Chapter Fourteen

Minus

T he Portland Saturday Market was started in the seventies, right around the time many of the area’s biggest clubs were just beginning to get organized. The Burning Saints were among these “early settlers,” and still put a high value on the people and places that continue to make Portland what it is.

The market was a maze of vendors and artisans that was set up and torn down every Saturday during the spring and summer months. Families could easily mix in with the hippies and freaks of Portland and enjoy live music, as well as demonstrations about organic, free-range, non-GMO, artisanal Christmas tree farming , or whatever the local college kids were currently fired up about. All the area clubs viewed the market as neutral territory. A safe public place where parties could meet openly without hassle.

Cutter and I arrived at Ankeny Square ten minutes early to find Viper and Crush waiting.

“Well, at least he showed up,” I said as we approached the designated meeting spot. More importantly, I noticed two black canvas duffle bags at Crush’s feet. I hoped this meant the money was here, and the meeting would be smooth sailing. However, if the bags didn’t contain our money, I wasn’t sure if the market was going to remain a blood-free zone for much longer.

Viper smiled wide and extended his arms as we approached. “Mr. Cutter, it’s so nice to finally meet you. My name is—”

“I know who the fuck you are,” Cutter snapped. “Now give me my money and tell me why we’re here.”

“You are a man who gets straight to the point. I like that,” Viper said.

“And, from what I’ve seen, you aren’t, so let’s cut the shit,” I said.

He focused on me. “Mr. Minus, it’s so nice to see you again. I was hoping it would be you that accompanied Mr. Cutter today. I found you so… amusing last time we spoke.”

“Yeah. I’m a real laugh fuckin’ riot.” I raised an eyebrow. “You said you wanted five minutes of Cutter’s time, so how ’bout you hand over those bags and we can start the clock.”

“Right down to business it is, then.” Viper motioned to Crush, who picked up the bags and dropped them clumsily at my feet. His eyes remained locked on me the entire time.

“You keep those eyeballs pinned on me like that, and I’ll roll ’em to the back of your head for you,” I said.

“Try me,” Crush ground out, before rejoining Viper.

“You’ll find that all your money is there,” Viper said. “As promised, I didn’t touch a single dollar. You can look it’s all there.”

Cutter carefully unzipped one of the bags.

“It’s alright, there are no tricks or tracking devices.” Viper held his hands up in surrender. “I’m returning your money, just as I found it.”

“‘Found it’ is a funny way to put it. Personally, I think steal’s a bit more accurate, don’t you? So, tell me why you stole my money, only to give it back?” Cutter asked.

“To show you that I could, Mr. Cutter. To prove to you that whatever you possess, can be mine if I so desire.”

“You hired a crew to steal a fucking Cadillac that had my money in the trunk. That doesn’t make you a criminal mastermind,” Cutter replied.

“Yes, but how did I know your money would be in the trunk and when it would be coming in? And as you yourself asked, why give the money back?” Viper was clearly impressed with himself, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. I imagined picking him up by his silk tie and shaking him until his neck snapped.

Viper continued, “I’m giving your money back to you, because three million dollars is pocket change to Los Psychos. We don’t need it, and we don’t want it.”

“Then what exactly do you want? I’ve got shit to do, and the constant pan flute music around this place is getting on my fucking nerves,” Cutter said.

“One thing, Mr. Cutter. I want only one thing, and then we can conclude our meeting.”

“And what would that be?”

“I want your ledger.”

Cutter laughed, struggling to stifle a cough. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your black book. The ledger you keep locked away. The one that contains your club’s contacts, business associates, bank codes. You know the one I’m talking about.”

Cutter’s face turned to stone. “Whatever the fuck you think you may know about my club—”

“Oh, I know a great deal about you and the Burning Saints. Much more than you could possibly imagine. It’s partly because of the knowledge I have of such things, that I don’t care about your three million. I know, for instance, that your book contains a vast array of information regarding the various sources of that money, and that is what I’m interested in. Why go after three million, when there are hundreds of millions out there for the taking?”

“So, lemme get this straight,” Cutter said. “I’m supposed to hand you some fictitious book in exchange for money that you stole from me. And with the information in said fictitious book, you plan on taking over all my businesses. That sound ‘’bout right?”

“More or less. Yes. I believe you get the basic idea,” Viper said coolly.

Cutter’s teeth clenched. “Do you know who I am? I am the president of the Burning Saints. Hell, I am the Burning Saints. This is my town. Do you have any idea of how much hellfire I can bring down on your ass at a moment’s notice?”

“I thought perhaps this would be your reaction, so I made sure to bring more than just a financial incentive with me today,” Viper said. Crush pulled out a tablet, tapped the screen, and handed it to Cutter.

Cutter’s eyes filled with rage, and his hand began to shake. “You motherfucker, I’ll tear your fucking heart out and feed it to your children,” he growled.

Crush straightened, ready to step in should Cutter advance further.

“It’s okay, Crush,” Viper said, smoothing his suit jacket. “Mr. Cutter knows this is sacred ground. He won’t spill blood here. Besides, he wouldn’t want his friend to get hurt… any further… would he?”

