Outlaw MC

by Dwayne Clayden

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Wednesday Morning

  Brad’s team huddled around a television on his desk. A press conference about the explosion and death of a boy had interrupted regular programming. The mayor finished and Collins addressed the press.

  He shuffled his papers. “The Calgary Police Service is bringing its full investigative capabilities to this investigation. I’ve had a team of officers working on the outlaw biker gangs for some time now. I have personally guided this team in their investigations and I have complete confidence they are close to making arrests.”

  “What a crock of shit,” Devlin said.

  Collins folded the papers and slid them into his tunic pocket. “I’ll take a few questions.”

  Several hands shot up. Collins pointed to a female CBC reporter. “Chief, are Calgarians safe?”

  “This attack specifically targeted Mr. LeBeau. The team I’m leading will have results soon.”

  “Are the RCMP involved in the investigation?” a reporter from CTV National News asked.

  “We welcome all assistance from other police forces, particularly in the area of investigation and evidence assessment.” Collins stood tall.

  Brad saw the confident smirk on Collins’ face. He figured this was going well—another question and he’d be done.

  Collins pointed.

  Brad shook his head. Stupid bastard.

  “Roger Kearse, CFCN news. The death of a young boy, is a tragedy. Mr. LeBeau was a member of the Satan’s Soldiers Outlaw Motorcycle Club. Did the Gypsy Jokers do this? Is Calgary in the middle of a biker war? Will you comment on that?”

  Collins cleared his throat several times and stretched his thick neck. “As I have stated, we have been working on this for some time —”

  “Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that you didn’t believe the biker gangs were a problem? That you have blocked investigations? Even though officers were injured in a botched raid you sanctioned.”

  Collins bounced back and forth on his feet. “This is a delicate matter and an internal operations issue. We don’t report on that.”

  “Your officers lack the support they need to deal with the biker gangs. They know Calgary is in a biker war—rival gangs are fighting each other for control of drugs, extortion, and prostitution. They’ve taken the war to the streets of Calgary. You’ve done nothing to stop the war and protect your cops, let alone citizens.”

  Collins pointed a fat finger at Kearse. “I don’t know where you get your information. I have personal contact with someone close to the clubs. The information I receive is invaluable.”

  Oh shit. What the hell? What is he thinking? Brad felt the blood drain from his face. The idiot had just jeopardized their investigation with those words.

  “What the fuck was he thinking?” Devlin asked.

  Trying to save his fat ass, Brad thought. “He wasn’t thinking.”

  “Does he know what he did?” Zerr asked. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

  “What an ass,” Devlin said. “Everything we’ve worked for, any progress we’ve made, gone up in fuckin’ smoke.”

  “Is he right?” Nichols asked. “Do we have someone inside?”

  “No, but statements like that get people killed,” Brad said. “If you think things are bad now, it’ll be worse—and soon. We’re gonna see the bodies pile up.”

  “He seemed sure we were getting inside information,” Nichols said.

  “He’s covering his fat ass.” Devlin shut off the TV. “He knows he fucked up with the botched raid. Now he’s saying he had something going all along.”

  “I don’t know,” Nichols said. “He kinda let that slip. He knows something we don’t know.”

  “Collins doesn’t know shit,” Brad said. “Devlin’s right. He’s saving his ass.”

  “What’re we going to do?” Steele glanced at Brad.

  “We wait,” Brad said. “Every club will scrutinize its membership and clean house. Anyone they’re suspicious of will die tonight.”

  “Why tonight?” Nichols asked.

  “They can’t afford to wait,” Brad said. “They need to stop the snitch now. Collins didn’t say which club had the informant.”

  “What if the guy they kill isn’t the snitch?” Nichols asked.

  “That won’t matter,” Brad said. “If one biker is killed, that will silence everyone.”

  “How far will they go?” Steele asked.

  Would Pickens be killed tonight? “Hard to say,” Brad said. “Maybe only one. Maybe more, who knows? If they get someone to confess, the bloodshed might be only that guy. Or that guy and his buddies.”

