The Reformed bn-4

by Tod Goldberg

“What do you want?” he asked.

  “I need some bodies,” I said. “Some muscle to do a few jobs for me. I figure you got guys who could help me. Guys who know how to stay quiet if they get nicked. Guys who could do a year standing on their head if some shit went down wrong. I’m not anticipating that, of course, but that’s the kind of soldier I need. Killa here wouldn’t be a good choice, on account of his busted knee and his crying, but I think you get what I’m aiming for.”

  My plan was to not just get Junior in the building, but to get his men out on the streets in a situation I controlled that might just negatively affect the morale of the Latin Emperors. If you want to make a powerful leader vulnerable, make his troops think he’s incompetent and leading them into slaughter. Natural selection tends to take care of the rest.

  There was a sound out in the hall just as Junior was about to give me his answer. It was perfect timing: the sound was Fiona pulling Barry down the hall, the stock-whip wrapped around his neck. Barry’s face was bright red, probably from lack of oxygen, and he had dried blood on his face, neck and white shirt, which I suspect Fiona had picked out this morning simply for the effect it provided.

  “Hello, boys,” Fiona said, and then flung Barry into the room by snapping the whip handle around in front of herself. Barry spun and then landed on the sofa with a thud. It was a neat trick. Sam tried his best not to show any concern for Barry, but, well, he’s a chivalrous guy, so he gave Barry a shove in the chest for good measure.

  Fiona stood in the doorway, admiring her work. She still had the whip in her hand. It made for a lovely image. “You left your trash out on the curb,” she said to Junior, “so I picked it up for you.”

  Junior looked confused. Again. Which was what I was aiming for.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” I said, “but I took the liberty of trimming a few of your loose ends before they ended up tying your hands.”

  Junior said nothing. He was too busy glaring at Barry.

  “A guy like Barry? Really? This is who you go to? This is why I either control your program or you walk. So do we have an agreement?”

  After a few seconds, when Junior still hadn’t said a word, Fiona cracked her whip a few inches from his face, which caused him to actually cower. Most people, it turns out, don’t know what to do with themselves when a person cracks a whip at their heads. The reason is that there’s really no way to defend yourself. Put a hand up, and you could end up losing a finger. Put up your forearm in defense, and you run the risk of having your skin flayed open wide.

  “Speak up,” Fiona said, “or I’ll come to your house and steal your throw pillows when you’re not looking.”

  Junior shook his head; it was as if he couldn’t figure all of the things he was being shown. “Who are you?” he said again.

  “Not someone you want to be on the bad side of,” I said.

  He looked back over at Barry. “What are you going to do with him?” he said.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Killing him would probably make you happy, but the fact is, he’s got some good qualities. We’ve done some business in the past, but not the kind you hired him for, that’s for sure. But I feel like he might be able to provide us with some insight into a professional counterfeiting business. Would that be right, Barry?”

  Barry nodded once. He knew his role, too, but in this case he was also scared. All that blood on him wasn’t an actual indication of serious injury, though. It looked like Fiona had simply cut him on his scalp with a razor. It would hurt and it would bleed, but it would require only a Band-Aid. In fact, it had already stopped bleeding, so it was likely Barry wouldn’t even have a scar.

  “I want him dead,” Junior said.

  “I can understand that,” I said. “But what you want and what happens now are irrelevant. He works for me until I say he doesn’t work for me.”

  This was a lot for Junior to consider. Probably more than he’d managed to ponder outside of solitary confinement, at least. At his feet was his main muscle. Behind him was the man he thought he was going to juice. And surrounding him were people telling him how his life was going to be for the foreseeable future. If he was smart, he’d agree to all I’d offered him. He’d make his money. He’d take his revenge-albeit more passively than he might want-and he’d secure the future of his organization. If he was stupid, he’d agree, and then an hour later he’d come back with fifty guys holding automatic weapons and kill us all. There was no gain in that now, really, which meant if he was truly bright, he’d kill us a year from now. Maybe two. Long enough away that we wouldn’t be expecting anything, as we’d all be happily in business together. Thirty years he’d waited. He could wait another one or two for the blood he wanted to spill.

  “Fine.” He reached across the desk with his hand extended. “Let’s do this,” he said.

  I took his hand and said, “This is my bond here. I’m good to my word. You be good to yours, and no one gets hurt, except Killa here.”

  “He’ll heal,” Junior said.

  We both laughed. Nothing like two homicidal maniacs agreeing that someone’s suffering was damn funny.

  “One other thing,” I said, still holding on to him.

  “Yeah?”

  “You come within three feet of Father Eduardo,” I said, and then I gave him a good squeeze, and then another to make him wince, which was surprising, since he wasn’t a small man, “and I will kill you.”

  “And if you touch any of my men again,” he said, and this time he returned the squeeze, “I will kill the girl.”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Fiona cracked the whip around Junior’s neck and yanked him toward her with a quick flourish of her wrist. He was at least a foot taller than she, but at that moment, it didn’t really matter, since he couldn’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry,” Fiona said, “I didn’t hear you.”

  Junior let out a series of gurgles and gasps.

