The Replacements (34 page)

“Hello, Franc? Is this Franc?” He pronounced it like the French dollar.

I didn't know if Karl had a brother. I'd made up the name Scott. “No, Drago, it's me, Bruno Johnson.”

Silence. Then faintly, “Bruno Johnson? Oh, yeah, yeah, the darkie. How the hell are ya, buddy? I've been watching the news and you really put the meat to the SS. I owe ya for that. Clay's picture's been all over the news. That son of a bitch finally got his. Damn good job. They'll kill him in the joint, you know. Dumbshit kept all those pictures. What an asshole.”

“How you holding up, Drago?”

“Good. I'll be out of here in a couple of days. They came by and took the restraints off, said I was free to go, said you took care of all the problems. I owe you big for that.”

“Who's that? Who came by?”

“Guy in a suit. Chuck-a-luck or some shit name like that. Was real anxious to know if I knew where you were.”

“Did they drop the charges on my friend John Mack, the Los Angeles County detective?”

“Yeah, yeah, fact we're in the same room together because we were both on lockdown and under guard, and now we're not. He sleeps a lot. He's asleep right now. You want to talk to him?”

“No, that's okay.” Guilt kept me from speaking to him. The charges were dropped, but he'd still lose his job.

Drago laughed. “Saw you took out that Jonas asshole. But the news didn't say nothin' about those kids. Johnson, you got those kids?”

“Drago, listen, about the gold.”

“Yeah, man, I know, I saw it. The safe was moved. Son of a bitch nothin' was there. Someone found the gold. Probably a long time ago.”

“How do you know the safe was moved?”

“I asked that Chuck-a-luck dude. He told me, thought I might know more than I did about the SS. They had to move the safe to get into the false room. But I already knew the safe had been moved. When I opened the safe, there were only the bolt holes on the floor of the safe, and no bolts.”

“You didn't tell him about the gold, did you?”

“Are you crazy? Cop out to possession of stolen property?
No way. Too bad. I wanted that money. You have no idea how bad I wanted that money. Dreamt about it for twenty-five years. Now that it's gone, it feels like someone cut a chunk outta my gut, you know what I mean?”

“It's still there, I saw it.”

He yelled, “It's what?”

“Yeah, it's still there. I saw it. Clay moved the safe, put the wall up, and just poured concrete over the top of your golden doughnut. You can barely see it, but it's there.”

“No, shit. Hey, when I get out, I'm goin' back for it. You wanna come along? I like the way you work.”

“I'd like to, but I can't.”

“I owe you some of that money, and I always pay what I owe.”

“Thanks, but no. You keep it. I'm glad you're feeling better. It was nice meeting you.”

“Hey, you're gonna still come around, right? When I get out of this hospital, right?”

“Good-bye, Drago.”

I had one more phone call to make, one I dreaded and had not told Marie about. I called the FBI office in Los Angeles and told the agent who picked up that I was Barbara Walters' personal secretary and asked for ASAC Dan Chulack. He came on the line. “Special Agent Chulack.”

“It's me.”

“I figured you would call.” He went silent.

“I have a big problem,” I said.

“Yes, you do.”

“I gave you my word I would come back and face the murder charge. I wrapped everything up here and I'm ready to come in.”

“You're no longer wanted for the kidnapping of Jonas Mabry,” he said. “He can no longer be a viable victim.”

“Our deal was for the murder charge.”

“Yes, our deal was for the murder in Los Angeles. I adopted that case from LAPD, took it federal. I put five agents on it. Seems you're no longer a person of interest. That warrant's been recalled.”

I put my head against the bathroom wall, closed my eyes, and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. You're still a person of interest in the abduction of a number of children and—”

“Been nice talking with you, Dan.”

“Bruno? Don't come back.”

“I won't. Thanks again.” I hung up.

While I waited for the counterfeit passports, Marie flew down to Costa Rica to help Dad with the other children and his medical treatments. Chulack knew I had Eddie, Elena and Sandy. I was now a person of interest for kidnapping and interstate flight. But based on the phone call with Chulack, they weren't going to look too hard. It was easy to assume that if we stayed low and under the radar, the Feds would not chase us. Chulack knew the kids were in a better place.

Wally Kim was with his father and Mr. Kim would never press charges, he understood the motivation for taking Wally from his toxic environment. Without a witness or victim, the Feds didn't have a chance at a successful prosecution. And as for the other seven—my grandson Alonzo, the Bixlers, Toby and Ricky, Melvin Kelso, Tommy Bascombe, Randy Lugo, and Sonny Taylor—the Feds didn't know about them, that we had them safely in Costa Rica. At least, I didn't think they did. Officially those children were still listed as missing under suspicious circumstances, foul play suspected, meaning kidnapped. And they were going to stay that way.

In two weeks, as soon as the counterfeit passports came through, I planned to meet Marie along with Eddie, Elena, and Sandy in Costa Rica. Three plus seven equals ten.

T
HE FIRST TWO YEARS

I had not been long out of high school, not long living away from home, and nothing more than a kid myself, when I responded to a real case that inspired
The Replacements
, which I first entitled
The House That Bled
. I experienced incidents—much worse—in those first few years. To this day, I don't know if my emotional reactions and responses back then were
normal
. I had nothing for comparison. I do know that back in those early days, I pushed those terrible images into the far recesses of my mind, shoved them into a room, and locked them away. I never intended to take them out, turn them over, examine them. I never shared these particular stories with friends.

I cannot tell you exactly when the shift occurred because time compresses and changes memories, but as I've grown older, I've found I can no longer hide these images behind that locked door. They roll back on me, unbidden.

In those first years, I learned death did not play favorites. Brutal lessons came hard and were difficult to accept. I have five brothers and sisters; two were very young when I started my career. I saw in comparison how tender and vulnerable, and how fragile life could be when dealing with children.

In those first few years, while alone wearing a uniform—me, nothing more than a kid given a gun as a tool and tasked with protecting the innocent—I chased an evil man on foot. This man grabbed up a five-year-old child, put a gun to his head. He said that if I did not stop chasing him, he would shoot the uninvolved child. I wasn't given a choice that night. I was forced to shoot that man.

Bruno Johnson is a fictional character who champions the rights of the innocent. While he is drawn from real-life experiences, in the Bruno Johnson novels, I have tried to instill the emotions, the sights and smells, the images that continue to haunt me.

David Putnam