Disposable Souls

by Phonse Jessome

  Williams looked at Murphy for help. Murphy looked at me and stayed put. I was pretty sure it was the patch he was avoiding.

  “I asked you a question, prospect.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just you, are you still a cop?”

  I punched him with a short fast right jab. His head rolled back, but he stayed on his feet. With my left shoulder taped, I couldn’t get enough in it to knock him down. He looked at Murphy again. This time the big guy made a slight move. I stepped up to him, and he eased back.

  “Nicholas Mapp says I shouldn’t talk about her,” Williams said as he rubbed his chin, a defiant look in his eyes.

  I knew Mapp. Not well, but I knew who he was. A rich asshole trying to play bad boy when I was still riding with the club. He thought his money could buy him a patch, but it never got him past hang-around status. He wasn’t good enough to wear the patch, but the club used him in other ways back then, mostly to launder money through a used-car lot he owned out in Lower Sackville. He was running a much bigger operation when I returned from the war, and I figured it was built with club money. Still, there was no way Snake would let him give orders, not even to a prospect.

  “You a fucking car salesman or a prospect for this club, idiot?”

  “What?”

  “Mapp doesn’t give orders to us; we give them to him. Talk.”

  The defiance was replaced with something that looked like panic. I hit him with another jab to help him focus. This time I ignored Murphy.

  “Okay, okay, her name is Lolita. She’s fucking crazy. Thinks that preacher’s son is her brother. I had to keep you, keep the cops, from getting to her. Mapp told me to do it. It’s about protecting the club, man, that’s all.”

  The pounding in my ears returned. My fists were clenched, my hands shook. I tried to swallow it down but knew I was losing.

  “Keep the cops away how?” It came out slow, quiet.

  “He gave the order. I didn’t mean to shoot no priest.”

  He was backing away, trying to get behind Murphy. I kicked him in the chest. He flew backwards, breaking glasses, overturning tables. I was going to kill him. We both knew it.

  Murphy stepped into my path. Fair enough. I looked at him. There was nothing in his eyes. He knew where we were headed. Didn’t seem to want it. I didn’t either. I couldn’t take him. I knew it. Not because he was bigger, but because a bullet had taken my left arm out of it. I’d need everything to take a monster that big. I saw Greg, covered in blood in my arms and knew I had to try. Lifting my hand to my chest, I felt the crucifix. Saw Blair in that hospital bed. I needed to slow my pulse and ease back on the adrenaline. Eight years in the ring had taught me that.

  “You leave the Caddy at the warehouse?” I asked Phil, looking around for a weapon. He nodded.

  “You pull a trigger?”

  He shook his head.

  “You wanna walk away? This isn’t about you.”

  He raised his right hand and looked at a fresh burn and nodded, showing good judgment for the first time.

  “Good. Go look after the door. No one gets in here. No one.”

  Murphy headed to the door as Williams scrambled away from me toward the bar. I followed. He disappeared behind it, and I could hear glass breaking. I stopped short as I reached the bar. The gun came out first; he was close behind it. I didn’t hesitate, drove a fierce front kick up into the barrel. I felt the heat, nothing more as the gun exploded and spun up away from his grip. He’d missed. I grabbed his hair and dragged him out from behind the bar, drove a knee into his face, felt his nose break. I tossed him into an overturned table, heard wood crack and more glass break. I walked over and picked up the gun. I knelt beside him and forced the barrel into his mouth. I could feel the slack come out of the trigger. I waited for the explosion as I looked into his eyes.

  “Bye, bye, motherfucker.”

  “What the fuck you doin’, Hammer?” Yves asked. The whole crew was in the room. I ignored him.

  “He killed Greg,” I said, as I pushed the gun harder. Gunner moved in and pulled Williams out of the mess.

  “Mapp told me to,” he gurgled.

  I didn’t see the knife come out, I doubt if anyone did, but everyone in that room knew the sound of a blade cutting through leather, skin, muscle, and tendon. If they didn’t before, they did now. The sound repeated over and over. The unmistakable wet sucking sound stopped. It was followed by two quick thuds as Williams’s prize cowboy boots dropped from his lifeless body. Gunner tossed the dead prospect aside and turned to me. “You okay?”

