Minus

by Jack Davenport

  “It’s okay, Crush,” Viper said, smoothing his suit jacket. “Mr. Cutter knows this is sacred ground. He won’t spill blood here. Besides, he wouldn’t want his friend to get hurt... any further... would he?”

  Cutter handed me the tablet, which was playing a video stream of a dirty room where Warthog was gagged, tied to a metal chair, and beat to shit. Some fucker with horrible acne scars was holding his head up by his hair, shaking it back and forth for the camera.

  “You’ve made a big mistake,” Cutter said.

  “I don’t think so. In fact, I believe that it’s you that’s underestimated me. While it is true that, historically, the Burning Saints have always run the security game here in Portland, times are about to change... starting right now.”

  “I suppose you think Los Psychos is going to take over?” Cutter asked.

  “Who better? Look how easily we got to you!” Viper exclaimed. “I know everything about you and your operation. I even know that you’ve already got one foot in the grave.”

  Cutter looked at him with an unfiltered rage. If Warthog’s life wasn’t currently in Viper’s hands, I think he would have gone for his throat right then and there. I was afraid the fine folks who’d come to the market for a Churro and a reasonably priced alpaca wool-knit cap, were about to witness a murder.

  “If you kill Warthog, I’ll come at you with everything I have,” Cutter said.

  “Maybe so, but that won’t really change anything, will it? Your time is over, Mr. Cutter. Your club is vulnerable, and soon to be without its leader and founder. Take this money and retire someplace warm. Get away from all this rain and bloodshed before it’s too late.”

  “The day I start taking orders from little piss ants like you, is the day they put me in the fucking ground.”

  “That day may be closer than the doctors have told you. Not just you, but Warthog, Mr. Minus here, and your whole club,” Viper said.

  “Don’t bet on it,” I replied.

  “I find it funny that the two of you talk so tough when you are in no position to do so. If I do not get word to the man on the other side of that screen by the designated time, he will begin removing pieces of your friend, starting with his toes, before moving his way upward.”

  “I don’t know anything about a book,” Cutter said defiantly.

  “And I say you’re lying. You have twenty-four hours to bring it to me or Warthog is dead, and you can look forward to finding pieces of him in your mailbox throughout the year.”

  “It’s the gift that keeps on giving,” Crush said, smirking.

  I went to hand him back the tablet, but dropped it on the ground just before it reached his oversized hand.

  “Sorry,” I said flatly.

  Just as Crush bent to pick up the device I delivered a headbutt directly to the bridge of his nose. He staggered back a few steps stunned, as blood erupted from his face, spraying the both of us.

  “Oh, buddy, I’m so sorry!” I lied. “I guess we both bent down at the same time. Are you okay?”

  I moved towards him in mock concern, pretending to lend assistance, trying to avoid the attention of the crowd. I moved in closer, pulled the gun I’d hidden in my waistband, and pressed against his ribs.

  “Don’t you make a fucking move, or I’ll drop you right here, big boy,” I whispered to Crush. “Hey, Roger,” I called out to Viper. “How about we get Irving here to the medical tent? I think he may have hurt himself real bad.”

  I motioned for everyone to move away from the crowd, towards a small grove of trees behind the bandstand. I stuck with Crush and ordered Viper to grab the bags. Once secluded by a grove of trees, I told Viper to drop the bags, and put some distance between us.

  “Call your guy and tell him to let Warthog go, or I swear to God, I’ll put a bullet in each of you. Hell, I’m feeling generous. Let’s make it two apiece.”

  “You’re not going to execute us in a public place, with all these witnesses and security around.”

  “You’re holding one of my brothers hostage, you threatened my president, and you stole from my club. Believe me when I tell you that I’d cut your throat in front of a judge and a priest for a lot less.”

  “You’ll regret spilling blood here today,” Viper said.

  “I’ve regretted just about every moment of my life since hearing your fucking name. Why should right now be any different? I’d go to the gas chamber with a smile on my face for the privilege of shooting you in yours.”