Cutter handed me the tablet, which was playing a video stream of a dark, dirty room. Inside that room, Warthog was gagged and tied to a metal chair. From the looks of it, he was beat to shit. Some fucker with horrible acne scars was holding Warthogs bloodied head up by his hair, shaking it back and forth for the camera.

“You’ve made a big mistake,” Cutter said.

“I don’t think so. In fact, I believe that it’s you that’s underestimated me. While it is true that, historically, the Burning Saints have always run the security game here in Portland, times are about to change… starting right now. ”

“I suppose you think Los Psychos is going to take over?” Cutter asked.

“Who better? Look how easily we got to you!” Viper exclaimed. “I know everything about you and your operation. I even know that you’ve already got one foot in the grave.”

Cutter looked at him with an unfiltered rage. If Warthog’s life wasn’t currently in Viper’s hands, I think he would have gone for his throat right then and there. I was afraid the fine folks who’d come to the market for a churro and a reasonably priced alpaca wool-knit cap were about to witness a murder.

“If you kill Warthog, I’ll come at you with everything I have,” Cutter said. “I won’t care where we are.”

“Maybe so, but that won’t really change anything, will it? Your time is over, Mr. Cutter. Your club is vulnerable, and soon to be without its leader and founder. Take this money and retire someplace warm. Get away from all this rain and bloodshed before it’s too late.”

“The day I start taking orders from little piss ants like you, is the day they put me in the fucking ground.”

“That day may be closer than the doctors have told you. Not just you, but Warthog, Mr. Minus here, and your whole club,” Viper said.

“Don’t bet on it,” I replied.

“I find it funny that the two of you talk so tough when you are in no position to do so. If I do not get word to the man on the other side of that screen by the designated time, he will begin removing pieces of your friend. He’ll start by taking his toes, one by one, before moving his way upward.”

“I don’t know anything about a book,” Cutter said defiantly.

“And I say you’re lying. You have twenty-four hours to bring it to me or Warthog is dead, and you can look forward to finding pieces of him in your mailbox throughout the year.”

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving,” Crush said, smirking.

I went to hand him back the tablet but dropped it on the ground just before it reached his oversized hand .

“Sorry,” I said flatly.

Just as Crush bent to pick up the device, I delivered a headbutt directly to the bridge of his nose. He staggered back a few steps stunned, as blood erupted from his face, spraying the both of us.

“Oh, buddy, I’m so sorry!” I lied. “I guess we both bent down at the same time. Are you okay?”

I moved towards him in mock concern, pretending to lend assistance, trying to avoid the attention of the crowd. I moved in closer, pulled the gun I’d hidden in my waistband, and pressed it against his ribs.

“Don’t you make a fucking move, or I’ll drop you right here, big boy,” I whispered to Crush. “Hey, Roger ,” I called out to Viper. “How about we get Irving here to the medical tent? I think he may have hurt himself real bad.”

I motioned for everyone to move away from the crowd, towards a small grove of trees behind the bandstand. I stuck with Crush and ordered Viper to grab the bags. Once secluded by a grove of trees, I told Viper to drop the bags, and put some distance between us.

“Call your guy and tell him to let Warthog go, or I swear to God, I’ll put a bullet in each of you. Hell, I’m feeling generous. Let’s make it two apiece.”

“You’re not going to execute us in a public place, with all these witnesses and security around.”

“You’re holding one of my brothers hostage, you threatened my president, and you stole from my club. Believe me when I tell you that I’d cut your throat in front of a judge and a priest for a lot less.”

“You’ll regret spilling blood here today,” Viper said.

“I’ve regretted just about every moment of my life since hearing your fucking name. Why should right now be any different? I’d go to the gas chamber with a smile on my face for the privilege of shooting you in yours.”

“And I’m a dead man anyway, so what the fuck do I have to lose?” Cutter asked with a smile.

“Make the call. Now,” I said.

Viper began to reach into his inside jacket pocket .

“Move slowly and keep your hands where I can see them,” I instructed, and he produced a cell phone and dialed.

“This is Viper. Let the old man go. Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he bellowed into the phone.

“Tell your guy to drop Warthog off at the Corner of Capitol and Virginia, and give his phone to him, so we know he actually gets out safe,” I ordered, and Viper did as he was told.

“Good, now this is how this is gonna go down,” I said. “You’re going to give me your phone, turn around, and exit via the far end of the market. You’re going to make sure Warthog is delivered safely, and you’re going to walk the fuck away from the Burning Saints. You made your move and you failed. You underestimated us, and you won’t get a second shot. If you make one more move in our direction, we’ll know about it and we’ll end you and your fucking club. Do you understand me?”

“Once again, it’s you who doesn’t understand. I’ll walk away for now, and I’ll let your man go, but if you think this is over between us, you’re crazy.” He shifted his gaze to Cutter. “I gave you the three million, and I want your book in return. If it’s not delivered to me, you’re going to be praying the cancer kills you before I do.”

With that, he and a bloodied Crush turned and walked towards the south entrance.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I said to Cutter. Tucking the gun and Viper’s cell phone back into my jeans, we grabbed the bags and briskly walked back to the van where Clutch and Grover were waiting.

“Any problems?” Clutch asked as we entered the van.

“Easy as pie,” I said.

“Glad to hear it. You, took a little longer than—” Clutch did a doubletake. “Is that blood all over you?”