The Vanquished

by David Putnam

  “You know I will. I’ll do it right away.”

  The long pause sat between us over thousands of miles of phone line. I’d known my brother well when we were kids, but now he felt emotionally distant when he shouldn’t be. Twenty years in prison could do that to a couple of brothers. I’d be sure to fix that when I got home. I’d reconnect with him. “We’ll be back soon,” I said. “Give the kids a kiss for me.”

  “You bet.”

  I hung up.

  I sat on the bed and turned on the television with the remote for a little mind-numbing news.

  The woman newscaster, Asian, with intense eyes and wearing a nice blue blazer, said, “Bizarre and scary footage tonight caught on a hospital security camera that picked up the action at a residence not far down the street from the hospital.”

  The CCTV footage caught my attention. I recognized the location even though the footage came across a little vague and indistinct in black and white.

  A large man in a ski mask walked through a hole in a wrought-iron fence. The FBI had mowed down that gate a few weeks ago when they served a search warrant on The Sons of Satan’s international clubhouse. I’d seen it firsthand from the rear seat of an FBI Suburban, and had given Special Agent Dan Chulack the probable cause for his affidavit in exchange for my freedom. That search warrant was the reason for The Sons coming to Costa Rica and threatening my family.

  On the television, the large man in the ski mask set down a hard plastic milk crate loaded with glass soda bottles. Cloth wicks sprouted from the tops of the bottles.

  Only the parking lot separated him from the clubhouse, the lot about fifteen or twenty yards wide.

  Bikers came out of the clubhouse wearing their regalia: black leathers, tall black boots, chains hanging from their pants pockets, and denim jackets with the sleeves cut off. Groupthink, in this case “group” being a bunch of apes. Together they yelled obscenities and pointed at him. Two started walking toward him. Their actual words didn’t come through on the broadcast, but no one would mistake the threat.

  Unperturbed in the least, the big masked man took out a small butane blowtorch. One at a time, he lit the rags hanging out of each bottle. He threw them hard in a high arc, their flames fluttering in the wind. Some landed against the walls, shattering in a whoosh of bright flame. Some landed on the roof of the clubhouse to spill yellow flame in a rolling puddle. The wood and stucco structure caught fire and immediately turned into a blazing inferno. More bikers ran out, two of them firing guns.

  Chaos.

  The big man spun around and fled.

  I didn’t hear the rest of the news broadcast. My laughter took over. I rolled on the bed. I laughed until tears came to my eyes. The scene had not been that funny, but I’d needed the diversion more than I knew.

  Even with the ski mask, I recognized Karl Drago. He’d been instrumental in helping me take down the Southern California chapter of the SS, The Sons of Satan. Twenty years or more earlier, Drago hid the loot from an armored car heist inside The Sons of Satan clubhouse, a melted-down ring of gold. Now he’d come to reclaim it. Only he couldn’t go into the hornet’s nest with the hornets still at home so he burned their nest down. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

  I leaned over and picked up the phone and dialed Drago’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  I told him.

  “Be there in fifteen.” He rang off.

  Marie came out of the bathroom naked. Steam billowed out behind her. “I was just going to take a shower,” she said, “and wash off some of this travel grime.”

  “You looking for the Man From Ghirardelli to help you out with that?”

  “Sure, Randy—I mean Bruno—”

  She turned and ran into the bathroom with me in close pursuit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE LOUD KNOCK came just as I turned off the water in the shower. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and headed out, anxious to see my friend Drago. I stood to the side of the door and leaned over to look in the peephole as I dripped water on the carpet.

  Someone out to do you harm on the other side of the door might be watching the peephole from his side, see the shadow shade the hole, know someone stood in front of it, and fire through the door. Caution, not paranoia, ruled the day.

  I couldn’t see much other than a man the size of a small planet that filled the outside hall.

  I swung the door open. “Hey, buddy.”

