The Devil's Syndicate

by Chris Draper

  “I'm not a cop--”

  “Shut your mouth.” Cleetch said and shoved him again and this time he stumbled forward and fell down on his right arm. Hawk slowly picked himself up and focused his attention on the man in front of him with the dark hair and scar running down his cheek.

  “So you're not a cop.” Byron said examining the cellphone. It had extensive water damage and would no longer turn on. He then picked up the handgun from the table and inspected it in his hand. “Then I hope you have a good reason for sneaking around carrying this kind of toy. You could get in a lot of trouble doing something like that around here.”

  Hawk lowered his hands, looked at the three men sitting there. They looked like the kind of guys he'd busted back in the Vice squad, the kind of guys that hung around strip joints or biker bars. Hard men with rotten pasts that usually wound up in prison as soon as they were 18.

  “I've been trying to find you guys for sometime.” Hawk said and noticed the eyebrows go up on all of them. He wasn't sure if they'd realize he was bluffing but it was all he could think of at the moment. “You won't believe how long it took me to track this place down.”

  They didn't say anything for a moment and then Byron spoke again. “What do you mean you were trying to find us?” He said. “You don't find us. We find you.”

  “I heard about you guys from a friend of yours, a Mr. Choudry.” Hawk said. “He was a friend of mine as well when I was locked up.”

  “Choudry?” Randall had been standing behind Hawk and came over to him, surprised to hear the mention of his old friend Peter Choudry's name. He'd spent a year in the same prison cell with Choudry a long time ago but he couldn't remember what crime the man had committed. He was shocked that this stranger even knew of him. Last he heard Choudry was living somewhere in Miami spending his days as an alcoholic. Randall looked over at Byron. “Choudry was a guy I met in prison. Think he was in for robbery but I can't remember for what exactly.”

  “Alright.” Byron said and looked back at Hawk. “Go on about Choudry.”

  “Choudry was the one who told me about you guys, told me I could come here if I was looking for a job. I met him at the St.Mary's community centre back in Miami.”

  Byron stared at Hawk for a second like he was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth, then nodded. “So you wanted to find us, okay fine. But just how did you know where to look? No one else besides us knows where this building is.”

  “The Micosuckee do.” Hawk said. “I went to a village nearby and they told me where I could find you. They said they knew of this place and told me how to get here.”

  “Bullshit.” Travis was speaking now. There was something about this stranger that bothered him. Maybe it was the fact that he looked like one of those lame ass tourists or a cop but all he knew was that buddy looked like bad news. “This guy's lying through his teeth. I say we get rid of him, he looks like a total cop to me. Plus everyone knows the Micosuckee don't even speak English.”

  “I had a contact with them who spoke English.”

  “What were you in prison for?” Byron switched topics. “You don't look like a dude who's done time to me.”

  “I smuggled drugs.” It was the first thing that Hawk could think of. Working as a Vice cop gave him intimate knowledge of the subject that he could use to lie if they asked him anything further.

  “Really?” Etaro now spoke with a grin. “What kind of drugs? Tylenol and cough syrup?”

  They all laughed at that and Hawk noticed that the laughter was louder this time and looked around him. A dozen others like the men had come out from nowhere and were now watching the spectacle before them with amused looks on their faces. It made Hawk feel like an actor in a ridiculous play that was being written in real-time. He noticed the ones watching were all wearing a similar jacket with some writing on the back in red but he couldn't quite make out what it said. He directed his attention back at the man who'd asked the question, a shorter black man with a buzz cut and pierced ears.

  “I smuggled narcotics. Alprazolam, Dilaudids, Opioids – you know, the kind of shit real men do.” Hawk said and added. “But I can get you cough syrup if that's what you're into.”

  The room exploded with laughter at the remark and Etaro looked around, visibly pissed and stepped in to make a move on Hawk but Byron held him back. He then continued his conversation with Hawk.

  “What prison were you in?”

  “Florida state.”

  “For how long?”

