The Replacements (27 page)

“What's the matter with
you
?” Clay asked me.

I turned to Drago. “You didn't shoot that guard.”

Drago didn't acknowledge that I had said anything at all.

“You went to prison for twenty-five to life for something you didn't do.”

“Don't get your panties in a wad, Bruno,” Mack said. “He's not some darling angel. He was in violation of the felony murder rule. Someone died during the course of a felony, whether he pulled the trigger or not. That's twenty-five to life, too.”

“Very good,” said Clay. “You're not some kind of sneak thief. Now I know that for sure. You're a cop. Who do you work for?”

“Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. They know I'm here. You shoot me and you know what will happen? All hell's going to break loose. It'll drop right down on top of you like a hot pile of dog shit.”

“Not if you just quietly disappear.” Clay turned to Drago. “You had time to think about my offer? Full reinstatement. You went to prison without saying a word. For your loyalty, I'll give you half the money from the armored car job.”

Drago's eyes bulged and spittle flew from his mouth. “Half? That's big of you, asshole, considering you don't even know where I hid it. Cause it's all mine. And guess what? I'm not afraid of you. I know you for the greedy bastard you are. You're not going to kill me. Not till you find your precious money.”

Clay remained calm and collected. “This is true, I don't know exactly where. My mystery caller,” he looked at me, “according to you, this Jonas Mabry didn't give me all the necessary details. He just said there was a million point two in gold. That's why we didn't roll right in. We gave you some time, but as you can see, that didn't work out. I have to hand it to you, Drago, my man, hiding it here was truly a piece of advanced thinking.”

“Fuck you and the plumbing truck you rode in on.”

Clay looked to Roy Boy. “Before we rolled up, did you hear anything about what they were doing, where the gold's hidden?”

Rob Roy shook his head. “They came right in, went right to the safe, and started working on it.”

“What good are you?” Clay turned to Sandman. “That doesn't make sense. How could he hide that much gold in a safe without expecting me to see it?”

Sandman shrugged.

Clay said, “What good
are you
? We'll take them somewhere else and have a little chat until we find out. Zip-tie their hands.”

“The fuck you will!” yelled Drago. He took a giant step toward the already scared Roy Boy, who jumped back, his eyes wild with fear and indecision, the gun jittering in his hand. Drago did it on purpose to solicit a gunshot. Did he hate Clay enough to sacrifice his life to bring the cops down on him? In the short time we'd been together, I'd gotten to know Drago a little better.

“Hold it,” Clay yelled. “Looks like this whole damn thing's going to get screwed up if I don't take a personal hand in it.” He said this looking up at the ceiling, as if talking to himself, a sure sign of mental instability. “Watch them for one minute. Can you assholes do that much? Huh?” He hurried down the hall and disappeared into the office. Something scraped on the floor. The desk. And then another scraping noise. He returned with a second H&K P9 while screwing on a silencer. He finished tightening it. From three feet away he shot Drago in the foot. Drago went down without a sound. “Now zip-tie them like I said, and do it quickly before I lose my cool and decide I need new prospects.” Prospects always did the dirty work, the menial labor, no matter what their physical condition, until they made their bones and earned their patch.

The prospects put the plastic zip-ties on our hands behind our backs. They had to use three on Drago, one on each hand, and then one to link the two hands together.

Clay's phone rang. He answered it and listened. “Okay, hold on.” He put his phone on speaker. “Go ahead. Deputy Bruno Johnson can hear you now.”

Jonas Mabry said, “Hello, Deputy Johnson.”

“Bruno, what did you do to this guy?” asked Mack.

“I guess I made the mistake of saving his life,” I replied angrily.

“Now that sounds like a story I gotta hear,” said Clay.

Jonas, on the phone, yelled, “Hey, pay attention, or I'm going to hang up.”

Drago lay on his back, writhing silently in pain. He tried to reach his foot bending backward, his hands cuffed together, but he wasn't flexible enough. He'd been shot in the foot on the same leg where I'd shot him in the thigh. I moved over to help him. No one stopped me. I sat down, slid my hands down past my feet and around to the front.

“Jonas Mabry, where is this gold you told me about?” asked Clay.