  “Uh, honey,” I said.

  “Yes, darling,” she said.

  “If you’re going to kill him,” I said, “could you do it outside? It wouldn’t be right to do it in the father’s chambers.”

  Junior was scratching at the whip around his throat and gurgling even more. He had a good couple seconds of breath left before he passed out. Interestingly, Killa hadn’t even bothered to move. Morale, it seemed, was low.

  “I guess I won’t, then,” she said, “out of respect for Father Eduardo, and in light of our new business relationship.”

  She flicked her wrist again and, just like Barry, Junior spun out of the whip and then ended up on the floor beside Killa. I got up from the desk and walked around to where they both were and talked very calmly to Junior.

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that making threats to me isn’t a good idea,” I said. “I’ll have an office ready for you tomorrow. Can we expect to see you here at nine A.M.?”

  He didn’t say anything. There was a chance Fiona might have done some damage to his windpipe.

  “Noon would be fine, too,” I said, “If maybe you need to see a physician between then and now.”

  Nothing.

  “Make it two. But no later. I know how hard it is to get in to see a doctor on my HMO, so I understand where you’re coming from. I’m going to go ahead with our mutual friend Barry here and see about getting you some decent plates to run from. Does that sound good?”

  Again, nothing. Junior had tears in his eyes, which was nice to see. It’s an involuntary thing when you’re being choked, but it was still a pleasant reminder that he was human.

  “And if you don’t mind,” I said, “it would be nice to get five guys tomorrow, too. I have a job I’d like to get started on.”

  Junior coughed, hacked out a clump of pink saliva and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The tears in his eyes were gone. All that was there was rage. This was not a man used to being beaten; certainly not a man used to being whipped, literally, by a woman. I think maybe his mor
ale was low, too.

  “Girl,” he rasped, but then thought better of his choice to speak when he began coughing and gagging. Better all the way around, really.

  “Well, you two have a nice day, now,” I said. I gave Sam a look, and he got up and yanked both men up by their collars, which didn’t seem to make either of them very happy, not since Killa couldn’t really put any weight on his knee and Junior was having an issue with his throat, and pushed them toward the open door.

  They both stumbled at first and then seemed to gain a bit of purchase after they bounced off each other and found their balance.

  “You don’t ever disrespect me like that,” Junior said, though it was hard to hear him. It’s hard to sound threatening when air keeps whistling out of your throat.

  “I just did,” I said.

  “Never again,” he said.

  “Fine, fine,” I said.

  “And keep her away from me,” he said.

  “Can’t promise that,” I said.

  The issue Junior Gonzalez was having, other than with breathing, was that no one ever talked back to him. He simply wasn’t made to take orders.

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  “Tomorrow,” I said.

  All of us watched Junior and Killa drag themselves down the hallway. They looked like wild horses that had been broken. When they reached the front door, Killa looked back at us and held Father Eduardo’s gaze for a few seconds before he shuffled back out into the daylight.

  “That went well,” Sam said.

  “You think so?” Barry said. “Because I’m covered with blood over here. And, Michael, you didn’t mention anything to me about Fiona wrapping a whip around my throat or cutting me. That was not part of any form of discussion you and I had, Michael, and I’d like you to know that I found both experiences… to put it mildly… upsetting.”

  “You loved it,” Fiona said.

  “A part of me enjoyed it,” Barry said.

  Father Eduardo took his rightful seat behind his desk and dropped his head into his hands.

  “Guys,” I said, “can you leave us alone for a minute?”

  “Sure, Mikey,” Sam said. “We’ll get Barry cleaned up in the bathroom. And then maybe, Fi, you can show me that little trick with the whip?”

  “Why don’t you try something proactive,” I said, “like bugging that empty office next door? Get it ready for Junior’s occupancy.”

  When they were gone, I sat down across from Father Eduardo, in the same chair Killa was in prior to my destroying his knee. “I know what I’m doing, Father,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “I know. Ernie, he told me you might make it look like I’m in an impossible situation, but that you would be in control. I just… to see my brother that way. It was hard.”

  “I had to show them that I have no fear,” I said.

  “No, not that. That I understand. To see him subservient to Junior. To see him give up his own son to him. It made me sick. That’s me there, Michael. That’s what I used to do. I may not have killed directly, but I put that fear of suffering into other people. I have to make that right.”

  “You are. Right here.”

  “There’s more. There has to be.”

  “We’ll figure that out,” I said. “In the meantime, it’s business as usual here. We’ll clear the storeroom next to your office and put Junior in there. We’ll give him a computer and a phone and all of the bugging devices money can buy.”

  “How long will he be here?”

  I had to think about that. “Two days, if everything goes according to my plan. If he’s still here by the end of the week, that just means we’ve both been murdered.”

  Father Eduardo looked stricken.

  “Kidding,” I said.

  “He’ll come for you,” Father Eduardo said. “That’s his nature.”

  “I know,” I said. “He won’t get the chance.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am,” I said. “In the meantime, you need to be in a safe house.”

  “I am safe in the Lord’s house,” he said.

