18
Harper threw a cross-body block into T-bone, knocking him off balance. Without hesitation, she took a wild swing at the guy sitting on my legs and screamed, “Get off him.” She turned to Lawson and said, “I have the money. Let Duffy go. I’ll give it to you.”
The Serpents grouped together in a pack and shifted their attention to Harper. I rolled off the tracks. Harper’s face lost the flush of anger. Her eyes filled with fear. It was the worst feeling of my life. I couldn’t do a damn thing to help. I couldn’t breath. I could barely move my arms. I wasn’t even sure I could stand up. It took all I had just to roll off the tracks and lay there watching, barely holding on to consciousness.
My head was pounding. I heard people laughing. A coaster train full of teenyboppers passed by. The passengers gawked at the grizzly bikers standing along the track. They didn’t seem to notice Harper, or me lying on the ground. When the coaster stopped, all the kids bailed off the ride and split. Harper stood frozen with fear. The coaster train pulled up to the loading area, and the Serpents started to move. Harper backed away, stumbling over the tracks. Turning toward the disembarkation platform, she stepped up and started for the exit, with the bikers closing fast.
Before Harper could get more than a few feet, the Serpents surrounded her. She spun around slowly. T-bone reached out and grabbed her left hand. The scumbag biker twisted her arm into a wristlock.
“Let go of me,” she cried.
Applying severe torque to her delicate wrist, T-bone savored her pain. Harper cringed in protest, bending and turning to accommodate her untenable position. T-bone lifted her arm to the breaking point, leaned over, and swallowed her ring finger to the hilt. He clamped down with his front teeth and contorted his filthy mouth into a sadistic smile.
“You’re hurting me.”
Lawson said, “Let her go T-bone. I don’t go for that stuff with women. That’s crossing the line.”
T-bone licked her finger as it slid out of his mouth. He said, “Fuck you Lawson. You don’t tell me what to do. It’s my money. I’ll get this bitch to tell me where it is.” T-bone grabbed her butt with his free hand and squeezed. “Maybe I’ll have a little fun with her first. I’ll bet she’d like it.”
T-bone bent her arm at the elbow and forced it up behind her back. Jamming it upwards, applying pressure to the shoulder joint, he pushed until Harper fell forward onto the platform, landing prostrate on her knees. As Harper tried to get up, T-bone stuck his boot against her back and tried to push her flat. She flipped over, landing face up, flailing her arms and kicking at the air. T-bone got a hold of her forearm. Then the freak put his boot on her stomach. Pressing down with his boot, he pulled her arm taught, like he was trying to pull it out of the shoulder socket. Harper’s hand was balled up in a tight fist. T-bone pried it open and forced her finger in his mouth.
“Stop it. Please. Let us go. I’ll get you the money.”
T-bone sucked on Harper’s finger, like they were lovers, and then let it slide out of his disgusting mouth. Spit hung in the air, draped from the corner of his mouth to her finger.
“Where’s the cash bitch?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ll get it for you.”
“Fuck you cunt. Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ll tell me.”
T-bone stuck her ring finger in his mouth and clamped down on the first knuckle. He bit down until Harper jerked against the pain. With his boot buried in her stomach, Harper squirmed, trying to pull her arm free. T-bone thought it was funny. He slid his mouth along to the next joint and did the same thing. Tears began running down Harper’s face. He took her finger all the way to the knuckle and bit down until blood started to ooze. Harper started sobbing. Blood squirted out of her finger. T-bone’s head exploded.
A fraction of a second later, while I watched T-bone flail his arms and stumbled backwards off the platform, the violent blast of a well-aimed revolver washed over me. T-bone jerked around like a zombie having an epileptic fit and collapsed on the track. The gunshot echo gave way to the clackety-clack of the coaster train coming around the last turn. The train smashed into T-bone, pushing his lifeless body down the track. As the coaster came to a stop, Detective Zico from the San Bernardino Sheriffs Department came staggering out of the shadows with his gun drawn. He wobbled while holding his service revolver on Lawson and the other Serpents.
Watching T-bone get the back of his head blown off gave me my second wind. I got to my feet and looked toward the park employee running the ride. When our eyes met, I yelled, “Stop the Cyclone.”
I scrambled over to Harper, tore off my t-shirt, and wrapped her finger. I was able to get the bleeding under control, but Harper needed to see a doctor right away. She buried her head against my shoulder, and we rocked back and forth, while she struggled with the pain.
