David Putnam - The Replacements

“What’s that?” he asked. “Oh no, that’s not mine. You put that there. You’re setting me up.”

“This is the bag boosted from the FBI car.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I want my lawyer.”

The FBI thought Karl Drago was their prey, when in reality he’d been playing them all along. Mary Beth said that Drago had been waiting in his room, not leaving for three days. He’d snuck over while the FBI supposedly watched him, broke into one of their cars, and took their gear. Not only a bold, in-your-face kind of move, but one well thought out and executed. I had to change my opinion about this guy and proceed with more caution than before.

I checked my watch. Two minutes, forty seconds had elapsed. We wouldn’t make it to the van and out before the troops arrived if the ruse hadn’t worked. Marie had to have convinced Mary Beth or I was in deep shit. I picked up the heavy FBI bag. “Come on, move your ass.”

“Let me get dressed.”

“Later, move.”

He lumbered out, bumping his gums the whole way. “You’re working for Clay Warfield, aren’t you? Never thought he’d go to hiring a nig-I mean, a black gentleman-for something like this. Hey, whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it. You know I’m good for it. That’s why you’re here, right? You know what time it is, don’t you? Okay, triple, I’ll triple whatever Clay’s paying you.”

I knew of Clay Warfield like every other cop in Southern California, every cop in all the US, for that matter. He was president of the Sons of Satan, the notorious outlaw motorcycle gang.

I shoved Drago in the ass with my foot to speed him up. I repelled off his bulk, and he didn’t move any faster. His fat jiggled and rolled as he walked across the parking lot to the minivan, his big arms tied behind his back. As we approached, the van grew smaller and smaller compared to his bulk, when the effect should have been the other way around. Maybe I should’ve boosted a one-ton truck. I opened the back doors. “Get in.”

“Okay, fuck you, take me to Clay. I’ll talk him out of what he thinks he wants to do, then guess what, pal? He and I will take you apart, piece by piece. Trust me on this. That’s the way it’s going to go down. Maybe I’ll use a blowtorch on you. You know who I am? You do, I know you do. You know I have priors with a blowtorch. You know what I’m sayin’?”

He never stopped talking, but he climbed in and flopped down on his belly. The wadded-up taco and hamburger wrappers and empty beer bottles splashed to the sides. The sight of him, with all his white skin, made me think that, tonight, I might be more like Captain Ahab.

I didn’t really have time to tie his feet and, under normal circumstances, I would have waited until after I’d gotten far enough away. Even tired, I realized the potential for violence in the glob of immorality compressing the van’s suspension. I risked the time, took out another cord, and secured his ankles.

I got in the van, started up, and wished I’d gagged him. The man never shut up.

I had only a couple of minutes to ponder the next problem: stop for Marie or leave her behind? The safe choice was to leave her. She’d be mad, real mad, but she’d get over it. However, without a doubt, I needed help to pull off this caper I’d planned. I would just have to keep her on the sideline as much as possible.

I pulled over to the curb on Valley Boulevard where we’d agreed to meet and waited. Street people moved in the dark shadows of the sidewalk, self-absorbed in their own skullduggery. Why wasn’t she at the preplanned location? What happened to her? If only her shadow, I’d recognize her anywhere. Had the FBI tumbled to her game and grabbed her?

Karl Drago worsened my anxiety with his continual complaints. “Hey, dickhead,” he said, “I can’t feel my hands or my feet. Loosen these things up. I lose my hands and my feet, I’ll kill ya with my teeth. You hear me? I’ll tear a chunk outta your neck with my teeth. I got good teeth, courtesy of the California penal system. I’ll rip out your throat and enjoy doing it.”

“For the last time, shut up. And think about what you just said. How are you going to move around if you don’t have any hands and feet, huh? I’ll just have to listen for your electric wheelchair to know when you’re coming.” That shut him up. As he pondered this new problem, I caught a shadow in the rearview mirror dash across Valley. Marie. My tight breathing eased up a little. She came along the sidewalk. I leaned over and rolled down the window on the passenger side. “Right here.”

She heard. Ran over, opened the door, and jumped in just as I pulled away from the curb. She peered into the back. “Everything go okay? This van smells like body odor and cat urine.”

“Sure, we’re cool. I told you it would work. How about you? You okay?”

“Yeah, I got in just like you said.” She held up the badge that hung from the chain around her neck. “But I feel bad. Mary Beth’s really nice, and she’s going to be in a lot of trouble when her boss finds out I duped her.”

“I know, but it can’t be helped.”

We came to the corner of Valley and Sierra Way, a major intersection. Light from all of the combined streetlights poured into the van. Marie looked back to see our cargo. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God!”

Her tone startled me. “What?” I looked back, thinking maybe Drago had morphed into some sort of demon, more of one than he already was. He hadn’t moved, and I realized she’d reacted to the fat lump of wasted humanity, tattooed and semi-naked in his striped boxer shorts. I said, “Didn’t you see him on the monitor when I took him out of the motel?”

“Yes, but, oh my God, Bruno.”

I waited for the red signal to change so we could enter the San Bernardino Freeway. I looked back again. Drago raised his head and smiled at Marie. “What’s the matter with your slit, hasn’t she ever seen a real man in his underwear?”

Marie turned back in her seat face forward, reached over, and put her hand on my arm.

“How sweet, love among the animals,” Drago said. He sniffed the air, made a show of it. “Fact is, I do smell some animal lovin’. You two been goin’ at it? You two have been bumpin’ uglies, right? I can smell it on you. Come on, give, tell me all the hot sweaty details.”

“He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” said Marie.

The signal changed, I proceeded to the freeway. “Now you see why I’m not going to mind what we’re going to have to do to him.” I’d said it more for Drago’s benefit than for Marie’s. He went quiet.

“Did you bring the garden shears?” Marie said, smooth as butter.

These words coming from my Marie’s normally innocent mouth shocked even me.

She wasn’t done. “I’m going to enjoy clipping off his toes one at a time. This little piggy went to market, this little piggy-well, you know the routine.”

I’d never worked in San Bernardino County and didn’t know the area. I drove to the only familiar place I knew. I got off at Waterman and headed north into the same mountains. Drago started up again: “How much is Warfield paying you? I told you, I’ll double it. How’d you get me away from the FBI? That was no easy trick.”

“Who’s this Warfield he’s talking about?” asked Marie.

I didn’t answer her.

Drago said, “Right, like I’m going to believe you don’t know the president of the Sons of Satan, Southern California.”

Marie looked at me as I maneuvered the van in a long sweeping turn into the first switchback. She whispered, “Maybe we need to find out how this Warfield figures into this thing.”