Author's Note: In the subsequent scenes, Frisco is supposed to have his translator there when talking with the English-speaking characters even if its not mentioned. Going to be a very suspenseful ride till the end!
CHAPTER 17: THE PRISONERS
TELLER AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR
JT led the way through the well-maintained repair shot to the clubhouse part of the building, taking his seat at the head of the table. A grim mood hung like a dark cloud over the meeting as the brothers greeted one another. The tension seemed even higher than when they had first met and planned the revenge attack on the Weather Underground.
Piney embraced Thomas as they both arrived. "I'm so sorry man. We're gonna make this right."
Thomas nodded, but there was still doubt in his voice and on his face. He looked over to Clay, Lenny, and Keith but they tried their best to be expressionless. This time, nobody knew where everyone else stood on things. Not after two of their own violently killed less than 24 hours before and the girlfriend of another Son kidnapped.
JT desperately wanted an ice cold Budweiser, or better yet a strong shot of Jack and Coke, but he knew he needed to be as clear minded as possible. The truth was he didn't get much sleep the night much. For the first time since the club was founded, he himself had doubts that he tried his best to hide. A good military leader was open and realistic about the risks, but not all of these guys came from a military background, and some of those who did didn't have combat experience.
He and Piney at the very least were most focused on friendship and loyalty. Thomas and Lenny had wanted revenge over Otis Cross's death too, but they may be more into preserving their own survival and the profits from their illegal enterprises. Clay probably stood in between, while Keith McGee was a mystery, a criminal who seemed to answer to himself above all.
JT was most leery of the Northern Irish exile. The IRA as a terrorist organization was bad enough but Keith wasn't even a member of that. He was a freelance arms dealer who allied himself with them because it was where the money was. After all, the British Army personnel stationed in Belfast had no need for black market Soviet weapons. Keith claimed he was above the fighting, but rather than working for peace, he made a fortunate off of the conflict. Yes, Keith did help the Sons against the Weathermen, but during his time in Northern Ireland, he also helped the USSR broker arms to the IRA in an attempt to destabilize the West.
SONS OF ANACRHY CLUBHOUSE/MARTINEZ IMPORTS TRADING COMPANY
The conversation came to an abrupt halt as the rotary phone rang in the middle of the table. JT snatched it out of the receiver after the second ring.
"Teller Automotive Repair, this is John, can I help you?" he answered in his usual business voice though he knew the caller wasn't going to be inquiring about getting a timing belt replaced.
"Ah John, I'm glad you at least obeyed the first of instructions," Frisco said. "I understand your garage is technically closed at this hour. So we finally speak, one on one, John Teller. The man who murdered my brother, who gave the orders that killed so many members of my club."
"Fuck you, wetback!" Lenny shouted into the phone. "We're gonna make you pay for Wally and…."
JT held his hand up for him to be quiet and to allow him to remain in charge of the conversation for now.
"Mr. Martinez," JT said as diplomatically as possible, "I believe this situation has escalated well out of control. Our club never intended to attack you…"
"But you did attack us!" Frisco interrupted angrily.
"Please let me finish," JT said, "Our beef was against the Weathermen and the Weathermen alone. Our sources told us the Weathermen were going to be at the mall and that they had a tendency to arrive early. That had never been the case for your group."
Frisco did remember that he and Juan had together decided to scout the area before the Weathermen meet at the mall parking garage that day since the deal involved an unusually large amount of weapons, drugs, and cash. But he was now blinded by his rage. Somebody had to pay for Juan's death, and the Sons were the most guilty party. He refused to place any blame on himself.
JT continued, "I believe that this has gone on long enough, Before we go any further, we need to know that Megan's still alive."
"She is, for now," Frisco replied.
"I'm sorry if your word doesn't suffice for us," Thomas said.
"Ah, Thomas, so nice to talk to you again. Maybe her words will suffice."
Frisco went over to Megan and yanked violently at her hair, then punched her in the mouth, knocking out two of her front teeth. She yelped in pain.
"Please stop!" she wailed. "Thomas, JT, please just give them what they want!" Her voice was definitely scratchier than usual.
"I'm going to blow your fucking brains out, you goddamn beaner!" Thomas screamed. "Meg….we're here for you. We're gonna get you out of there."
Frisco let out a laugh filled with vindictiveness and satisfaction. "I'm sorry if she's losing her voice, but she did scream all night. My hombres and I had a lot of fun with her last night. She has probably never fucked a Mexican before in her life, and now she has seven, eight? I was the one who broke her in, si?"
"I swear, Frisco, you…" Clay shouted into the phone. He knew how that nickname was supposed to be off-limits to anyone not in the Mayans' circle, but he couldn't control himself. He just hoped that the Mayan leader wouldn't take any more of his anger out on Megan.