  “And I’m a dead man anyway, so what the fuck do I have to lose?” Cutter asked with a smile.

  “Make the call. Now,” I said.

  Viper began to reach into his inside jacket pocket.

  “Move slowly and keep your hands visible,” I instructed, and he produced a cell phone and dialed.

  “This is Viper. Let the old man go. Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he bellowed into the phone.

  “Tell your guy to drop Warthog off at the Corner of Capitol and Virginia, and give his phone to him, so we know he actually gets out safe,” I ordered, and Viper did as he was told.

  “Good, now this is how this is gonna go down,” I said. “You’re going to give me your phone, turn around, and exit via the far end of the market. You’re going to make sure Warthog is delivered safely, and you’re going to walk the fuck away from the Burning Saints. You made your move and you failed. You underestimated us, and you won’t get a second shot. If you make one more move in our direction, we’ll know about it and we’ll end you and your fucking club. Do you understand me?”

  “Once again, it’s you who doesn’t understand. I’ll walk away for now, and I’ll let your man go, but if you think this is over between us, you’re crazy.” He shifted his gaze to Cutter. “I gave you the three million, and I want your book in return. If it’s not delivered to me, you’re going to be praying the cancer kills you before I do.”

  With that, he and a bloodied Crush turned and walked towards the south entrance.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I said to Cutter. Tucking the gun and Viper’s cell phone back into my jeans, we grabbed the bags and briskly walked back to the van where Clutch and Grover were waiting.

  “Any problems?” Clutch asked as we entered the van.

  “Easy as pie,” I said.

  “Glad to hear it. You took a little longer than—” Clutch did a doubletake. “Is that blood all over you?”

  Minus

  I hit the last number dialed on Viper’s phone and Warthog answered.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “He dropped me off near Shelly’s old place,” he replied.

  “Stay there. We’re on our way. Find someplace out of sight—” That was as far as I got before the phone call cut off.

  “They killed the phone remotely,” I said, tossing it aside.

  “What the fuck is going on, Minus? What happened back there?”

  “Viper and his goon tried to get cute, so I had to improvise a little. They were holding Warthog hostage, but I convinced them to let him go.”

  “Jesus, Minus, when I told you to start using your head more, that was not what I meant,” Cutter said laughing.

  “Does Eldie still work in E.R.?” I asked.

  “No, she has her own clinic now,” Cutter replied.

  “We still good with her?” I asked.

  “Solid as a rock as far as I know.”

  “Perfect. We can drop Warthog off there on our way back to the Sanctuary. We need to figure some shit out, pronto.”

  “Starting with how the hell Viper knows so much about our club’s business,” Cutter said.

  “If we’ve got a mole, we’re gonna need to find him fast, and deal with him even faster. Not to mention all that bullshit about a secret book,” I said with a laugh. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Clutch glanced back at Cutter, who sat in silence.

  “What? You’re kidding me? That shit is real?” I asked in disbelief.

  “As real as the
moon landing,” he replied.

  “You’re lucky Warthog isn’t here. He’d have some strong feelings about that statement,” Grover said.

  “You actually keep a fucking ledger of all your criminal activity? A master file, on paper, of the club’s business?” I asked, trying to get us back on track.

  “How the fuck else am I gonna keep track of everything?” Cutter bellowed.

  “For starters, most clubs have a treasurer to take care of this stuff,” I said.

  “I don’t trust ’em. I take care of the club’s books. Always have, always will. I believe it’s the President’s responsibility.”

  “Fine, but why a fucking ledger? They have these things called computers, you know? They were invented during the last century, and can be used to compile, and safely store data,” I said.

  “Oh, sure, those things are fucking secure. Have you watched the news lately? Hackers this, and security breach that. I keep my information on paper, locked up tight, where only I have access to it,” Cutter said.

  “Well, your top fucking secret isn’t a secret anymore. We need to get that book as far away from here, and you, as possible. We also need more able-bodied guys around here. No offence, but most of your guys are getting up there, and might not be up for the fight we just picked.”

