Raising Hell

By Melissa M. Garcia

Luc Actar is back in Los Angeles.
As shots ring out in a Malibu school yard, Luc Actar rushes back to the life he fled just months earlier. Mattie Hardwin, the woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with is missing. But John Carliss is wrapped up in the school shooting, while Detective Ward is mysteriously preoccupied. Even his best friend and Mattie’s ex-husband, Spencer Hardwin is out of the country. As Luc juggles guardianship of Chris, he may have to rely on some untested new acquaintances to find Mattie.
But Mattie’s kidnapping is only the tip of the iceberg in a larger plot to destroy the life Luc has tried so hard to build. Luc is up against his most powerful enemy, and this one has a gang of law enforcement officers armed against him. Luc has no choice but to return to his life of crime to get the answers he needs.
In Raising Hell, the third and final installment of the Luc Actar crime series, Luc must bring all of hell’s fire and brimstone to fight the enormous power of the thin blue line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa M. Garcia
• Release date: Feb 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215758908

Melissa M. Garcia

Melissa M. Garcia has lived most of her life in the sometimes gritty, but always entertaining landscape that is Southern California. Garcia is the author of the Los Angeles crime series featuring Luc Actar (including Falling Angels and Chasing Demons) and the Death Valley Mystery series (Stranger and Next of Kin). She has also published an e-book collection, Faith Departed: Short Stories of Mystery, Crime, and Despair. For more information visit www.melissamgarcia.com.

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Part 1

The Search for Mattie

Chapter 1

When the shooting started, I had only been in Los Angeles for a month. Three months earlier, I had been searching for any information I could find on my dead father. I had come home empty handed. For the past four weeks I had been living in Josue’s basement, a guy I met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in Santa Monica. I didn’t trust him. I don’t really trust anyone. But he had been nothing but nice to me.

I was hoping for a quiet day at the beach. It was hot and the smell of the ocean was overwhelming, and I could barely hear the waves over the sound of traffic driving by. Josue and I were standing in the parking lot just north of the Santa Monica Pier. The lot was filling up quickly. An ice cream truck drove by blaring some kiddie tune.

It sure isn’t much to look at, I told Josue as I looked over his nephew’s car. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and squinted at the dull red Honda sedan. Another day reaching triple digits. Hot for Southern California, even for late June. You could see the heat wafting up from the asphalt.

It’s got a good heart, Luc, Josue said, speaking of the car in front of us. I could tell even he wasn’t convinced as the words left his mouth. He raised the hood.

I laughed. Does it even run?

I spent most of my childhood learning about cars. It was important to know which ones were worth shit, which ones were easy to steal, and which ones would bring me the most money for my time. I spent two summers driving stolen cars down to Mexico, but I knew nothing about getting them to run. I couldn’t even identify most of the shiny parts under the hood.

It will get you where you need to be.

Yeah? But will it get me where I want to go?

Josue smiled. He was wearing a beat-up Dodger hat that shaded his eyes. He turned to watch a transit bus drive past, kicking dirt towards us. I noticed the face of Sheriff Maclay plastered on the side of it. He was running for re-election in November and was already starting with the advertising. I think he was running uncontested, but it was still early and you never knew who might throw their hat in the ring.

You need to start coming to church, Josue said. You’d like the new pastor.

I shook my head. Josue knew I didn’t want to talk about his church. I’d stepped in a few times for AA meetings and that was already too much God for me.

It’s a good change for you, he said, turning back to the car. What have your past cars given you? Change is good. I’d only met Josue a few weeks earlier, but he knew my past. He also knew I’d given up that lifestyle a long time ago. I was legit an unemployed journalist, looking for my next break. My life of crime was now only stories others liked to talk about.

In the trunk is a spare, an extra can of gas and some flares, if needed.

I shrugged. I figured I’d take the car as it was my only option, but I wasn’t going to beg. Josue pulled at the bill of his hat again. I wondered if it was a nervous habit. He glanced up as an old Toyota truck sped past us toward the parking lot exit.

You used to own the chop shop in Long Beach, right? he asked changing the subject.

I said nothing, waiting to see if he was planning some sort of lecture. I just stared at the engine of the Honda.

Did you hear about Mac? he asked.

I was surprised to hear Josue knew my former partner, Mac. He had taught me how to steal cars. He had provided me a way out of the streets, a way to make easy money in the land of available cars. But Mac was in my past.

