The Replacements

by David Putnam

  “Let me in, Bruno. I want to talk it through with you.” She’d been listening at the door.

  No options remained, none at all. After fifteen minutes of internal debate, I hated to do it but had no choice. I flipped the phone open and hit redial on ‘recent calls.’

  “Bruno? Man, am I glad you called.” John had his phone back.

  “I need your help,” I said.

  John yelped. “Ouch. Come on, hon.”

  Barbara had socked him. She yelled, “I hate you, Bruno Johnson.”

  I set up the meet with John in two hours on Hospitality Lane in San Bernardino, about five miles from the Sons of Satan clubhouse. I closed the phone and fought the feeling that I had just betrayed two good friends. This caper had to work. I came out of the bathroom. Marie stood waiting. She saw my expression. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Not gonna happen, Bruno. I’m not going back. I’m not leaving you here to do this thing by yourself, not without me, you’re not.”

  “Hold on, babe. Wait, I agree with you.”

  She dropped her determined expression. “You do?”

  “Sure, I have it all figured out.”

  “You do? What are we going to do with Eddie when you and I go into the Sons of Satan clubhouse?”

  “It’s not the best plan, but he’s going to have to wait for us in the back of the van.”

  Her mouth dropped open. I held my hands wide and said, “What?”

  She pulled back to sock me, caught herself, and looked over her shoulder at Eddie, who’d curled back up and slept the deep slumber of the despondent and the hopeless. She shoved me into the bathroom and closed the door. I held up my arms, a boxer covering for the incoming blows.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m not going to hit you, even though what you did out there was not my Bruno. That was the horse’s-ass Bruno that you know I don’t like.”

  I let my arms ease down and a tentative smile creep in. The smile took it one step too far.

  “The hell I’m not,” Marie said. She socked me hard in the stomach. With her small hands and delicate shoulders she didn’t hurt me, couldn’t hurt me if she wanted to, not physically. She knew it. I pulled her in and gently held her against my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I love having you here, I do. But think about it, please think about it.” She didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell a little faster than mine, her warm breath on my chest. We stayed that way a long time.

  I pulled away and gently kissed her neck and then nibbled her earlobe. Her arousal fueled mine. Her breathing came faster. I tugged at her shirt. With both hands she shoved me away, then pulled her top over her head. I came back in and kissed her like I had never kissed her before. Like a last kiss. She grabbed onto my head and held on tight. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to stay there for all eternity as we kissed deeper and deeper.

  I pulled her bra straps off her shoulders. Then pulled the bra cups down. My hand came up and gently took hold of her breast, fondling her nipple. She broke the kiss and took in a huge breath. She again shoved me away and went for my pants button. I helped her and shucked them as she pulled down hers. I picked her up and juggled her against the wall. As I penetrated her, we both gasped as we became one.

  Afterward, both of us sweaty and spent, I set her on the sink and held her tenderly, my legs shaky from the exertion. My thoughts, like hers, couldn’t stay in the moment any longer, and had to move on to planning, to getting on with it, to get it over and done with. We needed to—had to have this thing over. She whispered, “How will I get across the border?”

  “The US doesn’t care who goes south, and the Mexicans don’t monitor that direction.” She knew this; we’d crossed together nine months ago. She was scared having to do it again by herself and wanted reassurance. I didn’t want her to go alone. But what other options did I have?

  “So, I drive Eddie across and go down to Ensenada,” she said.

  “That’s right, and you meet up with Larry Rupp, like before, and he’ll make you the papers you need for Eddie.”

  “Then I wait for you there.”

  My head buried in her neck. I sniffed long and slow. Trying to memorize forevermore her beautiful scent, unique only to her. I shook my head “no.” “You have to go on down to Costa Rica.”

  She shook her head. “I’m waiting for you in Ensenada, Bruno.”

  “Dad has cancer. He needs you.”

  “He can wait one more day. This is only going to take you one more day.”

  “No, Dad can’t wait.”

  She read my tone, and pushed me back. “What happened?”

