The drive to Playa Vista felt both short and like an eternity. Mr. Brock pulled into the driveway of the house, the engine sighing as he cut the ignition. It was really happening. West Adams was behind them.
   "Honey, they're done," Julie said, a light hug greeting him as he climbed out of the car. “Can we leave now?”
   "Did you tell the landlady?" he asked, the mundane question a grounding force against the swirl of emotions.
   Julie was already slipping into the passenger seat. "This morning. All settled."
   "So we're golden?" He started the car, a nervous energy bubbling inside him.
   "Let's go," she replied, leaning her head against the head rest.
   The removal truck lumbered behind them, a metal snail carrying the shell of their old life. As they drove, his phone buzzed. Twist. Of course. He declined the call. It buzzed again.
   "Who is it?" Julie asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Why not answer?"
   "Just some guy from work," he said, dismissing it with a wave. "He's being a pain."
   "About what?"
   He sighed "He wants me to cover some shifts. Family problems, you know? But I told him, we're moving, it's impossible."
   "That's too bad," Julie said, a crease forming between her brows. "Isn't there anything you can do?"
   He stifled a surge of irritation. "I can't think of anything. Can you maybe not be so sentimental?"
   "I just feel bad for him."
   "You don't even know him. Why are you feeling sorry for him?"
   "What's wrong with feeling sorry for someone?"
   “Nothing really, but you don’t know him and you’re acting like you do.”
   "Or are you just jealous?" she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.
   "Jealous? Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, but a flicker of guilt wormed its way into his mind. He didn't like Twist, that was for sure.
   "Whatever you say."
   Their banter filled the car, a comfortable rhythm against the backdrop of the highway. It was a good sign, he thought. A sign that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.
***
   *At the police station*
Mr. Gardener cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the sterile office. "What you need to do is request your bank transaction history. That'll prove you rented it out." He paused. "But you'll have to pay a fine for renting your property to strangers without a written agreement."
   Mr. Smith’s jaw tightened. "I don't see why that's anyone's concern, but I'll pay the fine."
   "Alright then. I'll have the investigator take your statement. Just tell him everything you told me."
   "Fine," Mr. Smith said, resignation in his voice. "If it clears my name."
   Thirty dollars paid, Mr. and Mrs. Smith left the station. Outside, the city felt indifferent to their plight. The investigation stalled. Not enough CCTV. Not enough witnesses. The superintendent suspended the case. The wheels of justice, grinding to a halt.
   The commanding officer sent an update to Mr. Brock.
***
Playa Vista unfolded like a dream. The house, a cheerful light blue with sunny yellow trim, sat nestled on a generous plot. A swimming pool shimmered invitingly in the afternoon sun. Inside, Julie surveyed their new domain with a satisfied smile.
   "Nice, isn't it? Took you long enough to save up," she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
   He pulled her close, the scent of her perfume filling his senses. "Now that we're out of West Adams... what about kids? Little feet running around, filling up this place?"
   Her smile widened. "I've been waiting for you to ask." She leaned in, her kiss promising a future filled with more than just furniture and sunshine. As they retreated into the bedroom, his phone rang on the table, the insistent buzz a harbinger of the world he was trying to leave behind. Twist. Again.
   Thirty minutes later, lying tangled in the sheets, a sense of peace settled over them.
...
...
   "I should get going," he said, reluctantly breaking the spell. "Work calls."
   Julie sighed, tracing patterns on his chest. "Do you really have to? I wish we had all day."
   "Me too." He changed the subject. "Did you really quit your job?"
   "Of course. I'm not taking a cab to West Adams everyday." Julie stated. "I'll find something closer."
   "Take your time," he said, standing up.
   He walked into the living room for his phone. Three missed calls. He dialed Twist back.
   *Ring ring*
   *Ring ring*
   "Hello?"
   "Hey, Twist. Sorry I missed your calls."
   "Sounds like you were busy having fun," Twist said, a sardonic edge to his voice.
   "I told you, we moved. I'm not picking up when my wife is around." He lowered his voice to a whisper.
   "Whatever. The meeting's over. The boss gave the order. Search every hideout in Los Angeles. No new gangs are to be skipped."
   "And the prize?"
   "Whoever finds it gets a promotion, plus thirty percent of the money and VIP treatment."
   "Thirty percent. That's a lot. So what's the plan?"
   "What do you think? Search West Adams, the other places. The whole damn area."
   "You know that means a lot of fighting," Mr. Brock replied.
   "Yeah, fighting gangs like the 38th Street, White Fence, or MS-13, could be suicide, but that's why we ain't going in alone. The offers I mentioned will have those gangs heading over there." Twist explained.
   "But if the gangs head down here, we'd gain nothing." Mr. Brock replied.
   "The offer is only to a single member. If anyone finds the money, he'd be dead before he can take it back."
   "So the plan is to stay put and take on the last men standing, right?" Mr. Brock asked.
   "Right."
   Mr. Brock hung up. He turned back toward the bedroom, but Julie stood there, her expression unreadable.
   "What's going to be a lot of work and fighting?" she asked, her voice quiet.
   He swallowed. "Were you eavesdropping?"
   "No. I just came out to get a drink and heard you."
   He grabbed a shirt, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's just a message from work. They said some gangs are heading to Eagle Rock, looking for the stolen money."
   "That *is* going to be a lot of work and fighting."
   "Yeah," he said, picking up his car keys. "And that's why I have to go." He kissed her quickly and headed out the door.
***
   As Mr. Brock walked into the guard's office, his phone rang again.
   "Hello?"
   "It's been transported," the caller said.
   "Good. Tell them to keep watch," Mr. Brock replied before hanging up.
   Inside the office, about thirty watchers, both day and night shift, milled about. Tension crackled in the air. A few minutes later, the head officer emerged.
   "Everyone, listen up!" The head officer announced. "The 18th Street gangs are heading this way. We will protect this city. The police are on their way as well." He dismissed them with a curt nod.
   "I should have kept my mouth shut." Mr. Brock said to himself.
   From all directions, members of the 18th Street gang were making their way to Eagle Rock. The police and the watchers stood shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to face the oncoming storm.
   They just hoped it would be enough.
.....
....