Deep Cover (11 page)

"Hey,
how would you ladies like to meet Bobby Jones after the concert?" asked Fred.

"Get
out, man! No shit?" said Alice.

"No
shit. Let me just talk to my prez." Fred dismounted his bike and walked to the end of the stage to confer with Sandy. Sandy looked over at the girls, who were watching them carefully for the prez's approval. Sandy smiled, gave Fred a kiss on the lips, and nodded his head yes. The two girls were ecstatic. They were going to meet Bobby Jones. The legendary Henchmen were going to introduce them.

"It's
all set," said Fred eagerly. "There's a party at his hotel suite right after the concert. You can ride with us."

The
concert ended at one A.M. Two roadies opened the side gates near the stage and the six Henchmen began to thunder out of the arena in pairs. Sandy and Slip rode first, followed by Fred and Bruce "Red" Tonnelly. Beef and Lucky Joe were in the rear. Alice rode with Fred. He placed her in front of him. She thought that unusual, but when she questioned him he assured her that he just wanted her to be safe. Barbara rode in front on Lucky Joe's bike. The bikes roared south onto Highway 395, the opposite direction from Bobby Jones' hotel.

The
bikers took the girls to San Pagano, an old industrial town, thirty-five minutes from the concert arena. Barbara was the first to realize what was going on. She started to squirm in her seat.

"Let
us go!" she screamed, turning to look at Lucky Joe. He grabbed her by the neck. "Shut the fuck up, or I'll drag your ass all over the street until your face is torn off," he said. A sinister delight shone in his eyes. Barbara started to cry. Lucky Joe laughed as they turned up Halston Street.

The
San Pagano chapter was located in the middle of the industrial section of town. In the forties this had been a mini-boomtown, with factories and small businesses. Early in 1964 the shops started closing and people started to migrate to more prosperous areas. San Pagano is now a low-income community. Most of the factories are shut down. Few businesses remain. The ideal location for a Henchmen clubhouse.

The
clubhouse was an old ranch-style home that had once belonged to one of the factory owners. The boarded-up factory still stood only thirty feet from the house. The Henchmen had bought it in '86. The bank had repossessed when the owners couldn't make the monthly payments. On the other side of the clubhouse stood a shabby bungalow that the factory owner had used to sleep guests. A family of eight now occupied the tiny three-room house. Living next to The Hench-men was something they had gotten used to. They were willing to put up with the noise and the occasional shotgun blast fired into the air. In fact, most of the neighbors welcomed living on a block where drug dealers and burglars dared not go.

Barbara
was still crying and shaking. Alice, although aware of what was going on, had stayed calm. She figured she could charm her way out of this the way she always did. Lucky Joe had to carry Barbara into the house kicking and screaming. Alice, still being cool and no longer feeling the effects of the alcohol, was led in by Fred. He held her arm in a painful grip. She winced from the pain and fought back tears. Lucky Joe threw Barbara to the floor. Alice broke free from Fred's grip and ran over to Barbara. She tried to comfort her as the six bikers surrounded them.

"Hey,
you guys," said Alice. "Don't you think this has gone far enough? You've had your fun. You scared the shit out of us, now you can let us go."

"We
haven't had our fun yet," said Red. All the other Henchmen started to laugh. Red picked up Alice and pushed her toward Fred. Fred caught her and pushed her at Sandy. They continued this for about three minutes, until Alice was dizzy from being bounced around like a beachball. Barbara climbed to her feet and tried to intercede on Alice's behalf. "Leave her alone!" she cried, throwing herself between Lucky Joe and Sandy. The two girls stood there surrounded by the six bikers. Barbara trembled, wetting her pants. Alice ground her teeth together. How dare these men treat them this way? Who were these animals with no compassion? Why did they delight so at inflicting. suffering? Sandy stepped forward. The girls looked at him with a mixture of fear and disdain. With his long, straight black hair, square jaw, and high cheekbones, Sandy looked like a savage Indian of Western folklore. His huge, bodybuilder arms made him even more threatening. "Who wants to have the first dance?" he asked. Red turned up the stereo.