“They didn't find it?” asked Mabry. “Sounds like you moved in a little premature. I warned you about that. But you have ways to deal with that problem after you fulfill your end of the bargain. I need to talk with Deputy Johnson.”

I took my shirt off over my head, slipped it past my tied hands, and ripped it open to get it past the flex cuffs. I knelt down and untied Drago's boot.

Clay addressed Mabry. “You're not doing shit until I tell you to, you understand?”

Jonas Mabry chuckled and hung up.

Clay yelled, “Hello? Hello? The little shit hung up on me. You believe that?”

With my hands still zip-tied together, I slipped Drago's boot off as gingerly as I could. I tied my shirt around the bloody mess the 9mm round had made. The round went right through the top of the boot and imbedded in the sole of his boot. The entry wound on top had already swelled to a mound of red and purple, and oozed blood.

“Thanks, man,” Drago said. “That does feel a little better.”

Now Drago had two bullet holes in him, one of which I had put there. One I now regretted. I didn't know him or what he was about when I'd shot him.

“Do you believe the balls of this guy, hanging up on me?” asked Clay.

Sandman came over and grabbed my now-naked arm. “Look at this.” He pointed to the BMF tattoo. “This guy's a Brutal Mother Fucker. He's one of those LA cops who took down Joe Dick.”

Clay's cell phone rang. He answered it as he walked over to me. He said into the phone, “Hold on a minute.” I stood from my crouch.

Clay and Sandman came right up close. “That right? You the one who took down our friend Joe?”

“I have one of those tattoos,” Mack said. “Here, look. What's the big deal?”

Clay smiled. “You're too young, and we heard a nigger took out Joe. Looks like we're in for a bigger party than I thought. Grapple these guys up and take them to the warehouse. Call in the rest of the club, they're going to want to watch this.” Clay tapped his phone. “Okay, go ahead, you're back on speakerphone.”

Jonas said, “Are you talking about my friend Deputy Johnson? I know you must be. How absolutely perfect.” His voice pulled away from the phone. “You hear that, Mom? The biker assholes know Deputy Johnson. They've promised to make his last minutes on this earth memorable ones. What? Yes, I wish we could be there, too.”

Sandman did not move away. Pure hatred emitted from his eyes into me as though in waves. He pulled back and slugged me
in the stomach. I bent over. His knee came up. I saw it coming and turned my head, took it on the side. I went down and feigned unconsciousness.

“Wait,” Jonas said, “Before you go too far, I need to tell him something.”

“Where's the gold?” Clay asked Jonas.

“I told you, he didn't tell me. That fat slob Drago, he knows for sure. No doubt, you can get it out of him. Now let me talk to Deputy Johnson. A deal's a deal. If I hadn't called you, you wouldn't have known about this, and then where would you be? Out on your toy run while your clubhouse was taken down.”

Clay brought the phone down closer to me. “Okay, go ahead, he's listening.”

Clay didn't care if I was conscious or not. I kept my eyes closed, my body lax.

Rustling on the other end of the phone, then. “Mom, you do the honors. You've waited a long time for this.” Another voice came on, a woman. I didn't recognize Bella, I had never heard her speak. She said, “You ruined everything. You are a cold and insensitive man.”

Clay asked, “Is this going to take long? Do I need to get a beer?”

Bella continued. “You shouldn't have kicked in our door that day. You had no business doing that. You should've left us alone. Now you'll pay a price for it, a dear price.” Her voice came over strong, not weak like someone who had only two weeks to live. She coughed, and the one cough set off a string in rapid fire.

Jonas took the phone. The coughing continued in the background. Jonas said, “We really wanted Deputy Johnson to be with us when he found this out. And we would have if he'd gone along with our first plan. We would have grabbed him when he made the payoff. We would've had him and the money. But it's not about the money, never has been. That would only have been the bonus.”

“Get on with it,” said Clay. “I'm growing old here.”

Sandman kicked me in the side.

I hadn't been ready for it and curled up.

Sandman laughed. “He was faking it.” He kicked me again.

“Do it again and I'll rip your head off,” said Mack.

“Right, all tied up like that,” Sandman said.

