THE FIRST NAME ON THE list was Daemon Alvarez. He was a small-time punk with a string of fairly minor offenses. Alvarez lived on the top floor of a four level, rectangular building covered with stained and faded red brick. From the street his apartment was easily spotted since he was flying the purple and orange colors of his gang, Brothers of the Barrio. Two narrow strips of cloth were tied to the scarred, metal railing of his balcony, proclaiming his loyalties to the world.
Heathcliffe cracked his knuckles and glanced at Alastair. “I don’t know about you, bro, but after a couple of hours at the funeral home, I’m ready to bust some heads.”
Alastair nodded, looking haunted by the funeral experience.
Clovis climbed out of the H2 and slapped his youngest brother on the back. “Let the pros