  “Jake Donaldson came to the house with a gun and tried to shoot Dad because Jake’s mad at me. Misplaced anger. He’s not right in the head.”

  Her eyes went wild and she socked my shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now. You didn’t need something else to worry about.”

  “The kids? Are the kids okay? Is your dad okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. I had Ansel hire some folks, and they’re watching the house. They’re taking care of everything, but one of us needs to get back there.”

  “Is that asshole Donaldson in jail?”

  I didn’t want to tell her the details of the shooting; she’d find that out soon enough. “No, he got away.”

  She slipped off the sink and grabbed up her clothes, putting them on. “You’re right. I need to get down there now, for the kids.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Marie took the van to a used car lot on Valley Boulevard, where she planned to park close by and walk up. She couldn’t trade the van in; the beast had no value, or title, having been stolen.

  I sat on the bed, dressed in the new clothes Marie had picked up while I slept, and returned Eddie’s stare. “Can you talk?” I asked. “You going to say something soon?” He stared, his eyes big, gut-wrenching big, and filled with innocence. My own inadequacy hung thick in the air. I wanted in the worst way to do something for him now, not later. “You want to go on a trip?” He shook his head “no.” “You wanna go on a trip with Marie?” Caution crept into his expression. He nodded “yes.”

  “Good man, so do I.”

  The knock at the door interrupted us. I opened the door a crack. A slice of sunlight cut across the room. I had one second to recognize Drago before he shoved his way into the room. “Wait, what are you doing?” I whispered. I didn’t want him scaring Eddie. Drago scared me, and I’m not a traumatized little kid. “Hey, hey, I said you’re gonna scare the kid.” Eddie didn’t cringe as I’d expected him to or crawl away. He sat unmoving, watching us.

  “What? Scare this little guy?” Drago took two giant steps over and held up his fist. “Wus, up little bro?” Eddie didn’t smile, but he held up his fist, and Drago knuckle bumped it with his. Drago said, “We’re old pals. Aren’t we, bro?” Drago held up his fist again, and Eddie tapped it again, his head tilted away in shyness.

  I guess I had slept through a lot last night. Drago wore relaxed denim pants with an obvious lump around his thigh from the bandage. A huge white and blue football jersey with the numbers “00” draped over his big belly. What else would have fit? The jersey, an improvement over all that pale white flesh with the disgusting tattoos, went a long way to mask his lack of sociability.

  Drago stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. “I smell something sweet.”

  Marie was right; Drago hadn’t quite evolved from caveman knuckle-dragger to intellectual human. I picked up the bag on the floor and handed him some chocolate cakes and two chocolate milks.

  He took them and sat on the bed, almost capsizing it. “Cool, man. Little Debbie cupcakes. Haven’t had these in…in goin’ on twelve years.” He tore open the first one and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

  “You know, if you chew them a little, you might even be able to taste them,” I said.

  Drago stopped eating, and tearing open the next package, looked as if I’d sla
pped him. Eddie smiled, slid off the bed, and came over to me. He put his hand up and pulled down the goodie bag. He took out a Little Debbie cupcake, went back to his nest, and burrowed back in. Drago looked at Eddie then at me and smiled. He continued to munch as he opened the chocolate milk. He spoke around the now black load of mush in his cavernous mouth. “Hey, our job just got easier.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “Talked to a bro of mine. He said the FBI has a pole camera pointed right at the front of the clubhouse. They’re watchin’ the SS, it’s some kinda RICO investigation.”

  “Are you kidding me? How does that help us? It means the job’s off. We can’t go in with the FBI watching. And what are you doing calling friends and asking about the clubhouse? You tipped our hand.”

  Why had I not thought that the FBI would be watching the clubhouse? Of course they were. It’s what I would’ve done had I wanted to use Drago as a staked goat.

  “Man, you need to take a chill pill. Everything’s cool, trust me.”

  I should never have lain down to sleep. In that short time the plan had gotten away from me. “Take a chill pill? Explain to me how you think this is going to go down with the Feds watching?”