  Drago’s smile lit up my world. He shoved his way in, wearing a huge black with white lettering Raiders jersey and aqua sweatpants, just as Marie came from the bathroom, a towel wrapped under her arms and another one on her head. She looked radiant.

  Drago shook my hand, but his attention went to Marie. “Howya doin’, kid?” he said to her.

  She made a circular movement with her finger. “Turn around. I’m not presentable to the public.”

  “I’m not the public, I’m a friend.”

  I closed the hotel room door. “I’ll second that.”

  “Drago,” she said.

  “All right.” He turned around and away from her. “Please tell me you two weren’t taking a shower at the same time?”

  “You just wandered deep into the personal zone, pal,” I said. “Hey, I saw you on the news last night.”

  “That ain’t normal. How long you been together now, what four, five years?”

  “Five and some change,” I said.

  “This far into your relationship you’re supposed to hate each other and barely be getting along. Not still scrubbin’ each other’s privates in the shower.”

  “Haven’t you heard, California’s in a drought,” I said. “We’re just doing our part to conserve.”

  Behind him, Marie grabbed some clothes from the dresser and scurried back into the bathroom.

  “I only say that”—Drago lowered his voice—“ ’cause I was hopin’ she’d finally come to her senses and dump your sorry ass.”

  “What, like you’d have a chance with her if I’m outta the picture?”

  “Damn straight. I know I could satisfy the woman in ways you couldn’t even imagine. And don’t get the wrong idea, I’m talkin’ emotionally here.”

  I went to the dresser and took out some clean clothes. I felt a little self-conscience dropping the towel in front of Drago but did it anyway. I stepped into some underwear.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Confirmation, bro. I wouldn’t have a problem keeping her happy.”

  “You know, I should’ve shot you a little higher up on your leg than I did, like maybe in the hip.”

  Drago laughed. When he walked over to the bed, his feet shook the floor a little, and it made me less secure with the building’s structural integrity. He didn’t show any sign of the injury from the bikers’ beating or from the gunshot wound to the leg I’d given him.

  When we first met, and before I got to know him, I kidnapped Drago at gunpoint right out from under the nose of the FBI. Then, when he wouldn’t tell me where he’d hidden the money from the armored car heist, and because he lunged at me, I shot him in the leg.

  He stomped his foot a little, his hand on his leg in the area of the wound. “Yeah, I still owe you for that one, darkie.” He smiled.

  He used to call me much worse.

  I pulled my pants on and went over and shook his hand. “We’re even.”

  He wouldn’t let go of my hand, and instead, stood and pulled me into a hug. He held me there a second or two longer than what felt normal for a couple of dudes.

  Marie came out of the bathroom dressed in slacks and a red peasant blouse. “You boys have something you wanna tell me? Do I need to go downstairs, get a coffee and a scone, let you have some quality time alone?”

  Drago let go of me and took a couple of quick steps over to Marie. He picked her up and swung her around. “Nope, we were just talking, and I just gave Bruno ten bucks. He said I can have you. He sold you off just that quick.”

  “Careful
with her, big man. Take it easy,” I said.

  Drago lost his smile, his expression turning to concern as he gently set her down. “What’s the matter? You hurt or somethin’?”

  “Oh, don’t listen to Bruno.”

  She’d avoided his question. He turned to me and said, “What, Bruno? Tell me.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just . . .”

  “Bruno?” Marie said.

  We’d agreed not to tell him, and now I’d gone and screwed that all up.

  He held on to her shoulders. “What’s wrong, kid, you sick or somethin’?”

  I said, “Now you have to tell him.”

  “All right. I’m pregnant.”

  It took a second for this information to process before his face lit up with a huge smile. “That’s wonderful.” He picked her up as if she were made of delicate porcelain and set her on the bed. He sat on the bed next to her, and it tilted like a ship going down in the ocean.