Detective Sanchez came from the direction of the exit gates, moving cautiously, with his gun drawn. Someone was following him, about ten feet back. The man got a little closer, and I could see it was Agent Andrews. He leaned against the handrail and watched. Sanchez moved over to the coaster train. The passengers were frozen in their seats. The detective swung his arm in a long horizontal arc, showing everyone his badge.
Sanchez said, “This is police business. Disembark the coaster. Exit the ride. Then leave the Pike immediately. Do it in the safest manner possible. Do it right now.”
I watched the passengers scatter; then turned my attention toward the Serpents. Detective Zico was still pointing his gun at the bikers. He looked like he was about to fall over drunk. Zico was so hammered a six year old could have taken his gun away. I thought Lawson was going to make a move.
Andrews stepped up holding a Walther PPK pointed directly at Lawson’s head. “You’re under arrest J.T. Lawson.” He lifted his FBI Credentials above his head and said, “FBI—get your hands in the air. You’re all under arrest.”
Harper lifted her head off my shoulder. She had an incredulous look on her face. “He’s an FBI Agent.”
Agent Andrews said, “That’s right Miss Bradley, AKA Mrs. Reno, AKA Harper O’Neal. I’m Special Agent Andrews of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And you’re under arrest. You’re going to be indicted on federal racketeering charges. And you’ll probably spend a great deal of time in prison.”
“I saw him over by the carousel,” Harper said. “He just stood there and watched while those hooligans beat up your cousin Vince. They could have killed him. And he didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.” She had a disgusted look on her face and contempt in her voice. “What kind of FBI Agent are you?” Harper barely looked at Zico. She did the same with Sanchez. “Are these men with the FBI?”
I said, “They’re cops from San Berdo.”
She said, “They’re pathetic. They were standing with the FBI Agent. I begged them to help Vince. When I tried to go around them and break up the fight, they held me back. I couldn’t believe it. They were laughing about it.”
“Will you testify to that in court of law young lady.”
“Yes Sir I will.
I looked toward the exit. The Serpent’s lawyer, Jefferson Trace Thibodaux, came strolling up. He was nibbling on a cotton candy cone, and dabbing the perspiration off his forehead with a handkerchief.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Andrews asked.
The portly southern barrister brushed past the FBI Agent and dropped his cotton candy cone into a trashcan. He put his nose in Detective Zico’s face and sniffed. “I believe you’re intoxicated sir.”
“He’s blitzed,” I said. “And he shot T-bone. He didn’t even give him a chance to surrender. Just blew the guys head off.”
“Will you testify to that in court young man?”
“Yes sir.”
Lawson let his hands drop. He scoffed at Zico. “The cops drunk out of his mind. He shot T-bone for no reason, just used him for target practice.”
“Detective Zico,” the lawyer said. “You’re a disgra
ce. You’re drunk on duty. And you’ve killed an innocent man. Charges will most definitely be filed against you—and your partner Detective Sanchez.”
“Fuck you,” Zico said, just before he blacked out. The rumpled old cop toppled over, landing like a lump.
I said, “And I’ll testify that Agent Andrews almost got me and my friend Harper killed.”
The lawyer tore into Andrews. “I’ve never seen such gross incompetence Special Agent Andrews. There will be a board of inquiry. I hope you’re prepared to take responsibility for this disaster.”
“He’s responsible,” Harper said, pointing her good hand at the Agent. “That’s right. He’s the man responsible for all of this. He should be arrested.”
“You’ve cast a dark cloud on the FBI,” the lawyer said. “The riot will be in all the papers. And somebody is going to have to explain the dead body. I smell a congressional investigation here.”
“Just what are you trying to pull?”
“This is a law enforcement disaster,” the lawyer said. “A debacle of epic proportions.”
Harper gave Andrews a nasty female glare. “I hope they bring you before a board of inquiry. You stood by and watched while Vince was beaten. And you almost got my best friend Duffy killed. You’re a poor excuse for an FBI Agent Mr. Andrews.”
“This is the biggest bunch of BS I’ve ever heard.”
“It might be,” I said. “That depends on how it shakes out. One things for sure—this is a real mess. There’ll surely be an investigation. You and Detective Sanchez will probably get off with a suspension and loss of pay.” I looked at Sanchez, “It’s going to be a career killer. You can count on that.” I glanced down at T-bone, who was holding his gun like a teddy bear, and just starting to come out of his drunken stupor. “And Zico can kiss his pension goodbye. He’ll be lucky to work security at Sears. Hell—he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t do time.”
