The Replacements (22 page)

“And you believe him?”

“Yes. He doesn't have any reason to lie. And with Eddie, the injuries are several days old, definitely before he was taken.”

“Drop the child off, Bruno. Go to an ER somewhere, anywhere, go in and drop him off.”

“Can you guarantee he won't go back to his adoptive parents?”

Silence. Of course she couldn't. In fact, she knew just like I did that, in all likelihood, Eddie would be placed back with the same abusive parents. That was the way social services worked. The judge would insist the father or mother, whoever had done the horrific abuse, attend a few weeks of therapy. Only a few weeks were never nearly enough to correct a sick mind, one who'd beat a helpless child bloody.

I had also put Barbara in an untenable situation. She couldn't tell anyone we had recovered Eddie, not without explaining how she had communicated with me, a wanted fugitive who was now thought to be complicit in the taking of all three children.

“What are you going to do with him?” she asked. Being so close to Mack, Barbara had to know about the children we took to South America.

“We're going to take care of him while we explore our options. What you can do is put a team on researching the background of the kids. Jonas says he knew about the abuse. He got the information somewhere, somehow. He didn't do the due diligence
himself. He's too memorable in his appearance. His partner in all this must have. You find the partner and you might get a good lead on the other two kids.”

“Bruno, Jesus. Bruno, you can't save the world. You know that, don't you? You're going to have to leave something for the system to handle. I know it's broken, but there's going to come a point when you'll reach a maximum saturation level and sink to the bottom of the ocean, taking with you all those you're trying to help. You understand what I'm saying?”

I thought about her words while she remained silent. She was right. But how could I possibly walk away? Not without guilt that I could have done something positive when I had the chance.

After a long moment, she said, “I shouldn't tell you anything about what we have going on at this end, not after what you've done. You really stabbed me in the back here, Bruno. And I don't care so much about me, but you hurt John's feelings, and when you hurt John—well, don't do it again, don't put me in that position.”

I waited for her to tell me what she was leading up to. How many times could I say I was sorry? “Barbara, you know if there was any other way—”

She ignored my entreaty. “We think we know who's helping Jonas.”

I waited. Guilt wouldn't let me ask.

“It's Bella, Bruno, it's Bella Mabry. She's out on parole.”

“No way, she can't be out,” I said. “She got LWOP—Life Without the Possibility of Parole—for killing Betsy and Sally Mabry and for almost killing Jonas.”

“She applied and received compassionate leave,” Barbara said. “The California State Parole Board let her out.”

“I'll ask it again, why?”

“She's dying of breast cancer.”

I didn't like myself for thinking it, but she should have been left in prison to die. “Then she's the key to all of this. She's the catalyst that set off Jonas.”

“That's what I figure. I separated from the FBI task force. They don't agree with me. They're still focusing on the kids. They think searching for Bella Mabry is senseless, without any productive value.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Why?”

“They have a report from the California State Parole that gives her state of health as grave, not likely to survive two weeks.”

“They're fools.”

“Yes, that's what I thought. I have all the personnel under my authority that I can divert looking for Bella.”

“That hangs your career out a country mile. If the FBI succeeds and you don't—”

“Hang the career. At the end of the day I have to do what's right, or I can't look myself in the mirror.”

I wanted to remind her that's exactly what I was doing but held my tongue.

“What you're doing's not the same,” Barbara said. “You're not making the right choices.”

She'd read my mind. I took a moment to reexamine the path I'd chosen and, with a refreshed thought process, I still came up with the same conclusion. “I know, and I'm sorry you feel that way.”

Silence. Then she half-covered the phone and yelled, “Just a minute, John, I'll be right out.”

“The reason I have John's phone is that he wants to throw in with you. He just doesn't know how to come down off his high horse to ask you. He won't beg.”

“What I have planned, he doesn't want any part of.”

“That's just it. He knows this is a renegade op you're planning, and he doesn't care. He's your friend and wants in. He doesn't want something to go wrong, something that, if he'd been a part of, he could have helped prevent. He wants in more than anything he's ever wanted. He's made the decision; he's willing to risk everything. He's really a bonehead for thinking this way. Don't let him, Bruno. If you care about him at all, if you care about me, don't you let him in.”

“It's not only his career we're talking here, it's jail time,” I said. “If this job goes bad, and it could very easily, it will be that other-side-of-forever kind of prison time.”

Her voice caught. She was trying to stifle her tears. “He's aware of that, Bruno Johnson. He's not a fool. Don't you dare make him out to be a fool.”

“I could never take on that kind of responsibility.” A lump rose in my throat thinking about the sacrifice my friend, John, was prepared to make.

“Good,” she said. “I knew that, I just had to hear it from you. You two are one and the same. That's why I have his phone without him knowing. That's why I was hoping you'd call.” Her voice caught as she let her pent-up emotions go.

“Thanks for the information,” I said. “I promise to keep
you posted on the money exchange with the children.” I hung up.