  His short hair pulled back in a tight ponytail stretched the skin on his flat, pie-tin face. He used to have a shaved head. Every square inch of skin on his exposed arms contained jailhouse ink, tattoos depicting Vikings, shotguns, and big-breasted women, and mirrored his violent life. His presence, picking Marie up and setting her on the bed—which bothered neither of us in the least—made me think we’d somehow crossed over into a parallel universe. In the real world I’d never let someone who looked like he did get anywhere close to my Marie.

  “Ho, ho,” he said, “you poor girl. You’re gonna have a kid with the likes of this poor ugly slob?”

  She smiled. “No, no, no. I never said he was the father.”

  His expression fell. “What?”

  She’d gotten him good with that one.

  “No, just kidding.”

  I sat on the bed.

  Drago asked me, “What’s that all about?”

  “Inside joke. You weren’t here a little while ago,” I said. “My lovely wife was goofing on me about Randy Travis.”

  “Randy Travis? Solid dude, great voice.”

  “Don’t tell me you listen to that crap? Never mind,” I said. “Let’s get down to why we’re here.”

  “You came to help me get the gold from the clubhouse, right? For the money, right? That’s why I torched it last night. You’ll get half of the gold once we go dig it out of that foundation. Like I told you before. I’m a man of my word. Your half’ll help raise this new little Bruno bambino.”

  “No, that’s not why we’re here. And we wouldn’t take your money anyway. You’ve sacrificed far too much for it already.”

  “Oh, now my money’s not good enough for you?” He grinned.

  “Stop it.”

  “Okay, then spill it, why are you here?”

  “The Sons are mad over what happened and they want a piece of me.”

  He jumped to his feet and spun around to face us. The bed rebounded from the weight. “The hell you say. They’ll have ta go through me first. So what’d they do to you? What happened?”

  I couldn’t talk. Just thinking about it made the ire rise up inside me.

  Marie spoke in a calm and controlled tone. “They came down to Costa Rica. They got to Toby, our little Toby, and wrote their phone number on his back. Bruno called them. They want Bruno back so . . . so . . .”

  Drago’s hands turned to fists the size of canned hams. “You two go on back home. You don’t have ta worry about this anymore. Not for one minute do you have ta worry about this, you understand me? You should’ve just told me over the phone. I’ll take care of this. No problem. I got this.”

  I stood and took a step toward him. “They didn’t ask for you, they asked for me. And I’m not going to ask you to do something that I have to do myself.”

  He raised his hand and pointed his finger at me. “You get no part of this. You’re going to be a daddy. This falls squarely into the middle of what I’m all about. This is mine. This is my gift from me to you.”

  “Bruno?” Marie pleaded. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to go along with Drago. Only it wasn’t the right thing to do. And I knew she really didn’t mean it. Not after she had a moment to think about it.

  I turned to her and shook my head.

  She gave me those big eyes, hesitated a moment, and then nodded in agreement.

  Drago saw the nonverbal communication between Marie and me. “Then what?” he asked. “Why did you call me?”

  “I need you to stay with Marie and keep her safe.”

  Marie stood and stomped one foot. “No. No. I won’t have it. He’s going with you. You have to have someone backing you up.”

  “He stays here with you,” I said, not leaving any room for interpretation in my tone.

  “Drago, what do you say about it?” she asked.

  “Ah, I wanna go with Bruno, but I think I should stay with you. No question, stay with you. But, then again, I, ah, also think I need to go with Bruno. That’s where the action’s going to be, that’s where the fun’s gonna be.”

  She moved closer to Drago, picked up his hand, and looked up into his eyes. “I’m asking you as a friend to go with Bruno and keep him safe.”

  His mouth dropped open a little as he nodded. She went up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He turned to me. “Looks like you lose, pal. I’m going with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  DOWN IN THE lobby, I stepped out of the elevator with Drago, stopped, and visually checked all the patrons, the people coming and going, looked for someone out of place, a predator, one who resembled an outlaw motorcycle gang member dressed down in sheep’s clothing.

