Page 80 of Darcy
Sully? Usually, he’s not hard to find. “No. Should I have?”
He groans and turns, head twisting from side to side as if he hopes Sully will pop out from a corner. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
Thankfully, he’s clearly too distracted by Sully’s disappearance to ask where I’m going, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I slip out of a side door and head to the coordinates Man texted me two hours before the concert.
All of my stuff is neatly packed into the waiting Jeep, but I still check it all over before I change into the fireproof jacket and trousers that are essential in my line of work.
As a young teen, Man made me sit through hundreds of lessons on the importance of fire-safe clothing and how to tackle different types of fire. Running my fingers over the line of different extinguishers he’s provided, I can’t help but smile as a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I still remember our adopted father quizzing me daily for weeks until the difference between electrical, petrol, and paper fires was ingrained in my memory deeper than my own name.
Once I’m certain everything is ready, I silence the butterflies in my stomach and slip out onto the empty midnight roads. Anticipation thrums in my veins, eagerness making my fingers clench on the wheel as I weave my way through the city to the hills beyond.
I love my job. I love watching the moment everything falls into place and the entire horizon flashes with the beautiful glow of fire, and this feels even sweeter because this time it’s personal.
Maybe I was destined to be a pyromaniac from the moment child-me watched that little white church burn to the ground with my parents and everyone else trapped inside. It certainly started me down the path.
My fascination with fire led to some… interesting developments when I became old enough to play with matches. Instead of confiscating everything flammable and sending me to therapy like any other parent, Man chose to help me use my obsession to take out my marks.
I’ve always been grateful for that.
My deep thoughts cut off as I turn the Jeep away from the main road and onto a dirt track. The desert offers very little in the way of cover, so I’ll be forced to park further away than I’d like to avoid being noticed. Fortunately, Man provided the perfect car for a little off-roading, and I have no trouble going deeper into the arid hills.
Once I find a good spot to park, I crawl into the backseat to get set up.
My case clicks open, and I balance my laptop on the centre console as I click my little reconnaissance bot onto the underside of the delivery drone. I only need three drones for this mission. One to carry the bot, one to do a sweep of the area to prevent innocents from getting caught in the crossfire, and a third to deliver the payload that’s going to ensure the Rosales brothers meet their end in a fiery inferno.
The camera feeds from all three drones pop up on my screens, and I check all of them before I open the window and throw the first out. I’ve got Drone 1 programmed to do a sweep of the hills and alert me to heat signatures—thank you, Tabby, for infrared cameras. The dry desert air rushes in, smelling faintly of earth with a slight herbal undertone I can’t name as I start prepping the second.
Drone 2—the one with my little bot—takes to the air a few minutes later, once I’ve confirmed that the only activity by the villa is from the three SUVs parked outside. Unfortunately, they’re idling, which means they’re throwing off enough heat that it’s impossible to tell how many goons are inside.
This drone flies straight towards the cars, approaching from a blind spot and slipping noiselessly to the ground just long enough to deposit the bot on the ground.
A few taps later, and my little hexapod buddy comes online, stretching out his limbs as his camera switches on. The drone dropped him perfectly behind one of the cars, and he’s small enough that I can easily remotely manoeuvre him beneath the huge black vehicles and position him to spy on the meeting that doesn’t appear to have started yet.
A chirp from my taskbar alerts me to another two vehicles climbing the small track up to the villa. Both large SUVs with blacked-out windows.
Someone’s late, but is it Miguel, or his brothers?
I use the time it takes them to make it up the hill to adjust my bot until the camera can show me most of the driveway. I consider briefly turning on the night vision, but as soon as the two latecomers join them, they switch on their headlights. Together, all five cars form a rough circle of light that illuminates the dark space.
Their security gets out first, nodding silently to one another as they take positions facing away from the meeting. They’re followed by Gabrielle and Miguel, who emerge from separate cars.
That seals it. If she’s here, she dies with the rest.
The car above my bot rocks slightly as the other two Rosales brothers make their appearance at last.
Joaquin and Roberto are twenty years older than Miguel, and it shows. Not just in the grey streaks that linger by their temples, but in the way they carry themselves as they step into the light. Miguel has an anxious, jumpy energy to him that they lack.
Gabrielle dips her head slightly in a half-bow of acknowledgement, but she’s ignored by everyone.
“You’re late for your own meeting,”Roberto begins, stepping in to slap his brother on the shoulder in greeting.“Not the best start.”
Miguel just shrugs and releases his brother.“Traffic.”
Traffic? In the desert? Ha.
Joaquin hasn’t said anything, and he doesn’t move forward to embrace his younger brother either. He looks to Roberto, then back at their cars.
“This traffic wouldn’t have anything to do with the problems you’ve been having, would it?”Roberto asks, taking a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting up casually.
