Brock jumped from the truck as soon as it started, jaw clenched and muscles bunched with tension. Jax, Toby and Nash stepped down from the truck and started setting up as Brock looked for the Chief. The leader of the B-shift, Doug Winston wasn’t around. The realization about his absence hit Brock with a heavy thud in his chest. Sky and Doug were the only two full-fledged humans he could call close friends. He had met Doug the same week he moved to Nevada from Hawaii all those years ago. He had been instrumental in helping Brock get his first position as a firefighter. If something had happened to him...
Brock shook off the thought. They had to get moving, and right away. He found the Chief, who assigned his team to direct their hoses at the trailer. This move would allow the rest of the B-shift to focus on getting the storage shed under control before it spread to a parked vehicle beside it. With Brock’s team bolstering the emergency response, the fire came under control in under an hour. At that point, the Chief ordered the hoses be turned off. The hazmat team sent a small group inside to confirm the area had no hazardous fumes. That meant it would be a while before another hose team could get in and douse the hot spots from the inside.
Brock stepped away, relived but still worried about Doug’s whereabouts. Nash had been able to toe the line tonight, thankfully. He was hanging by a string in the Chief’s good books, so Brock needed to make sure the kid followed the rules. There was no telling what Chief would do if he had slipped up tonight.
One of the ambulance trucks that had left before Brock’ team arrived drove up to the scene again. Brock went over to speak to the medic in charge.
“Haverty,” he called, addressing the tall, light-haired medic by his last name as they all did to one another as a matter of custom.
Haverty was speaking to Warner, one of the police officers in their district. Both men nodded their acknowledgments.
“Good job over there, Moore,” Haverty replied. “You rolled in just in time.”
“Where's Winston?”
“The medics took him to the hospital. A beam fell on him while they were searching the trailer. He got burned pretty bad, but luckily, his team got him out before the place blew up like the fourth of July.”
“Fuck.” Brock sucked in a harsh breath.
“Don't worry. He was one of the luckier ones. A couple from his crew got some nasty second and third degree burns. Winston’s a fighter. He’s pulled through worse. They all have.”
“I hope so.” Brock gritted his teeth. “What the hell happened here? It just exploded? Just like that?”
Warner grunted. He was angry. “It was a meth lab. You know how these work. They do explode sometimes, especially when the people inside don't know what they're doing. Hell, even when they do know what they're doing the place can still go up.”
A meth lab. Brock hadn't forgotten about that part. This was too close to home. This kind of operation was what had killed his father ten years ago. It was a kid barely nineteen years old who ran a meth lab and felt he could sample the merchandise and drive that night. A familiar frustration filled him. Logically, there was no real link between his dad's death and this meth lab explosion, but he couldn't help making the connection.
Just the thought of it made his blood boil.
He turned and looked at the charred remains of the trailer. This kind of destruction was so unnecessary. His B-shift comrades had been injured for the sake of troublemaker kids looking for a manufactured high.
“Was anyone still inside?”
Haverty shook his head. “They didn't find anyone.”
Warner’s partner walked over. She was new to the district, so Brock had spoken with her just a couple times before. He couldn’t remember her name. Thank God for name badges. Right. Thomas. She nodded at the three men before and addressing Warner. “Peterson and Jones picked up one of the kids seen leaving the trailer when the fire started.”
“Good. Just when I thought we wouldn't find another one…”
Brock took a half step towards the other two. “Another one?”
“It’s the third lab we've found in the last month,” Thomas explained. “Granted, the other two didn’t end up exploding. I guess you can say that's a good thing.”
“Three in a month? What’s going on? Are these new ones popping up or have they been around for a while?”
“It’s hard to tell. It's more likely we're just now finding out about them.”
“Hm.”
Brock wanted to ask more, and he was turning over options for questions in his mind when Haverty added, “Word on the street tells us it's all thanks to one boss.”
Brock crossed his arms. “A drug lord?”
“We’re still working on it,” Thomas cut in.
“More like a crime lord,” Haverty pointed out. “His name’s come up more than a few times in Vice, Organized Crime and Homicide. His hands are clean though. His kind knows not to get too close to the action.”
“Who is he?”
“Rhys Dillon,” Haverty answered, sounding out the name with extra disdain.
“Why hasn't he been arrested?”
“If only it was that easy. The guy's organized crime. He's squeaky clean… gets these kids to do his dirty work.”
“So how are you sure, then?”
“Informants,” Haverty answered. “Tips.”
“All of it is circumstantial,” Thomson added. “There’s not enough proof.”
“Hopefully he’ll slip up.”