The Orion Plan Read Online Free PDF

had learned from the Original Trinitarios was to never carry your weapons until you needed them. If you weren’t carrying, the police couldn’t charge you with anything when they stopped and frisked you. But that meant you had to stash your weapons in a place that was well-hidden but accessible. Emilio and his boys had chosen a hiding place near the base of the hill, underneath a rock as big as a couch cushion. It was close to the stone overhangs where some of the park’s homeless people slept, but the gang usually had no trouble shooing the bums away. They were easy to scare.
    Working together, Carlos and Miguel lifted the heavy rock while Diego reached for the bag that contained los destornilladores . They were ordinary flat-head screwdrivers that had been sharpened to a point. Diego handed them out, giving the biggest one to Emilio, who wrapped the handle of his screwdriver in a handkerchief. The cloth helped you keep your grip on the thing, even if your hand got sweaty or slick with blood.
    Once they were ready they started climbing the hillside, quickly and quietly. Emilio took the lead, guiding his boys toward where he thought the firecracker had exploded. His memory wasn’t perfect, though, and it was a big hill. There were hundreds of trees, and they all looked the same in the dark. He stopped every few minutes to listen to the woods, hoping to hear footsteps or a snatch of conversation, but he had no luck. He was probably in the wrong place altogether. Or maybe the white boys had already left the park. This was a waste of time. His homeboys grumbled behind him, muttering curses as they made their way up the slope.
    And then, after maybe fifteen minutes, Emilio spotted someone. It was a white boy in a Yankees jacket, about twenty yards away on the hillside. He stood in the middle of a clearing with his arms spread wide, as if he were about to take a dive down the slope. But his head was tilted upward and he seemed to be staring at the night sky.
    Emilio gave a hand signal to his homeboys, ordering them to take cover. Then he crouched in the weeds and studied the white boy, whose face was lit by the moonlight. The first thing he noticed was that it was a man, not a boy. He was more than six feet tall and at least forty years old, with black stubble on his face and scraggly, graying hair. His jacket was a mess, splattered with mud, and his pants and sneakers were even worse. He was a homeless guy, one of the drunks who slept on the hill. Emilio felt like an idiot. He and his boys had gone to all this trouble just to chase a goddamn bum.
    But then he noticed something else. In the clearing behind the guy was a wide muddy hole. The surrounding trees and rocks were splashed with mud. And at the center of the hole was a heap of wet earth, big enough to sit on. This homeless pendejo was playing with firecrackers. He must’ve buried one in that pile of mud and then lit its fuse.
    It was very fucking strange. Drunks spent their money on booze, not firecrackers. This guy had probably found the bombas somewhere in the woods, or maybe in one of the park’s trash cans. Either way, the explosives really belonged to the Trinitarios. The gang didn’t own the streets anymore, but the park was theirs, and so was everything in it. If this guy had any more bombas, the Trinitarios had every right to take that shit away from him.
    And besides, Emilio liked to blow things up. Setting off firecrackers in the woods would be a lot more entertaining than getting into a stupid brawl with Paco.
    Emilio waved to his boys and they crept toward him. Paco hung back, keeping his distance from the others. It was an awkward situation for him—he still had to take orders from Emilio—and he wasn’t happy about it. He avoided looking at Emilio and stared at the homeless guy instead. The bum had dropped his arms by now and turned to the left, facing the Bronx.
    â€œI’ve seen that asshole before,” Paco