I kept my focus on the car.

He was busted last month for car theft, Josue continued.

I knew Mac wouldn’t personally steal a car, so I figured he must have brought in some new blood that had led the police to his shop. It was disappointing, but I figured he would beat the rap. I said nothing, but Josue wasn’t done with his story.

He was killed last night in jail. Some beef with another inmate or something.

My stomach dropped. Although we had gone our separate ways, Mac had been my mentor, my hero when I was a kid. He had made me who I was, or at least who I had been.

Josue was watching me, and I didn’t like to be analyzed. I was trying to put my past behind me. Josue was helping me with that and bringing up my past felt like a test.

I hadn’t heard.

I made a mental note to check on Mac’s family. And the shop. Even though I no longer had a stake in it, I wanted to ensure it fell into the right hands. Other than that, I wanted nothing more to do with stealing cars. It was time for everyone to move forward. I didn’t like change, but sometimes it’s inevitable.

How much? I asked, bringing Josue back to the car.

He shrugged, adjusting his cap. Give it a test run and let me know what you think it’s worth.

He closed the hood.

I didn’t like the offer. I wondered about the possible strings attached. I wanted a hard number, but I also didn’t want to argue with the guy. Josue had given me a place to sleep. As my sponsor, he’d given me his ear to talk to. Although I hadn’t told him everything I’d done in my life, he knew more than most. I was never the type to let anyone in close, yet Josue had wiggled his way into becoming a friend. I couldn’t be angry at the guy, even if I knew the offer had strings attached.

Then my cell phone rang. It seemed to break through all the noise around me.

In the past, I hated to be interrupted. But I was working on my anger issues. When I saw the number, I held up my hand to Josue and leaned against his car.

Chris? I asked answering the phone.

Summer school was in session at St. Peters Catholic School in Malibu. Chris, a fourteen-year-old kid I had met last year, still had the burner phone I had given him. We hadn’t talked much since I had left town and I was surprised to hear from him out of the blue.

Luc, I need you here now. A whisper. Then someone talking to him. Also, a whisper.

What’s wrong?

Then I heard the gun shots.

Clear.

Close.

What the hell was that? I yelled. Where are you?

Shit, Chris yelled. Get down, he yelled to someone.

Chris! Talk to me.

I’m at school. A pause.

I waited. Listening. It suddenly felt too quiet around me.

I could hear footsteps, heavy breathing. A young girl’s shriek.

We have shooters on campus. He was out of breath. At least two gunmen. I’m stuck in a classroom.

Are you safe there? Can you barricade the doors?

I grabbed the keys from Josue. He didn’t question me. I yanked open the driver’s door.

Working on it, he whispered. Luc, can you get here?

I’m on my way. I glanced at my watch. How many people are with you there?

He yelled something to someone as I started the car.

Chris, I said trying to drag his attention back to me.

More gunfire. I listened carefully.

I counted at least two different weapons.

I’m sorry, Luc. Heavy breathing. I could hear his fear.

I waited.

Sweat dripped down my face.

Twelve of us in here. A couple of the guys are working on moving desks to the door to block it.

Good. Look for anything that can be used as a weapon. Use whatever’s in the room. Find things to throw at them or hit them with in case they get in.

Another pause.

I pulled onto the street.

I’m scared.

I know, Chris. Stay on the line with me. Tell me everything you’re hearing and doing, but if you have to drop the phone, do it.

One of the guys is shooting outside.

Is he a student? I asked as I turned onto Pacific Coast Highway. Even in the middle of the day, traffic was already building up.

No. I saw him when I was heading to class. He didn’t look right. Older. He didn’t belong. Then he pulled out a gun. A big one, Luc, not a handgun.

I nodded. Thinking.

I let him continue talking as I sped past a slow-moving work truck.

I heard sirens. Looking around, I saw nothing. I wondered if they were coming through the phone.

I was the only one that reacted, Chris continued. I ran to the first classroom when the shooting started. I don’t think anyone really knew what was going on at first.

I knew exactly what he was talking about. His school was situated in a nice neighborhood. It was supposed to be a safe school. The students in Malibu didn’t know of real violence, except what they saw on television. But Chris had lived on the streets.

He knew danger. He also knew fear and how to control it. Chris also carried a contraband cell phone. I wondered if any of the other rich kids at the school smuggled cell phones into class. Had anyone called the police? Were they on the way?

