Just as importantly, they didn’t have any more of the wire mesh they used to shield the plants from casual observation by either Skynet or potential raiders who might be lurking in nearby buildings.
But Grimaldi didn’t care about that. He was still locked into the corporate grow-or-fold mindset that he’d ridden to the top of the stack before Judgment Day, and he was hell-bent on applying that philosophy to this struggling colony he’d built amid the ruins of his former dukedom. In his eyes, Moldavia Los Angeles—as he still insisted on calling it—was destined to become a thriving community, a self-contained city-within-a-city that would someday pull the rest of L.A. out of the ashes along with it.
It wouldn’t happen, of course. What Moldering Lost Ashes was really destined to become was a shattered graveyard. Sooner or later, Skynet would see to that.
Orozco looked over at Kyle and Star, standing at the edge of one of the clumps of residents who were drooling over Nguyen’s display. Kyle, like a good bargainer, was pretending he wasn’t nearly as interested as he really was. Star, without Kyle’s sophistication or craftiness, was gazing at the wares in open, wide-eyed fascination.
“…for ten gallons of gasoline,” Grimaldi finished.
Orozco snapped out of his reverie. What the hell had the chief just promised?
“Wait a minute,” he spoke up, leaving his wall and working his way through the crowd to the chief’s side. “Ten gallons?”
“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” Grimaldi asked coolly, his eyes daring Orozco to argue with him in front of everyone.
“I just wanted to point out to Mr. Nguyen that we have many other items available for trade,”
Orozco said. “We’ve got mechanical systems, tools, plumbing equipment, electrical parts—”
“I appreciate the reminder of our current inventory,” Grimaldi interrupted. “I’m sure Mr.
Nguyen does, too. But he seems mostly interested in our gasoline supply.”
Orozco looked at Nguyen, noting the cautious fervor in the man’s eyes. He wanted their gasoline, all right. Wanted it very badly.
“I trust you to remember that our supply is not unlimited.”
“Of course,” Grimaldi said evenly. “But gasoline is a promise for the future. Food is a promise for the present.”
Orozco grimaced. So much for any further argument. Once Grimaldi started in with the slogans and aphorisms, it meant his mind was completely made up. From that point on, not even the Board could sway him.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll get it first thing tomorrow.”
“I’d prefer to have it now, if you don’t mind,” Nguyen spoke up. “Chief Grimaldi indicated that he wanted to start transplanting the seedlings as soon as possible, and I’m sure you understand that once our plants are mixed in with yours, it will be very difficult to tell which ones are which.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that we might renege on our promise,” Grimaldi said, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“Of course not,” Nguyen assured him. “But things happen. You understand.”
“All the same—” Grimaldi began.
“It’s not a problem,” Orozco said, cutting off what could only be a useless argument. It was still plenty light out, and most of the gangs in the area didn’t come out until it was full dark. “Give me one of your burros, and Kyle and I will go get it. You brought your own containers, I trust?”
“Yes, we have some collapsible plastic ones,” Nguyen said. “If you’d like, I or some of my men can come with you and give you a hand.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Orozco assured him, gesturing to Kyle. Like he was naive enough to show a group of perfect strangers where their stash of gasoline was hidden. “Kyle, go check out the Colt from the weapons locker and put it on. Mr. Nguyen, just bring the burro to the front entrance, if you would.”
Five minutes later, Orozco and Kyle left the archway, crossed the street, and headed down the somewhat narrower cross street that ran along the north side of their sniper nest building. A container-laden burro led by a frayed rope walked beside Orozco. Star, as always, walked beside Kyle.
“Keep your eyes open,” Orozco warned quietly as they reached the first corner and turned south.
He glanced back, checking to make sure none of Nguyen’s men were following. “We should be okay, but one of the gangs could be out trying for an early-bird special.”
“What’s an early-bird special?” Kyle asked.
Orozco grimaced. “Something restaurants and stores used to use to draw in customers. People who got there early could snatch up the easiest pickings. We don’t want those easy pickings to be us.”
“Oh,” Kyle said. “Speaking of stores, the blanket that’s supposed to be stored at the southeast sentry post is missing.”
“I know,” Orozco said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Did Ellis take it?” Kyle persisted. “I checked, and he was the one on shift before Star and me.”
Orozco sighed.
“Yes, he took it,” he said. “He also took some food and one of the .22s.”
Kyle stared at him.
“He left?”
“So it would seem,” Orozco said. “Keep that to yourself, please. I haven’t told the chief yet, and there’s going to be hell to pay when he finds out. Might as well wait until our visitors leave and we can hash it out in private.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, still sounding confused. “Why would he just leave like that?”
“Probably just got tired of the place,” Orozco told him. “Or got tired of the people, or the food, or the work. Or he’s just one of those kids who can’t stand to stay in one place very long. I’ve known some like that.”
Their gasoline stash, the underground fiberglass storage tank from a long-demolished service station, was located three blocks from the main Moldering Lost Ashes building. There had been hundreds of such stations in the L.A. area, and Orozco suspected that a large percentage of that supply was still down there, just waiting to be found.
The trick, as always, was to make sure that once you found something valuable, it stayed yours.
The passageway Grimaldi and his people had created leading to the tank went a long way toward accomplishing that, with the main entrance disguised as just another section of demolished building and a couple of decoy tunnels leading off the main route to guide any casual visitors harmlessly back to the surface.
But Grimaldi’s real genius was the hidden door he’d constructed that led into the storage tank chamber. He’d rigged a sliding door that would only open far enough for a child of ten or younger to squeeze through. Once inside, it was a simple matter of shifting a couple of two-by-fours to allow the door to open the rest of the way. Until that was done, though, adults and teens were out of luck.
The door was strong enough to stand up against all but the most determined physical attacks, and even if someone managed to force it open all he would get for his trouble would be a booby-trapped ceiling collapsing on top of him.
Orozco’s personal contribution to that genius was in tapping Kyle for this particular duty whenever possible. Very few people in the Ashes even knew where the gasoline was located, and of those only Orozco, Grimaldi, and a couple of others knew about the special door and how it operated. Star was so much a part of Kyle’s every movement that no one gave her a second thought anymore as she wandered around in the boy’s shadow.
Certainly no one would ever dream that her presence on a gasoline run had anything to do with the operation itself, let alone provided a vital key to it.