The Devil's Syndicate

by Chris Draper

  For the first time he started to feel something deep in his gut he hadn't felt since his wife Helen had been hospitalized: Worry. A deep worry that ate away at him like a cancerous sore. He didn't know what the rest of the day would hold but prayed silently to any God that was listening that somehow, someway he'd get a chance, no matter how small, to get back here and get Dottie Wagner. Now he regretted telling her he'd be back to get her at all. What if that didn't end up happening? He thought of her in that damp cell now, clinging to the hope of his promise and it made him feel sick inside. And these were his last thoughts as Cleetch started to wind the cloth around his eyes and the world went dark.

  17

  The truck skipped and jumped along the dirt road for what seemed like an eternity even though it had only been a few minutes. Hawk was beside Cleetch in the passenger's seat and he found trying to memorize the route impossible with the blindfold covering his eyes – everything around him was cast in a sea of darkness so he kept his eyelids shut. His ears had acquired a heightened sense of perception and he could hear quite distinctly rain hitting the top of the truck as well as the trees outside slapping the sides of the window beside him.

  He heard Cleetch light up a cigarette and roll down the window and could imagine the truck's cabin filling up with silky smoke – smoke that couldn't penetrate the thickness of the darkness surrounding him. Before getting into the truck Cleetch had also tied his hands tightly behind his back and he felt utterly helpless and realized this was how Dottie had probably felt when they first brought her to this place. He had tried already to loosen the knot but it was next to impossible from this angle and whenever he tried he just made it worse so he gave up for the time being. Breathing through the towel wrapped over his mouth also proved difficult and it felt like he was breathing into a solid wall. There was some faint music playing on the truck's radio and he heard Cleetch turn the volume up and the crisp monotone of a reporter's voice cut through: “Residents of Southwestern Florida are warned to be extra cautious driving today as Hurricane Hector is expected to arrive sometime throughout the night. Winds can be expected to reach upwards of 120 miles per hour in some areas followed by heavy downpours that will make driving conditions extremely difficult. Experts are saying that this tropical cyclone could even surpass Hurricane Charley as the worst hurricane the state of Florida has ever seen. Listener's out there surely remember the ferocity of Charley in 2004, a class 4 that ripped through the area which resulted in several fatalities as well as extensive property damage. Hector has already worked his way through the coast of Jamaican and last week had uprooted several small towns on the Eastern shores of Mexico leaving thousands of residents without power. We urge all listeners to keep tuned in for updates about the storm and please exercise caution if going out tonight.”

  Hawk heard Cleetch whistle through his teeth then turn down the volume.

  “Sounds like that Hector's gonna be bigger than a nuclear bomb. Sure hope we'll be clear off the roads when he hits.”

  “How far to Fiesta Lochez?” Hawk asked, hopeful that he could get on Cleetch's good side while Byron was away. “Byron said it would take about an hour, is that right?”

  “Something like that.” Cleetch said. “Maybe a little longer tonight though with the rains comin' down. We're lucky we got them trees covering us for now but when we get out on the highway it's gonna come down like a thousand hail Mary’s.”

  “Which highway would that be?”

  There was a pause for a second and he could tell Cleetch was probably shocked he'd asked.

  “Hey bud you know I can't tell ya that sorta thing. The boss keeps our whereabouts out here a secret, 'specially to strangers like yourself. Now I know you got a blindfold on but I still can't tell you too much. No hard feelings.”

  “No hard feelings.” Hawk said, not surprised that it wouldn't be as easy as just asking a question. Byron had surely taught all of them to be mindful of what they said to non-Syndicate's as saying the wrong thing could probably mean a bullet in the back of the head or worse. “Tell me something else then, why does Byron hide himself away so far in the Everglades?”

  “Because Byron's different.” Said Cleetch. “He doesn't fit in with the rest of society, you know what it's like for people like that. It's like that for all of us here. Gets so bad you just have to get away from it all or go mad as a dog.”

  “So what made him pick this place?”

