The Devil's Syndicate

by Chris Draper

  And Byron could see that branding on Etaro's arm now as he turned around to ensure some crates of weapons in the back of the van were secure. They turned off the dirt road onto I-75 heading towards Fort Lauderdale and Byron played over the plan for the day in his head. The night before he had made a few of the Syndicate go through the weapons stolen from the Amarack warehouse and create a list of everything they'd taken. It would be important when it came time to sell it all off later. But there was another reason Byron had wanted to know what was stolen. A rival gang by the name of El Hombrez had been moving into Syndicate territory around the larger cities for some time and he'd wanted to get the message across to them that the Syndicate wouldn't be pushed around. Which was why he'd decided to show off some of their newer firepower to the leader of the El Hombrez, a scumbag by the name of Hugo Martinez. He'd decided to only bring a few of the Syndicate for this mission as he didn't want to arrive at the front door of the El Hombrez with a full army – that might send them into fight mode and right now he just wanted to scare Martinez enough so that he would keep out of their territory.

  “You sure you can trust Larry guarding Dottie back there alone?” Travis asked. “He seems to be uh, taking a bit of a liking to her if you know what I mean.”

  Byron had left his cousin in charge of the base while they were away and the rest of the Syndicate was elsewhere in the state taking care of other jobs.

  “Yeah I think he's planning on putting a bit of pork to her.” Stacey snorted a laugh. “That's if she would even do even it with that retard.”

  “I think the both of you should keep quiet."

  “Sorry Byron." Travis said. "I know Larry's your cousin and all but--”

  Byron continued. “Larry has stayed behind to guard the place before, don't see any reason why he shouldn't now. He's just as good with a gun as any of you. Or do you not think I can train my own cousin on how to use a gun?”

  “No Byron, I didn't mean that...”

  “Or maybe next time one of you can stay behind and Larry can come and take your place on the road. How does that sound?”

  Byron's voice was growing louder now and they all knew to keep quiet. They'd all been subjected to his temper before and none of them wanted to unleash that part of him now. Not after he'd already killed a man that morning. In reality Larry had been in an accident when Byron and him were kids. His cousin had always been into starting fires from a young age and one day they had been in Larry's shed in Jacksonville and he was showing Byron how to light a can of aerosol paint on fire so that it wouldn't explode but just stay burning until the remnants of the paint crackled away like a birthday cake's sparklers. Larry had apparently done it before to show off to some kids at school. This time though he overestimated the flame, held it on the bottom of the can a little too long, and it exploded at the side of his head. They'd been able to save the flesh on his temple with skin grafts and his hair eventually grew back, but the force of the impact caused him brain damage that never quite went away.

  Byron had always felt a little responsible for what had happened to his cousin and now took it upon himself to keep Larry under his wing and try and teach him whatever he could. It was true though that he had noticed Larry making eyes at Dottie when they'd brought her back to the base a week ago and he'd warned him to stay away from her as she would be worth less as damaged goods.

  About 30 minutes later Byron took an exit on the highway and they were soon rolling up to a dirty brown brick dive bar on the side of the road called Fiesta Lochez. This was the headquarters of the El Hombrez and as they pulled in they saw Martinez' personal bodyguard Hector watching by the entrance of the bar. He had his long black hair woven into a ponytail and his dark features were in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. These were creatures of the night that rarely got up before 3 in the afternoon and only got their sun from the dim lights of seedy bars and strip joints. Hector disappeared inside the bar and came out a second later with Martinez and a few of the other El Hombrez. The Syndicate filed out of the van with Byron in the lead and approached them.

  Martinez was a craggly-faced and dark complected Mexican with shifty eyes. He'd been working on his beer paunch for years and Byron saw that it now came out over his pants like he was growing a second stomach. Martinez grinned wide as Byron approached but Byron's face stayed serious.

  “Byron! My good friend, it has been so long.” He said patting his shoulder. “How have you been?”

  “Good Martinez.” Byron said looking down at the small Mexican. “How are things?”

  “Things are good here! You and your men, you must come in for a drink.”

  “We came to talk Martinez. Not drink.”

  “Talk?” Martinez frowned for a moment then laughed. “Sure we can talk plenty! First you come in for a drink though, okay?”

  He led them into the bar where a few lonely pool tables were scattered around and a couple of the El Hombrez sat at wooden tables drinking beer and playing poker. They looked up when the Syndicate came in and whispered to each other. Martinez called to the bartender: “Hey Rafael! Fetch me some beers! I've got friends here.”

  Martinez led them to a large table and they all sat down and Rafael brought a tray of beers over. In the background the other members of the El Hombrez stopped talking and kept their eyes on Byron. The last time he'd been here it hadn't been so joyful. In the background an old jukebox near the bar churned out a rock song in Spanish.

  Martinez spoke first. “It's been awhile. Maybe a year since we have last seen one another?”

  “Yeah about that I figure.”

  “Well, I hope you aren't still mad about our little disagreement. You know, it was all just business. Everyone has to look out for themselves in our line of business right?”

  “That's right Martinez, every man for himself.”

