The Voting Machine

Harbor Gateway

The apartment I had shared with Suzy and our baby was on the southeast corner of Carson and Western, the far edge of a sprawling neighborhood known as Harbor Gateway. The district was a flagpole-shaped strip of land annexed by the city of Los Angeles, running like a corridor between the South Bay cities of Gardena, Torrance, Carson and Lomita. 

Like many parts of LA, Harbor Gateway felt less like a neighborhood random assortment of blocks, a transitional state between fixed destinations with no sense of community. A bloody turf war between the S Gang and local Crips chapters had raged on for years, mostly on the streets in border zones of various city police patrol routes. Flytrap once told me he'd chosen his location for the carriage house precisely because of this lack of clear definition. If any crime happened near his property, LA and the four local cities would probably waste precious time pointing fingers to avoid responsibility for the investigation.

After we found my daughter's empty crib with Davis lying dead on the floor, it didn't surprise me there was a three minute gap before I heard the first siren. I shook off my initial shock and snatched the Santa Muerte chain from the crib's mobile. I couldn't allow myself to think they had hurt Reina. If they wanted to do that, they wouldn't have taken her. Juan Ricardo had survived and he wanted my information more than ever. And he would keep my daughter safe to make sure I was motivated to tell him everything. It made sense that she'd be safe. And even if it didn't, that was what I had to convince myself to believe.

Dean and Alistair were completing a search of the other rooms, reminding me of the Torrance City police detectives who had poked into every corner and closet a year ago during the Employee of the Year investigation. I heard Larry comforting my wife on the balcony, restraining her as she begged to re-enter the apartment. At the sound of the first siren, I felt dizzy and I thought I might collapse. So I took a deep breath and sank my fingernails into the palms of my hands until the skin broke.

Davis's handsome face had stiffened into a mask of gaping horror. In his final moments, the expert assassin seemed to have trouble owning up to his predicament. You expect a warrior to be ready when it's his turn, but maybe they are as terrified as the rest of us when they finally face the great unknown.  

The blood spilling from his carotid artery had pooled below his neck, soaking through the carpet. I noticed an object placed underneath his right forearm. It was a slender white cell phone. Based on the position it didn't seem like he could've placed it there himself unless he dropped it before he fell. I picked up the phone and found it to be unlocked, with the message "Por Temo" on the screen. I made sure it was in silent mode and slipped it into my pocket.

The sirens grew louder and we all scrambled down the stairs to the limo parked between faded clunkers with dirty windshields and lapsed registration stickers. The corpses of Chet's other security team were starting to stink through the shattered windows of their bullet-riddled SUV. This is the sort of scene the local police would have a hard time explaining. I wondered whether Emmanuel Stevens was. We were only a mile away from the Chinese restaurant where I spotted him with a team of agents a few hours earlier. How soon before he was informed about a shooting at my former residence?

Our limo ran two yellow lights blazing east along Carson beyond earshot of the sirens. We entered the freeway ramp to 110 North and then we merged onto 405 South headed for Orange County. Alistair was speaking into the wireless headset of his cell phone, reporting the status to someone on the other end. Larry was seated next to him in the rear of the limo, with Suzy and me facing them on the other side. Dean was in the front next the driver, barking tactical commands. The only words I recognized were street addresses in cities in San Diego and Orange County.

Suzy passed out as soon as we got into the limo, overwhelmed by the shock. Her head rested in my lap and I had my finger pressed lightly against the pulsing in her neck, making sure she was stable.

"Nobody at the scene can make us," Alastair whispered into the mouthpiece. "The other team was dead before we got there. They were paid through a private security company. Don't worry nothing can be traced back to you."

I leaned against the car door, cradling the white phone in the crevice between my leg and the arm rest. I tapped the message on the screen addressed to me.

YOU GOT LUCKY BACK IN THE DESERT.

YOU DIDN'T THINK I'D GIVE UP THAT EASY.

I KNOW YOU CAN GET THE ARTICLES.

IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR DAUGHTER ALIVE, YOU'LL BRING THEM BEFORE THE ELECTION.

THE THOUSAND STEPS ON LAGUNA BEACH AT MIDNIGHT.

Alistair voice droned in the background.

"The boyfriend's body was in the apartment. He must have tried to put up a fight."

I deleted Juan Ricardo's texts on the phone.

"We don't know his name. The wife is out cold. And they stripped the body of any identification."

"His name was Davis," I said.  I handed him the phone. "I found this on him."

Alastair disconnected his call and glared at me. "Why didn't you say something?"

"There was no time."

He snatched the white phone from me and started tapping the screen.

"There aren't any contacts saved. No inbound or outbound calls. This is a burner. One of the narcos must've dropped it."

"Their boss is Juan Ricardo, acting head of US operations for the Los Empresarios cartel."

I gave him the Santa Muerte chain

"We know who they are," he replied. "They are not going to hurt your daughter. She's just a bargaining chip to get what they want."

"How are we going to give them what they want?"

"We're not. We're going to kill them. But first we got to meet the boss. He's the one who knows how to lay the bait for the trap."