  “Will anyone confess?” Nichols asked.

  “You’d be surprised what people will confess to when tortured,” Devlin said. “After the first finger is cut off, they’ll start talking. After the second finger, they’d implicate their mom.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Felix Keaton shut off the TV in his office and surveyed the room. “That fuckin’ Deputy Chief says he has someone inside the clubs. I want to know who it is. Tell me now.” He pounded the desk.

  Pickens glanced at Wolfman, who glared at Pickens. Hammer stared at the floor. No one wanted to speak. No one made eye contact.

  The office was hot. Trickles of sweat rolled down Pickens’ neck. All his plans destroyed by a chief with a big fucking mouth. Someone needed to say something. Better to be the first and show confidence he didn’t have. “The chief didn’t say anyone in our club was a snitch. It could be the Soldiers.”

  “Or maybe not.” Keaton slammed his palm on the desk again. “Do I take a chance and do nothing?”

  “The cops are focusing on the Soldiers,” Wolfman said. “Someone is ratting them out. Not us. We don’t need to worry.”

  “Eventually the cops will come after us,” Pickens said.

  “Do you know something, Slim?” Keaton glared at Pickens.

  For a brief second, Pickens thought Keaton was on to him. His heart rate increased. Then he realized Keaton just wanted to know if Pickens had any updates from his contact inside the police.

  “No, I haven’t got anything yet.” Pickens avoided Keaton’s stare and shook his head. “I got feelers out, but it seems my guy inside isn’t getting any great information. He doesn’t know who’s tipping off the cops, or if anyone is. He’s still working on it.”

  “What if it’s one of us?” Wolfman asked. “Maybe Alf,”

  “Why Alf?” Keaton asked.

  “He’s always around when we meet,” Wolfman said. “He hears shit and is always scurrying around. He even looks like a rat. We send him on errands all the time.”

  “Sure,” Pickens said. “But he’s always with someone.”

  “Usually a fuckin’ prospect. Those guys are clueless. It’d be easy for Alf to slip a note to the cops or call them.”

  “He’s a homeless kid we took in but he’s not that smart.” Pickens liked Alf, but Pickens had to make sure he was beyond suspicion. To save Alf, he’d need to put forward another informant. It would be a death sentence.

  Pickens swallowed hard. “My money is on Denny Parker. He’s around most of our meetings. You use him as a driver a lot. He hears stuff discussed in the car.”

  “It ain’t Parker,” Keaton said. “I trust him. Get Alf in here.”

  Wolfman opened the door. “Alf, get in here.”

  Keaton pointed to a chair in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.” Keaton stepped in front of Alf, then leaned toward him. “We got a snitch in the club. We think it’s you. Anything to say for yourself?”

  Alf started shaking, his knee bounced, and he clenched and unclenched his hands. “Not me, boss. I do whatever you tell me. I don’t hear nothin’.”

  Wolfman punched Alf on the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Alf curled into a ball, sobbing. “Not me. Not me.”

  “When you do errands, do you meet wi
th the cops?” Keaton asked. “Phone them?”

  “I don’t do nothin’ wrong. I do what you say, that’s all.”

  “So, you’ve never met with the cops.”

  “No, well, sometimes they stop me and hassle me, but they let me go.”

  “You give them information and they let you go?”

  “No, nothin’ like that.”

  Wolfman swung a boot, striking Alf in the ribs. Alf cried out. Pickens helped Alf back into the chair. He was barely able to stay in the seat. Pickens put a hand Alf’s shoulder to hold him in the chair.

  “I’ll ask one more time.” Keaton was nose to nose with Alf. “Are you a snitch?”

  “No, I swe … swear.” Alf hugged himself and curled over, crying.

  Wolfman shoved Pickens, lifted Alf out of the chair, and threw him. Alf’s head hit the wall with a dull thunk, then he slid to the floor.

  Pickens wanted to help Alf, but he’d already done more than he should. He wouldn’t be lucky going against Wolfman a second time. But he couldn’t let this go on. “Wolfman. Leave the fuckin’ kid alone. You’re gonna kill him.”