  I was still covered in blood.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said as I put the gun back on the bar.

  “Anyone here still think he’s a cop? Any vote needed?” Snake said.

  I looked around the room. My brothers locked eyes with me one at a time and nodded. I knew what the vote was about. I’d just survived it.

  “Lock down the house. We need to clean up this mess,” Snake said.

  “I’m leaving. This shit isn’t finished yet,” I said. I looked at Gunner. He nodded and we both headed for the door.

  Nicholas Mapp opened the door, wearing money. Gold chains dangled from his neck, an ugly gold watch hanging low on his wrist. His ankle-length white silk robe probably cost more than everything I was wearing. We followed him to the pool where he offered us a drink. I declined. Gunner walked to the bar to pour his own. We agreed, coming over, that I would question Mapp. Gunner could play Blair’s part and watch, or maybe just drink. We didn’t trust Jimmy Williams enough to walk in shooting. I needed the truth. If Mapp ordered the hit, I also needed to know why. I couldn’t shake the club free of this thing, no matter how I looked at it. The club got Greg killed, I could feel it. Gunner said no way, but we both knew Mapp could be working some scheme with Yves Laroche and the Nomads. The only way to keep a secret is not to share it, even within the club. Especially within the club.

  And then it all turned upside down. Inspector Carl MacIntosh walked into the pool house, wearing a terry-cloth robe over swimming trunks. He was carrying a glass of Scotch. A fat cigar hung between his fingers. He stopped short when he saw us. His face told me enough. Gunner moved fast, pulling his gun and grabbing the inspector by the shoulder. The glass of Scotch dropped, shattering on the stone floor.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Gunner demanded.

  “Easy, Gunner, easy.” Mapp was on his feet. “He’s a friend. It’s all good, my brother. Relax.”

  MacIntosh’s eyes never left mine.

  “Sit the fuck down, asshole.” Gunner shoved him toward a deck chair.

  “Look, Detective, I can explain this.” MacIntosh found his voice as he sat in the chair.

  “You shut the fuck up before I let my brother kill you. The only guy doing any explaining is this little prick.” I grabbed Mapp and pushed him back into his chair. He laughed as he fell into the seat.

  “Look at you—back in the game, giving orders and taking no shit. God, that takes me back.” Mapp lit a cigar through the laughter. If he felt any guilt over Greg’s death, he didn’t show it. “Great to see you in the colours again, Hammer. I guess it’s too late to see you back in the octagon. A little old for that, I suppose.”

  “Got a fight or two left. I see you’ve moved up in the world.” I walked to the edge of the pool, looked out over the dock and the boats outside. I nodded toward MacIntosh. “Making new friends in powerful places?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am. But then, I thought you’d moved up in the world, too, although our mutual friend here tells me you are not much of a cop. No surprise, I guess. Stallion Forever and all that,” he said.

  “Yeah, well things change and things stay the same, Nick.” I walked back, stood above him. I couldn’t look at MacIntosh. I didn’t know how this was going to play out, but his being here meant there was no going back for either one of us.

/>   “Things change, things stay the same,” Mapp repeated to no one. He still looked comfortable in the chair. Not a worry in the world. In control. A small black cellphone sat beside a silver iPhone on the table beside him. Something about it was familiar.

  “I guess that means you are a two-bit spineless weasel, a richer one for sure, but still the same old dickless Nick.” I slapped the cigar from his hand.

  “What the fuck?” He struggled to get up. I pushed him back into the lounger.

  “Gunner, you better let your brother know things have changed around here,” Mapp squealed. “Neville, I don’t know who you think you are, but you better think again.” He did defiant well.

  I grabbed the front of the silk robe and pulled him to his feet. “I’m the last guy you will ever see in this world, unless you answer some questions.”

  “Hold on, hold on. I have protection. Nomad protection.” His eyes caught the Nomad patch on the front of my cut. “Okay. If this is about that idiot Williams, I can explain.”

  “Start with why you sent that idiot out with a MAC-10.”

  “He was supposed to take care of that nosy Indian. Our friend here set it up nicely.”