  “A year.”

  “I still think he's spewin' horseshit.” Travis said. “Let's search his bag, I bet it'll be full of police stuff.”

  Byron looked down at Hawk's duffel bag on the floor, nodded at Travis. “Take a look in the bag.”

  Travis went over and emptied the bag onto the floor and Hawk was suddenly glad he'd left his wallet back in Aldwell that could identify him as a liar. He watched as Travis searched through the rest of the bag's contents. He found the hand drawn map Abji had made and held it up to inspect under the light.

  “Aha! What is this?”

  “It's a map of the area, it's how I found you.” Hawk said noticing Travis was having trouble reading it. “One of the Micosuckee drew it up for me.”

  “Okay, and what about these clothes man?” Travis pulled out a bright floral Hawaiian shirt from the bag, Hawk's favourite. “What kind of criminal wears shit like this?”

  Hawk smiled. “I wore that to fit in with the people around here, I'm out on parole right now and didn't want anyone to think I'd been in prison before. You know how it is out in the real world.”

  Travis frowned and went back to searching the duffel bag in the hopes of finding something, anything to prove this dude was a fraud. When he finished going through everything else he looked up at Byron, shrugged his shoulders. “Everything else is just junk.”

  “And what about the case?” Byron nodded at the rifle case on the floor. “Open it.”

  Hawk hesitated, then got down on one knee and opened the case. Inside was his rifle with some ammunition. Randall reached over, snatched up the rifle and inspected it, then gave it to Byron who turned it over in his hands. “My dad used to have a rifle like this. Seems like you're carrying quite a bit of artillery for someone who says they aren't a cop. What did you plan on doing with all of this stuff?”

  “I brought it with me in case I had to hunt for food.” Hawk said. “I don't know these parts very well and had no idea what I would find out there. I wanted to be prepared.”

  Byron pointed to the binoculars dumped on the floor from the duffel bag. “And I suppose those were part of your survival strategy as well?”

  “I brought them just in case I had to see something far up river.”

  “Like us?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay and what about the cellphone? You must have known there would be no service out here.”

  “Yeah I knew that already. I had forgotten that it was in my pocket. Should have left it in the city.”

  Etaro shook his head, “I still don't buy it man.” He said and looked Hawk up and down. “The guy looks like a lost tourist or something. Why don't we just finish him off? I'd be glad to do it.”

  “Would a lost tourist be carrying a loaded 9mm?” Hawk said. “Or spend days trying to find you guys through that jungle?”

  Byron cut in again. “What's your name?”

  “Blake.” Hawk said, saying the first name that came to mind. “Blake Reynolds.”

  “Okay...so here you are Blake, you somehow managed to find us through one of the most treacherous parts of the country and I'm impressed by that. The question is...why? Why go through that ordeal just to find us when you could have easily joined up with any of the other hundreds of criminal groups in the state?”

  “I've been wanting to work for you a long time.” Hawk said. “I heard you guys were doing a lot of big things, and I wanted to be a part of it. I heard you were different than the others. I think I can be usef
ul to what you've got going on here.”

  “And what do you think we have going on here?” Byron asked. “What exactly did you hear about the Devil's Syndicate?”

  That was it! The Devil's Syndicate, Hawk thought. That was the name in red he couldn't quite make out on the back of their black leather jackets. They must be some kind of biker gang he thought, which also explained why one of the Micosuckee said they had heard loud machines near here. These were indeed the bad men that Abji had spoken of.

  “I've heard that the Devils Syndicate are the baddest in the state of Florida. I've heard that you guys are the ones to join if a man's looking for some real action. It's what I heard in all of the biker bars I went to trying to find you guys.”

  “Well you heard right.” Byron said. “But if you heard that you must have also heard we're not just your typical biker gang. Not at all in fact as I'm sure you will find out if you decide to join us. When someone joins us, they're in for life. They don't go home after because their home is here. We work as a unit and we thrive as a unit...for better or worse. We don't sit around bars drinking beer and looking for women – if that's what you're after I'm afraid you made the wrong choice.”

