by David Putnam
“Yeah.”
“No, you’re not. I can tell by your voice. You’re not okay. Are you with Mack? Let me talk to Mack.” Marie knew the story about Jonas and the house that bled. I’d told her shortly after we met. She said a number of times she thought I had post-traumatic stress disorder and wanted me to seek help. And maybe I did have PTSD. I just never found the time to go have my head shrunk by a head shrinker. I opened my eyes and looked at Mack. I had not told him the theory about the kids. At the moment, I couldn’t read Mack.
“Bruno, hand Mack the phone right this minute. I mean it, Bruno, do it now, mister.”
I handed Mack the phone. He took it without question. He listened and watched the road as we sped along at 100 weaving in and out of cars.
He said, “No, that was the first I heard of it. Yeah. Now that he pointed it out, I think he’s right. No, he’s only been here one day and he’s gotten us further along than seventy investigators from three agencies. Yes, I understand. I understand, Marie.” He handed the phone back, shaking his head.
Marie said to me, “I’m coming.”
I sat forward. “No, you can’t. You’re wanted just like I am.”
“Exactly, just like you are, and you’re there. There isn’t a difference, is there, mister?” She always threw in a “mister” when she wanted to make her point.
“You’re wrong, there is a difference. The kids. If we both get grabbed, who’s going to take care of the kids? Who’s going to take care of Dad? I’m sorry I’m saddling you with all of this, but you know I’m right.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Bruno, I know you. This is tearing you up inside. I need to be there with you.”
When I worked the street, I remember being strong, physically and mentally. I had the ability to put heavy emotional issues away behind a door in my mind and not think about them. Most of them. Not this one. And age had weakened all of me. Tears burned my eyes. I didn’t care if Mack saw them.
“This is going to be over quickly,” I said. “We have a plan that will work. I’ll be on a plane in two days, three at most. That’s a promise.”
“You’re lying to make me feel better.”
“No, we have a plan.”
“Give the phone to Mack.”
I handed the phone to Mack. He waved his hand, “Oh no, I’m not talking to that fiery wench again, no way. She scares the hell outta me, man.”
“Please?” I held the phone out to him. As I waited for him to take it. Marie’s voice came out small and tinny, dissipating into the warm desert air.
“All right,” he said, “only because we’re brothers separated at birth.” He took the phone and put it to his ear. Now I was going to owe him big.
He nodded his head again and again. “Yes, we have a plan and it’s a good one. No, it’s not going to put our asses in a crack. No, I promise.” He lied to Marie. He’d be okay as long as she never found out.
Mack had done enough lying for the both of us. I took the phone back. “Honey, it’s me. I promise you, I’m okay. Listen, listen to me for one minute, okay?” She’d closed me out. I needed to change the subject. “Have you seen Jake Donaldson hanging around?”
She knew the game I’d shifted to and let the silence hang. “No, I haven’t seen Jake Donaldson, but I have seen different men watching the house.”
“Good. Don’t worry about them. I hired Ansel to supervise some protection while I’m gone, just in case. Now, babe, we’re pulling into a place where we’re going to be exposed if I don’t get out of the car. I love you, babe, more than you know. I’ll be home soon.”
“I love you too, Bruno. You come home safe. And you don’t worry about anything on this end, I got it covered.”
“I know you do. See you soon.”
We drove in silence. “That’s a helluva theory about the replacements,” Mack said. “I think you’re probably right.”
I looked at him. “My father has stomach cancer.”
He looked at me for a second, his mouth agape. Then he turned back and hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Shit.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Valley Suites parking lot contained fewer cars. No one stood watch. All the FBI agents who’d stood by for movement on the Karl Drago surveillance had left, reassigned to find the identity of the third child or to follow Jonas Mabry.
Mack knocked on the door to Room 126. Mary Beth answered and plopped back into a chair in front of her surveillance screens. She wore the same denim pants, a long-sleeve shirt with the FBI badge suspended from her neck, and an angry scowl. She’d been left behind to mind the store, now the sole gatekeeper of the evil that was Karl Drago.