“You’re full of crap,” Andrews said.
“That’s right. I’m full of crap, and Detective Zico is drunk. There’s a dead body, and pretty soon the Long Beach Police will be all over this place. Somebody is going to have a lot of explaining to do. And it won’t be me.”
Sanchez said, “You’re under arrest for the armored car robbery.”
“Do you have any evidence,” the Lawyer asked. “Or are you clutching at straws.”
“The money is here,” he replied. “I know it is.”
“There’s no money,” I said with a cool confident smile. “Without the money, all you have are theories.” I looked down at the track. “We’ve got a dead body.” I looked at Zico, “A drunken cop.” I looked into Special Agents Andrews, like I had him all figured out. “And an FBI investigation gone completely out of control. You don’t have a case. You have a train wreck.” I stood up and helped Harper to her feet. “I’m taking this young lady, and my cousin Vince, to the emergency room right now. It would be in everyone’s best interest if nobody tried to stop me.”
The big shot FBI Agent and the hard-nosed detectives from San Berdo looked like three limp dicks at a circle jerk.
“Play it my way,” I said. “And you’re all heroes. Any other way—you lose.”
With the coaster stopped, I could hear the wail of police sirens coming from both directions out on Ocean Blvd.
“Five minutes boys.”
“What’s the deal?” Zico asked.
“Let’s hear it,” Sanchez said.
“This should be interesting,” Andrews added.
“This will only take a minute,” I said to Harper. “You gonna be okay?”
Harper’s lips pursed and bucked up at the edges. She nodded yes, like a real trooper, and leaned against the railing.
I went over to the Serpents. “Give me all your drugs.” I got a couple of spindly joints, a hand full of Reds, and a dozen hits of acid. I kept a few caps of seconal for Vince and planted the rest on T-bone.
I stomped off the platform, across the tracks, and confronted the park employee running the Cyclone Racer. “You almost got me killed dickhead. Why didn’t you stop the train?”
He looked scared. I didn’t blame him, but I couldn’t let him off the hook.
“Do what I say. Tell the cops you didn’t see anything. Tell them you were too busy running the ride. If you go along, you’ll be portrayed as the brave young man who stayed at his station during the riot. If not, Harper and I will tell the L.A. Times what a pussy you were. And how you were shitting your pants while the filthy bikers almost killed me. My lawyer would be forced to sue The Pike, and you’d be fired for sure. On top of that, you’d be on the Serpents permanent shit list. You really don’t have any options.” I clutched his shirt collar and demanded, “You in?”
When the park employee nodded his head in agreement, I strutted back across the tracks and hopped up on the platform. I looked at the cops and pointed towards T-bone. “Leave that sack of shit on the tracks. When Long Beach P.D. shows up, flash your badges, and tell them you’re part of a joint task force investigating the armored car robbery out in San Bernardino. You were about to arrest Earl Tison, AKA T-bone, when he went crazy, and took a young lady hostage. He was obviously high on drugs, and when he threatened the girls life, Detective Zico had no choice but to shoot.”
“The local police will be easy to handle,” Agent Andrews said. “What about the press?”
“Not a problem. The press will ask about the girl who was taken hostage. Tell them she was transported to the hospital and released. Because she’s a potential witness, her name can’t be made available to the press. If anyone asks about the stolen money, tell them you have every reason to believe it will be recovered within the next twenty-four hours.”
“What about them?” Andrews asked, pointing at Lawson and his crew.
Lawson said, “What if I decide I don’t want to play along.”
I stepped into a gunslinger’s stance and took a bead on Lawson. “Don’t mess with me Lawson, or I’ll burn you down.” I turned my back on the bikers. “These clowns are going to stay here until you say they can go. If anyone asks, they’re currently being questioned in connection with the shooting, and you have no reason to believe they were involved in the armored car robbery. After everything calms down around here, release the Serpents and go home.” I raised my voice. “That goes for everyone. Just stick to the story, do what you need to do, and then go home and get some sleep. This is going to work out just fine for everyone.”
Andrews asked, “What about the money?”
“If I get my brother back, you’ll get your money. We’ll do the exchange tomorrow, downtown at midnight. Bring Morgan, no handcuffs, in civilian clothes, with his release paperwork.” I barked out an order. “Lawson, Sanchez, Zico, that goes for you too. Tomorrow at midnight, 9th and Figueroa, in the Pantry Restaurant. Everybody gets what they want.” Everybody except me.