  “No that's not where my interests lie.” Hawk said. “I want to be part of something that accepts me.”

  “Well the Syndicate is all about acceptance…for the right person that is.” Byron continued. “If you're willing to work hard than it can be a very rewarding experience. But for the wrong person it can be hell on earth. We don't take slackers lightly around here.”

  “I'm no slacker.” Hawk said. “Are you guys more like a cult?”

  Byron hesitated for a moment before speaking as if he was trying to choose his words carefully. “A cult is...more of a selfish creation manifested by greed and manipulation. The Syndicate certainly has elements of a cult, but I believe the elements we do possess are more...transparent. You won't see any voodoo or black magic around here. Yes our name represents the devil and yes, we do ride bikes from time to time but the Syndicate is more of a unit for those who have trouble fitting in elsewhere. I believe you may be one of these souls. Am I right Blake?”

  “Yes, that does describe me quite well.” Hawk said and was amazed at how much his lie had grown. “So how do I join? I hope I didn't come all this way for nothing.”

  Byron smiled and looked over at Randall who also smiled. “Well Blake, it seems like you're quite keen on joining the Syndicate. But you will have to prove your talents first. I'm sure you know that we're not stupid enough to just accept any person who stumbles in here professing their love for the Syndicate. If that was the case we'd be overrun with undesirables.”

  “Of course.”

  “But if you're serious about joining us, and you're good on you're feet we could use your help tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That's right.” Byron said. “Tomorrow we plan on raiding a rival groups hideout and we could always use an extra man for the job, assuming you are man enough that is.”

  “You don't have to worry about that.” Hawk said bending down to put his clothes back in the duffel bag. “I came out here to work for you guys, whatever you give me I'll accept.”

  “Good.” Byron said. “This will be your chance to prove yourself to the Syndicate. If you succeed, then we'll consider making you a permanent member of our gang.”

  “And if I don't?”

  Byron smiled and for the first time Hawk saw nothing in those hollow eyes, nothing but an bottomless void filled with God-knows-what. It wasn't like the void he'd seen in the eyes of other criminals either – you could tell that deep beneath the surface they were scared of something. But this void, it went on for eternity.

  “Let's worry about that if the time comes.” Byron said, then looked at Randall. “Randall, show Blake here to one of our best suites.”

  Hawk went to grab his weapons on the table but Byron stepped in front of his path, “We'll hold on to these for now. You'll get them back tomorrow before we leave.”

  “You don't trust me?”

  “It's not that I don't trust you.” Byron said. “We just need to be sure you're who you say you are. You're new here got it? You still need to prove yourself a bit more before we can just let you do whatever you want.”

  “Okay. But make sure to take good care of them.” Hawk said then followed Randall down the hall. He had no sooner turned away when he thought of something else and called back to Byron over his shoulder. “Oh and by the way, I almost forgot to ask...I didn't get your name yet. What should I call you?”

  “Byron. That's what you can call me.” He said and turned his attention back to some Syndicates who had started a poker game on the coffee table nearby.

  Bingo! Hawk thought. He had found his man. Hawk then said, “Don't worry - I won't.” Then added, “See you tomorrow.” And followed Randall down a long corridor to his room. He noticed some doors leading into a few small rooms in the hallway were all wide open except for one that was closed in the centre of the hall to his left. It was a large steeldoor with a small metal plate cover in the centre like the ones he'd seen in some prisons where a guard could communicate with an inmate by raising the cover. Hawk knew that was where they must be keeping Dottie.

  A minute later they reached a room down the hall and Randall led Hawk into the 'suite' Byron had promised. It was dark, dingy, and rank with the smell of sewage and had a single small window built into the brick wall with ominous steel bars running through the middle like the others he'd seen. There was a single cot tossed on the floor with some dark stains on the side, a dirty toilet in the corner, and a cracked sink jutting out of a wall covered in moss. Hawk thought he'd rather sleep outside then spend a night in here, but before he could say anything else Randall had already shut the door behind him and he heard the grinding of the heavy lock being closed.