Chris had only been in Malibu the past year. He had moved in with Mattie.

Mattie. My only true friend. My only real reason for still being alive on this earth. Mattie was on campus too. A teacher. I hoped she moved as fast as Chris and was hopefully tucked away safely. But I knew Mattie. If there were students in danger, she wouldn’t cower and wait for help. She would confront the attackers.

I pushed the pedal harder, swerving around a new Tesla.

Tell me everything, I said as I approached the streets of Malibu.

Chapter 2

The fire in Carbon Canyon was only the first of many that immersed Southern California that summer. From the end of May to the beginning of September was known as the Summer of Hell. Water was scarce as we headed into another year of a major drought. Anything and everything that could burn, did. The sky was darkened by the smoke circling in from every direction. The Santa Ana winds tried to clear the thick cloud of smoke, but only spurned the fires to burn faster. Cars, homes, and streets were consistently covered in a layer of soot and ash.

Fires are normal for California, especially in the summer where high temperatures crash into low humidity. But most of the fires that summer were started by arsonists that fed off the non-stop media attention. Los Angeles was burning, and public services were stretched to the limit.

The only thing that could draw emergency vehicles quicker than a fire in Los Angeles, was a school shooting.

By the time I arrived at the school, it was already in lockdown and surrounded by black and white patrol cars, a couple of fire trucks and three ambulances. As I turned into the school parking lot, a black SWAT vehicle sped by. I parked in the only empty spot, marked for staff, between a shiny black Tesla and a dark blue BMW, so new it still had the paper plates attached. I spotted Mattie’s white convertible further down the lot.

I wasn’t the only civilian, though. I stepped from the car to a sea of parents screaming and crying as they pushed at the barricades and yellow tape and demanded answers from the cops trying to control the perimeter.

I put the phone to my ear and watched as other parents checked their phone for news.

Chris, I’m not going to be able to get inside there. It’s locked down. I can’t even get past the parking lot. There’s cops everywhere.

Luc, I need you here.

I had no words for him.

Chris was a street kid, like me, but not like me. He grew up on the streets and saw the worst of the worst. There were your normal bums, nomads. You had the tweakers and the 5150’s off their meds. But Chris was different. He was a con artist. Looking for a score by scamming anyone and everyone to survive. My father had been a great one, and Chris had spent some time on the street learning from him before he died.

I hadn’t picked up much in my time with my father. He was too busy kicking the shit out of me to teach me much more than stealing. And I became the last type of street kid, the fighter. Fighting everything and everyone. My dad, other kids, the school system, the police and even family and child services when they tried to take me away. But I survived by fighting.

I pushed my way through the parents and up to the yellow tape trying to find any way to get past them.

Media were interspersed with the parents as well. Faces blank with shock or despair, most in disbelief. I kept my face away from the cameras.

Luc? Chris said, then nothing.

I felt completely useless, just as the rest of the loved ones waiting for word.

Then I heard gunfire through the phone.

A whisper in my ear barely audible over the crying adults surrounding me.

Luc, they’re close.

I called out to the uniformed officers. I was surprised a young black officer walked over to me. Maybe he was surprised I wasn’t yelling at him. He had a sympathetic look on his face. I wondered if he was a rookie or maybe had high school aged kids at home.

I have a boy on the phone from inside. He can help. Can you tell whoever’s in charge?

He looked doubtfully at my phone and put his hand up. He yelled at a parent to my left for pushing the barrier and walked away. I watched as he said something to another older officer with stripes on his sleeve, then pointed at me. The older officer looked at me, then ran off and disappeared behind a row of patrol cars and officers.

I was hopeful and put the phone back to my ear.

I’m doing the best I can, Chris. Are you guys still okay in the room?

Yeah, we have the door barricaded, but one of the guys is right outside. He sounds like he’s talking on a phone to someone. I can’t understand him though.

He’s not trying to get in the room?

No, he’s just standing there. But we can’t get out.

A man in a dark gray suit, blue tie, and a gun at his hip walked over to me, the older officer trying to keep up behind him. He grimaced and pointed at my phone.

Let me have it, he said.

I kept it just out of reach. He’s just a boy and he’s scared.

More gunshots could be heard from the school and the crowd around me grew louder in their protests. It distracted me just enough. The suit ripped the phone from my hands and walked back toward the cars. I thought my plan was working only to watch