  “You got a plan?” Cutter asked.

  “I’m thinking it’s time for Clutch to round up a posse, and for me to get the fuck outta Dodge.”

  We reached Warthog’s pickup location and scanned the spot for any sign of him. After one pass around the block, I spotted him in an alley, next to a bike shop. He was slumped on the ground, leaning against the building. Clutch pulled over, we jumped out, and helped the badly battered Warthog into the van. He could barely stand and looked far worse in person than he did on the video. Both of his eyes were almost completely swollen shut, his right arm appeared to be broken, and he reeked of gasoline. Someone had spent some time on him. I saw brand marks and bruises and his hair was matted with blood.

  “Easy now, careful,” Cutter said, his voice trembling with concern, as we lay Warthog down in the back of the van. “What happened, man?”

  “I took the Lincoln in to get detailed,” Warthog rasped.

  “Sure, it’s Saturday,” Cutter said. “You went to Dashmasters?”

  “Yeah. I was on the bench outside, waiting for the car, and they grabbed me. They knew I was gonna be there.”

  “Los Psychos?”

  “They were all patched except the guy that worked me over. It sounded like they’d hired him. He was gonna torch me. He kept saying he was gonna burn me alive, man,” Warthog rasped as Cutter held his head.

  “It’s okay, man, we’re gonna get you to Eldie’s and she’ll take care of you. We’ll get you out of these clothes and get some good ol’ morphine into you. That sounds good, doesn’t it?” Cutter smiled, trying his best to comfort his friend, before turning to me. “When we find the guy that did this, he’s going to pay double for this.”

  “I’ll find him for you, I promise,” I said.

  “You promise him,” Cutter said, motioning to Warthog.

  “On my patch,” I said.

  We reached the medical office of Dr. Gina Gardner, or as she was known to our club, “Eldie,” which was a derivative of L.D., which stood for Lady Doctor. This was unfortunately what Red Dog called her when he was brought into the E.R. after getting a bottle busted over his head in a bar fight. Rather than take offence, Dr. Gardner wore the moniker with pride, and became a trusted friend of the club over the years. We always knew that Eldie would take care of you when needed. Apparently, she’d since moved up from her days in the E.R. and had her own small practice. I was wondering if she’d be as welcoming to the Burning Saints as she once was. As it turns out, I wouldn’t have to wait long. Clutch and I were on opposite sides of Warthog, carrying him up the walkway, and had only made it halfway there when Eldie bound through the front door with a very large Samoan man in nurse’s scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

  “What happened to him?” she asked, as the nurse gently placed Warthog into the chair and wheeled him through the front entrance.

  “He was kidnapped and beaten, that’s all I know. I’m not even sure how long they had him, or what they did to him. Just help him the best you can okay, Doc?”

  “You know I will,” she said sweetly. “It’s good to see you again, Cutter, even if it’s for the same old reasons.”

  “You too, sweetie,” he said, leaning in. “Be okay if we stash him here for a few days while he heals up?”

  “I’ve got a place in back. He’ll be comfortable and out of sight,” she replied.

  “Thanks, babe. I owe you,” Cutter said.

  “You know my price,” she said with a wink, and exited the waiting area.

  “What was that all about? What’s her price?” I asked as we made our way out.

  “None of your damned business. That’s between me and the Doc,” he said sternly.

  “Damn, Cutter! You got somethin’ goin’ on with Eldie?” Clutch razzed.

  “You fuckin’ idiot, she’s damn near young enough to be my granddaughter,” he barked. “Besides, you jealous or somethin’? Now, get in the fuckin’ van and let’s get out of here.”

  We piled in and Clutch started the engine. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

  “Take me back to my hotel,” I said. “I’ll grab my stuff, and car to the airport from there.”

  “Airport?” Clutch asked. “Why are you going to the airport?”