“Enough,” said Clay. “I want to hear what this little shitass has to say. Go ahead.”

“No, it's fine if you want to go ahead and hit him some more.”

“Talk or I'm hanging up. I don't have time for this.”

“As I was saying,” said Jonas, “we had originally intended on grabbing you and clipping off each one of your fingers and toes, one at time. But then I didn't know how resourceful you were, how you'd come across a pot of gold. When we met out at Whitewater, I had a chance to meet your lovely wife, Marie. Would you like to talk to her?”

My world slid over the edge. I went into free-fall.

“No!” Mack yelled, and tried to wiggle his feet free.

Roy Boy and Slim Jim jumped over and put the boots to him, kicking relentlessly.

Sandman laughed and grunted as he tried his best to kick the life out of me. I covered up, squirmed, and dodged the best I could. I saw Mack take one to the head. He went limp.

Clay threw his head back and laughed. “You have his wife? Really? That's perfect, absolutely perfect.”

With the kicking, my anger rose. Nothing mattered now except Marie. I curled tighter. The blows became distant thuds. I yelled, “Jonas, you gave me until eight o'clock tonight. I will bring you the money tonight at eight. Are you a man of your word? Are you?”

The beating stopped.

Clay looked surprised. “Where are you comin' from here, boy? You aren't goin' anywhere. We're taking you to the warehouse. We're gonna have some real fun and games. And then—and then you gonna have an urgent appointment with a hole in the ground.”

I ignored him. “Jonas, what do you say?”

Clay clicked off the phone. His spittle flew. “Get them in the van.”

Drago didn't move. I couldn't tell if he was breathing. He'd probably lost too much blood. Three men half-carried, half-dragged me out to the paneled utility truck backed up to the front door. I didn't resist, I needed to reserve my strength. If Jonas had Marie,
that meant he also had Eddie. I had to get away. I had to take these guys down and find Marie.

The answer came to me as to what had happened. That the night before out in Whitewater, Jonas hadn't given up Eddie because he was injured or because Eddie wouldn't talk. Jonas had used Eddie as bait. Jonas must have put a small GPS in Eddie's shoe. Who would have thought to look? I should have. Jonas had lain back and taken Marie and Eddie at his leisure. Now getting free was the only thing that mattered.

They left me in the truck and went back for Mack. My hands were still in front of me. I floundered around looking for anything to get the flex-ties off. Then I remembered training from long ago. Friction. Heat. I fumbled with swollen hands, undid my shoelace, and tied one end to the inside support to the truck's metal shell. I threaded the lace through the flex cuff binding my hands. I tied the lace to another bulkhead brace below the first one, making a bow. I pulled the lace taut and worked the lace back and forth in a rapid manner like the pioneers did to make fire.

Less than ten feet away, back at the entry to the house, Roy Boy said, “Look at all that blood. I didn't think one body could have that much blood.” He was talking about Drago.

I seesawed away at a furious rate. The friction sliced through the flex cuff. I was free just as the group returned dragging Mack. I laid down where they had left me and didn't move. I looked up. I'd left the lace. They wouldn't know what it was for. I fought down my anger and the urge to jump them, right then. Beat them all to a bloody pulp for what they did, and for keeping me from my Marie.

They tossed Mack in next to me. He grunted and groaned and went silent. His face was unrecognizable. His eyes were welded together with purple and red. His nose bled and his lips were split. Blood trickled out of his mouth and down to his neck. I hoped like hell he didn't have internal injuries. I'd worked the street too long, seen too many beatings. I knew. My gut ached at the pain I had caused him.

Roy Boy and Slim Jim had stayed at the open back end of the truck. Roy Boy said, “How we going to get fatass all the way over here and into the truck?”

In the distance, Clay yelled, “Don't be a bunch of pussies. All five of you get on that pig and get him in the truck. Quit dickin' around and get it done.”

“Hey buddy, you okay?” I asked Mack.

No reply. I nudged him. He didn't even groan. He needed immediate medical attention. I looked back. The three bikers and the two prospects, with great effort, were hauling Drago along the trash-laden floor of the club. I leaned up far enough to check the ignition. The keys were gone.