  “Now wait just a minute.” MacIntosh was pushing to his feet again. I looked at Gunner. He slapped him hard across the face with the gun; blood began to pour from his cheekbone. It felt good to see the bastard pistol-whipped.

  “Boys, come on now, you don’t know what you’re getting into here.” Mapp tried to pull free of my grip. “We were just protecting a nice bit of business we had going with that dead preacher. We have it in hand now. The Waters woman planned to tell you, so she had to go, too.”

  He looked up at me as he said it. Like killing Thelma was somehow my fault. I had enough guilt, I wasn’t going to own that.

  “The Indian was sniffing too close and had to be put down. Strictly business, boys. We all know that can get messy. I’ve got the Russian mob on the hook for it, so the club is clear. We’re good. I am sorry about your brother, though. Really, that was not necessary. That fucking moron Williams thought he was shooting you.” Mapp smiled as he said it.

  So Greg did take my bullets. And Blair was targeted by his own inspector. Mountie to Mountie. My breath came in shallow gulps; my heart raced.

  I pushed Mapp back into the lounger. His robe opened, and I saw the horse tattoo. I turned and looked at the tattoo on MacIntosh’s forearm. I always thought it was a tribute to the musical ride; now I saw that it looked more like the one Mapp and Gardner had.

  “Tell me about that.” I lifted my boot and pressed the heel into Mapp’s hip.

  “Hammer, back off,” Mapp pleaded. “Jesus, man, I’ll tell you. Relax, okay? Gunner, call him off.”

  Gunner stayed with MacIntosh. I pressed a little harder with my heel. Mapp tried to squirm away but there was nowhere to go. Finally, I saw fear in his eyes, then resignation. He was ready to play for a deal. The weasel not far beneath the bluster.

  I sat on the edge of the chair next to his, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands when he finished. The slide show from Sandy Gardner’s laptop played in my mind, stopped on the little girl with the empty eyes. I looked up at Gunner.

  “You know about this thing?” I asked my older brother.

  “Nope.”

  “Yves?”

  “His party, I guess,” he said.

  “How many kids you run through that place?” I asked Mapp.

  “Not a lot. We don’t need volume. You have to understand, Hammer, the movies we make with just one kid are worth a fortune. No distribution needed, virtually no overhead. It’s all encrypted and moved through a secure server in Korea. Our customers get what they want instantly. We pick the kids carefully, reduce our exposure to risk. That’s where Gardner came in. He did the shopping overseas and brought the chosen few in with orphans headed to legit homes.” He was drinking his Scotch, had the cigar lit. Schooling us on the finer points of his kiddy-porn empire.

  “All the kids Gardner’s agency brings in have to go to Montreal once they clear Immigration here. A few get lost in the paperwork and end up at the ranch. Easier than you think. Not everyone can get a new mom in a minivan or a puppy. Cost of doing business. It’s the business we’re in, gentlemen.”

  “So how does he end up dead with a set of cuffs on his wrists?” I wanted to know what set all of this off.

  Mapp smiled as he described exactly what Gardner liked and how he and Laroche used it to control him. Gardner was into bondage, asphyxiation, and kids. How does that even happen? It sickened me, but not as much as Mapp calling it “business.”

  I walked to the edge of the pool then circled back, pacing. Sex and drugs are the big money-makers for the club. That wasn’t going to change. I knew a lot of members who didn’t get involved in either business. I was one. But we all knew about it, so I guess we carry some guilt. We could live with the guilt, as long as we knew those in the game followed the club rules. The sex trade, like any profitable club business, was based in the belief that man-made laws are bullshit. As long as politicians legislate morality, the Stallion will cash in by serving those with a shaky moral compass. In the sex trade, youth is the blue chip. Couple of years south of legal is the golden age. No way would the club touch kiddy porn. Outlaw clubs live by a strict code. They don’t exactly agree with the government’s arbitrary rule on the age of majority. When it comes to sex, the Stallion code lets Mother Nature pick the date. Puberty is the magic minute. Any kid past that is fair game. If she’s ready at thirteen, she’s ready. Clubbers are fathers who expect to do time some day. Drawing that line is their way to protect their children from perverts when they are gone. It’s a line the club would kill over back when I rode. Gunner’s face told me that hadn’t changed. What these guys were up to was not Stallion business, no matter what Mapp said.