  Martinez was referring to a hit he'd placed on Byron over a year ago when both of their outfits were competing for the same stretch of territory in Miami. The Syndicate still hadn't placed roots in many of the areas surrounding the city limits yet and Martinez didn't like a newer group pushing in so he hired two of his goons to try and take out Byron in a drive-by. Byron had been lucky though. On the day of the hit he'd been walking at night on a back street in downtown Miami and two undercover police officers had been working surveillance on a house nearby on a different case. When the would-be assassins got close and started firing they only managed to scuff Byron's leg before being startled by police sirens behind them. The goons ended up getting caught in a high speed pursuit that ended with their arrest while Byron had managed to sneak away from the ordeal with only a scratch. When the chase had appeared on the news the next morning he'd known right away that the assassins had belonged to the El Hombrez and this strained an already tense relationship between the two factions.

  Martinez laughed. “Yes you were always a smart one my friend.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat taking a sip of beer. It was a blonde house lager that tasted like water. “So what brings you here to see me today?”

  Byron smiled for the first time in the conversation and Martinez relaxed a little.

  “I've come on a little business Martinez.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I have some things I think you'd be interested in having a look at.”

  Martinez scratched the bottom of his chin. “Uh what kinds of things you got?”

  Byron looked over at Randall, nodded for him to get something from the van and he went outside.

  “Say Martinez, I noticed you have a pretty big empty lot behind the bar. Anything back there you want to get rid of?”

  Martinez thought a moment then said, “Yes, I think we have an old bus, a school bus that's been rotting back there for years. I always planned on towing it away but kind of forgot about it. You say you've come here to remove my school bus?” Martinez looked surprised and some of his gang laughed.

  “Let's see what we can do about it.” Byron said standing up as Randall came
back inside with a large aluminum case in his hand.

  Martinez stood up as well and motioned for everyone to follow him to the back of the bar where they went through an old storage room full of disused pool tables out a back door that lead to an area overgrown with weeds. There was nothing back there but a large field that disappeared into miles of uncultivated farmland and they could hear the roar of the interstate off to the right. There were no other houses or businesses closeby which was one of the reasons Martinez had selected the bar in the first place. Everyone knew it was the headquarters for the El Hombrez including the police but Martinez was an expert at keeping anything illegal clandestine which was why they'd managed to keep the spot for so long. Sure, police raids went down from time to time but thus far Martinez had been able to keep the place clean of anything that could get them into serious trouble.

  Martinez pointed over to a decaying yellow heap about 10 metres ahead in an area of tall grass. The school bus had definitely seen better days and had a damaged front bumper with rust taking over most of the rest of the frame.

  “That's the bus over there.” Martinez said looking at the case in Randall's hand curiously. “What do you plan to do?”

  Byron nodded at Randall. “Randall, why don't you show Martinez here our new friend?”

  Randall withdrew a silver rocket launcher from the large case which was met with general ooohs and aaahs from the El Hombrez. He loaded up a rocket into the back, cradled it on his right shoulder, flipped up the crosshair panel and took aim at the school bus a few feet away. He then pulled the trigger and a projectile tore into the rear of the bus, blowing up most of what was left of it into tiny pieces that fell limply on the long grass. When he was done some of the El Hombrez came over to inspect it in his hand.

  “Very nice.” Martinez said. “The El Hombrez could use weapons like this. Are they for sale?”

  “Maybe.” Byron said adding: “For the right buyer.”

  Martinez looked like he was thinking then whispered something into Hector's ear in Spanish and after a few seconds Martinez said, “We're interested. You come back with the weapons and we negotiate.”

  “We'll be in touch.” Byron said turning to leave when Martinez called after him again.

  “Say Byron, I heard on the news yesterday about a robbery that took place in the city. I guess you wouldn't know anything about that? I heard from someone that place that got hit might of had weapons such as the ones you got here.”

  Byron stopped and turned his head slightly. “I don't know anything about that Martinez, we got these weapons from a friend of mine who lives out in Texas. He never says where he gets his stuff from.”

  “Oh yes, the lone star state, I have many friends there.” Martinez nodded. “Okay please come back soon and we can talk more."

  Byron nodded then headed back through the bar and the rest of the Syndicate followed him to the vans parked out front. In the van on the way back to the Syndicate base, Travis spoke up first.

  “Byron, can I ask what that was all about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well...unless I'm missing something, I thought we were still enemies with the Hombrez. I thought we were only going to scare them, you never mentioned anything about selling them guns.”

  “We are still enemies. I have no intention of selling them anything.”

  Travis looked even more confused.

  “Just think for a second,” Byron said keeping his eyes on the road. “If you were Martinez and your biggest rival showed up with a rocket launcher, what would you think?”

  “Well,” Travis said thinking. “I'd think they were into some pretty heavy stuff.”

  “Exactly. And Martinez isn't stupid. He knows that we didn't just pay him a visit to sell him a bunch of guns. That little show Randall gave him back there was us sending him a subliminal message that read 'Don't mess with the Devil's Syndicate unless you want to end up like that bus'. That means maybe the El Hombrez will think twice before moving onto our turf again in the future.”

  “So we're not going to sell him anything?” Stacey asked. “All that was just a warning?”

