David Putnam - The Replacements

Willy. That name sounded only vaguely familiar until Drago said the part about the armored car job, then it locked in. Willy Frakes. Drago hadn’t killed the guard after all-Clay had. Clay had been in on the armored car heist all those years ago. Now it all made sense. Drago lived by the code that you did not rat. He couldn’t get even with Clay, not by ratting him out. But he could rub it in Clay’s face by hiding the money from the job right under Clay’s nose. The gold protected by the club to whom he’d sworn his oath and an allegiance. I realized my jaw had dropped open.

“What’s the matter with you ?” Clay asked me.

I turned to Drago. “You didn’t shoot that guard.”

Drago didn’t acknowledge that I had said anything at all.

“You went to prison for twenty-five to life for something you didn’t do.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Bruno,” Mack said. “He’s not some darling angel. He was in violation of the felony murder rule. Someone died during the course of a felony, whether he pulled the trigger or not. That’s twenty-five to life, too.”

“Very good,” said Clay. “You’re not some kind of sneak thief. Now I know that for sure. You’re a cop. Who do you work for?”

“Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. They know I’m here. You shoot me and you know what will happen? All hell’s going to break loose. It’ll drop right down on top of you like a hot pile of dog shit.”

“Not if you just quietly disappear.” Clay turned to Drago. “You had time to think about my offer? Full reinstatement. You went to prison without saying a word. For your loyalty, I’ll give you half the money from the armored car job.”

Drago’s eyes bulged and spittle flew from his mouth. “Half? That’s big of you, asshole, considering you don’t even know where I hid it. Cause it’s all mine. And guess what? I’m not afraid of you. I know you for the greedy bastard you are. You’re not going to kill me. Not till you find your precious money.”

Clay remained calm and collected. “This is true, I don’t know exactly where. My mystery caller,” he looked at me, “according to you, this Jonas Mabry didn’t give me all the necessary details. He just said there was a million point two in gold. That’s why we didn’t roll right in. We gave you some time, but as you can see, that didn’t work out. I have to hand it to you, Drago, my man, hiding it here was truly a piece of advanced thinking.”

“Fuck you and the plumbing truck you rode in on.”

Clay looked to Roy Boy. “Before we rolled up, did you hear anything about what they were doing, where the gold’s hidden?”

Rob Roy shook his head. “They came right in, went right to the safe, and started working on it.”

“What good are you?” Clay turned to Sandman. “That doesn’t make sense. How could he hide that much gold in a safe without expecting me to see it?”

Sandman shrugged.

Clay said, “What good are you ? We’ll take them somewhere else and have a little chat until we find out. Zip-tie their hands.”

“The fuck you will!” yelled Drago. He took a giant step toward the already scared Roy Boy, who jumped back, his eyes wild with fear and indecision, the gun jittering in his hand. Drago did it on purpose to solicit a gunshot. Did he hate Clay enough to sacrifice his life to bring the cops down on him? In the short time we’d been together, I’d gotten to know Drago a little better.

“Hold it,” Clay yelled. “Looks like this whole damn thing’s going to get screwed up if I don’t take a personal hand in it.” He said this looking up at the ceiling, as if talking to himself, a sure sign of mental instability. “Watch them for one minute. Can you assholes do that much? Huh?” He hurried down the hall and disappeared into the office. Something scraped on the floor. The desk. And then another scraping noise. He returned with a second H &K P9 while screwing on a silencer. He finished tightening it. From three feet away he shot Drago in the foot. Drago went down without a sound. “Now zip-tie them like I said, and do it quickly before I lose my cool and decide I need new prospects.” Prospects always did the dirty work, the menial labor, no matter what their physical condition, until they made their bones and earned their patch.

The prospects put the plastic zip-ties on our hands behind our backs. They had to use three on Drago, one on each hand, and then one to link the two hands together.

Clay’s phone rang. He answered it and listened. “Okay, hold on.” He put his phone on speaker. “Go ahead. Deputy Bruno Johnson can hear you now.”

Jonas Mabry said, “Hello, Deputy Johnson.”

“Bruno, what did you do to this guy?” asked Mack.

“I guess I made the mistake of saving his life,” I replied angrily.

“Now that sounds like a story I gotta hear,” said Clay.

Jonas, on the phone, yelled, “Hey, pay attention, or I’m going to hang up.”

Drago lay on his back, writhing silently in pain. He tried to reach his foot bending backward, his hands cuffed together, but he wasn’t flexible enough. He’d been shot in the foot on the same leg where I’d shot him in the thigh. I moved over to help him. No one stopped me. I sat down, slid my hands down past my feet and around to the front.

“Jonas Mabry, where is this gold you told me about?” asked Clay.

“They didn’t find it?” asked Mabry. “Sounds like you moved in a little premature. I warned you about that. But you have ways to deal with that problem after you fulfill your end of the bargain. I need to talk with Deputy Johnson.”

I took my shirt off over my head, slipped it past my tied hands, and ripped it open to get it past the flex cuffs. I knelt down and untied Drago’s boot.

Clay addressed Mabry. “You’re not doing shit until I tell you to, you understand?”

Jonas Mabry chuckled and hung up.

Clay yelled, “Hello? Hello? The little shit hung up on me. You believe that?”

With my hands still zip-tied together, I slipped Drago’s boot off as gingerly as I could. I tied my shirt around the bloody mess the 9mm round had made. The round went right through the top of the boot and imbedded in the sole of his boot. The entry wound on top had already swelled to a mound of red and purple, and oozed blood.

“Thanks, man,” Drago said. “That does feel a little better.”

Now Drago had two bullet holes in him, one of which I had put there. One I now regretted. I didn’t know him or what he was about when I’d shot him.

“Do you believe the balls of this guy, hanging up on me?” asked Clay.

Sandman came over and grabbed my now-naked arm. “Look at this.” He pointed to the BMF tattoo. “This guy’s a Brutal Mother Fucker. He’s one of those LA cops who took down Joe Dick.”

Clay’s cell phone rang. He answered it as he walked over to me. He said into the phone, “Hold on a minute.” I stood from my crouch.

Clay and Sandman came right up close. “That right? You the one who took down our friend Joe?”

“I have one of those tattoos,” Mack said. “Here, look. What’s the big deal?”

Clay smiled. “You’re too young, and we heard a nigger took out Joe. Looks like we’re in for a bigger party than I thought. Grapple these guys up and take them to the warehouse. Call in the rest of the club, they’re going to want to watch this.” Clay tapped his phone. “Okay, go ahead, you’re back on speakerphone.”

Jonas said, “Are you talking about my friend Deputy Johnson? I know you must be. How absolutely perfect.” His voice pulled away from the phone. “You hear that, Mom? The biker assholes know Deputy Johnson. They’ve promised to make his last minutes on this earth memorable ones. What? Yes, I wish we could be there, too.”