  “Everyone involved get that horse?” I asked. MacIntosh wouldn’t look up. Mapp answered.

  “No, that’s exclusive. Costs a lot more than one of our movies. Guys pay a fortune for one of these. Well, some pay a fortune. For others, it’s a reward for special services.” He looked at MacIntosh as he said it. “Our own little stallion. It’s reserved for those who pop the cherry on one of the new ponies. Boys, this is Stallion approved.”

  I didn’t buy that. No way this was club approved.

  But Laroche approved. I knew that was another thing. The Nomad president ran the Stallion porn business in all the federal prisons. He helped build an online porn empire for the club, and no one asked any questions as long as the money rolled in. Stallion lawyers taught the club the importance of secrecy. The club’s biggest legal concern was being ruled a criminal organization under Canada’s untested anti-gang laws. The Stallion didn’t want to be the test case. So, small cells operating within the larger club ran every illegal operation in secrecy. It would be easy for the Nomads to run a kiddy-porn operation without drawing attention from the rest of the club. First, Stallion charters don’t question Nomad operations, and second, no patch would question another member about business. Only cops and rats ask questions like that. Secrecy protected the club, but it also opened the door for this kind of operation.

  “Come on Gunner, Hammer. This is just business; you have to let it be,” Mapp said.

  “I can’t do that,” I said to Gunner. “We’re talking about kids. Fucking babies here. No way the patch stands behind that.”

  Suddenly, I wanted to drop the vest and pick up a badge. I knew what would happen to Mapp if I could get him behind bars—true outlaw justice. Then I looked at MacIntosh, and the badge felt even dirtier. The outlaw justice would have to happen outside of prison.

  “Look, man, this sucks,” Gunner said. “I know it, but if Yves got some shit going outta Montreal, we got to bring it to the table. He’s running it in our backyard; that means we can kill it, but we gotta do it right. Nothing more we can
do. That shit bird is right, man. This garbage is Stallion business.”

  “Fine, we vote on how we deal with the kiddy porn,” I said. “What about this asshole? He took Greg out. That’s not about the club.”

  Gunner walked over to the lounger. Mapp was fully recovered now, confident he was untouchable, protecting a valuable bit of club business. Gunner pulled the gun from his belt, it looked small like a .22. It exploded like a cannon as he shot Mapp in the stomach. Definitely not a .22.

  “That’s family business, different thing.” Gunner tossed the gun to me.

  I put one in Mapp’s chest and another in his head. MacIntosh stared at me. Gunner looked at him. His fate was mine to decide. I walked over and stood beside him.

  “Why?”

  “I, umm. He forced me to protect the operation. They have pictures.”

  MacIntosh looked past me to the pool.

  “Pictures of what?”

  “Me, some kids. Look, it’s not what it sounds like. Obviously, I underestimated you.”

  He looked at Gunner and stood slowly. He opened the robe, showing us he was unarmed.

  He walked to the bar and poured a drink. I could see it happening again, exactly the way it did in the minutes after Greg was murdered. I watched his body language change, his chest expanding, his eyes locking on mine as he sipped the drink, assuming his command posture. He tipped the glass toward Mapp’s body.

  “I believe what you just did was a mistake,” MacIntosh said, “but it shows me you are men of action. You are ready, willing, and, more importantly, able to do the unpleasant things that must sometimes be done.”

  “There was nothing unpleasant in that.” I pointed the gun toward Mapp. “The only unpleasant thing around here is that tattoo on your arm and how you earned it. And how many other kids you tortured, how many of their tormentors you protected.”

  He sipped his drink, looking over the top of the glass, the same way he looked over his hands when he lectured me about Luke Weathers.

  “Look, gentlemen…” I could feel another lecture coming on. “We still have a great opportunity here. As for the sex, you have to understand it is a perfectly natural thing. Some men—quite often men of power and great responsibility like us—need certain forms of release. All we are—”