Red Rock Island (Damian Green Book 1) (19 page)

The two men scrambled to take cover. The one man was wielding his non-working gun like a piece of pipe. The other took aim and fired at where Peterson’s voice had sounded from. Damian could see that Peterson and his partner had combat helmets on along with body armor, but they were vulnerable in the face, legs, and arms. They normally didn’t carry riot gear in their car.

Expecting a confrontation and knowing their own back-up boat was still about twelve minutes away, they requested the assistance of another airborne unit and help arrived in the form of two copters from neighboring municipalities. The two men were debating something amongst themselves whether it was death by cop, surrender, or perhaps swimming to escape, Damian couldn’t tell. He hoped the men would just dive in the bay and take this problem away from his island and his home. He spared a thought for his cats and figured they were huddled in one of the tiny caves on the far side of the island.

One of the copters was preparing to land on Damian’s front lawn, and that was when the two suspects dove into the water, planning on swimming to shore and away from police. The two copters just stayed above the water adding wind turbulence to the difficulty of the swim. The water temperature was sixty-one degrees and unless they were high on Meth, the cold would soon get to them. Then Damian noticed they had stripped off their street clothes to wet-suits underneath, a mask and snorkel must’ve been hidden on their person as that suddenly appeared as well. They disappeared below the surface and were not seen again.

Damian doubted they drowned, but he wouldn’t place it past them if they had buried a scuba set-up underwater to facilitate their escape. He was tempted to send out his unmanned submarine, but decided he would let the police deal with it. The two copters were watching the surface as the police cruiser arrived from the Delta.

What a flaming mess and his privacy was now shot! Ugh. He wished he had an underwater torpedo that he could fire across the bay at San Quentin. He was fed up with the Aryan Brotherhood and the mess they were making of his island and his privacy. He pounded his fist against a boxing training bag he had in his gym and let out a primordial scream, then took a deep breath, before heading upstairs to exit his house.

He walked outside to the noise of the two copters close by. Since they couldn’t hear him down on the beach, he texted Peterson that he was coming down on his zip line and not to shoot him. Wouldn’t that be ironic; to be shot on your own private island. Peterson texted back that he would make sure they held their fire.

Chapter Thirty-One

Nearly eight hours later, he was fed up with the world and law enforcement in particular. Crime Scene techs had collected ammo and fingerprints from his beach, they wanted copies of his video and had been down in his lab to understand his technology. He was proud of it for all of about ten minutes, and then he wished they would get out of his lab and off his island. Worst still was the picnic ants; he knew the Aryan Brotherhood would be back. They had their endless ants to spoil your picnic, and with each attack, there would be more of them. He needed to talk to some gang psychologists on what to do. He couldn’t go through one of these attacks every couple of days.

Finally, when it was over and everyone had left his island, he debated what to do. He could call Ariana and let her know about the second attack and then invite himself over; he decided that he needed something else that night. So he got in his new, fast, two seater boat having made arrangements to dock it near Pete’s bar. Thirty minutes later he was inside at the bar chatting with Pete, a cheeseburger underway in the kitchen.

Damian had sought out Pete with the thought that this was where he always came to lighten his mood and he was at a loss to understand why this bar gave him that experience. He looked around and thought about it and decided it was because he fit in. There were people of every ethnicity in the bar as well as a few of every interest there. There were men huddled over whisky and beer that he thought he’d seen before in the bar. The Warriors playoff game was on the TVs and that was attracting a younger crowd of both sexes. He bet the final group stopped here on the way home from work because it was peaceful. It wasn’t quiet at all, but you could fall into the zone of your own choosing and stay there until it was time to leave.

When Pete returned with his food, he asked, “You seem to have a little of everything here Pete. How many regulars do you have here and how many nights a week do they stop by?”

“Well, there’s you, Damian, and you stop by about once a month.”

“Touché, but go on.”

Pete went on to name about half the people in the bar and their frequency. There were a few patrons that he didn’t recognize but as Damian had thought they were regulars of all sorts  - daily, weekly, monthly, and others like himself that were irregular regulars.

“So what’s your problem at the moment, Damian?” Pete asked.

Damian looked at Pete’s face and said, “What do you mean, what’s my problem?”

“Usually when you come here, you have some problem in the back of your mind that you’re trying to figure out. Once in a while it seems to me you’re here because you’re sick of your own company. Based on the way you’re watching the bar patrons, I would say it’s the former rather than the latter.”

“You’re very wise, Pete.”

“I have to be, I’m a bartender. I solve many people’s problems. So what’s yours today? Maybe I can offer the ‘Dummies guide to astrophysics’ solution to your problem.”

Damian laughed and said, “It’s not astrophysics and I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. I’ve heard some pretty wild yarns in my two decades as a bartender; some of them actually true.”

Damian laughed again and said, “The Aryan Brotherhood has invaded my island twice and are trying to kill me.”

“That might be as wild a yarn as I’ve heard and if it was anyone other than you, I’d cut off your alcohol and refer you to a good psychologist. What did you do to make them mad?”

“Hacked into their email system and shared it with the Black Guerillas.”

“Damian, you’re a man of intriguing qualities. I’m sure you had a reason to do that. Have the prisons had any riots yet?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Hmm…. I know an ex-Brotherhood guy. He’s an irregular regular, just like you. How about if I speak with him on some options?”

“Hey Pete, thanks for your help in more ways than you know. I debated where to head tonight and found myself beating a path to your door. Thanks for believing my story.”