On the screen, Drago, a huge fat man in only an oversized pair of striped boxer shorts, moved around in his motel room down the street. Black-inked tattoos littered his pale skin without pattern or scheme. On his back, from shoulder to shoulder, an ugly Viking with a metal-coned helmet and horns looked at us every time Drago turned his back. By his hips, a thick-bodied anaconda wrapped round his obese torso. His arms, sleeved with tattoos from his shoulders down, had been checkered with too much ink, and blended into nearly indiscernible images of naked women and mayhem. On the front of his thighs, when his knees came together, Jesus was on the right, eyes closed, and, on the left, his hands clasped in prayer. Jesus’ face bulged with chubbiness. Drago had put on some pounds since the body art. He paced the room like a pent-up cat in the zoo.
Mack said, “We’re going to jump into the surveillance of Jonas Mabry and we need a couple of your radios.”
Mary Beth waved her hand in consent. Mack didn’t move and said, “You have a cover team in case this turd goes mobile?”
Mary Beth stared at the screens. “Nope.”
“What’s the sense in watching him, then?”
“Exactly.” She waited a beat then said, “He leaves his motel room, I’m to run out, jump in my car, haul ass down the two blocks to his motel, and hope I catch him pulling out. Then I’m to conduct a passive surveillance with observation only.”
“A single car surveillance?” I asked.
“Exactly. But it doesn’t really matter, because he’s waiting for something. He hasn’t left his motel room except for groceries in the last three days. And he eats mostly delivered pizza and Chinese.”
Drago went into his bathroom, out of view.
Mack sat down in the chair next to Mary Beth. “You on a twelve-hour shift? You getting any relief at all?”
“Nope.”
Mack put his hand on her shoulder. “They can’t do that.”
Mary Beth didn’t seem to mind the touch. “Are you kidding? With the Bureau working a triple kidnapping? The SAC told me I didn’t have to watch the screens constantly and could take a nap ‘when needed.’ Right, and if he slips out, it’s my ass.”
The obese Drago came out of the can naked. Tattooed across his chest were the words “Aryan Brotherhood Forever,” and, below that, a Norse battle-axe dripping blood. Horns of a ram curled on both hips and the snout of the ram inked down the length of his penis.
Mary Beth didn’t appear uncomfortable with Drago’s full exposure. She said to me, “This dipshit’s a white supremacist. You wouldn’t do too well going around him, Leon. Or maybe it would be just what we need. Drago goes off on Leon, attacks him, and we got Drago on a felony. Back in the can he goes.”
She sounded too hopeful. Back in the day, that would have been a viable plan, but not with my current status as persona non grata—a wanted man can’t testify with any credibility.
“Hey, Leon,” said Mack, “can you grab those radios and wait in the car for me?”
Mary Beth took Mack’s hand and shrugged it off. He nodded for me to do it anyway.
I got the radios and held out my hand. “The keys. I don’t want to stand out by the car waiting on you like you’re some soccer mom and I’m the delinquent kid.”
He’d moved his chair closer to Mary Beth’s and said to
her, “I’ll come back and relieve you at midnight so you can get some sleep.” He handed me the keys.
“You’d really do that?” she asked.
“Of course I will,” he said.
I left them to it, walked out to the car, got in, and drove away.
Taking the car without Mack had not been the plan and added a twinge of guilt on top of everything else. Mack had inadvertently given me the opportunity needed to evade him. He’d be onto me soon. He knew my destination and he was going to be mad. Once, not all that long ago, I had been on the receiving end of his anger, and it wasn’t pretty.
Based on the radio traffic, the FBI referred to Jonas as “Chicken Hawk” and had followed him to the Carousel Mall in San Bernardino. The FBI had taken over but other agencies still assisted, so I could blend right in. I came up on the frequency and asked directions.
No one except Special Agent Wu knew what I looked like. I only needed to avoid Wu. I reached under the seat and found the gun Mack had put there while out in front of the house in Landers. A Glock. As I drove, I checked the loads and shoved the pistol into my waistband.
