he still had his steady paying clients, though they now paid in supplies. He’d already bagged a deer yesterday that would feed him and his guys for a week. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t ever need to worry about food.
It was bliss.
His pitch was always the same.
“Come. Try it. It will take away the worry, you’ll forget. It’s free.”
And they did. He was a modern-day Pied Piper of Hamelin, luring people in and leading them wherever he damn well pleased.
Stripping the women down to nothing more than underwear wasn’t new. It was done all over the world by those in the drug trade. It prevented products from being stolen, it made it easier to search and control them.
And it was working until this.
He faced the rest of his crew.
“Is it true? Was this the work of one man? I hope to God not. As it doesn’t speak well of you all. A man that rises from the dead comes back and does this?” He tutted. “Remember what I offered at the start. You stick by me, you will be fed, you will have access to stash, and you will be at the top of the food chain. But that only works if I can rely on you. If I can’t, you’re a liability like these men,” he said, pointing to the dead. “Now someone tell me they saw where this man went. Give me something, anything I can use.”
“He didn’t work alone,” a man spoke up at the far back.
“Who said that?” He craned his neck.
A hand went up.
Bill didn’t know his name. They were just faces to him. He’d assigned recruitment to others, those within his loyal circle, those who he’d known since he’d gotten his feet wet in the world of drugs and sex trafficking. He motioned with two fingers. “Step forward.” The group parted and a young guy approached. “And who are you?”
“Gilbert Sanchez.”
“Sanchez?” Bill tapped the side of his chin. “Where have I heard that name before?” He moved closer and stared. He was at least ten years younger than him. Certainly brave to speak up after witnessing what he just had.
“I was put inside John Latorraca Correctional Facility last year for threatening violence on the teachers of the local high school.”
He clicked his fingers and smiled. “That’s right. Gilbert Sanchez. I remember the news reports about you. Tell me, Gilbert. What went wrong?”
“I trusted the wrong person. It won’t happen again.”
He smiled. “I like that. When did you arrive here?”
“Last night.”
“And how did you end up with us?”
He motioned over his shoulder to a few of his friends, ex-cons. “We got out at the same time. After visiting a few people, we heard you were recruiting. I know a smart man when I see one.”
Bill smiled. A compliment. He liked that. “Do you? You use dope?”
“No.”
“Even better.” He nodded. He was always on the lookout for new blood, those who were clear-headed. Those who didn’t need the incentive of drugs. “And so you were saying. The man who did this didn’t work alone. How do you know that?”
“Because I caught sight of the man who helped him before he rode away on horseback.”
“You could identify this man if you saw him again?”
“I can do one better. I can tell you who he is now.”
He smiled. “And who would that be?”
“My father. Hector Sanchez.”
It was like a lightning