Both
girls ran for the door. Fred grabbed Barbara and held her by the neck. Sandy caught Alice before she'd gotten more than ten steps away. He ripped open her blouse, exposing her breasts. She struggled and screamed as he tore the garment off her body. Fred held Barbara in front of him, with his right hand firmly under her jaw. He held her around her waist with his left hand, occasionally moving his hand down between her legs or up toward her breasts. He kept her turned toward Alice. "Watch carefully, cunt, you're next," he said.

Sandy
pulled Alice's head back by her hair and put his mouth on her breast, biting her nipple. She struggled and hit him on his left ear. "Ow, you fucking little bitch!" he yammered. He smacked her with his open hand, almost knocking her unconscious. He clicked open his switchblade and held it to her throat. "You do that shit again and I'll cut your fucking tits off," he said, as he moved the blade slowly down her neck and to her nipple. She could feel the cold steel touching her as she lay there with her eyes tightly shut, trembling with fear, saying to herself over and over again that this must be a dream. Sandy motioned his head toward Joe. Lucky Joe grabbed Alice's arms and held her up. Sandy pulled off her pants and underpants. Slip and Beef each grabbed one of her legs. They suspended her in the air, spread-eagled. The chapter president then began to lap and slurp her genitals. Like a hungry dog he buried his head between her legs. When she was wet enough with his saliva, he dropped his pants and penetrated her. He came inside her quickly. They dropped her to the floor and Beef, Lucky Joe, and Slip violated her in every way imaginable.

Sandy
sat smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. Fred had Barbara doubled over a small table, naked. He sodomized her repeatedly while burning her butt cheeks with his cigarette. He had a dog's choker chain around her neck. He would tighten it each time she started to yell. The abuse of the girls continued for six hours. Having had their fill, the bikers dropped the brutalized teens on a street corner three miles from the clubhouse. The police found them half-naked, bloodied, and delirious.

Chapter
9

I was sitting in the most comfortable beach chair I'd ever been in. Seagulls soared through the air, diving occasionally to pick up a dropped piece of popcorn or a hot dog bun. Amy was helping Alex build a sturdy sand castle. "Daddy, come play with me, come play, come pla—" And then I was sitting in bed, my head spinning, my heart pounding. "Shit," I said out loud as I glanced at the clock. "Three-fucking-thirty in the afternoon." The previous day's events quickly asserted their reality. The Mexicans, the fight at the pizza parlor, McBright... Kevin McBright.
What
am
I
going
to
do
now
? I wondered.
Make
arrests
based
on
the
weapons
buy
and
drug
stash
?

It
was good, but not good enough. I had an opportunity to do something no other law enforcement officer had ever done: become a full patch-wearing member of The Henchmen. I needed to speak with Atwood or Leverick right away. Still wearing my clothing from the previous day, I called in to Base I from a phone booth down the street from my apartment. Fred Parkins was on duty. I gave him a brief update and asked him to arrange a sitdown immediately with all the case agents. I told him I'd call for confirmation in thirty minutes. The Base I operation had been set up so that everyone could be assembled for an emergency meeting within hours. Each member had to leave a number where he or she could be reached twenty-four hours a day. Atwood and Leverick carried beepers with a range that covered the entire country. Even if they were out of state, they could participate in a conference call.

The
second call I made was to Amy. "Martin, are you all right?" Her voice was cracking. I could tell she was fighting back tears.

"I'm
fine, Amy. I'm on the verge of something real big here. It might even take less time than originally planned. I could be home in two months."

I
really had no idea whether or not I could be home that soon. I just couldn't think of anything else to say to make her feel better.

"How's
Alex?"

"He
misses you too, Martin. He's napping right now. You want me to wake him up?"

"No,
let him sleep. Tell him his daddy loves him. Tell him it won't be long before I come home for good."

We
talked for about twenty minutes. All things considered, she was holding up pretty well. I told her I'd call in a few days, but that she shouldn't worry if I went long periods without contacting her. The nature of the assignment was such that I might not be able to get to a phone without there being one of The Henchmen nearby. She said she understood. She also said she was frightened for me. I was too.