  “He knew a guy who was selling it for cheap, said it used to belong to some mobsters back in the prohibition era.”

  “Interesting. And this is the only way in?”

  “Far as I know it is.” Cleetch said then caught himself. “Hey you're a sneaky one Blake, you sure you ain't a copper like they was saying?”

  “No I'm not a cop, they're all a bunch of sore assholes. Only good cop is a dead cop.”

  He heard Cleetch laugh and could imagine those jowls on his chin shaking as he did. “You nailed that one right on the nose pal! Never had much love for them pigs unless they're six feet under.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “So they was saying back there you used to be a thief. What was that like? You ever rob one of them really big houses like the ones you see in all those TV movies?”

  “All the time. That was where I made most of my money. Robbing from the big wigs with the fancy cars.”

  “Now isn't that something.” Cleetch said and Hawk could hear genuine surprise in his voice, like maybe he'd never met a full-time thief before. “Say you ever find anything, you know, really nice in any of those big old houses? Like something worth a lot of dough?”

  “Of course.” Hawk said. “Jewellery, artwork, everything you could imagine.”

  “Wow! Now that's what Cleetch calls living. Say, maybe one time if it's okay with the boss and all I could come along with you, maybe give some extra cover or something.”

  “You bet Cleetch.” Hawk said smiling to himself. Less than 24 hours ago he had been hunting for these men and now he found it amusing that he was pretending to be one of them. He thought about how Helen would laugh when she heard about all of this.

  Cleetch quieted down after that and they rode on for awhile without saying anything, although occasionally Cleetch lit up another cigarette or switched the radio station. Eventually Hawk heard the transition from dirt road to paved surface and knew they would now be on a highway by the sudden increase in speed and the sound of heavy rains pounding against the truck. If he was going to act and warn the police about what was coming he realized it would have to be soon; Fiesta Lochez couldn't be too much further ahead and time was running thin. He hadn't seen Cleetch or any of the Syndicate with a cellphone and doubted they would use them anyway that far out in the forest. Maybe they were also worried about a cellphone being traced somehow to their location, he wouldn't put it past Byron to be that paranoid. If he was going to make a call it would have to be somewhere on the way like a bar or convenience store and it would have to be soon. And it was at precisely that moment when he heard some loud feedback from somewhere on Cleetch's side of the truck and heard Byron's growl of a voice come through the speakers on what sounded like a CB radio.

  “Listen up people. We're going to need to go the speed limit here – last thing we need is to attract any attention from the police now that we're on solid ground. I want everyone to maintain some distance behind the guy in front of him and I'll stay in the lead. When we get to Fiesta Lochez I want everyone to turn their headlights off. You never know if they'll be people outside having a smoke or something – although I doubt it in this weather. If there is we'll have to park in a field about half a kilometre up the highway and walk over with the gear. If not then we'll pull into the far end of the driveway and park far enough away from the bar so they won't see us. That being said if anyone does recognize us then we still go ahead as planned. Remember no one gets out alive.”

  The way Byron said no one sent a chill through Hawk's body. He was treating this like his own privat
e war and it made Hawk's determination to warn the police even greater.

  “10-4 boss.” Said someone over the radio.

  “One more thing.” Byron's voice was loud and clear through the radio fuzz. “We're running behind schedule so I don't want anyone lagging behind. Maintain the speed limit but don't let the rains scare you off – the tires on these trucks will handle fine. See everyone in a bit.”

  After that the radio remained silent. He heard Cleetch rummage through his pockets and pull out something – probably another cigarette from his carton.

  “Sheeet.” He said. “That's not good.”

  “What's not good?” Hawk turned over and asked him although all he could see was a dark veil.

  “I'm out of smokes man. My nerves are all jacked to the max right now and I need another smoke.”

  A light bulb went on in Hawk's head.

  “Can't we stop somewhere?” He asked. “I'm sure Byron wouldn't mind if we cut into a store quickly and grabbed a pack. Would only take a few seconds. Then you'd be relaxed for when we get to Fiesta Lochez.”

