Children of the Knight (73 page)

She let him go. “Sorry.”

Reyna stepped forward to stand beside Esteban, clearly indicating by her stance and by her look at the older woman that she was asserting her own claim on the boy.

His mother eyed Reyna appraisingly. “I met you before.”

“Yes,” Reyna replied, “during the cleanup.”

The older woman smiled and nodded. “So you’re his latest
jaina
?”

Reyna laughed and elbowed Esteban. “No, I’m his
last
jaina
!”

Esteban actually turned a bit red and had to quickly cover his awkwardness. “Okay, team, cops’re coming, we’re outta here.” He turned back to his mother. “Give Rosa a kiss for me, ’kay?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer, but just sprinted off down the street, his team following closely behind. Reyna patted Esteban’s mother gently on the arm, smiled and handed her the phone Ronaldo had used to video the whole operation.

“Here, give this to the cops.” Then she followed the others into the darkness.

T
HROUGHOUT
the city, in neighborhood after neighborhood, similar operations unfolded at the same moment. Because of Ramirez’s warning, his people were prepared for an attack. However, like all adults, they greatly underestimated the power of children when those children wanted something badly enough. Though not planned by Arthur, a number of the drug-house owners were wounded like those in Boyle Heights, some seriously, but none were killed. That had been Arthur’s directive. Bullets had grazed some of his knights, but none were badly hurt.

In placing former gang members as leaders of each team Arthur had ensured that his knights knew how to deal with gunfire, just as Esteban and his old homies had done. Jaime, Darnell, Duc, Tai, and all the others had achieved great success considering the odds against them. Some of the houses, upon receiving the heads-up from Ramirez, had cleaned everything out and taken off, leaving nothing for the knights to attack or confiscate.

But considering it was but a small salvo in a much greater war, Arthur’s operation was a resounding success. And contrary to what Mr. R. had told Lance and Jack, every neighborhood hit that night made the exact same choice—call in the cops to remove the drug dealers, and all felt empowered for having made that choice.

W
HEN
Arthur had given the word to begin, he and his own team were lurking within the shadows of a large industrial building directly facing Ramirez’s warehouse. A Hummer stretch limo had pulled out of an underground garage ten minutes before, but since then all had been still. Arthur and Jenny exchanged a look when the limo departed, as though the same sense of dread had come over them both simultaneously.

Despite that eerie feeling, Arthur dispatched a young knight named Norman to take care of the parking garage gate, which had descended once the limo departed. He sent a text to a splinter group to do the same on the opposite side of the warehouse. The large padlocks Arthur had purchased that very morning were perfectly suited to the task.

With both garages secured against escape, Arthur eyed the quiescent building soberly. To think that such death and destruction of human life originated here on a daily basis. He scanned the few windows on the top floor, waved his hand at Lavern, and pointed to one window in particular. The small, wiry boy took aim and fired a smoke bomb. The window shattered, and smoke billowed out into the setting-sun-drenched sky.

Completely by chance, Lavern had struck at the heart of the dragon—Ramirez’s office. Arthur sent a text to his splinter team, and skilled archers on the opposite side began their assault.

Arthur pointed out the next window to Lavern. The boy fired. Another bomb. More smoke. And so it went until a smoke bomb had been fired through every upper-floor window. Smoke poured from the wounded building like blood from an animal that had been stabbed numerous times.

Arthur nodded in approval at Lavern’s expert shooting. The small boy, who admired this man more than anyone he had ever known, grinned back in gratitude.

“Now we wait,” Arthur whispered, and all eyes returned to the smoking warehouse.

M
AYOR
V
ILLAGRANA
stood at his window watching the brilliant red and orange of the setting sun, the twinkling of city lights springing to life below him, and wondered what Arthur was up to, and would R. take care of it like he’d promised. All these kids running around the streets doing who knew what—it was a public-relations fiasco waiting to happen.

“Well?” came a harsh voice from behind him.

Villagrana turned to observe Council President Sanders with the usual scowl plastered to his craggy old face.
Asshole is never happy
, the mayor thought. Seated with Sanders was the rest of the city council—none too happy to be here by the looks on
their
faces, Chief Murphy, Sergeants Ryan and Gibson.
Oh joy
, the mayor sighed inwardly,
the whole circus is in town
.

Despite these thoughts, all he said was, “Nothing going on that I can see.”

Sanders “hummpphed” and exchanged a look with Vice President Sandra Gale. She was young and African-American and he old and Jewish, and they often clashed on policy issues. However, they were joined in solidarity in their contempt for this mayor, a contempt magnified by his handling of this Arthur business.