Wolfman is Back

by Dwayne Clayden

  Brad parked outside the emergency entrance and rushed toward the trauma rooms. As he passed the triage desk, a nurse said, “Can I help you?”

  Brad showed his badge and kept walking.

  “You can’t go back there,” the nurse said.

  He continued down the hallway. Dixon stood outside a trauma room.

  Brad watched the emergency staff buzz over Devlin. From where he stood, Brad could see Devlin’s face bruised and bloated beyond recognition. Bruises and scrapes showed on his exposed chest. An alarm sounded. Activity around Devlin increased. He heard someone say tension pneumothorax. He knew what that was, and it wasn’t good. They assisted Devlin’s breathing and put a tube into his chest. Activity slowed.

  Brad’s jaw clenched, his gut tightened, and he opened and closed his fists. Five minutes with Wolfe. That’s all he needed.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Dixon looked over and shook his head. “He was roughed up pretty good. You can see the bruises to the ribs and stomach. Probably a few broken ribs. I think his face might’ve been smashed into the pavement a couple of times. His nose is broken, a couple of teeth are missing. The left arm looked broken. He was unconscious the whole time we had him. Docs say it’s highly likely that he has a bad concussion. Maybe a brain bleed, but they’re leaning more toward a concussion. That’s all we got. He’ll go for X-rays soon. Hopefully they know more when they get the X-rays back.”

  Shit. Brad pointed down the hall. “Can we go to the coffee room? I’ve got some questions for you.”

  Dixon nodded. They took seats in the coffee room.

  “What did you see when you arrived?” Brad asked.

  “We followed the first cruiser in,” Dixon said. “Before we got our kits out there were cops everywhere,” Dixon said. “The car doors were open. Devlin was lying on the pavement beside the passenger door. A couple of cops were kneeling next to him. He was unconscious. There was blood around his head.”

  “Where was he bleeding from?”

  “Most of it was from his face—nose and mouth, also from lacerations to his head. His pupils were uneven so we thought head injury right away. Thompson grabbed two cops and they helped him with the stretcher. We rolled him onto a spine board then onto the stretcher. We were getting ready to race to the General Hospital when you opened the back door.”

  “Did anything stand out as suspicious or out of place?”

  Dixon nodded. “Yeah. Both front doors were open, but Devlin was the only one there. I asked if there was another injured cop. The cops looked at each other, like there was something they weren’t telling me. One cop said, ‘No.’ That seemed weird, but Devlin was in bad shape, so we focused on him. Was there another cop injured?”

  Brad nodded. “Tina Davidson. We don’t know if she’s hurt, but she’s missing.”

  “Missing?” Dixon asked. “Like she walked away from the scene?”

  “No. We think she was kidnapped.” Brad pulled out a business card and handed it to Dixon. “You guys hear anything, anything at all, have dispatch page me.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Monday Late Afternoon

  Brad skidded his car to a stop, opened the door, and slammed it shut. He sprinted up the sidewalk. He pounded on the door and waited. No answer. He hit harder this time, and waited. Still no response. He battered on the door continuously until finally it opened.

  A burly Hells Angels biker filled the door and frame. “What do you want?”

  Coulter stepped close. “I need to talk to Pickens, now.”

  “Fuck you, he’s busy,” the biker said.

  Brad jabbed a finger into his chest. “Tell … Pickens … Coulter wants to see him now.”

  The biker stood his ground and stared back.

  Brad pulled out his badge and shoved it into the biker’s face.

  The biker smirked. “That doesn’t impress me.”

  Brad grinned. “No?” He drew his pistol and thrust it into the biker’s chest. “Does this impress you? How about we go inside and talk to Pickens, now?”

  The biker backed away and started down a hall. Brad followed. Other bikers, sitting around a table, started to get up. Brad swung his pistol in their direction. “Sit down.”

  They stopped, frozen in motion, and stared at Brad. Discretion being the better part of valor, they sat.

  Brad followed the biker to the end of the hall. He opened the door and stepped aside. Brad glanced into the room. Pickens sat at a desk.

  Brad smiled at the biker, said, “Thank you for your cooperation,” and stepped into the office.

  Pickens stood, jaw clenched, eyes ablaze, veins pulsing at his temple. “What are you doing here, Coulter?” His eyes dropped to Brad’s pistol. “Are you crazy? Walking into my clubhouse flashing a gun.”

  Brad smiled. “I asked nicely but your boy didn’t understand nice. So, I asked in a way he’d understand.”

  “Put the gun away,” Pickens said. “It’ll be best for your health. What the hell do you want?”

