David Putnam - The Replacements

Sandman did not move away. Pure hatred emitted from his eyes into me as though in waves. He pulled back and slugged me in the stomach. I bent over. His knee came up. I saw it coming and turned my head, took it on the side. I went down and feigned unconsciousness.

“Wait,” Jonas said, “Before you go too far, I need to tell him something.”

“Where’s the gold?” Clay asked Jonas.

“I told you, he didn’t tell me. That fat slob Drago, he knows for sure. No doubt, you can get it out of him. Now let me talk to Deputy Johnson. A deal’s a deal. If I hadn’t called you, you wouldn’t have known about this, and then where would you be? Out on your toy run while your clubhouse was taken down.”

Clay brought the phone down closer to me. “Okay, go ahead, he’s listening.”

Clay didn’t care if I was conscious or not. I kept my eyes closed, my body lax.

Rustling on the other end of the phone, then. “Mom, you do the honors. You’ve waited a long time for this.” Another voice came on, a woman. I didn’t recognize Bella, I had never heard her speak. She said, “You ruined everything. You are a cold and insensitive man.”

Clay asked, “Is this going to take long? Do I need to get a beer?”

Bella continued. “You shouldn’t have kicked in our door that day. You had no business doing that. You should’ve left us alone. Now you’ll pay a price for it, a dear price.” Her voice came over strong, not weak like someone who had only two weeks to live. She coughed, and the one cough set off a string in rapid fire.

Jonas took the phone. The coughing continued in the background. Jonas said, “We really wanted Deputy Johnson to be with us when he found this out. And we would have if he’d gone along with our first plan. We would have grabbed him when he made the payoff. We would’ve had him and the money. But it’s not about the money, never has been. That would only have been the bonus.”

“Get on with it,” said Clay. “I’m growing old here.”

Sandman kicked me in the side.

I hadn’t been ready for it and curled up.

Sandman laughed. “He was faking it.” He kicked me again.

“Do it again and I’ll rip your head off,” said Mack.

“Right, all tied up like that,” Sandman said.

“Enough,” said Clay. “I want to hear what this little shitass has to say. Go ahead.”

“No, it’s fine if you want to go ahead and hit him some more.”

“Talk or I’m hanging up. I don’t have time for this.”

“As I was saying,” said Jonas, “we had originally intended on grabbing you and clipping off each one of your fingers and toes, one at time. But then I didn’t know how resourceful you were, how you’d come across a pot of gold. When we met out at Whitewater, I had a chance to meet your lovely wife, Marie. Would you like to talk to her?”

My world slid over the edge. I went into free-fall.

“No!” Mack yelled, and tried to wiggle his feet free.

Roy Boy and Slim Jim jumped over and put the boots to him, kicking relentlessly.

Sandman laughed and grunted as he tried his best to kick the life out of me. I covered up, squirmed, and dodged the best I could. I saw Mack take one to the head. He went limp.

Clay threw his head back and laughed. “You have his wife? Really? That’s perfect, absolutely perfect.”

With the kicking, my anger rose. Nothing mattered now except Marie. I curled tighter. The blows became distant thuds. I yelled, “Jonas, you gave me until eight o’clock tonight. I will bring you the money tonight at eight. Are you a man of your word? Are you?”

The beating stopped.

Clay looked surprised. “Where are you comin’ from here, boy? You aren’t goin’ anywhere. We’re taking you to the warehouse. We’re gonna have some real fun and games. And then-and then you gonna have an urgent appointment with a hole in the ground.”

I ignored him. “Jonas, what do you say?”

Clay clicked off the phone. His spittle flew. “Get them in the van.”

Drago didn’t move. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. He’d probably lost too much blood. Three men half-carried, half-dragged me out to the paneled utility truck backed up to the front door. I didn’t resist, I needed to reserve my strength. If Jonas had Marie, that meant he also had Eddie. I had to get away. I had to take these guys down and find Marie.

The answer came to me as to what had happened. That the night before out in Whitewater, Jonas hadn’t given up Eddie because he was injured or because Eddie wouldn’t talk. Jonas had used Eddie as bait. Jonas must have put a small GPS in Eddie’s shoe. Who would have thought to look? I should have. Jonas had lain back and taken Marie and Eddie at his leisure. Now getting free was the only thing that mattered.

They left me in the truck and went back for Mack. My hands were still in front of me. I floundered around looking for anything to get the flex-ties off. Then I remembered training from long ago. Friction. Heat. I fumbled with swollen hands, undid my shoelace, and tied one end to the inside support to the truck’s metal shell. I threaded the lace through the flex cuff binding my hands. I tied the lace to another bulkhead brace below the first one, making a bow. I pulled the lace taut and worked the lace back and forth in a rapid manner like the pioneers did to make fire.

Less than ten feet away, back at the entry to the house, Roy Boy said, “Look at all that blood. I didn’t think one body could have that much blood.” He was talking about Drago.

I seesawed away at a furious rate. The friction sliced through the flex cuff. I was free just as the group returned dragging Mack. I laid down where they had left me and didn’t move. I looked up. I’d left the lace. They wouldn’t know what it was for. I fought down my anger and the urge to jump them, right then. Beat them all to a bloody pulp for what they did, and for keeping me from my Marie.

They tossed Mack in next to me. He grunted and groaned and went silent. His face was unrecognizable. His eyes were welded together with purple and red. His nose bled and his lips were split. Blood trickled out of his mouth and down to his neck. I hoped like hell he didn’t have internal injuries. I’d worked the street too long, seen too many beatings. I knew. My gut ached at the pain I had caused him.

Roy Boy and Slim Jim had stayed at the open back end of the truck. Roy Boy said, “How we going to get fatass all the way over here and into the truck?”

In the distance, Clay yelled, “Don’t be a bunch of pussies. All five of you get on that pig and get him in the truck. Quit dickin’ around and get it done.”

“Hey buddy, you okay?” I asked Mack.

No reply. I nudged him. He didn’t even groan. He needed immediate medical attention. I looked back. The three bikers and the two prospects, with great effort, were hauling Drago along the trash-laden floor of the club. I leaned up far enough to check the ignition. The keys were gone.

The truck was a one-ton with lots of floor space. The bikers grunted and cussed, lifting Drago to the back edge. They paused, huffing.

“You two assholes get up there in the truck and pull,” said Clay. “You three stay down here and push.”

With great effort, they hauled Drago over the edge and into the truck. Roy Boy stumbled over me and stepped on my hand. Bones crunched. I yelled.

Roy Boy said, “Hey, this asshole’s cut his flex cuffs off.”

Shit .

Everyone stopped. A welcome diversion to rest.

Clay stood at the end of the truck. “Dumbass, what do you think you should do about it?”

Roy Boy kicked me.

“No, dipshit,” Clay said. “Cuff him up again.” He tossed in more flex cuffs.