Chapter 7

Air passed through the propped open front and back doors, the breeze freshening the stale overnight air in the restaurant. Pablo Lopez was seated at one of the large banquet tables reading from his physics textbook. He could hear cars passing on the busy street out front and occasionally from the alley in back, but it was still quieter than at home among his five younger brothers and sisters.

The family-style Mexican restaurant didn't open for a couple hours. He came in early on weekends to combine his job of prepping his parents' restaurant for business with doing his high school homework. An honor student, he was planning to attend USC the following year.

Truth be told he was having trouble concentrating. Memories of the previous night's date with his girlfriend kept getting in the way. After six months of earnest courtship, she'd finally decided the time was right to take their relationship to the next level. She had made the wait well worth his while, and the smile on his face was hard to wipe off.

The sound of a vehicle stopping at the rear door broke the pattern of traffic sounds he was subconsciously listening to. He heard a thump, like the sound of a box dropping on the floor. Receiving supplies from vendors dropping off their wares was part of his routine, and he stood and stretched before heading back. If the items were perishable he would move them into either the large walk-in sized refrigerator or freezer.

His eyebrows rose when he heard an engine rev as the deliveryman drove away before he had a chance to sign for the goods. Arriving at the back door he found a square box about six feet inside. Wrapped in brown paper, it was big enough to hold a basketball. Something that small was usually silverware or kitchen utensils, valuable enough that dropping it off without waiting for a signature was unusual.

He picked it up and brought it to the pantry worktable in the kitchen.

It was when he opened his box cutter and looked for a seam to slice open that it registered that there were no markings on the box. He pulled his hand back and cocked his head slightly to the side in puzzlement.

The explosion that erupted was powerful enough that his death was mercifully instantaneous.

Even with the fine sound insulation and suspension of the Lincoln Town Car, the concussion could be felt a block away. As all the building's windows exploded outward, a single chair somehow threaded though the front door as it rode the shock wave, narrowly missing a passing car as it flew across the street.

Car alarms began blaring; moments later, smoke began to rise from the rear of the building.

"All right, I've seen enough," said Jack Polanski from the back seat. "Get us out of here."

Al Skelly pulled the car away from the curb to head downtown.

"Nice work, Al," Jack said.

Al shrugged. "They're going to take it personal, boss."

"It is fucking personal. Did you forget where part of your finger went? In went into the dumpster behind that shit-hole. I should have blown it up then, instead of letting them think they can push us around."

Al didn't reply. He had done the deed as ordered, but thought it was a mistake. It was an escalation of the conflict that would make restoring the peace someday much more difficult. Wars to the death were things to be avoided, and involving civilians merely to send a message was a good way to start one.

Jack pulled a box from his jacket, and passed it over to the passenger in the front seat. "Now let's get to the hospital. It's time for our friend here to make his bones."

The man opened the box to find a syringe and an unlabeled bottle of clear fluid. He strained to fight down the panic in his gut. Like the unfortunate soul at the just-shattered restaurant, Pete Riordan realized his obsession with Barbara Ramirez was well and truly blowing up in his face.

"Dad!" Bobby exclaimed happily. He leaned over to hug him, thrilled to feel his step-father's arm circling behind his back in turn.

"I'm glad you're all right, son," he said softly.

"Thanks to you, I am," he replied, releasing him.

Raul nodded soberly. "Ron?" he asked. Bobby shook his head sadly. "Shit. Pete?"

"He's okay."

Raul grunted before asking, "How's your mother?"

"Everybody's fine Dad, now that you're awake."

"How long have I been out?"

"About a week now."

"A week!"

"Yeah. Hey, I should go call Mom to let her know you're up."

He smiled faintly. "Okay, son; I'll wait here for you."

Raul closed his eyes, and before Bobby could even reach the door, began to snore. Bobby grinned and went off to let the nurses know he had been awake, and to make some happy phone calls.

Morton's eyebrows rose, then a grin split his face.

"Who is it?" Leticia called from the kitchen.

"A Jehova's witness," he replied.

Patty slapped him on the shoulder. "Doing anything?"

"Not really. What's up?"

"Feel like a picnic?"

"A picnic?"

"Yeah, I got a blanket and some chicken."

He waited for her to say more, seeing the muscles in her jaw appear momentarily. When no further explanation was offered, he replied, "Sounds great; let me get some shoes on and I'll be good to go. Can I grab anything else to bring?"

She smiled. "Maybe some cokes?"

"Coke it is."

Pete was lurking in a visitor's waiting room down the hall, watching the door to Raul's room. Earlier he had taken the stairs and was coming from the opposite direction when he had spotted Bobby approaching and ducked inside.

"Kid's wasting his time talking to a vegetable," he thought, listening to Bobby speaking to his comatose step-dad.

As soon as Bobby left, he slipped down the hall and into the room.

Patty remained waiting on the porch, and a moment later Leticia appeared.

"Hey."

"Hi, Leticia," she said neutrally. The two girls didn't openly dislike each other. Patty had always been reserved around her boyfriend's sister after learning about their past special relationship.