"Maybe he's bluffing," Piney said, urging everyone to remain calm, even though he knew that Frisco's claims were most likely true.
"JT, they need to pay for this, they must!" Thomas said in a loud whisper. He felt himself being driven insane at the thought of one Mayan gangster after another forcing themselves on his girlfriend.
"Like I said, Mr. Martinez, this has gone on way too long. Neither of us wanted to go to war with one another. To be honest with you I don't even intend to keep this club longer than was necessary to protect ourselves and our town. I would like to propose a truce. You give us back Megan, we give you back Benito, Eduardo, and your two little punks from MH-11."
"Am I hearing this right, pendejo? You still think you're dictating terms to us?"
"Si," JT said with hardening expression on his face.
"I told you it would come to this," Clay said darkly. "So we do what we discussed?"
JT nodded and held the phone up in the air as JT grabbed one of the Hondurans and dragged him to the table. "Benito, tell him what's happening!"
Benito did as he was told. JT hoped Benito realized that Frisco never asked for proof he was still alive the way JT had asked about Megan.
"Get on your fucking knees!" Clay barked to the Honduran. They heard Frisco screaming something in Spanish on the phone but ignored it.
Clay then turned to Benito as he took out his handgun and walked toward the Honduran. "This is also your fault, for not answering our questions about where to find Frisco. One way or another, we're going to end this."
"Please tell him everything!" the Honduran shouted to Benito.
"I'm sorry, vato," Benito said to his comrade.
This drove the Honduran into pure panic mode as he pleaded with Clay and the other Sons gathered around the table. "Por favor, gringo, no!"
Clay made sure there was a round in his chamber, then shot the Honduran at point blank range, sending blood, brain matter and skull fragments all over the floor.
"Benito, tell him what happened!" Clay shouted. "Then I want you and your boys to clean up this mess. I expect it to be as spotless as when this place was first built!"
Benito tried his best to maintain his composure. The culture of the streets demanded this. However, JT had to admit he took some satisfaction in seeing Benito and Eduardo's lips quiver slightly as the Sons stood over them.
"What the fuck is happening over there?" Frisco demanded over the phone. "Benito? Eduardo? You there? Speak to me!"
"They just shot Jaime in the head!"
"Ah so that was Jaime? I heard him begging like a coward," Frisco remarked as he looked around his own table. "We're probably better without him anyway." Frisco truly didn't miss Jaime at all given his cowardice, pathetically begging the gringos not to kill him. Frisco made a mental note that MH-11 was truly not reliable anymore and that once this Sons business was settled they may want to start working with the Salvadorans instead.
Yet he was still outraged, by the Sons' blatant disregard at his power even after he had kidnapped Megan and murdered two of their own. Or perhaps they're also driven by revenge now and that was payback.
"That was a mistake, John," Frisco said. "This conversation is over for now. I will call you again in three days. Hopefully between now and then, you'll be convinced to be more cooperative with us."
WAHEWA INDIAN RESERVATION
It took about a half hour for Benito, Eduardo, and the surviving Honduran gangster to clean up what was left of their friend's brains from the floor and load the body into the back of a Chevy pickup truck, covered up with a tarp. JT thought about burying the body on one of the Sons' properties but decided it was too risky with neighbors and cops, and besides, before she was captured Megan did mention that Special Agent Tasker was still digging around town.
Yes, he had also mentioned the reservation, but there was still an additional layer of protection there, so they decided to hide the body there and take the Mayan prisoners up there too. JT led his men and the prisoners into Chief Raging Bull's custom-built home, which was paid for mostly by his marijuana growing profits instead of from federal subsidies. It wasn't an extravagant, gaudy mansion like those owned by many crime bosses, but it definitely belonged more in a suburban cul-de-sac than an Indian reservation.
They went to the minibar in the basement, where several of the Sons took seats on the couches while JT, Piney and Clay removed the blindfolds off their captives and made them sit at the barstools. Keith McGee immediately opened the fridge looking for some Irish whiskey after a taxing few days but had to settle for some Kentucky Gentleman. Even in Belfast they could get some Woodford Reserve, he thought to himself as he offered Thomas a shot.
"Just drink it, mate," Keith said, "Nothing we can do about Megan this very instant, might as well calm ourselves down."
Thomas first went over and socked Eduardo in the stomach. "You're going to talk, you fucking understand me, wetback? I know you understand what I'm saying. This don't need no translation." He kneed Eduardo in the groin, the Mayan yelping in pain but afraid to show too much fear as his senior biker Benito was next to him and because he also needed to maintain the respect from the Honduran underling.