  “I respect that,” I said, “but I’m the only one who does. Sam will be your shadow for the next few days, but at night, you’re sleeping elsewhere.”

  Father Eduardo nodded his assent. “Do you have a secure facility somewhere?”

  “You could say that.” I pulled out my cell phone and made a call. “Ma,” I said, “you remember Little Eddie Santiago from the other day? Turns out he’s getting his house fumigated and needs a place to stay for a few nights.”

  “Michael,” she said, “is he in danger?”

  “Of course, Ma,” I said.

  “I thought he was a priest.”

  “He is,” I said. “But he’s a priest who needs my help.”

  “You lead a very strange life, Michael.”

  “I know, Ma. I know,” I said. I checked my watch. “Sam will drop him off in a few hours. That okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No,” I said. “You made me get the car washed, remember?”

  “You just can’t stop blaming me for one minute, can you?”

  “Appears not,” I said. “I appreciate this, Ma. And so does Father Eduardo.”

  “I’ll put on some coffee,” she said, and hung up.

  “All taken care of,” I told Father Eduardo.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a Bible. “Would you mind leaving me alone for a few moments? I need to pray.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course.”

  “You can let yourself out?”

  I told him I could, and then got out of his office as quickly as possible. It was hard to see him as the religious man he was when in my mind he was Eddie Santiago, not Father Eduardo. He was a man to be feared, and now he had the fear of God. It was a turnaround I wasn’t practiced in, and not one I yearned to be overly familiar with.

  I found Sam in the empty office, stacking extra Bibles. It was one of strangest things I’d ever seen.

  “Take a picture,” Sam said, “before I go up in flames.”

  “Where’s Fi?” I said.

  “She ran back out to get the bugs. Barry’s in the bathroom, shaking and sobbing quietly.”

  “Really?”

  “I dunno, Mikey, but he’s not made for hostage situations. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I thought he did well.”

  “He’s lucky Junior didn’t plug him.”

  “We’re lucky Junior didn’t try to plug all of us.”

  “That won’t be the case next time,” Sam said. “How long we planning on pulling this off?”

  “Couple of days is all we’ll need. Get him on tape in here, get the counterfeiting operation up and running, which should take only a day if we get some decent plates, and then see about maybe pulling it all together with a police action that doesn’t implicate anyone but Junior.”

  “How you planning on doing that?”

  “I was thinking of starting out with a Chechnyatype situation in the printing press,” I said, “but without killing anyone.”

  “Good luck with that,” Sam said.

  “You’ll be helping,” I said.

  Fiona stepped back into the office then and set down a small container of bugs. One for the phone; a tracking device on the computer that would clone all of the work Junior did, as well as send cloned e-mails to a private server; and a small camera that would fit inside the spine of one of the Bibles.

  “It’s on you, Fi, to put the cameras inside the books,” Sam said.

  “Why, Sam, are you afraid?”

  “You ever go to Sunday school, Fiona?”

  “I grew up in Ireland,” Fiona said. “Maybe you heard of the place? Years of armed religious conflict?”

  “Well, wonderful. Then you shouldn’t have a problem with doing things in the name of a greater good with religious icons. Me, it makes me a little nervous. My family came over on the Mayflower.” N
either Fi nor I bothered to respond to Sam. He wanted us to, so we didn’t. “So,” he said, after it became clear to all involved that we weren’t going to engage him on what had to be a lie, “I’m morally disallowed from bugging Bibles. Miles Standish runs through this blood, sister.”

  “But shooting people for the last thirty years has been fine?” Fiona said.

  “Hey, sweetheart, those were all in the service of this great country,” Sam said. “Or a lot of them, anyway.”

  “Michael, I expect that you’ll speak for us at the pearly gates?” she said.

  “I’ll do my very best,” I said.

  “See, Sam? Nothing to be concerned about,” Fi said. “Oh, and here.” She handed me a sheet of paper with a bunch of numbers listed on it. “Your dirty work.”

  “What’s this?”

  “The license plate of the police cruiser, as well as the car number from the roof.”

  “Nice.”

  “I’m a professional, even when I’m saddled with a sweating Chatty Cathy,” Fiona said. “You know, I actually think Barry really did enjoy me cutting him.”

  “Everyone is into something strange.” I handed the numbers to Sam. “You got someone you can check these with?”

  “I’ll have to tread delicately here, Mikey. One wrong step, and these guys are on to our operation.”

  “I know you’ll find just the right person,” I said. “Maybe you can use your standing as a founding father of the country to sway the right people.”

  Fiona handed me a Bible. “Hold this open,” she said, and I did. She took a bottle of nail polish remover from her purse and poured about a teaspoon of the fluid down the interior spine of the book. She then shoved two fingers into the spine and gently pulled the pages from the binding-the nail polish remover had made the fine gold threading far more elastic, which is what you want to do if you’re going to hide something inside of a book instead of, say, cutting a hammer into the pages. Even people being spied on have seen movies, so they have a general idea what an amateur might do and may even look for a few telltale signs.

  But what Fiona was doing was essentially the same process an antiquarian book restorer might do. Except that instead of restoring the Bible, she slid a small camera about four inches in length down the spine of the book.