“I owe you a lot. Your software saves me money and allows me to keep good staff that can’t steal from me, why wouldn’t I want to repay you in a miniscule way? My only problem is the guy is like you; he comes in on a non-routine basis and I don’t have his phone number.”

“Except you have my phone number.”

“Yeah I do,” then Pete paused and watched the doorway. “Damian, after your horrible day, life is about to get better; he just walked in the door. Imagine that, two irregular regular guys visiting my bar on the same night. Let me wave him over here.”

Pete stood up and waved a guy over. Damian didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable so he didn’t turn around on his bar stool and look at the doorway, but man, he was flooded with curiosity as to what the guy looked like. He was impressed with Pete for getting to know the guy. Perhaps a minute later, he invited Damian and the man into a back room.

Damian had finished his cheeseburger and was working on his second beer, so he picked up the glass and followed Pete to his office. Damian had been there before when he installed his computer system.

He eyed the other man in front of him. He was Caucasian, since you had to be to belong the Aryan Brotherhood. Damian guessed him to be late forties early fifties, but then he’d likely lived a hard life first in prison and second by participating in the gang’s activities. He had various scars on his face and neck; some he guessed were from knife wounds, others perhaps tattoo removal. His arms were covered and he was of medium build, clean shaven, with a short brown non-descript haircut. He looked like your average longshoreman from the nearby Port of Oakland, the second busiest port on the west coast.

Pete performed introductions and they shook hands. He dropped random facts about each of them as part of the introduction. Damian was a genius who designed the computerized system for his bar saving his business. Angus Walsh worked nearby at the Port doing logistics. Then Pete got down to business after taking Angus’ order for dinner.

“Damian, here has your old gang trying to kill him. Got any suggestions on how to avoid death for him?”

Angus’s reply was quick and grim, “Good luck with that man; they’re a bad lot.”

“Aren’t you the master of an understatement.”

Pete left the two men to talk and to get Angus’ food order underway.

“Who’d you piss off? You don’t look like their normal target.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t look like an ex-con, and Pete says you’re a genius. Geniuses don’t hang out with the Brotherhood.”

“I don’t know about that, you strike me as very smart as you managed to leave the gang alive. How did you do it?”

“I was sentenced to Soledad in the late 1980s for a rape and murder that I didn’t commit. I was so mad and enraged with the world that I joined the gang. The Innocence Project took my case on about five years ago, and I was exonerated and released. Once it looked like my case would go somewhere, I started studying how to get out of the gang. After twenty years of violence, I was sick of them anyway.”

“So, how did you do it?” Damian asked. “My understanding is that you have a credo that the only way to leave the gang is to die.”

“That’s true. The leaders are usually serving either life sentences or thirty years or more. When you’re looking at thirty years, tacking on another ten just doesn’t impact you; so what if you kill another prisoner?”

“How did you avoid killing another prisoner? I thought that was your initiation into the gang.”

“I always made sure, I was the biggest screw-up in regards to attempted murder. Someday I believed I would be found innocent as I knew I hadn’t done the crime I was convicted of. I wasn’t going to give them a real crime that I did commit. I misunderstood instructions for nearly every crime and acted slowly so they thought it was my IQ. However, I have a photographic memory, so just about an hour before my release, I threatened the gang leaders at Soledad.”

“With what?”

“I wrote down every derogatory statement they ever made about their followers in Soledad and their leaders at other prisons. I showed them a copy of the document and a copy of the instructions to my attorney to release it if I should die of anything but natural causes.”

“The Art of War,” Damian suggested.

“Exactly. I read a copy of the book and knew that the only way to keep the gang from killing me was to credibly threaten the leadership with its own members.”

“Wish I’d thought of that. I tried using their enemies, the Black Guerillas, as my counter-threat.”

“Bet that didn’t work, mate,” replied Angus with a smirk.

“No, not by a long shot. I feel like the entire gang outside of prison is trying to siege my home and kill me.”

“How did you use the Black Guerillas against them?”

Damian weighed his answer and decided to ask a different question to see if he could get the measure of the man. He was halfway to trusting Angus, but he wasn’t willing to spill his guts. While Angus had given him his strategy, it wasn’t an illegal activity whereas it was a violation of federal law to hack into email.

“What have you done with your life since you left Soledad?”

“I should be on Broadway getting a Tony for my acting ability. I was always reading books in prison ‘trying to correct’ my low IQ. When other inmates were around, I’d hold the book upside down or never move a page to give the impression I couldn’t read. In reality I earned a couple of degrees while I was behind bars and a small company in Oakland took a risk and hired me to do their logistics.”

“Congrats, Angus, that’s a great story,” Damian said. Then thinking about it grimaced and said, “Sorry wrong response. Spending all those years in Soledad is a terrible story. I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s amazing that the prison never dragged you down.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular miracle man,” replied Angus grimly.

Damian wasn’t willing to reveal his secrets still, but he was inching closer to trusting the man.

“Hey, can I have your contact information? I’d like to get my ducks in order then talk gang strategy with you some more.”

“Want to do a Google search on me huh?”

Damian reddened but said, “A Soledad convict was accidentally released early and killed my wife and two little girls seven years ago, so yeah that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Sorry man, I remember the incident at the time. My fellow convicts cheered the mistake made that sprung the guy early and cared little that your family was killed. Here’s my contact information, feel free to contact me in the future.” Angus said writing his information on a cocktail napkin.

Pete opened the door and entered with Angus’ food, but was waved back into the bar.

“Thanks Pete, but we’re done talking here; I’ll eat my burger at the bar,” and Angus stood up to follow Pete out of the office.