  “Nah you heard what he said on the radio. We all gotta stay in line. If I fell back he'd kill me.”

  “I don't think Byron would do anything like that. He'd understand. After all he wants you perform your best.”

  “Yeah well you don't know him like I do. One minute he's calm and the next...he'll blow up like a powder keg. It's not worth the risk.”

  Hawk was running out of time and needed to think of something else. Cleetch obviously wasn't going to be convinced that way. He needed something that would scare him enough to pull over somewhere with a phone. Then maybe he could convince Cleetch to remove the towel from his face so he could get some fresh air and at the same time somehow use a phone to tip off the cops.

  He was thinking about this when another scent, the pungent smell of fumes started to register in his nostrils which made him think of...gas! They were on the highway now and would be burning more fuel, not too mention a truck this size would eat up a ton of fuel going through the dirt road back there. Hawk thought he might have a plan.

  “What's our fuel situation like Cleetch?”

  “Fuel...” He heard Cleetch trail off and could imagine him looking down at the fuel gauge on the instrument panel. “Fuel is low!”

  “How low? Like less than a quarter of a tank?”

  “Like near the bottom man!” His hands were starting to sweat now as visions of impressing Byron started to fade. How would he explain this to the boss? That he forgot to check the fuel gauge before leaving? It was usually his job to fill up the tanks on all of the trucks before he left. He must have forgotten to do his own.

  Cleetch breathed hard into his nostrils. He didn't know a lot about trucks but knew enough that the gas they had wouldn't be enough to get to the bar and back to the compound after – maybe not even enough to get to the bar itself which was still another 8 kilometres at least. Byron hadn't mentioned anything about refueling either and would have assumed that all of the trucks would have been fuelled up before setting out.

  “Not good, not good.” Cleetch was starting to panic which was exactly what Hawk wanted. Panic would initiate action – which he desperately needed now. “Fuck I think we're gonna have to pull over. There's a gas station up the road. I'm sure we can stop there quickly and the other guys won't even notice.”

  “I think you're right.” Hawk said. “And while we're there maybe you can also grab some cigs.”

  “Yeah, that's right I can do that as well.”

  “But say Cleetch, I've had this towel on for a long time and think I'm starting to get a little light-headed. Any chance you could take it off at the gas station for a bit and untie my hands so I can take a leak as well?”

  “Uh...I don't know about that Blake. I mean, like I said I don't want any hard feelings but Byron told me I couldn't.”

  “I'll be quick, I promise man. And why would I try anything now? I'd be stuck in a rainstorm in the middle of nowhere, wouldn't make sense you know?”

  “Yeah I guess you're right, just make it quick.”

  About a minute later Cleetch pulled off the highway into an Esso gas station, parked quickly behind the store where there was no cameras, got out and rushed to Hawk's door. Hawk heard the door beside him open and felt Cleetch quickly unwind the towel from his face. He saw he was parked behind a gas station along a highway and that night had come and woven a dark hand through the sky that was as black as the towel he'd had over his eyes. Rain was pummelling down from above and the wind was rocking the truck a little as Cleetch told Hawk to stand and removed the rope from his hands. His wrists had become stiff and the sudden freedom of movement made his hands feel light and airy.

  “Go inside and use the washroom while I bring the truck around front and get it gassed up!”

  Hawk nodded then ran around the front to the gas station's small convenience store. Once inside he searched around frantically for a payphone but didn't see one anywhere. Through the wet windows inside he saw Cleetch pull the truck up behind a cherry red Cavalier, get out and start filling up the tank, there would only be another minute or two before he came into the store to buy his cigarettes. Not very much time to make a call to the police. He spotted a red-headed teenager working the cash and rushed over to him .

  “You got a phone I can use?” Hawk asked anxiously, keeping one eye on the truck outside.

  “No sorry sir, we had our payphones removed awhile back.” The kid had a whiny pubescent voice that suited him perfectly. “But there's a motel down the highway that might still have one.”