  “Because I’m going back to Savannah. I’m going to take Cutter’s book there to keep it safe, and while I’m there I’m going to talk to Zaius about bringing a couple of guys back with me.”

  Zaius, the Savannah chapter president, was named due to his striking resemblance to Dr. Zaius from the 1969 film The Planet of the Apes. Like his orangutan film counterpart, he was a pear shaped, man with a fiery red beard and hair. Also like the character, he was very smart, but pretty much a complete prick.

  “Good luck with that,” Cutter said with a chuckle.

  I smirked and nodded.

  Clutch killed the van’s engine.

  “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “What the fuck me? What the fuck is up with you two guys?” Clutch asked, throwing his hands in the air. “The last time I checked, you two were oil and vinegar, and now suddenly your chocolate and fucking peanut butter. So, as the sergeant at arms of this fucking club, I’d like to know what’s up, peanut butter cup?”

  Cutter pulled a flask from his inside pocket and handed it to Clutch. “You’re gonna need a pull from this.”

  * * *

  “This is a joke, right? You’re fucking with me. You have to be fucking with me.”

  “I’m dead serious, Clutch. I’ve asked Minus to take up the staff. I want him to be the next president of the Burning Saints.”

  “Him?” Clutch asked, pointing violently at me.

  I shot him a look, but said nothing. He had the right to be pissed.

  “With Cricket Wallace?” he continued.

  “No, not with Cricket. She wouldn’t be Co-President, she’d be more like a business advisor; a sub-contractor to help us with our transition,” Cutter replied.

  “A sub-contractor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Cutter? We’re a motorcycle club! Did I miss a memo? Did we take a vote at the last shareholder’s meeting? When did we decide to liquidate our portfolio, and diversify our tax shelters?”

  I laughed.

  “This funny to you, motherfucker? I haven’t heard anything to laugh about tonight, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Calm down, Clutch I—”

  “Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down, as a matter of fact, don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do,” Clutch snapped at me. “You’re not my president. As a matter of fact, I outrank your ass.”

  “And I outrank both of you, so shut the fuck up Clutc
h,” Cutter growled.

  “This is bullshit, and you know it. Minus hasn’t been around for years. How the fuck is he supposed to know how to run this chapter, let alone the club?”

  “I have faith in Minus. I trust that he’s the right one for the job, and I would think that, as his best friend, you’d have no problem serving under him, and helping him become the best president he can be.”

  “Some fuckin’ best friend,” he said without looking at me. “Didn’t even talk to me about any of this shit.”

  “I’m sorry, Clutch. Everything happened so quickly, and I hadn’t even decided what I was gonna do yet,” I said.

  “So, you’ve decided now?” Cutter asked.

  “After what happened today, all I know for sure, is we’ve got to tighten shit up around here. We need to find out where our security leaks are, get some more muscle, firepower, and prepare for war.” I turned to Clutch. “The Saints need a Sergeant that’s focused on the good of the club, and protecting the President. I’m just a soldier, and maybe that’s all I’ll ever be. Cutter’s asked me step in and deal with Viper, so that’s what I’m gonna do. We’ll figure out everything else later, but right now we’ve got work to do. You with me or what?”

  “Fine, but this conversation isn’t over,” Clutch said.

  “Fair enough. Alright, let’s get to the hotel. I’ve gotta call Cricket on the way there.”

  Cricket

  I hit the button on my electric kettle, then grabbed a mug and teabag. I had a lot on my mind (for obvious reasons), so even though I wanted wine, tea would keep me clear.

  The kettle finished boiling just as my doorbell rang. I poured water into my cup, then walked to the foyer. Since my building had a doorman and a security guard, whoever was ringing could only be one of a dozen people. I looked through the peephole and sighed. Shit!

  Pulling open the door, I forced a smile. “Well, hi there, big brother. What do I owe the pleasure?”

  “You took a leave of absence,” he said, pushing through the door. “You sick or something?”

  “Please, come in. Make yourself at home,” I mumbled under my breath as I closed and locked the door again.