  Drago looked at Eddie. I stood there stunned that Drago had the sense to be concerned about the child in the room. More stunned that I hadn’t seen the error before Drago had.

  I nodded toward the bathroom. Drago struggled to his feet. The mattress righted itself but still had a huge dent where he’d been sitting. He took the goodie bag from me and led us the short distance into the bathroom. He filled the bathroom with his bulk, leaving little room for me. I had to shove in to get the door past me to close it. He took out a bag of Doritos Cool Ranch chips, tore them open, and dumped half in his mouth, spilling little shards down his front. I waited for the grinding machine to process the food before he could talk.

  “I don’t see how you think this is a bad thing,” Drago said. “If the Feebies are watching the clubhouse, then the boys aren’t going to pull any shit when we drive up.” He stopped eating and sniffed the air, leaned over and sniffed me. He flashed a broad smile. “You two just don’t give up, do you? Any chance you get, you just get after it, don’t you? Man, I’m jealous.”

  I ignored that last part. “We? You’re not going. You never were going.” Originally, Marie and I were going to try and bluff our way in wearing the FBI insignia and yelling that we had a search warrant.

  Drago opened his mouth wide, more bits of Doritos dropped onto his chest. “Whoa, there, my Negro cowboy. If Drago’s not goin’ in, then no one’s goin’ in.”

  “I’m confused here, my Aryan brother. How, in your pea brain, did you think you were goin’ to make your Sons of Satan friends think you were an FBI agent?”

  “They’re not my friends.”

  But my question caught, made him think. I could see it in his eyes. “I could lay down in the backseat and—”

  “And what, sneak in when no one’s looking? No, the deal’s cheesed, we’re done.”

  Someone knocked on the bathroom door loud and high up. Not Eddie, for sure. I opened the door, expecting to see Marie.

  John Mack had his hand in the air about to knock again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mack peeked around me at the hulk. “You two reliving a little bit of that prison love?”

  I ventured out cautiously, half expecting to see a squad of cops behind Mack, ready to take down the federal fugitive who came back to kidnap more children and spark fear in every household in America. What was he doing here? How had he found us? He didn’t know where we were. We were supposed to meet in two hours on Hospitality Lane.

  “How did you find us?” I asked.

  He slugged me in the stomach, hard. I bent over, choked and gasped and fought to keep down my Sno Balls and chocolate milk. Drago pushed by me, his big paws up, going for Mack’s throat. Mack took several steps back, his legs parted in a strong horse stance, hands up, ready to take on the tsunami headed his way. No fear in his expression where there should have been one of impending doom. I rasped, “No, hold it. Don’t.”

  They both froze, inches away from grappling. I coughed and choked. “Everyone take a breath and relax.”

  Mack leaned around Drago. “I owed you that one and you know it.”

  “That right?” Drago asked. “He owe you that?” I nodded.

  “Karl Drago, meet Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Detective John Mack.”

  Drago didn’t hold out his hand. His eyes narrowed. “A cop? A county cop? Are you kiddin’ me? I hate cops. I mean, I really hate cops.”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “No cop’s a friend of mine.”

  I waddled over to the bed, cradling my stomach, and sat down. Eddie continued to eat his Little Debbie cupcakes as if he always watched adults play their stupid games.

  “Where’s Marie?” asked Mack.

  “How did you get here?” I asked.

  “Drove.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, how did you find me?”

  Mack didn’t need to answer. In an instant, my mind had tracked backward until I came across what happened and realized I had probably subconsciously done it on purpose. I had called John with a burner phone and got Barbara. I didn’t pull the battery or destroy the phone after the call. They had pinged me and got the coordinates. He came to the motel as a sign; he wanted to show me he could be trusted.

  He shrugged and smiled.

  “I’m sorry, John, the deal’s off. We can’t make a play on the Sons of Satan clubhouse.”

  The smile disappeared. “Why not? The SS clubhouse? Man, that’s somethin’, really somethin’. They have that kind of money in there?”