  “That's right. If he behaves himself maybe I'll come back and sell him a couple handguns.” Byron said. “But that's a big if. And I'll be sure to triple the price as well if I do sell him anything.”

  Travis asked, “Okay but what if he suspects it was us who robbed that warehouse? He seemed like he knows something.”

  “What could he possibly know? He has no clue where we got our supply from and no proof of anything.” Byron said without a trace of concern in his voice. His calmness in situations always made the rest of them feel at ease and Byron knew it too. “He doesn't even know where our base is located. Believe me if Martinez knew something then he would have said it back there.”

  “Yeah I guess you're right about that.”

  “Of course I'm right.”

  Etaro snorted a laugh. “Did you see his face when that bus went pop? I think he nearly shit a brick.”

  That's exactly what we want.” Byron said, then: “Etaro, you're on street duty with Randall for the next couple of days. That means I want you canvassing our dealers, making sure no one from the El Hombrez has been moving in and selling in our areas. I want you to familiarize yourself with our territory in Fort Lauderdale, Jacksonville and Central Miami.”

  “Sounds good boss.”

  ≈

  Back in the Everglades Larry had been guarding Dottie and was opening up the steel door to her room. She looked up as he came in and moved up further on the bed, stuck a pillow in front of her with her legs tucked under herself protectively.

  “What do you want?” She look scared. “You're not supposed to be in here.”

  “I just wanna have a little fun with you is all.” Larry said licking his bottom lip. “You must get lona-lee sitting around this place all day. Real lona-lee.” Larry moved closer to her and sat down on the bed and she tensed up.

  “If you come any closer I'll scream!”

  “Ain't no one gonna hear you besides a croc or two.” Larry tried to hold in a laugh but it burst out of his closed mouth. “Or maybe you'd like it better if you was in the swamp with them instead of here with me?” He reached out and stroked her bare leg. It was as smooth as silk. “Say how you keep your legs so smooth when we ain't given you any shavers?”

  “Get away from me you creep!” She shrieked, smacking his arm hard and he recoiled in pain.

  “You little bitch!” He said and went to grab her. At that moment though they both heard the van pulling over the gravel outside the window and Larry quickly got out of the room and locked it up behind him, checking twice to make sure the lock was secure so no one would know he'd been there. Byron told him if he was caught messing around with Dottie he'd kill him and he believed it too. Byron was a crazy son-of-a-bitch when he wanted to be. Larry was rubbing his arm which was now sore when the main door opened and Byron flooded in with the rest of them.

  “Everything alright?” He asked.

  “Yup. Nothing but peace and quiet here.”

  “Any problems with the girl?”

  “Nope she's been sleeping like a baby.”

  “Okay good. Go wake her up, get the handcuffs on her, get her in the van. We gotta little business to take care of with a Mr. Wagner.”

  15 minutes later they were back on the highway and stopped outside of a small town to use a payphone in front of a closed down laundry mat. There was nothing around the laundry mat besides bush and the old building was set in a little from the interstate so anyone driving by would have trouble seeing them in case someone got a little too nosey for their own good. Byron had also made sure there were no working cameras around to record them at the payphone.

  Byron dialed Harvey Wagner's California number, the one Dottie had given him. He had Dottie squeeze into the phone booth beside him and handcuffed her one arm to his.

  “Remember what I said in the van,” He said. “Try running
away, or try anything at all I don't like and I'll break your arm.”

  “I won't try to run. I just want to talk to my dad.”

  Byron sunk a few quarters in change, dialed Wagner's office number and waited. A few seconds later he heard a distinguished voice come on the other line.

  “Harvey Wagner investments. This is Mr. Wagner, how can I help you?”

  “Mr. Wagner, we have your daughter Dottie with us. We've taken her hostage and to get her back you need to give us $2 million dollars cash. Capiche?”

  “I'm sorry,” Wagner turned up his phone. “What did you say? Who is this?”

  Byron spoke louder into the phone, “I said we have your fucking daughter and if we don't get $2 million dollars by next week we're gonna feed her to some crocodiles. I got enough of them around here that I could feed them with your daughter's body for a week. You understand now?”

  There was a pause on the line, then “I...I understand.” Wagner's speech became flustered and uneven. Where is my daughter now?”

  “She's here with me. Say hello to daddy sweetheart.” Byron shoved the phone in front of Dottie.

  “Daddy!” She was speaking fast and she could feel the tears starting up in her eyes. “I'm so sorry for running away, I should have said something first but needed to get out on my own. I didn't get a chance to explain.”

  “It's okay, it's okay,” He said reassuringly. “I'm just glad you're safe.”

  Byron yanked the phone back to his mouth. “Okay that's enough for now Mr. Wagner. This isn't a joke, understand?”

  “Yes, I think I understand. May I ask who you are?”

  “No you may not ask who I am.” Byron mocked Wagner's fancy way of talking. “Anyways, we'll call you back with the details but we expect $2 million by the end of this week or your daughter dies.”

  “Let me talk to Dottie again.”

  “No deal. You get us the money and then you'll get to talk to her again.” There was a pause on the line then Byron said, “Okay we gotta go old man but remember what I said.”