Marie gasped and brought her hand up to her mouth.
“That’s right,” Jonas said. “I did my research, and knew you’d be even more likely to play along if the children were of a certain ilk. I thought you’d have found this out by now. Anyway, I need to help you along.”
Certain ilk. That was not his vocabulary. He mimicked words someone had told him. They came out in rote. I didn’t know if I believed him, but sensed he now told the truth. “Jonas, where’s Eddie Crane?” I asked.
“That’s all you get for now. Let’s hear about this gold.”
If the phone call wasn’t recorded, and someone had just sent it to him, then Jonas had someone helping him for sure. Getting the kids back during the exchange just became that much more difficult.
I turned to the side. “This is Karl Drago.”
Drago had put his back against the headrest, his eyes closed. He brought his hand up to sip from the plastic bottle, as if he couldn’t care less about what went on in his world or anyone else’s.
Jonas stood his ground. “I’ve heard of him. Aren’t the Sons of Satan out to cut his nuts off? He’s got a green light on him by everyone, including parolees and members or associates with the SS. It’s not too healthy to stand close to this man, Deputy Johnson.”
“I’d forgotten that you’ve been in the joint. So you know about the armored car robbery, then?”
“No, not the robbery. Where’s this gold, and why is it going to take you until Saturday?”
“Drago took the money, converted it to gold, and hid it in the Sons of Satan clubhouse. All the Satans are going to be busy Saturday on the Toys for Tots run.”
“Oh, that’s a good one, absolutely priceless. The Sons of Satan clubhouse. Which one?”
“The international headquarters in San Bernardino. You going to give us the extra time?”
“I believe you now. You have until Saturday night, eight o’clock. That’ll be right around sundown.”
“Eddie Crane,” Marie said. “We’re not moving one inch until we know Eddie Crane’s safe.”
Jonas turned his head slowly to look at her. “Does she speak for you, Deputy Johnson?”
“That’s right, she does.”
“Heh, heh.” He turned and headed back into the light. He said over his shoulder, “Little Eddie Crane, as you call him, was already medically compromised when I grabbed him. Remember that. I had nothing to do with his injuries.”
“You son of a bitch,” Marie said. I took hold of her shoulders as she made for Jonas. Jonas didn’t turn around and kept walking.
“Let me go, let me go, I want a piece of that animal.”
A loud explosion made us both jump out of the way. One of the headlights of Jonas’ car winked out from the pistol shot. I turned and jerked the gun out of Drago’s hand. I wanted to slug him in the mouth, but didn’t.
Jonas’ car door opened and closed. The engine started, the car backed up, tearing out sage and shrub, and then drove away in a cloud of dust.
The night’s darkness slammed down upon us. I couldn’t see, and a bit of claustrophobia snatched at my breath. You couldn’t defend in darkness; control reverted to those who lurked.
“That guy’s an asshole,” Drago said.
“I told you. I told you not to get involved. You gave me your word.”
He put his head back and closed his eyes. “I didn’t get involved. I just shot out his headlight. No big deal. Gave him something to think about. Let him know he wasn’t dealing with a couple of pansy-ass pussies.”
“I’m glad he took a shot at that asshole,” said Marie. “If I had a gun, I would’ve done the same.”
“What’s the matter with you two?” I said. “He’s holding the kids. You can’t shoot at him until we have the kids. Then have at it. But not until we have the kids.”
Fatigue was turning my mind to mush, and I wasn’t entirely sure they’d been wrong. I should’ve known for sure, but nothing seemed black and white anymore. Everything disappeared in obscured shades of gray, with the truth hiding off in the distance. I needed to sleep. Before we did anything else, I needed at least four hours. “Come on. Get in and let’s go.”
Far out ahead, Jonas’ single headlight bounced and jutted this way and that as he drove to the paved road. I was pretty sure the taillight pattern on the car was from a Toyota, but millions of Toyotas drove the streets of Southern California. We followed far behind. My vision blurred with fatigue, thoughts came and went unbidden. I slowed. “I can’t drive. Honey, can you take over please?”
“Sure. Can you get us to the road first? It’s not much farther and…Oh, my God, Bruno, stop. Stop.”
My head whipped forward to see this new apparition, a hallucination. I slammed on the brakes. In the dirt path walked a small child, five or six years old. Tears streaked his dusty face, his eyes wide in terror.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marie slid open the side door and jumped out before the van came to a complete stop. She stumbled in the headlights and almost went down, righted, and made it to the child. She slowed and stopped, cooing, talking low to him, her words barely audible over the van’s engine.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, honey. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Drago muttered, “That son of a bitch, leaving a kid out here like that. Next time I won’t be aiming at his headlight.”
I couldn’t deny him that. I wanted to do the same.
“Out here in the dark like this, we coulda run him over,” Drago said. “The kid coulda wandered off. How’d he know we’d come across him? Kid’s gotta be scared outta his wits. What a son of a bitch.” Drago’s rapid language acted as a cover for his fear and inadequacy. I recognized it in myself.
Drago got out on wobbly legs, stuck his arm in the van’s open side door, and scooped all the refuse from the van’s floor out onto the ground. He went around back, opened the doors, and did the same again. He closed the back doors and came around in time to help Marie and the child mount the van. I don’t know where Drago found his reserve strength. These actions had to be beyond taxing. I should’ve gotten out to help but could hardly muster the energy to keep my eyes open. Adrenaline no longer worked.
Drago slid the side door shut, climbed back in, and closed his door.
Marie perched on the five-gallon bucket, the boy on her lap. She let go of him, put her arms over the strap one at a time, so the strap went across her chest to stabilize them, and then took hold of the boy.
“Drive, Bruno.” Her tone left no room for debate. “Drago, hold this flashlight.”
I started the van moving and checked the rearview. Eddie Crane, who looked about five and small for his age, had sandy-brown hair that hung down in his hazel eyes. He wore denim pants and a long-sleeve shirt.
“It’s okay, little man, no one’s going to hurt you,” said Marie. “You’re okay now. You understand? You’re okay now.” To me, she said, “Bruno, watch where you’re going.”
I looked back just as the right side of the van veered off the narrow track into the sage. The van bumped and bounced in the air as I muscled us back into the rough track. How long had it been since I slept? Three days? Three and a half? I’d slept the night before I worked the cabana bar at The Margarite, the day all this had started. I tried to count the days and couldn’t count past two. A bad sign. I focused everything I had on the task at hand, keeping the van on the road and my eyes open.
The boy had yet to make any sound at all.
Marie said, “There’s a note pinned to his shirt pocket.” Paper rattled. I focused on the road.
Marie read:
“My name is Eddie Crane. If found, return me to Deputy Bruno Johnson, California Rehabilitation Center, Chino. Ha, Ha.