Drago went quiet again in anticipation of the upcoming trauma to his body.
I focused and turned my voice serious. “Last chance, tell us where you hid the money, and we’ll let you go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I was unable to move from the van. Drago wasn’t going to make this easy. I didn’t want Marie to see what had to be done to save the children. I couldn’t help thinking that Drago had been only eighteen, hardly more than a child, when he had committed the armored car robbery and killed the guard. Now, twenty-five years later, he lay in the back of the van, a dangerous product of our rehabilitation system. We’d failed Drago and society twice, once in child welfare, and once in the penal system. The same as Jonas Mabry.
I left Marie in the passenger seat and got out. Without a moon and no ambient city lights here in the mountains, we were in pure darkness. My skin itched with the thought of other Karl Dragos loose in the world.
I opened the back doors. Drago didn’t move. I pulled out the dirk and slit the cord binding his ankles. His legs fell apart and he moved them to get back circulation.
“Come on, slide out.”
He rolled over on his side and tried to inch out the back, difficult with his oversized belly, like a worm that had swallowed a Volkswagen Beetle. I reached in, took hold of his cold, bloated foot, and pulled, really putting my back into it. The man didn’t budge.
“I think the only way this is gonna work is if you cut me loose,” he said.
Marie appeared at my side. “Honey, I think he’s right, otherwise we’d need a crane.”
I slid open the side door and showed Drago the Glock. “I will shoot you, you understand?”
“No you won’t, darkie. I know what you want, and you won’t get the money if you do something stupid like that. You won’t get the money for your little shit-assed kids. I heard you talking. You two are a couple of real tools. Cut me loose and let’s talk turkey.”
I didn’t move. The 9mm Glock was large enough to drop a normal-sized running man, but might only piss off Drago. If I had to shoot him, I needed something larger, something more on the order of a Sharps.50-caliber buffalo rifle.
“Come on, man, cut me loose and let’s get to negotiating. I needed some help to pull off what I got in mind anyway. I’ll cut you two in for twenty-five percent. Twenty-five percent, that’s more than fair.”
How could we possibly align ourselves with the likes of Karl Drago?
Marie sensed the dilemma, gently put her hand on my shoulder, and with her other hand, took the dirk. She leaned in and cut Drago’s hands loose.
“Ah, Jesus, that burns like a thousand fire ants eatin’ my skin. It’s on fire, I tell ya.” He stayed on the floor of the van, rubbing his wrists. “Can’t say that I blame you, it’s a lot of dough we’re talking about here. If you’re not working for Clay, then you’re just a couple of freelance operators. Okay, I get it.”
I walked backwards to the rear of the van, keeping Marie behind me. We waited. I held the Glock at my side, prepared to raise it and dump all fifteen rounds in the magazine, center mass, right into his chest where his heart should be. If he had one.
Drago struggled up to his hands and knees and backed out of the van, bringing with him the pile of litter. Bottles and paper wrappers rattled and fell to the ground. The dark washed out all color, turning everything to different shades of grays and blacks. Drago blotted out the van’s dark shape. His white-gray skin glowed, his eyes recessed in shadow, as he continued to rub his wrists. An ironic sight in his striped boxers. Had he not been so dangerous, he would have looked ridiculous.
“That took some real balls to grab me right under the nose of those Feds,” he said.
Quick as a cat, he leapt at us.
I brought the gun up and fired, hitting him in the thigh. Marie yelped. Drago tumbled and rolled in the dirt as we backed away.
“You shot me. You son of bitch, you shot me.”
I pulled Marie under my arm and held her there. She had never seen anyone shot. Sure, at the hospital she’d witnessed the aftermath, but that was different. Never right in front of her. Who could be prepared for the way the violence snapped? I was saddened for her, and again wished she had not been there to witness the unwelcome actions of the lowest sub-level of man.
She shivered. I hugged her hard for a long second, let go, and moved over to Drago. “Now, you ready to tell me what I want to know, or is the ‘tool’ standing here over you going to have to shoot you in the foot, in the shin, in the knee? Well, you get the idea.”
He groaned and rolled back and forth. “Who are you, man? You’re some kinda cold-hearted, black demon-asshole.” He quick rolled toward me. His bloody hand reached out for my leg to pull me down. I jumped back and raised the Glock, taking aim at his foot.
Marie yelled, “Bruno, no.”
I jumped back, pulling Marie out of reach with me.
Drago laughed. “I can see who wears the pants in-”
I shot a round next to his face. The bullet kicked up little rocks and dirt, peppering his skin. He flipped away, both hands to his face. “Jesus, are you crazy? Shit, are you outta your mind? You tried to shoot me in the head.”
“If I wanted to shoot you in the head, you’d be dead right now. Where’s the money?”
“Okay, okay. We can’t get it until tomorrow.”
“Not we, Drago.”
He pulled his hands down from his bloodied face, his smile wide and scary. “You won’t have a chance getting that money unless you take me along. Trust me on this one.”
“Why not?” asked Marie.
“Because I hid it someplace, and it’s going take all three of us to get to it.”
I kept quiet. Marie did better with him, so I let her talk. “Where?”
“The Southern California clubhouse for the Sons of Satan.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Marie foraged around in the van and found a dirty Black Sabbath t-shirt. I tossed it to Drago, who sat on the bumper at the back of the van and tied up his thigh. The bullet had passed right through the tattoo of Jesus’ praying hands and missed the bone. He had an overabundance of thigh flesh to spare. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he didn’t look any more pasty for the loss.
“Why tomorrow?” I asked.
“Oh, no. We have to get the ground rules straight first.”
I waved the Glock. “If you haven’t figured it out, the only ground rules are the ones I make. And I’ll make them as I see fit.”
“No chance, it’s not going to work that way. We work a deal right now, or you can go back to shootin’ and torturing.”
“We know where the money is now,” said Marie.
“Good luck with that.”
“So I’ll ask you one more time, why tomorrow?”
“Seventy-thirty split. I’m the seventy, because I put in twenty-five years of my life waitin’ for it. And what, you got about two minutes invested?”
“How can we make a deal with you?” asked Marie. “The first chance you get, you’re going to try and hurt us again. You’ve already tried twice.”
“Ask your man here why. He knows. I can tell he knows. He’s been to the joint. I can smell it on him. In the joint there’s a code we live by. I give you my word, I’m good for it.”
Marie looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. “That’s true to a point.”
“I give you my word, it’s my bond. You can ask anyone.”
“Fifty-fifty,” Marie insisted.
I waved the gun. “We’re not here to negotiate. That’s ridiculous. The amount’s not going to matter. We need what we need to trade for the children. We don’t need any more than that. So it doesn’t matter what the split is.”
“You’re telling me you don’t care about the money for yourselves? Is that right?”