JT tapped him on the shoulder. "That's enough for now, let me talk to them." He made sure not to speak too loudly as he knew Benito could speak English. He turned to Benito. "We need you and your men to calm down and to answer the questions we have for you."
Clay opened up the fridge again and took out a Corona, spinning it on the bar top. He then took out one of the freshly cut limes in a container. The Wahewa definitely knew how to party. Clay took a sip himself from a Budweiser.
"I see our tribal friends drink the same stuff you do."
Benito and Eduardo ignored him.
"C'mon, drink it!"
"Pendejo estupido. You rednecks have got to be kidding me. You think you know everything about us? Mexicans never even put lime in our Coronas. That's one of those stupid things Americans invented."
Clay went over to him, pulling out his Ruger 9mm pistol from his holster. "Does this look like fucking Mexico to you, wetback? Now put that fucking lime in the bottle and drink it!"
"Chinga tu madre," Benito cursed but he pushed the signature lime through the neck of the bottle.
JT smiled at the scene. Right now it wasn't only about acting intimidating to for this interrogation session. It was rage at what the Mayans had done, and a determination to both get Megan back and put an end to this matter once and for all. He wasn't just angry, he was tired. As soon as this could be resolved, maybe it was time for the Sons to disband and make another attempt at regular civilian life despite the hostility they faced from some segments of society given their veteran status and/or their criminal backgrounds. How to convince the club was a future challenge.
"Benito Chavarria, Secretary of the infamous Mayans MC. I do know more about you and your club than you expect. Now that we've established who's in charge here, let's get to our questions. Kinda like court which I'm sure all of you are experienced with. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Comprendes, amigo?"
"Frisco will come for us! Don't tell them any shit!" Eduardo shouted to Benito in Spanish.
"Don't worry, Eduardo. These hueyputas won't get a thing out of me," Benito said defiantly.
JT took several steps forward.
"Benito, I know you have the answers I need because you're a senior member of the club. We may try with these other guys as well though one of your buddies has already lived out his usefulness. We need to know where they're holding Megan, and where we can get a hold of Frisco."
"Suck my dick, bitch," Benito spat. He dispensed with any of the Spanish profanity, as it was clear to Eduardo and the Honduran he was resisting this interrogation with machismo.
"I don't like making deals, but these guys don't even understand what we're saying. You tell me what I need to know and you'll be free. We'll take care of Frisco." In all honesty, he wasn't sure if the other Mayans truly didn't speak English or if it was just an act.
JT was only slightly troubled by how he was going to interrogate these Mayans after what the commies had done in Vietnam. But it was different, he reminded himself. Their cause was just. He grabbed Benito and dragged him into the bathroom, wrapping a large bath towel around his head and face, then shoved him into the shower, turning on the scalding hot water.
"Ahhhhhhh!" Benito screamed, his arms thrashing around as Piney and Clay held him down and the hot water covered the towel.
"Keep it running!" JT said to Piney, "He's not gonna drown. Just going to feel like he is."
They kept the water running for about thirty more seconds and hurled Benito back again the wall so hard that several of the tiles broke. JT and Clay dragged Benito back out into the main part of the basement and tore off the towel, Benito coughing up water for several long moments, panting hard and hitting his hand on the floor.
"It's only going to get worse unless you cooperate, Benito," JT said, then began shouting. "Look at me! Nobody is coming for you! Nobody knows you're here!"
Next it was Thomas that came forward, dealing Benito a brutal beating, but the Mayan gangster took it in stride, grunting in pain but remaining silent.
"It's like the fucking Russians trained them on resisting interrogations," Clay said.
TELLER AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR - THE NEXT MORNING
"Hey!" Otto Moran shouted, reaching for his gun as an old Ford sedan with two Mexican men inside picked up speed after slowing down. The Mexican in the passenger's seat threw a tied up plastic bag out of the window when they were right outside Teller Automotive Repair. He was the one assigned to stand guard just off the premises in case the Mayans came with an army of gangsters. The Mayans at least knew the location of their clubhouse by now, which made the security situation more precarious than ever.
"Jesus Christ!" Otto said as he picked up the bag and took a peak inside, running breathlessly into the garage. Since it was business hours, the gate was open and several customers were there, staring at him as he rushed into the building.
"Oh my God, JT!" he said, interrupting JT as he was explaining a brake pad replacement to a young woman. "I need you ASAP, upstairs!"
JT brought Thomas and Clay with him as they entered the clubhouse, where Otto was waiting with the plastic bag on the table.
"I….I can't believe it, man. Dammit!"
Thomas stepped forward into the room, opened the bag, and began to scream.