  I didn’t like Marie being left alone with no one covering her. I wouldn’t be able to focus with her at risk.

  With Drago at my side, though, I started to get a glimmer of hope that this thing might work out. Drago knew how to influence people.

  We could do what we did the last time with Jonas Mabry; we could get a chunk of money from somewhere and offer it up to The Sons as a form of reparations. The Sons worshiped only one thing: their false idol, money. They had a price, like everyone had a price, and I’d gladly pay it as long as the number didn’t come in too large. The big drawback, even if we got the money and gave it to them, was that they couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t want to use Drago’s gold, but that might be the only way out. If we did use it, I’d swap the menace to my family for an oversize dose of guilt over the debt I’d owe him.

  We moved slowly through the hotel lobby to the centerpiece fountain. With Drago dressed in aqua sweatpants and a football jersey, everyone took a second look at us. Not good. We stood out too much. Drago didn’t seem to notice. He took out a cell phone and hit a speed-dial number. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “I got a job for you and Dill. You handle this for me and we’ll call it square. You screw it up, and I’m gonna introduce you to my blowtorch, you understand?”

  He listened for a moment and then said, “Yeah, that’s right, a clean slate, you won’t owe me a damn thing after this. I want you at a hotel in the next twenty minutes, you understand? One of you will be in the next room to the woman and the other down in the lobby. Nothing is to happen to the woman in 1410. I’ll give you the entire lowdown when you get here. I’ll text you the name of the hotel and the address. She’s not to know you’re on the job.

  “The threat?” Drago raised his voice. “Yeah, there’s a threat or I wouldn’t be talkin’ ta your dumb ass. It’s The Sons. They want ta hurt her and her family and that’s not gonna happen.”

  He listened some more.

  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I’m not watchin’ after her myself. I’m gonna have a sit-down with The Sons. Be a day, maybe two at the most ’til I get all this sorted out and then you’re done.”

  He rang off and used his big thumbs to text the hotel name and the address.

  “Thanks,” I said, “that makes me feel a lot better.”

  “No problem.”

  “Can you trus
t these guys?”

  “Yeah, one of ’em’s my brother, and they’re both cops.”

  “You got a brother who’s a cop?”

  He waved a beefy paw. “It’s a long, sad story without a happy ending. But you don’t have to worry, these guys are solid. So whattaya got in mind? You want to systematically hit every one of The Sons’ stash pads, safe houses, satellite clubhouses, torch ’em to the ground, keep it up until they yell ‘uncle’? That’s what I’m thinkin’ we do. We start up our own little program of crimes against The Sons.”

  We moved together to the side of the lobby by the couches and watched the doors and the valets out front taking care of the cars. Watched the kind of cars, the kind of clientele.

  “We do it that way,” I said, “uninvolved people could get hurt.”

  “Well, yeah, maybe. Maybe no,” he said. “But that’s the basic idea—you make an omelet, you’re gonna break a few eggs. A body count is the only thing The Sons will stand up and take notice of. You gotta get ’em rubbin’ their ass sayin’ ouch, that hurt, or you’re not gonna get anywhere with ’em.”

  “I don’t want any innocents to get hurt.”

  He looked at me a little stunned. “What happened to the guy with the huge balls? The guy who walked into The Sons international clubhouse with me and pretended to be a cop? What happened to that guy?”

  “We got caught, remember?”

  “You’re gonna have to get wet on this one if you wanna take care of the problem. That’s the only thing they know. You answer violence with violence; it’s the only rule in the jungle. I don’t know how many different ways I gotta say it.”

  “What if we tried to buy them off?”

  “They’d take the money and come right back at you. They wouldn’t even wait a week. And then you’d be right back where you started. Minus the money and a huge chunk of your credibility gone, flushed right down the toilet.”

  “Who’s callin’ the shots for The Sons?” I asked. “Did they nominate a new president?”

  “No, Clay’s still callin’ the shots, only now it’s from Pelican Bay.”