  Wolfman grunted and swung around, face red and veins bulging. “Maybe you’re the traitor?”

  “Enough,” Keaton glared at Wolfman. “What the fuck was that? We needed a confession before you knocked him unconscious. Fuck, now we still don’t know who’s the traitor. Drag Alf out of here. Make sure the members see him. Then throw him in with the girls. They can look after him. Pickens, you and me will meet with the club. I’ll tell them we found a traitor.”

  “I don’t think it was Alf,” Pickens said.

  “Then Alf’s beating will scare the shit out of whoever it is,” Keaton said. “We’ve got another problem—Coulter. He’s sticking his nose into shit that doesn’t concern him. I can’t have that. We gotta protect our investment.”

  “I’d love to take care of that,” Wolfman said. “I’ll find out where he is.”

  Pickens wondered how he could get word to Coulter. Then he realized the cops would go crazy over a cop death. They’d come down hard on the bikers, both clubs, and that fit nicely with his plans. He didn’t like Coulter anyway. He could relate more to Devlin.

  Shamrock Hotel - Wednesday Night

  The waitress set a tray of draft beer and tomato juice on the table. She closed the door as she left the private room. They grabbed glasses.

  “Why’re we meeting here?” White asked. “Everyone else is at the T & C.”

  “We got a big problem,” Perrault said. “We got a rat in our nest. We can’t discuss that with everyone around.”

  “You worried about what that chief said?” Morales asked.

  “You got that right,” Perrault said. “There’s some strange shit happening. The cops are getting inside information. They knew about our drug shipment. We need to eliminate the leak. You got ideas?”

  “Our boys are loyal, boss,” White said. “The new guys don’t know shit. The other guys have been with us for a long time.”

  “Things change,” Perrault said. “Money talks. Who needs money? Who’s got a problem?”

  “Billy Wild had a gambling problem,” Hehn said.

  “What the fuck do you mean ‘had’?” Perrault asked. “Gambling doesn’t just go away.”

  “Well, he must be doing okay,” Hehn said. “He’s got a new hog.”

  “You think that means he’s doing okay?” Perrault slammed his empty glass on the table. “What? All of a sudden, he’s on a winning streak? That fuck couldn’t bluff a five-year-old out of lunch money. Why am I hearing of this now?”

  “Sorry, boss.” Hehn kept his head down.

  “I got this,” White said. “I’ll find out what he knows.”

  “All right.” Perrault relaxed and grabbed another beer. “The fuckin’ Jokers are a problem, too. We need to fuck with Keaton in a big way. That Eastern piece of shit doesn’t belong here. Take care of Wild, then we’ll make plans for the Jokers.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Wednesday Night

  Nichols glanced at the clock. Midnight. He swung his legs off the bed.

  Teri stirred. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to,” Nichols said. “I need some sleep. Gotta work tomorrow.”

  “Talk to me for a while,” Teri said. “That’s pretty scary about the snitches. Do you think the bikers will kill their own?”

  “Coulter and Devlin think so. I’d like to take a few of the bikers out myself.”

  “Do you know who the snitch is?”

  Nichols shook his head.“Coulter denies there’s a snitch. But he was upset the chief talked about an informant.”

  “I worry about you. I like to know you’re safe.” Teri kissed his cheek. “You know I love your stories. Your sergeant getting beat up was pretty funny.”

  “I wish I’d been there to see that.”

  “Stay a while.” She pushed him back onto the bed. “Please.”

  “Can’t, babe. You’ve exhausted me.”

  “I’ve got something to give you energy. A little cocaine.”

  “It’s tempting.”

  “Have you tried it before?”

  “I worked undercover in narcotics. I had to fit in. It’s different now with TSU.”

  “Come on, give it a shot.”