  “I don't got time. Where's your phone?” Hawk said and looked over the counter, saw the phone behind the kid and nodded towards it. “I need you to make a call for me.”

  “Mister you can't just--”

  “It's emergency. Now I need you to dial 9-1-1-.”

  The kid's eyes looked like they shrank back into their sockets an inch. “9-1...you mean like the police?”

  “Yes that's exactly what I mean, now hurry up and call them already!” Hawk looked back over outside and saw Cleetch had replaced the gas pump, was hurrying back through the rain to the front door.

  Shit, thought Hawk. He needed another plan, Cleetch would be in the store any second. He hurriedly searched around the counter for a pen, saw one pinned to the kid's shirt and ripped it off then took out a matchbook from beside the cash register and scribbled something on it. Cleetch came in a minute later, went over to some nudie magazines beside him, thumbed through a couple on the top rack, picked up a Penthouse then came over to where Hawk was.

  “You get the gas?” Hawk asked him hiding the matchbook underneath his hand on the counter.

  “Yeah I did. A full tank's worth.” He looked at the kid. “Gimme a pack of Marlboro regulars.”

  The kid handed him a pack and rang through the gas, magazine and cigarettes.

  “Say what were you two chatting about in here anyway?” Cleetch turned to Hawk as the kid gave him back his change.

  “We were just shooting the shit.” Hawk chuckled and winked over at the kid. “I was just giving him a little advice on girls is all.”

  “Oh yeah?” Cleetch said then looked at the kid. “Hey if you ever need help with girls it's all right in here.” He said tapping the cover of the Penthouse. “Best education on the subject there is.”

  “We better get going.” Hawk said budding in, looking back at the kid with a smile.

  “Yeah let's get back out there.”

  Hawk let Cleetch go first then followed him back to the truck where Cleetch blindfolded him and tied his hands again. Then he heard Cleetch crank up the truck's engine and they turned back on the highway.

  Back at the gas station the kid was scratching his head looking at the handwritten note the stranger had scribbled on a matchcase in black ink: Call 911. Gang battle later. Lots will die. Fiesta Lochez bar. Was this stranger pulling his leg? He thought about tossing the note in the trashcan then chan
ged his mind and picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  18

  After about 2 miles they spotted the rest of the Syndicate up ahead and Cleetch blew a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to deal with Byron's might had he seen them pull off for gas. Traffic was light in the heavy rain and occasion thunderclaps rumbled through the inside of the vehicle like howitzer fire. Byron's voice came over the radio again and Cleetch turned the volume knob up.

  “I'm making a first pass by the bar now and there isn't a soul outside which means we're good to pull in. Everyone turn their headlights off and stay in line – we'll park in the far corner of the lot and move in from there. If all goes well we'll regroup back in the parking lot when everyone inside is dead. Byron out.”

  And a minute later they did so, and Hawk felt Cleetch turn into what he assumed was the parking lot of the Fiesta Lochez bar and backed into a spot. He heard Cleetch get out and come to his side of the truck then felt him remove the blindfold from his eyes. Hawk saw they were parked in a lot with no lights and was disoriented for a second from the darkness and the pouring rain blowing into his face. Cleetch finished untying his hands and Byron stepped over.

  “Nice to see you're still with us Blake.” He yelled over then said so only Cleetch could hear. “And don't forget what we talked about earlier. Don't let him out of your sight.”

  Byron grabbed a bag from the back of his truck and headed towards the bar while Cleetch took out a shotgun and a crowbar from a bag in the back.

  “Follow me.” He said to Hawk and led the way past the parking lot towards the bar and for the first time Hawk saw the sad sight that was Fiesta Lochez up ahead. It looked like one of those highway bars that should have been demolished years ago with its peeling wooden doors, unkempt windows, and cracked asphalt parking lot. Hawk wouldn't even have known it was habitable were it not for the lights on inside, he was surprised the entire structure hadn't blown away in the strong winds that rattled the truck.