  Drago came over and again sat on the other bed, compressing his end almost to the floor. “Bullshit, we go or I go by myself, but it’s going to get done, believe me. It’s going to get done.”

  “Watch your language,” Mack said.

  Any other time those words would have ended in a fight, but Drago looked at Eddie and nodded.

  “Drago here tells me there’s now a pole camera on the clubhouse, and the FBI’s monitoring it.”

  “So?” Mack said.

  Drago wanted his money enough to side with a county cop. “Yeah, I’m with the dipshit. So?” Drago must’ve thought Mack a dirty cop and that Mack wanted in for a piece of the pie.

  “I’m not going to tell you again about your language,” said Mack.

  “You’re both a couple of fools,” I said. “The plan was to pull up to the front of the clubhouse dressed in FBI windbreakers and use subterfuge to get in. How can we do that if the FBI’s watching the place?”

  Eddie didn’t need to hear any more language that Drago couldn’t control. “We’re not going to talk about it now,” I said. “We’ll talk about it later. But I’m telling you, there isn’t a scenario that’s going to work, not under these conditions, not with these narrow parameters and the amount of prison time at risk.”

  Mack came over close to the bed I sat on with Eddie. He nodded. “Hey, kid, you got any more of those?”

  Eddie held out the bag. Mack stuck his hand in and came out with another package of Sno Balls and the last carton of chocolate milk. “Thanks, kid, you’re all right. You Eddie Crane?”

  Eddie looked at me. I nodded, then Eddie nodded. I said, “Eddie isn’t talking right now because he doesn’t have anything to say. When he has something to say, he’ll let us know. Right, Eddie?”

  Eddie nodded and took another bite of his Little Debbie.

  Mack opened his Sno Balls and shoved half of one into his mouth. He opened the chocolate milk and slurped some of it down. “Okay,” he said, “I think this thing will still work.”

  This wasn’t going to end easily. “Hold on,” I said, “you two come with me.” Mack and Drago followed me over to the bathroom. Drago and I went in. No room remained for Mack, and he stood at the threshold, his back to the room. I said, “Oka
y, go.”

  “What is this, the cone of silence or something?” asked Mack.

  “The kid, you idgit,” said Drago.

  “Don’t call me an idgit. And you’re the one who can’t control his pie hole.”

  “Children, play nice,” I said. “What were you going to say, Mack?”

  Mack took a drink of chocolate milk as he looked over the top of the carton, past me, at Drago. He swallowed and said, “FBI’s spread too thin to be involved in the surveillance of the clubhouse. San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Criminal Intelligence Unit is doing it for them in a joint operation.”

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s still being watched by cops.”

  “Look,” Mack said, “It’s not FBI, and that’s all that matters. We…I go to the Sheriff’s Criminal Intel guys and tell them we’re going to do a ‘knock and talk’ as a ruse to get in to see who’s inside. We tell them we have an informant who is going to lead us directly to some evidence that we’ve been looking for and haven’t been able to find until now. And, that we took Lex Luthor here out of custody just for the ride over, and to do the knock and talk. Then he’s going back to prison where he belongs.”

  “I done my time,” Drago said. “I’m out free and clear.”

  “You’re on parole, asshole.”

  “I’m an asshole?”

  I held up my hands between them. “Stop it, right now.” I thought about it for a minute. “That’s no good.”

  “Damn straight, that’s no good,” Drago said. “You’re not goin’ in there without me.”

  “Dipshit, with my plan, you are going in.”

  “Huh?”

  Mack raised his voice. “According to Bruno, you were never going in in the first place, fat boy. But this new way, you’re going in, but you’ll be handcuffed like our prisoner.”

  I shoved one man in the chest, then the other, to keep them separated. Who was I kidding? If Drago wanted to go through me, he needed only to raise up his size sixteen shoe and squash me like a bug. “It won’t work, Mack, because you’re putting yourself up front,” I said. “When this thing goes down and they investigate, you’re done. You’ll be prosecuted. You’ll lose your job and go to the joint.”