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IGNACIO
IGNACIO
* * *
“Someone went outta their way to make it look like fireworks, ese.” Carlos points his chin at the charred remains of the Huntington Park Dos Panchos restaurant. “But I had my homie come out to sheck it out. Este vato is like an exspert in arson, chew-no?”
Eh, I don’t want to know how his friend became such an expert in arson, so I don’t ask.
“We’ll have to see what the fire department says, Carlos. Thanks for calling a friend, but there are professionals investigating it now.”
After I got the call, I drove all night to get back to LA and spent hours at the police station, pouring over every detail about the Point Break Posse with Officer Fletcher. I haven’t slept for over twenty-six hours, and I feel sick to my stomach. Olive wanted to drive back with me, but I had a feeling she’d be no help in keeping me awake, so I insisted she drive back with Francesca and Edmund.
I know the fire has to do with Pancho Two and the Posse, but Officer Fletcher told me their hands are tied until after the investigation. Apparently the notorious surfer gang is incredibly evasive.
“Whatever you say, jefe. But my homie says to look out for the burn pattern discrepancy. He’s like, real smart. Got his certificate and evry-ting.”
“That’s nice. Anyway, my brother, Nate, is filing the insurance claim, so don’t worry about payroll.”
“Did you see the lastest Danny Trejo movie? Foo walking away from the explosion all calm an’ chee? My homie did that.”
“Your homie did what?”
“The explosions, man.”
“Wait. So your homie… is a film pyrotechnician?”
“Dat’s what I said, jefe. Exspert.”
That’s actually kind of cool, but not relevant at all.
Since Carlos came to the scene in my stead, he’s able to show me where the firefighters think it started. He goes over all the details with me, pointing out areas of interest within the charred remains of the building.
“Thank God no one was here at the time,” I say, shaking my head at the black soot. Yellow tape surrounds the property as it’s still under investigation, but I get a pretty good idea of the point of origin.
“My guess is whoever did it, they knew we were going to close early for the Fourth of July. No witnesses.”
“And the camera footage?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. They tripped the system or something. I’m talking ninja level, jefe.”
Carlos and I discuss logistics, agreeing to meet at my office later to discuss the losses for the insurance claim and our plan moving forward. I make some calls and hire a security company for twenty-four-hour surveillance at all other restaurant locations, and try Pancho Two’s number for the thousandth time to no avail.
When I get home, I pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow and sleep heavily for hours. I only stir back into consciousness when I hear my ringtone, dazed and out of sorts. For a minute, I forget about the fire, not even sure what day it is, and let it ring unanswered. But when I check my phone, I see six missed calls from Olive, a couple from Dad, and an unknown number. I should really call Dad first. If anyone can reach Pancho Two, it’s him.
But I need to hear Olive’s voice right now. I want her with me—somewhere far from here. I’m seriously thinking about selling the restaurants for once. Take off to the midwest or Spain. Settling down with Olive and leaving all this mess behind. But that would be selfish of me. I have hundreds of employees to think about. And even if I unload Dos Panchos, there’s no telling what the Posse might do. They could come after my parents or siblings.
I’m calling Olive before I’m even fully awake. Lately, I’ve discovered that dialing her number is the first thing I want to do when I pick up my phone. It’s like a shot of dopamine.
“Hey there,” she says, answering immediately. “You okay? I was worried.”
“I am now,” I say. “I miss you.”
She laughs. “Already?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Only because I miss you more. What did you find out about the fire?”