One city away, at the mall, agents and task force officers kept an eye on Jonas as he went from shop to shop. The tricky part came next. I had to ferret Jonas away under the watching eyes of trained professionals.
I cruised around the mall putting a plan together, memorizing street names and directions. According to the radio traffic, Jonas had just gotten in line in the food court at El Gato Taco. I parked and walked in. I kept the gun under my shirt and the radio out in plain view, but held close to my leg. I spotted the agents, white guys in windbreakers to cover their gear. Wu was there too. He sat in front of a cell phone store reading the paper. None of them blended well into the mostly black and Hispanic patrons. I stood by a pillar and picked out their target, Jonas Mabry, who sat among a throng of people, quietly eating from an enchilada plate. I hadn’t seen Jonas for close to two decades. I froze at the sight of him. Jonas Mabry had morphed from a cute, wounded child to an adult with a shaved head covered in tattoos. His appearance, the way he handled himself, his eyes, most of all his eyes—he’d morphed into a predator, the kind I used to chase. The kind who, like on a number of occasions in the past, if given the opportunity, I would put down no different than I would a rabid dog.
People in the food court gravitated away from him. Moms pulled their children in close when they passed by him.
Jonas left half his enchiladas on the table, got up, and walked away, as if some unknown source had given him directions to do so. He moved in and out of the folks pushing strollers and carrying shopping bags, oblivious to the federal agents all around him. What was he doing? Playing a normal person in a mall when he had three children hidden away somewhere? Anger rose inside me. I tamped it down.
He stopped at a home decoration store and looked in the window, feigning interest. From a decorative mirror in the window display, he watched the people pass behind and farther out in the mall.
Jonas knew about the surveillance. He stood there cool as you please. This guy was more dangerous than I had thought.
I sat down on a bench next to an indoor fountain, leaned over, feigning tying a shoe, and used Mack’s radio call sign. “Zebra-eight, he’s made the tail. He’s watching you guys. Back off, I got the eye.”
Wu came up on the radio. “Mack, he’s made us? You sure? If he’s made us, we need to take him down right now.”
I lied. “He hasn’t made us yet, but he’s going to, if you guys don’t give him some breathing room.”
“Okay, you got the eye, we’re backing off.”
The real Mack came up on the radio, his voice rushed, “Leon, where are you?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have much time left.
Jonas went on the move.
“Okay, he’s moving, I got him,” I said.
Jonas went along the shops until he came to one with a sales rack out front slashed to fifty percent off and strolled in. He moved through the store and stopped at a rack with western long-sleeve shirts. But he wasn’t interested in western shirts. Not now, not ever.
I stepped just inside the store out of view from the mall and keyed up the radio. “Chicken Hawk bolted. He’s on the run. He’s going out the back. All units deploy to the east side, take up positions outside the mall on the east side. I got him. I got him from here.”
Jonas stood casually, going from shirt to shirt.
Mack came up on the frequency. “Leon, talk to me. Where are you?” He’d figured out my game, but couldn’t put it out on the radio without burning down my operation.
“Chicken Hawk’s out,” I said. “He’s outside cutting across the parking lot. He came out on the east side through an employee access. Anybody out here with us? Anybody out here to help?”
Wu said, “He’s made us. He’s made us. Take him down. Mack, don’t let him get away, take him down, now!”
“He’s running east on Third,” I said. “Get your cars and get on him. Get a bird in the air.” I turned the radio down low and moved deeper into the store, right up next to Jonas. Jonas looked up, his blue-gray eyes vacant. “Hello, Bruno, long time no see. I almost didn’t recognize you with that ball cap and glasses.”
No way could he possibly remember me.
He smiled, showing he lacked two upper teeth right in front, making a black hole that whistled a little when he spoke. The radio in my hand went crazy with agents and detectives scrambling to get in their cars to cover streets, their voices small now. I turned the volume down even more. I said to Jonas, “You’ve been waiting for me?”
