Children of the Knight (71 page)

T
HE
teams had all gone out and reported in from their checkpoints. None had noted unusual activity at any of the houses, and every team was poised to begin the assault. Arthur’s was the last to depart. Heading up his team was Justin, who appeared confident and powerful in his helm, mail shirt, and breastplate. He carried his sword and shield with dignity and pride.

The remainder of Arthur’s team carried smoke bombs in their backpacks, along with some of the nets Arthur had procured that morning. Lavern led a small contingent of expert archers to act as perimeter cover in case they were attacked.

Within the dry riverbed, Arthur sat atop Llamrei, with Chris in front and Jenny behind, gazing out upon his knights, his eager and determined children. They shuffled restlessly, anxious to be underway.

“My noble knights,” Arthur called out to them, “this night we march forth into history. Ours is the most dangerous quest of all, for we seek to destroy the man who doth control so much of these drugs. Be on your guard at all times, my knights. I have faith in you all. We go forth under the banner of
right
, so let us take a moment to ask God for protection this night.”

He bowed his head in silence, as did every child with him. Then he raised his head, held Excalibur high above him, and called out, “It begins!”

A cheer went up from the group, and they clambered lithely up the riverbank and piled into the enormous SUV Justin had brought. He’d actually asked his mother for permission to borrow it this time. At first she’d said no, but when he explained it was for Arthur she relented.

However, Justin knew she never would have agreed had she known their true destination, for Arthur’s target this night was the supply warehouse of Mr. R. and Mr. L.

R
AMIREZ
and Lee had made good use of their time while Lance and Jack cooled their heels in the tiny bathroom. Ramirez had contacted all his main “drops” in the city so they would be prepared for an attack.
Arthur’s foolish followers will get a rude awakening when they attempt to take my houses
, Ramirez chuckled to himself.

“Is Santiago in place?” Lee inquired.

Ramirez nodded. All the pieces were in play to finish this uprising once and for all.

As always, Lee stood beside Ramirez’s desk, impassive and unflappable. “Why not just call this Arthur on the kid’s phone, tell him you have the kid, and lure him in. Easy take down. No chance of a mistake.”

Ramirez sniggered. “Mr. Lee, you’re an outstanding businessman, but very poor at public relations. This man has become a media darling, an entertainment for the people. He’s like the ultimate reality show. And like any good reality show—of which there are none, by the way—we must give the viewers a slam-bang finale. When this man dies it must be in full view of everyone, especially those stupid kids of his. The entire so-called crusade will end instantly tonight.”

Lee nodded approvingly. Ramirez may be a hothead at times, but his flair for the theatrical was often quite useful.

“Have your men load the fagboys into the limo,” he told Lee with a toothy smile. “I want them to have a front-row seat.”

Lee grinned and quickly left the office.

Ramirez pulled Lance’s phone from his desk drawer and slipped it into his jacket pocket before rising from his desk and following after Lee.

Chapter 13

A
RTHUR
’
S
team leaders had all been chosen to strike at drug labs within their own neighborhoods. That way, each leader intimately knew the lay of the land, the easy escape routes as might be necessary, and the best ways to attack each house. Of course, the kids all knew this was a token gesture. They would only be destroying one lab in each neighborhood, one out of dozens, but it would send a clear message to all who wished to deal drugs—the Round Table will seek you out and destroy you.

Esteban led his team back to Boyle Heights to the most notorious crack house in his neighborhood. It was one-story and old, like most houses in the ’hood, but especially ugly with its hideous pink paint job. It sat conveniently on a corner for easy access to buyers and sellers who could come and go without attracting undue attention. There was a three-foot-high metal fence surrounding the front, and Esteban knew there were two back buildings behind the main house where the drugs were produced and stored.

Eyeing the place in the fading sunlight as a knight of the Round Table rather than as a gang member who used to slang for these people, Esteban realized that it looked just like an ordinary house. Unless you knew what went on in there, you’d never guess.

Reyna crouched by his side, bow and arrow cocked and ready. They had hidden themselves and their team in the backyard of an empty house just across the street, reconnoitering their target for any signs of movement and awaiting Arthur’s signal.

Esteban glanced over at Reyna and shook his head as though once again forcing himself to believe all this was real. A fine-ass rich girl into
him
? Never saw that one coming. And this whole knights and Camelot business? Who would’ve thought a bad kid like him could ever do anything that seemed so good?

He eyed the crack house, so innocent looking, yet so deadly and so much a part of his youth. How many kids like Mark had OD’d or gotten hopelessly hooked on dope because of him, because he’d gotten them started? A lot, he figured. And for what? So he could have fancy-ass shoes and other swag?

Before Arthur, before all their neighborhood cleanups had revitalized the city, including his own barrio, Esteban would’ve said swag and girls and money
were
all that life was about. He thought he’d had power. But this, what they were doing tonight,
this
was power—the power to change things for real.

He found his gaze returning to Reyna. She looked so taut, so amped, so ready for action.
Man, what a turn-on.
She turned and caught him staring, but he didn’t care. She puckered and kissed air in his direction, drawing a smile to his face. He felt his phone vibrate and slipped it from his pocket. The text was from Arthur. Only one word:
Begin
.

L
ANCE
and Jack were led at gunpoint out of the bathroom, into an elevator, and then down to an underground garage. The two young Asians calmly pointed very high-tech-looking handguns at both boys and appeared prepared to use them. Neither Lance nor Jack saw any possible opportunity to overpower these men. Sure, Jack looked a lot stronger to Lance, but a bullet trumps muscles any day, he knew. So the boys offered no resistance as they were led to a black Hummer stretch limo parked sideways across the garage floor.

Shoved hard into the luxuriously appointed car, the boys were flanked in one of the rear seats by the armed Asians. In the facing bench seat were Ramirez and Lee, the former grinning like a young child gazing at a pile of presents on his birthday.

“Where are we going?” Lance asked as the limo began moving.

Ramirez laughed. “You were there when it all began, Pretty Boy,” the man replied, “so it only seems fitting for you to be there when it ends.”

His words and cold, chilling tone sent shivers down Lance’s back. He exchanged a glance with Jack and knew his friend was thinking the same thing: if their plan didn’t work, this could be the end of everything.