I sat on the toilet, mulling, working and reworking the logistics. No scenario now worked, not with the added burden of Eddie's care and safety. Someone had to stay with him. We couldn't hire a babysitter. The risk the sitter would find his injuries and call the police was too great.

Marie knocked lightly on the door. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah, can you gimme a minute, please?”

“Let me in, Bruno. I want to talk it through with you.” She'd been listening at the door.

No options remained, none at all. After fifteen minutes of internal debate, I hated to do it but had no choice. I flipped the phone open and hit redial on ‘recent calls.'

“Bruno? Man, am I glad you called.” John had his phone back.

“I need your help,” I said.

John yelped. “Ouch. Come on, hon.”

Barbara had socked him. She yelled, “I hate you, Bruno Johnson.”

I set up the meet with John in two hours on Hospitality Lane in San Bernardino, about five miles from the Sons of Satan clubhouse. I closed the phone and fought the feeling that I had just betrayed two good friends. This caper had to work. I came out of the bathroom. Marie stood waiting. She saw my expression. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Not gonna happen, Bruno. I'm not going back. I'm not leaving you here to do this thing by yourself, not without me, you're not.”

“Hold on, babe. Wait, I agree with you.”

She dropped her determined expression. “You do?”

“Sure, I have it all figured out.”

“You do? What are we going to do with Eddie when you and I go into the Sons of Satan clubhouse?”

“It's not the best plan, but he's going to have to wait for us in the back of the van.”

Her mouth dropped open. I held my hands wide and said, “What?”

She pulled back to sock me, caught herself, and looked over her shoulder at Eddie, who'd curled back up and slept the deep slumber of the despondent and the hopeless. She shoved me into the bathroom and closed the door. I held up my arms, a boxer covering for the incoming blows.

“Don't be silly,” she said. “I'm not going to hit you, even though what you did out there was not my Bruno. That was the horse's-ass Bruno that you know I don't like.”

I let my arms ease down and a tentative smile creep in. The smile took it one step too far.

“The hell I'm not,” Marie said. She socked me hard in the stomach. With her small hands and delicate shoulders she didn't hurt me, couldn't hurt me if she wanted to, not physically. She knew it. I pulled her in and gently held her against my chest.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I love having you here, I do. But think about it, please think about it.” She didn't move. Her chest rose and fell a little faster than mine, her warm breath on my chest. We stayed that way a long time.

I pulled away and gently kissed her neck and then nibbled her earlobe. Her arousal fueled mine. Her breathing came faster. I tugged at her shirt. With both hands she shoved me away, then pulled her top over her head. I came back in and kissed her like I had never kissed her before. Like a last kiss. She grabbed onto my head and held on tight. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to stay there for all eternity as we kissed deeper and deeper.

I pulled her bra straps off her shoulders. Then pulled the bra cups down. My hand came up and gently took hold of her breast, fondling her nipple. She broke the kiss and took in a huge breath. She again shoved me away and went for my pants button.
I helped her and shucked them as she pulled down hers. I picked her up and juggled her against the wall. As I penetrated her, we both gasped as we became one.

Afterward, both of us sweaty and spent, I set her on the sink and held her tenderly, my legs shaky from the exertion. My thoughts, like hers, couldn't stay in the moment any longer, and had to move on to planning, to getting on with it, to get it over and done with. We needed to—had to have this thing over. She whispered, “How will I get across the border?”

“The US doesn't care who goes south, and the Mexicans don't monitor that direction.” She knew this; we'd crossed together nine months ago. She was scared having to do it again by herself and wanted reassurance. I didn't want her to go alone. But what other options did I have?

“So, I drive Eddie across and go down to Ensenada,” she said.

“That's right, and you meet up with Larry Rupp, like before, and he'll make you the papers you need for Eddie.”

“Then I wait for you there.”

My head buried in her neck. I sniffed long and slow. Trying to memorize forevermore her beautiful scent, unique only to her. I shook my head “no.” “You have to go on down to Costa Rica.”

She shook her head. “I'm waiting for you in Ensenada, Bruno.”

“Dad has cancer. He needs you.”

“He can wait one more day. This is only going to take you one more day.”

“No, Dad can't wait.”

She read my tone, and pushed me back. “What happened?”

“Jake Donaldson came to the house with a gun and tried to shoot Dad because Jake's mad at me. Misplaced anger. He's not right in the head.”

Her eyes went wild and she socked my shoulder. “And you didn't tell me?”

“I'm telling you now. You didn't need something else to worry about.”

“The kids? Are the kids okay? Is your dad okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I had Ansel hire some folks, and they're watching the house. They're taking care of everything, but one of us needs to get back there.”

“Is that asshole Donaldson in jail?”

I didn't want to tell her the details of the shooting; she'd find that out soon enough. “No, he got away.”

She slipped off the sink and grabbed up her clothes, putting them on. “You're right. I need to get down there now, for the kids.”

Marie took the van to a used car lot on Valley Boulevard, where she planned to park close by and walk up. She couldn't trade the van in; the beast had no value, or title, having been stolen.