I
had no recollection of riding my Harley home from the clubhouse. But there it was, parked next to the curb. I had a little trouble kicking her over, but after several adjustments to the carburetor she finally roared to life. As I was about to pull out, a red Mercedes stopped short next to me. I didn't recognize the driver, but a moment later the passenger door opened and out popped Christy, the club whore, whom I'd met at Mike's the day before. No sooner had she shut the car door than the driver sped away. I killed the engine and Christy strolled over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi,
Doc."

"Who
was that?" I asked, motioning my chin toward the vanishing car.

"Nobody.
A good tipper, but nobody. I had him drop me when I saw you. How ya doin'? Heard I missed a real good party last night."

I
said nothing. I was due at Atwood's soon, and I had to find a way to get rid of her. She started to walk around me, looking over the bike. "Nice hog, Doc."

"Look,
uh..." Always the actor, I pretended to forget her name.

"Christy!"

"Christy. I got to get going."

"Me
too, Doc. Just wanted to say hi. Can you give me a ride to the West Shore Motel? I got a couple of dates."

What
the
hell
.
It's
only
five
minutes
out
of
the
way
. I motioned for her to climb on, still doing my strong, silent type routine. She mounted up behind me and I kicked the engine over on the first try. Somehow that meant something. I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of her while trying to get the engine started. I laughed to myself as I thought of something Roger Wolfe had said to me before I went away to the FBI Academy at Quantico. "Marty, there's nothing, with the possible exception of money, that has more influence over a man's behavior than a woman. I don't care if it's your mother, your wife, or a stranger on the street. Once a female enters the picture you had better be extra careful, because when it comes to women you'll find you instinctively want to protect them and impress them." He was right. As minor as my behavior at that moment might have seemed, I knew I was showing off for her. I would have to be more careful and not let my behavior be so easily influenced.

I
rode into the parking lot of the motel, and again Christy offered her services before we parted company. "Anytime, Doc. Thanks for the ride."

I
sat there a moment, the engine idling loudly, and watched her walk toward the building. I could think of a hundred other things this sorry young girl should be doing right now besides whoring herself for The Henchmen. So many of these women wind up dead from drug overdoses or violence. I wanted to protect this pathetic creature, to save her from this life. I hoped it wasn't already too late for her.

It took me about thirty minutes to ride to Atwood's. Everyone was there, just like six weeks ago when I'd left the prison. Samuels had brought a bunch of 302's.

"Here
you are, Martin," she said, as she handed me a stack of forms. "There's a separate 302 for each potential case. There's one here for the weapons buy and the subsequent shooting."

"They'd
probably walk on that one. Self-defense," inserted Atwood.

"There's
one for the weapons and drugs stashed at the clubhouse," Molly continued. "I've also included forms for the conversations you had at Mike's regarding the alleged activities of the eight members. Initial them all here and here." She pointed to the top left and lower right-hand corners of the form. "Handwrite any changes or additions, and initial them too." It took me about fifteen minutes to review the 302's. It all seemed in order. Indictments and warrants could be issued at any time.

"All
right, let's get started," said Atwood, his cigar in his mouth. "Marty, I didn't get the details from Fred. He said you needed an immediate meeting. Well, here we are."

"Here
it is," I said through a deep breath. "They've asked me to kill someone." Atwood took the cigar out of his mouth. He nodded his head slightly, as if in approval of this new development. Samuels and Parkins sat silent, looking to Atwood to say something. Leverick was the first to comment. "Who, Martin? Who do they want you to kill?"

"An
ex-member. Guy named McBright. Kevin. His street name is 'Irish.' The guy's looking at some serious time for a drug thing, and they think he's going to roll."

"Maybe
you should just do it," said Parkins facetiously. Atwood rolled his eyes in disgust. I ignored the comment.

"Well,
I guess that just about finishes the operation," said Molly Samuels. Her voice was strained with disappointment. She had counted on this one. Breaking the back of The Henchmen would have been a boost to everyone's career, but to Molly that part seemed unimportant. She was more concerned with taking the bad guys off the street than with any personal gain.