  “Best room in the house.” He said grinning through the small window in the door. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You're going to lock me in here?” Hawk asked. “You don't have to do that, I won't be any trouble.”

  “Sure you won't.” Randall said, still grinning. “Anyways that's the way it is. Byron will come and fetch you tomorrow to go over our plans.” He shut the small cover on the door and Hawk heard him disappear down the hall. He stood there for a second thinking, then stretched out on the cot with his arms folded behind his head and one leg crossed over the other. Now he was alone, now he had nothing to do but think. Think of his next move. He knew that Dottie Wagner must be behind that door and needed a way to break in there somehow without arousing the suspicions of the rest of the Syndicate. He made a mental note to try and sneak away tomorrow, maybe get close enough to examine the door and see if he could break in somehow. If he could get Dottie out he could possibly steal a vehicle from somewhere and risk heading back through the Everglades to the nearest town. He'd been too preoccupied earlier after he'd been caught outside to notice if there was a road leading to the compound but he knew there had to be one somewhere.

  How else would all of these people get to and from a place so far in the wilderness? A boat would be out of the question. He also figured there had to be some vehicles stored somewhere, possibly on the other side of the building in a garage. If he did manage to escape with Dottie though the going would be rough – he didn't know the area at all and he doubted she did either. But still, at least she would be free and part of his job here would be done.

  And what about Byron? The man he'd been searching for all this time. And this whole cult/gang thing going on? He had to admit it was a little weird. That being said though Byron was a far cry from what he'd envisioned. He wasn't like your usual gang leader at all. Rather he seemed well-spoken in a glib sort of way, intelligent even, and had a way with words that must have explained why these others had flocked to him.

  Hawk wasn't sure how they earned their livelihood but however they did he was sure it wasn't by any legal means. He hadn't planned on trying to join
them either, but then again he hadn't planned on anything that had happened in the last 24 hours. This whole situation seemed like a scene out of a novel. But if joining them meant saving Dottie then that was what had to be done. He also wondered if Byron or the rest of them suspected he was lying about his identity. He couldn't see how though...unless of course they'd seen him in some news story in regards to the Tony Risotto case but that too was doubtful. The Syndicate seemed pretty far removed from society out here and even if they had seen something on TV it was unlikely that they would connect his face to something that had been on the news over a year ago. Still, there was always a chance they knew he was lying and Hawk had to stay more alert than ever while he was here.

  He stared at the thick bars at the window, at the vast green bush outside, and wondered how Dottie could have endured living in a place like this for so long. He felt like he was locked up in a prison in some third world country, a place where people ranked below rats on the scale of life. He felt the stubble on his chin, realized he hadn't shaved for a few days and could feel the first signs of a beard taking over his face. He heard someone outside the door again, heard the click of the metal lock being released, then turned his head and saw Randall return with some clothes and tossed them on the cot.

  “Put these on. They belonged to another guy who used to run with us, he was about your size.”

  “What's wrong with what I have on now?”

  “You'll stick out like a sore thumb wearing that tomorrow.”

  “Alright. And what do I have to do to get something to eat around here?” Hawk realized he'd only eaten back in Imokalee and was starved.

  “You'll get something when everyone else does, at 9 o'clock. I'll put it through the opening on the door.”

  Then he left again and Hawk found a lamp sitting on the floor in one corner of the room and was surprised to find it still worked. He then undressed from his clothes and was relieved to finally have them off. He'd been wearing the same outfit for two days and there was a cool breeze blowing in from the window that felt good against his bare skin. He looked at the clothes they'd given him. Some ripped blue jeans, a black shirt with a faded logo of some rock club in Dallas, and a pair of heavy black boots. Not exactly his style but they would have to do for now. Then he lay back down on the cot and tried to get some rest until dinner.