“Yes.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“Oh, you’ve been the topic of many conversations between me and my mom.”
He lied. Convicted felons were not allowed to visit in prisons, and he’d have felon written all over him. And Bella would never get out.
“I have your money, that’s why I’m here,” I said. “It’s out in the car.” I held my hand out, guiding the way.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “No way do you have the money. But I’ll play your stupid little game, just because I know we have to in order to get past this part, so we can move on.”
He came along quietly. His unruffled demeanor set off warning signals. My instinct said to move with extreme caution. In all my years of chasing heavyweight predators, I had never come across one about to go to prison, as quiet and calm as Jonas. Something was up.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mack would have heard on the radio traffic that I had directed everyone to the east side of the mall, and he would have known for sure I wouldn’t be on that side. He had to choose from three other directions to catch me. I had a one-out-of-three chance to avoid him. I led Jonas to the right toward the south side. If I were Mack, I would figure I would take the side farthest away from the east. Mack should be going to the west side.
I stayed an arm’s length away from Jonas. I hadn’t patted him down for weapons, and I was still too close if he wanted to pull a knife. I’d be gutted and left writhing on the floor before I had time to react. But I didn’t want him too far away in case he bolted. Too much depended on me doing this right. The lives of two little girls and probably a boy.
On his front hairline above his forehead, going back on his shaved scalp, Jonas had tattooed devil horns. Combined with his blue-gray eyes, he portrayed an aura of evil. How had Jonas devolved to such a monster? My thoughts naturally fled to our kids back home in Costa Rica. I wanted to run to the nearest plane, fly back, take them in my arms, and never let them go. The social welfare system had failed Jonas Mabry. I would not fail my kids.
The handheld FBI radio traffic intensified as the task force officers failed to pick up their target. When I wouldn’t acknowledge their requests for updates, they became more frantic with the prospect of an officer down. I had little time left.
Jonas stepped through the doors first, with me close behind. I expected to see Mack leanin
g against Mary Beth’s car, arms crossed with an angry, smug expression. I didn’t see anyone who’d give us trouble. I guided us over to Mack’s Thunderbird, stuck my hand under my shirt, took a couple of steps back, and tossed Jonas the keys. “Open the trunk and get in it or I will shoot you down like a dog.”
A smile slowly crept across his face, his lips parting to darkness where his teeth should have been. “You wouldn’t shoot me, Bruno. You saved my life. You wouldn’t take a life you’ve saved. That would be foolish. I owe you a life and I’m here to pay it back. That’s what this is all about. Well, a small part of it, anyway.”
I thought I had figured out his game, and yet his words, when brought out into the world, shook me to the core. My mouth went dry. I struggled for the right words. “I know…I know all about the kids, the type of kids. They’re replacements, aren’t they? Get your ass in the trunk. Do it right now, or I’ll shoot you in the knee and put you in there myself. Because you are going in the trunk one way or the other.” I held those strange eyes and couldn’t look away if I’d wanted to.
He kept his smile. “That’s right, me and Bella took those kids so you’d figure it out and come running. Bella thought of it. She wants to talk to you one last time. She was right, you’re so predictable, Deputy Johnson.” He bent over and picked up the keys. “I’ll get in the trunk. But this part is a waste of time. You will eventually do what we want you do to do.” He unlocked the trunk, left the keys in the lock, and got in, his movements more robotic than human. Drugs. He had to be taking some sort of downer, maybe even angel dust, PCP. I slammed the trunk deck and, for the first time, looked around. Luck still hung with me. Or had it? I now had the devil locked in my trunk and would eventually have to let him out.
I had not thought any further than grabbing Jonas. Maybe I didn’t think I’d get that far. Now I needed a quiet, secluded place to chat with him. Only I couldn’t think straight. What Jonas had said rolled through my thoughts, over and over. Had coming back to the States and grabbing him really been a part of his plan? He’d asked for me in his note. He was obviously deranged and delusional talking about Bella, so the rest of what he said could be discounted as well.