  The truth was, Nichols missed coke. It was the most fantastic drug he’d ever had. Police brass put their heads in the sand when it came to narcotics undercover. Officially, undercover cops were never to do drugs or commit any crime. The fact was, you had to get a little dirty to have any hope of nailing the scumbags. When he was undercover, he tried most of the drugs. Well, except heroin. No way was he touching that shit. Cocaine was fuckin’ amazing, though. The hardest thing he’d had to do was quit cold turkey. TSU did random blood tests. But his days with TSU were numbered.

  Teri sat up in bed and let the covers fall off. She put on her best pouty look. “Don’t be such a sissy. One snort. Maybe two. You’ll feel like a new man, and I’d like a new man right now.”

  Nichols stared at this gorgeous woman. He knew he wasn’t the best looking guy, and even with all the training in TSU, he had the start of a beer belly. Definitely not a six-pack. His hair was receding to the point of baldness and he’d developed a smoker’s cough from days undercover in the drug unit. He still smoked, but he hid that from the team. At his last physical, he’d barely passed. He was on probation until his fitness level improved. Whatever. Let Commandant Coulter get rid of him. This was the kind of workout he enjoyed.

  How could he say no? What the fuck. “Maybe one snort.”

  “Goody.” She jumped out of bed, tiptoed to the dresser and pulled out a small box. Nichols knelt by the night table as Teri cut the cocaine into lines. He snorted one line, then two. “Wow. That’s got some fuckin’ kick.”

  Teri giggled as she snorted two lines. “Are you energized, baby?”

  “Oh yeah,” Nichols said.

  “Great.” She jumped up off the floor. “I got us a few things to spice up our sex life. You sure you’re ready?”

  “Yeah.” Nichols watched Teri cross the bedroom to her dresser. He loved the way the butterfly tattoo above her ass seemed to fly as she walked.

  Chapter Fifty

  Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse

  0330 Hours Friday Morning

  Annie sat beside the bed, holding Alf’s hand. Sissy leaned against the wall, crying. Alf’s breathing was fast, and he often cried out in pain. He was in and out of consciousness. His skin white and sweaty.

  “We need to get him help,” Annie said. “A doctor or ambulance.”

  Sissy shook her head. “They won’t let anyone in here. Not a chance.”

  “We have to do something,” Annie said. “He’s dying. Why’d they do this? He’s harmless.”

  “They think he’s a rat, a snitch.” Sissy blew her nose.

  “I’m getting Slim.” Annie pushed off the bed and crossed the room. She pounded on the door but got no response.<
br />
  She pounded harder. Finally, one of the wannabe bikers opened the door. “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to Slim,” Annie said.

  “He’s sleeping.” The biker started to close the door.

  Annie stuck her foot in the doorway. “I need him now.” Annie sounded more confident than she felt. “If you don’t get him now, you’ll be in trouble later.”

  The biker hesitated.

  “Now,” Annie shouted.

  He closed the door.

  A couple of minutes later the door opened. “This better be good.” Slim stood in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, arms crossed.

  “Alf’s hurt. He needs a doctor.”

  Slim entered the room and walked to the bed. He stared at Alf, frowning. “How bad is he?”

  “Pretty bad,” Annie said. “He won’t wake up. His breathing is all wrong.”

  “Okay.” He unlocked the door with his key and opened it. “Get two more guys.”

  “What are you going to do?” Annie asked. “Are you calling an ambulance?”

  “Can’t have the paramedics come here.”

  Sharma parked the ambulance two blocks from the seniors’ center. Maggie grabbed the mic. “Dispatch, we’re waiting for the cops. Someone is lying on the ground. We need to go in.”

  “Negative Medic 2. Wait for police.”

  “Roger.” In the light from the streetlamp outside the seniors’ center, she could see someone lying on the sidewalk and a guy beside the patient. The guy standing spotted them and waved. She could hear his shouts through the open window.

  “Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck over here. He’s hurt bad.” The guy started toward them.

  “Oh, shit,” Maggie said.

  “I’m backing up,” Sharma said.

  Then they heard the siren. A black Suburban raced past, then braking tires squealed.

  “Dispatch, Medic 2. Police on scene. We’re going in.”