As soon as they had returned from the Avenues, Francisco and his men had “borrowed” many of the RVs in the KOA next door to the fairgrounds. Of course, Francisco and his family got the best―two forty-five-foot luxury motor coaches with automated lighting, satellite TV, automated curtains and a whisper-quiet generator. The RVs were far nicer than their home in Rose Park. Their mama complained about them being “too fancy” for her.
Francisco spread his Salt Lake roadmap on the marble dining table attached to the wall of the RV. His top lieutenants, Crudo and Kermit, leaned over the map, listening intently.
“I want you to hear this too, hermano,” Francisco said.
Gabriel joined the men over the map.
“Let’s look at our options,” Francisco said. “Option One: we can stay here at the fairgrounds.” Crudo nodded his head, obviously favoring Option One.
“The problem with staying here,” Francisco continued, “is that we will run out of stuff. We’ll be raiding for food in our own neighborhoods. We might be able to take down the Mormon food storehouse over on 800 South, but I don’t think we’re ready to go up against the Mormon army again. Let’s not hit the Mormons until we’re ready.”
The defeat at the Avenues and yanking their families out of those homes had been embarrassing enough, Gabe thought to himself.
“We need someplace rich, but easy. We can hit the mansions at the south end of the valley, but that’s a long way to travel. A lot can happen in ten miles and our supply lines would be strung out. We’d have to move everyone down south, maybe down by the prison.
“Or, we could hit Olympus Cove, here.” Francisco pointed to the map, since his guys wouldn’t know where “The Cove” was; it was another white enclave. “But attacking there will stretch us thin, too, and we’d be moving past the Mormon troops we ran into yesterday.”
“Or we can go north. There are a lot of rich neighborhoods here, here and here.” Francisco poked several locations against the mountain on the map. “These are neighborhoods full of little mansions. That might work for us because, with our backs against the mountains, the Mormons could only hit us from one direction. To chase us, they’d have to leave their temple and come after us.”
“Pancho,” Crudo interrupted, “the men we sent up Tellers Canyon yesterday… they haven’t returned.” This was news to Francisco, and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for details.
“They radioed yesterday afternoon, saying they were fighting men with guns. But they never called back. Either they’re stuck in the canyon or they got popped.”
Francisco stopped to think. To Gabriel, it sounded like heading into those mountain neighborhoods could be trouble. Still, he said nothing.
“Tellers Canyon is too far from these wealthy homes for these neighborhoods to have played a part in whatever happened to our men.” Francisco pointed at Oakwood on the map, not knowing that he’d placed his finger exactly on top of the Homestead. “And look, we have a direct route.” He sketched a line down the frontage road of the freeway and Valley Vista Drive as it climbed up the hill.
Gabriel finally spoke up. “Can I scout that area first? Before we do anything?”
Francisco smiled and put his arm around his brother’s shoulders, shaking him playfully. “Good idea, hermanito.”
The freeways reminded Gabriel of cholesterol, like the cars had passed through smaller and smaller gaps until the freeway was completely blocked. There were long stretches of wide-open road, and then the freeway suddenly clogged wall to wall with cars.
Most of the city streets weren’t jammed with cars, though. Gasoline had disappeared quickly, with no way to refill gas tanks. Almost nobody drove. The effect was more like a ghost town than a traffic jam. Driving through town became eerie, with people staring warily from roadside camps or peeking from behind closed curtains.
Francisco insisted that Gabriel take at least two of his foot soldiers. The more men who accompanied him, Gabriel figured, the more conspicuous he would appear. His plan was to drive around the Oakwood neighborhoods and get an idea of the defenses, then return to the fairgrounds. With three Latino guys, they would look suspicious, especially in a car.
His plan changed as soon as Gabriel saw a military-style barricade exactly where Francisco wanted to make entry into the Oakwood neighborhood. Gabriel drove straight past the barricade. He turned up a residential street, looking for a way into the neighborhood. Every street led him invariably up the hill and into another barricade.
Gabriel started getting nervous. All the barricades were manned, and all the men had radios. Eventually a guard would report their car and they would be pegged as suspicious. After turning around four times, Gabriel decided to head back to the biggest barricade off the frontage road, Valley Vista Boulevard. Neither of Francisco’s soldiers objected. Apparently, they were serving as body guards, not supervisors.
Stopping several blocks back, Gabriel and the two men walked to the roadblock. There wouldn’t be much risk of being noticed, since a tent city surrounded the barricade. People lived in their cars, in tents and on the pavement by the hundreds. Gabriel got the impression they were waiting for handouts, waiting for work, or maybe just waiting for someone to let them inside.
Gabriel asked his brother’s foot soldiers to back off, and he made his way to the front of the tent city. The refugee tents radiated out from a big army tent. Uniformed men in camouflage stood behind the barricade and in gun emplacements overlooking the road. A large sign hung on the side of the tent offering work for tradesmen. A line had formed, presumably to apply for work. Gabriel stepped into the line.
Looking around, he reached two conclusions. First, the families on the hill had organized. They were armed and coordinated beyond anything he had seen since the power went out, even better than the Mormon army. It seemed very possible the group was aligned with the army, though Gabriel saw no military vehicles.
Second, the neighborhood had resources. If they were hiring men from outside, that meant they had food and money to spare. Gabriel scanned the little mansions lined on the main road, dotting the mountainside. For some reason, these rich people had prepared a defense against people exactly like his brother and his gang.
Gabriel considered the tent city, full of suffering families of every race and social standing. If his brother attacked this place, these families would pay a price in blood.
Gabriel reminded himself of his duty to his family. He turned back to the barricade and the defenses, taking careful note of the number of men and where they were positioned. He would try to convince his brother to abandon his attack, but Francisco couldn’t usually be swayed once he set his foot to a plan.
When Gabriel felt like he had seen enough, he stepped out of line and headed back to the car. His guards fell in behind him. They passed a pet store and a funeral home, and four men drifted out from behind the funeral home in their wake.
Gabriel noticed the men immediately because he had been wary of being followed by the guards at the barricade. These men were not part of the rich peoples’ army. They were clearly gangsters like Gabriel and his bodyguards.
Gabriel insisted when they left the fairgrounds that they wear no gang colors. His brother’s men had done the best they could, wearing brown and black work shirts. But one wore a baseball cap with an Arizona Cardinals’ logo, and the other guy stuffed a red handkerchief in his back pocket.
Regular citizens wore whatever colors they wanted without much consideration. But a gangbanger paid close attention to the colors he wore. Any other gangbanger would notice; neither of Gabriel’s men wore even a shred of blue. Brown, black and white were “neutral” colors, indicating nothing about gang affiliation. The red handkerchief in the back pocket and the Cardinals cap were dead giveaways.