Page 39 of Shrapnel

White Sand Mesawas an oasis amidst the sands of the desert. Its two-story limestone border walls were as ostentatious as they were secure. Reflecting the harsh desert sun, Jamie wasn’t sure if it was the walls or the glimmering gold within that made him squint.

A black wrought iron gate was inlaid with golden filigree. If it weren’t for the armed guards and massive security cameras, he could believe he was being led into a sultan's palace. Elijah nodded to a guard and pulled into a massive circular drive. In the center, a large fountain of clear water tinkled into a marble basin.

Elijah parked beside the thick front door. Jamie was almost fooled by the glittering gold accents and bright white walls. All of the glitz and glamour of White Sand Mesa was meant to fool someone into believing it was soft. That the Elliotts had grown complacent with their wealth.

But like a magician with a sleight of hand, the truth lay somewhere far less impressive. Heavy security bars were tucked behind decorative shutters and the thick wooden door was meant to be unbreachable. That potted plant was hiding a high-tech security panel—most likely bio-metric but Jamie was far from an expert.

The Weavers did nothing to hide their viciousness. They let their reputation precede them, fight the battles so they didn’t have to. But the Elliotts liked to pretend they were upstanding citizens, that the dozens of expensive cars and pointless gilding were the product of shrewd business moves or a Silicon Valley startup.

What the Elliotts failed to realize was that all empires were built on sacrifice—blood, money, and time. It didn’t matter. Nothing came from nothing, and legends were made not born.

Jamie ignored Elijah’s call and walked toward the fountain. It was probably artsy. An ugly modern abstract sculpture that made no sense to anyone but because some artist said it was ‘edgy’ an Elliott forked over an obscene amount of money for it.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a penny. Its brassy surface was greened and faded. Years of tumbling around pockets and rolling down streets had taken away its shine. He contemplated it for a moment before flicking it into the fountain.

The coin wavered as it dropped to the bottom. It looked out of place. Ugly against the uniformed white of the marble.

“Lucky penny. Did you make a wish?” Elijah asked as he stepped up beside him, looking down at the penny with a strangely contemplative look.

“Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity for a wish.”

“What did you wish for?”

Jamie grinned. “For a monster cock, obviously.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, turning away from the fountain. He grumbled under his breath, something about knowing better, and made his way toward the mammoth front door.

Don’t you feel lucky?

The limestone mansion was built around a central atrium. Ash beams crisscrossed across the large plate glass. Greenery and trees crowded the space. At once lovely and claustrophobic. The humidity had moisture dribbling down the glass and sweat clinging to his temples. Jamie trailed his hand across one of the large Elephant Ear fronds, rubbing the waxy leaf between his fingers. He had never seen one up close before.

Elijah should have been in heaven. He was a plant nerd, the kind who enjoyed spending days off wandering around large open-air markets and rescuing every browned leaf plant in sight. He kept most of his plants at Weaver Syndicate. They were never in their apartment long enough to keep something alive.

Today Elijah didn’t even glance at the blooming flowers. Jamie was entranced with the bright splashes of color, smudges of brilliance against the monotony of the white and gold mansion. But Elijah was marching to the other side of the garden, keeping his head low and picking at his fingers.

With a sigh, Jamie looked up at the glass ceiling.

“What’s the saying? God is a kid with a magnifying glass…” he mumbled to himself before following his partner into the cool interior.

The atrium opened up to an obscenely large living space. Jamie could tell it used to belong to Luther. Not by the tasteful Tuscan furniture but because of the giant fucking painting of the man staring down at him imperiously. He shivered under the cold gaze of the former Mesa leader.

“Seriously?” he looked over at Elijah. “No one took that down?”

“It’s cemented into place,” Noah answered as he rounded the corner. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, his chestnut hair messy and hanging in his face. With his guard down, and the garish gold-plated gun out of sight, he looked closer to his nineteen years. Like he was just a guy walking down the street. A kid just starting out in the world, shoulders straight without the weight of his position bogging him down.

Maybe that’s why he was so short.

“Thanks for coming.” Noah ignored Jamie and gently stroked the back of Elijah’s hand with a single finger. “I’m set up in my office.”

Jamie followed them, keeping one eye on the creepy painting as he left the living room.

Noah’s office was an extension of his bedroom. A large room with lofted ceilings with a tawdry chandelier hanging off a golden chain. But besides the chandelier, there was no hint of Mesa finery here. The walls were covered with faded movie posters and books were falling off the shelves, dog-eared pages sticking out between the covers. His desk was massive, but it couldn’t be seen under the books, papers, and random other things Noah had tossed onto its surface.

The highlight of the room was a large corkboard on wheels. Reminiscent of every classroom in America. Multicolored pushpins held up pictures and papers. Evidence baggies with Lego pieces and reports from police officers that Noah legally should not have.

Elijah glanced around the chaos impassively, but Jamie could see him subtly pick up a piece of paper off the floor and set it on the desk.

“So this is your command center,” Jamie observed, narrowing his eyes at the board.