Page 55 of Flash and Bang
“You sure you’re okay, Thayne?” Sarah asked. She eyeballed him critically every time she glanced over while driving.
Thayne glanced at her. “Yeah. I have a fuckin’ killer headache and I really need a good night’s sleep, but at the moment, all I want to do is finish these interviews and get back to check on Evans.” He took a sip of the Starbucks they’d picked up at a drive-thru. “Damn this is good.
“So, Anthony Revilla and Beth Quinn live together. Are they a couple, you think?” Sarah asked.
“Don’t know. I guess we’ll be able to tell from their body language,” he replied. “Here’s the thing… if they are responsible for sabotaging the fireworks show down in San Diego, I find it hard to believe they’d have hung around after their boss got killed.”
“There’s a good possibility these people have ties to the militia, Thayne.”
Thayne nodded. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. They may have been the ones who turned the Masons on to the illegal fireworks if they were.”
“I suppose we’ll find out eventually,” Sarah said.
“Jarrett and I suspect they had something to do with the Chinatown mishap too.”
“Because of the field strips.”
“Those and the notes with bible verses.”
Sarah drove them into the heart of San Bernardino. The city was located at the base of the San Bernardino mountains where hundreds of southern Californians went to ski every year. Over the years, the city had become more and more of a ghetto. A huge number of undesirables had moved into what were once middle class neighborhoods, chasing out families. Gangs moved in to spread the drug trade. A lot of property had transitioned in recent years from owner-occupied single family dwellings to tenant-occupied property. Many banks would no longer lend to buyers in the decayingneighborhoods of San Bernardino as inexpensive rent from “Section 8” or government-subsidized housing took over many of the homes. With the decline in property values, drug dealers had moved in. Lawns died, homes were boarded up, graffiti appeared, the crime rate soared, and urban decay began to take over the once pristine family neighborhoods. It wasn’t an area that was safe to drive into at night when troublemakers roamed the streets.
Sarah drove to the apartment where Quinn and Revilla lived, and pulled up in front of a dilapidated building. She parked the shiny new ATF-issued Crown Vic in front of the apartment and they got out, locking the doors and setting the alarm. Thayne figured they had about a fifty-fifty chance of coming out and finding the car up on blocks and missing all four tires when they were finished.
“Let’s make this quick and get the hell out of here before we have no car to get the hell out of here with,” Thayne said.
Sarah glanced around and smiled weakly at Thayne. “I agree. We’re being watched.”
Thayne glanced at a group of gangsters lounging on the steps in front of the building. They were wearing baggy black khakis and either white T-shirts that were far too big for their bodies, or tanktops that showed off their tattooed arms. A number of them had tattoos all over their skin including their faces and their shaved heads. Thayne and Sarah walked up the cracked cement pathway leading to the stairs they’d have to take to get to their apartment on the second floor. A gang member scooted over so that he blocked the only open space for them to walk and glared at them. His companions snickered.
“Excuse me,” Sarah said, “We need to go upstairs.”
“What’s your name, pretty lady?” the gangster asked.
Thayne reached up and moved his jacket aside to show the gun in the holster under his arm. “The lady said move, so move.” He put as much threat into his voice as he could as he glared at the guy. The gangster sobered and shot him a deadly glare.
“Who you here to see, 5-0?”
“None of your business. Now, move aside,” Thayne warned.
“You don’t look like no local puercos,” the gangster said, making no move to scoot to the side. He lifted his face and sniffed the air. “Smell like federales to me.”
“We’re federal officers. Move your ass!”Thayne said, praying that Sarah didn’t challenge the guy in front of the man’s homeboys. He knew how bad that could make things turn and how quickly it could happen. He glanced over at Sarah as the gangster stood up. She was bristling with anger but to her credit, she kept her jaw tightly clenched and stared the group down, keeping her hand on the gun on her hip. Thayne watched as a manicured finger unsnapped the holster and he had to give her credit. She was awesome. The gangster stared up at Thayne as he rose to his full height. Thayne had at least six inches on the guy and he glared down at him. They stood facing each other off and saying nothing as the guy tried to think how he could move without losing the respect of his crew. Thayne waited patiently.
He finally blew out a breath and stepped aside, bowing as he swept a hand out to indicate a clear path up the stairs. “Lady cops first,” he sneered at Sarah.
Thayne watched as she steeled herself and then walked right past the guy, stomping daintily up the stone stairs in her high heels and pencil skirt with her head held high. It was all Thayne could do not to laugh. He followed her, giving the gangster one last stare down. As soon as they got to the second floor terrace, he was flooded with relief. He glanced over at Sarah who looked pissed as hell. He’d almost wishedthe gangster had tried something with Sarah. Her roundhouse kicks were off the charts and Thayne had seen her bring a huge male coworker to the practice mat with a single thumb hold as the guy howled in pain and tapped out. It had been awesome. They walked down the terrace, coming to a stop in front of the apartment, and Thayne reached out and knocked. A few seconds later a man yanked the door open. He was young with a short haircut and holding a Miller Light in one hand. He gaped at Sarah and Thayne.
Thayne flipped open his credentials. “I’m Special Agent Thayne Wolfe of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. This is my partner, Special Agent Sarah Connor, Mr. Revilla. May we come in and talk with you and Ms. Quinn for a minute?”
“This regarding the accident down at Miramar?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sarah replied.
The man nodded and stepped aside, beckoning them in. They stepped into a small apartment which stunk like marijuana and cigarette smoke. A small white woman with blonde hair and dark roots stood from where she’d been seated on the couch. She had bad acne and was also very young. Even more startling than the smell of dope in the apartment was the massive Confederate flag stuck to the wall behindthe couch. It appeared to be held there with thumb tacks and was the only decoration in the room. The carpet was dirty and the couch had seen better days. The coffee table in front of the couch was littered with empty beer bottles, a pizza box, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Thayne took in the scene, focusing his attention on the ashtray. Several field strips lay inside it, twisted into small curls along with other cigarette butts.
“What can we help the ATF with?” Beth Quinn asked walking around the coffee table and coming to stand beside Revilla. “Don’t own no firearms.” Her accent was deeply southern.
“We had some questions about the incident down at Miramar just as you thought,” Thayne said, speaking to Revilla.