"What
does it mean if we pull out now?" I looked around, posing the question to every member of the team.

"We
could disrupt the mother chapter by arresting its major players," answered Leverick. "With the offer for you to take out McBright, we could get Benson on a conspiracy to commit murder charge. The weapons buy puts Morgan, Rivers, and Fenway away for at least seven, and we could shut down the clubhouse with the bust on the drugs and military hardware. That's
if
we can make everything stick."

"Shit,"
I said. "We were getting in good. Now it's blown."

Everyone
looked at Atwood. He hadn't commented since hearing about The Henchmen's intention to chill McBright. He puffed on his cigar, smiling slightly as he scanned the table and making eye contact with each of us.

"Maybe
we should let you shoot McBright." His comment lacked the facetious tone of Parkins'.

"What?" I asked.

"You're
kiddin', right?" asked Leverick.

"No,
I'm not. I mean, let's just say it was possible for us to make The Henchmen believe Dr. Death had carried out the hit."

"Impossible,"
said Parkins. "They'd want proof. You think they're a bunch of assholes?"

"Talk
to me," I said to Atwood. I knew he was serious. "I'm in the club as a full patch-wearing member if we can do this."

"It's
never been done, forget it," said Parkins.

"Shut
up, Fred!" snapped Atwood. "You don't know what's been done and what hasn't been done. You think you know every goddamn thing that's gone on every year, year after year, since the Bureau was started?"

"So
in other words, we fake it," I said.

"Yes,
we stage the whole thing. It's been done before. Not many times, but it's been done." Atwood leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, cigar in his mouth.

Leverick
nodded his head in approval. "As crazy as this sounds, Marty, I think it could work."

"What
about Martin's cover?" asked Samuels.

"Yeah,
what about my cover?"

"It
would be a bit complex," said Leverick. "Everyone would know just what they'd have to, and none of the players know you're FBI. Not McBright, not the coroner... nobody."

I
turned to Leverick. "Can we really pull this off, Dalton?"

"Yes.
I think we can. You set it up with The Henchmen that you have to study McBright's habits. When he comes and goes, shit like that. We'll get to McBright and have him vested before you hit him."

"Then
what?"

"Then
he gets announced DOA. The papers get their story. You get your proof for The Henchmen that the hit was made."

"Here's
the deal," said Atwood. His loud, raspy voice was reminiscent of an old
Untouchables
episode. "Leverick, you make arrangements for a meeting at the Mayor's office. Include the District Attorney and the Police Commissioner. Samuels, you and Parkins are in charge of the medical team, death certificate, release forms for the body. Use your best people for this. Nobody knows about Martin. As far as all the other players are concerned, it's a witness relocation situation. I'll let the D.A., the Mayor, and Commissioner know we have a man under, and that this is pertinent to our case. Marty, you call me in two days for an update. Everyone set to go?"

Everyone
nodded affirmatively. "What about McBright?" I asked.

"I'll
handle him," said Leverick. "I'll offer to get all the charges dropped for the drug bust. Marty, you have to engineer a couple of drive-bys past McBright's house. Use one of the club's vehicles so he'll recognize it. If possible, take someone along who he may recognize as well. We'll get plenty of surveillance photos, if necessary, to show McBright. I'll convince him it's real."

"What
about a wire, maybe a recorded conversation with one of the club's officers? That would help convince him," suggested Fred Parkins.

"No
way," I said. "These guys are always checking each other for wires. If you don't come around for a couple of days they give you a big bear hug. Partially because they miss you, and partially because they want to make sure you didn't turn punk while you were gone and cut a deal with police or the DEA."

"Don't
worry," said Leverick. "I'll have enough. You just make those drive-bys, Martin."

"I'll
make 'em," I said. "Oh, shit... one other thing. They have one of their people working as a Police Administrator downtown. I recognized her at the party. She's probably been feeding them information for years. It's no wonder that every time the police go to serve a warrant the club member is nowhere to be found."

"Parkins,
you handle that one," Atwood ordered. "Make sure she's not arrested yet. I don't want anything endangering this case, or Martin. Especially Martin." Atwood shot me a wink.