Free Fields of Wrath (Luis Chavez Book 1) by Mark Wheaton Page B

holding him down. He’d soon learn this was because his broken rib had deflated his left lung.
    “Hospital,” snapped the OG.
    The men who’d brought Luis lifted him to his feet, causing such a tremendous spasm of pain throughout his body that he almost passed out. If they noticed, they didn’t act like it. As they dragged him past Oscar, the one who Luis had seen delivering the rib-breaking kick, his friend leaned in.
    “Fuck you,” Oscar hissed, all malice.
    For a second Luis wasn’t sure where the rage was coming from. Then it hit him. Oscar had planned the robbery. He’d had the gun, which was the real risk when it came to the cops. This should’ve been his opportunity to prove himself. Instead, his peon had grabbed the glory.
    Luis would get him back. It wasn’t as if Oscar’s anger or the violence of the attack would’ve gone unnoticed by others. He’d have to save face.
    “Fuck that guy,” Luis choked out as he was shoved into the back of the car.
    Around that same moment, four bullets entered Nicolas’s body a couple of miles away.

X
    Oscar and Luis didn’t say much of substance on the way up to Santiago’s farm. They caught up on each other’s families, Luis played a few rounds of “where are they now?” and Oscar asked about his path to the priesthood. When they spoke of their own combined past, both seemed to realize that staying away from their teen years was best.
    “They used to do that pumpkin patch every year,” Oscar was saying, “and they put in a haunted house. The Soriano family or something. You got in free if you were under three, so my dad always made us pretend we couldn’t talk.”
    Luis laughed.
    “I remember that. Nic and I went with you guys once. The guy at the ticket booth even pointed out that I was wearing my school shirt. But your dad made us be assholes and hold up our fingers all ‘Tengo tres años, señor.’ ”
    Luis waited for Oscar to chuckle but realized the mention of Luis’s brother had shut him up.
    “Hey, I talk about him. It’s cool.”
    “Always hard to tell how raw things are with people,” Oscar said. “I mean, probably easier to be away from it.”
    “It’s not like I forget. Your shop’s maybe two blocks from where it happened.”
    “Yeah. You visit him?”
    “Nah. There’s nothing of him there. My mom, either. They’re long with God.”
    They wound up the highway, cresting a few hills before the vast flat farmlands of Ventura County sprawled out beneath them. Oscar checked the map on his phone against a sign on an overpass and hit his blinker.
    “Next exit.”
    Alongside the highway there was an outlet mall, a few business parks, and even homes in the distance. Five minutes west and they might as well have been on another planet, surrounded on both sides by dark, empty fields.
    “You’re sure we’re in the right place?” Luis asked.
    “My guy seemed sure. You have to remember these aren’t farms, these are fields. Every square foot counts. You put up a house or a barn, that’s a couple hundred square feet you’re not using to plant.”
    They passed a mile marker. Oscar slowed and pulled off the road.
    “We’re here.”
    “Where?” Luis asked.
    Oscar pointed to a dark strip between two of the neighboring fields.
    “I don’t see anybody,” Luis said.
    “Neither do the cops, but they’re down there. They’ll probably be accustomed to new faces, but keep your head down. Look for a boss tomorrow morning and say yes to everything. Yes, you’ve worked fields before. Yes, that includes strawberries. And much as you’ll want to, don’t ask questions your first day.”
    Luis extended a hand.
    “We good?” Oscar asked.
    Luis knew what he was asking and nodded. The way Oscar shook his hand made it clear the gangster thought it might be for the last time. Luis clambered out of the truck and waved.
    “Vaya con Dios,” Oscar said in a joking tone, then pulled away.
    The culvert looked like a refugee camp. About a hundred