  “I came to talk to you about our friend, Wolfe. I thought we had a deal. I thought you were going to let me know when you found him. I thought you knew to let me take care of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Pickens said.

  “Bullshit. You found him and you sent guys to kill him.”

  This time Pickens grinned. “Coulter, you’re always making up crazy shit.”

  Brad holstered his gun and sat across from Pickens. “How about we start over. Tell me about Wolfe.”

  Pickens sat. “Okay, we found him.”

  “How?” Brad asked.

  Pickens grinned. “We’ve got better contacts than you. It wasn’t that hard when we put our minds to it.”

  “We had a deal,” Brad said. “You said you’d call.”

  Pickens leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “Yeah. I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind and ordered a hit on Wolfe,” Brad said.

  Pickens shook his head. “I’m not admitting anything. All I’m saying is we found him.”

  Brad leaned forward, eye to eye with Pickens. “Here’s what I think. Your story is good to a certain point. You put out the word. Your boys found him and tried to kill him. How did that work out?”

  Pickens swung forward in his chair. “Fuck you, Coulter.”

  “We both have a reason to want Wolfe dead. Tell me where he is.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What will your boys say if I asked them?”

  Pickens shook his head. “You know they won’t say shit. That’s the biker code.”

  “I want to know where he is,” Coulter said. “Get your boys out there again. Find him. Then call me.”

  Pickens stood and glared at Brad. “Not a fuckin’ chance. He made this personal. He killed my bodyguards. They were my closest friends—were with me from the start. Maybe you remember them from our first meeting. We are looking for Wolfe. When we find him, we will take care of our problem, and yours. I’m going to give you one minute to get out of my clubhouse. I’ll hold my boys off for one minute. After that, you’re fair game.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Monday Early Evening

  Brad peeled the police tape off the doorframe. He used Tina’s key and unlocked the door. He hadn’t been in the apartment for over four years. It looked the same—very clean, with a woman’s touch.

  Griffin followed Brad into the living room. “Any idea of what we’re looking for?”

  “No. I hope we know when we see it.”

  “Roger that. I’ll take the living room and kitchen.”

  Brad walked to the bathroom. Like the rest of the place, it was spotless. He opened the medicine cabinet and examined the contents. The usual stuff: Tylenol, Advil, birth control pills and a box of condoms with a few missing.

  For the few months they dated they’d always come to her place. He’d been surprised the first night they slept together by the variety and qu
antity of condoms. They’d done a pretty good job of testing out the various brands.

  He closed the medicine cabinet and walked to the bedroom. The bed was made with at least a dozen pillows. Nothing looked out of place, except … on her dresser a picture lay on its face. He turned it over. It was a picture of Tina and him from four years ago. They were dressed in western wear for the Stampede Rodeo. Her face glowed. He set the picture upright on the dresser then sat on the bed. He opened the top night table drawer—a few novels, a fashion magazine, and two Guns and Ammo. There were a few research papers, mostly from the FBI, about the science of criminal profiling, and a sleep mask. The bottom drawer contained more novels, more research papers and condoms. He closed the drawer. She wasn’t right for him, but she was an intelligent and beautiful woman. Even after they’d split, she remained devoted to him, something not lost on Maggie. She’d finally found a good guy. Brad could tell this was killing Zerr.

  Griffin walked into the room. “Nothing of interest out there. You find anything?”

  Brad nodded. “I feel like I’m intruding.”

  Griffin glanced at the photo. “I knew you two were friends, but it was more than that, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s from a long time ago. Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  “We have to find something to lead us to her. Maybe Wolfe sent her something, a threatening note.”

  “She would have told us—me, for sure,” Brad said.

  “Are you done in here?”

  “No. I haven’t checked the closet or dresser drawers. You take the closet.”

  Brad felt weird, creepy-weird, going through her underwear and clothes. He found an envelope. It contained more photos of them together. He suddenly had an ominous feeling trickle down his back, his chest tightened and his breath came in gasps. They weren’t going to find Tina alive.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Monday Late Night

  Zerr jumped out of the car and made a beeline for the Town & Country Bar. Steele sprinted after him. “Charlie! Charlie, slow down, buddy. Let’s talk about this.”

  Zerr ignored Steele and walked faster.

  “Come on, Charlie. Jeez, come on, buddy. I know you’re hurting but there’s no sense getting us killed.”

  “If there’s any killing, it’ll be by me.”

  Steele looked over his shoulder. Two marked cruisers pulled into the parking lot. When the officers got out, he frantically waved them over.

  Zerr burst through the door of the T&C and stopped, letting his eyes adjust to the dull light.

  Steele was at his side. “Okay, let’s slow down. Let’s look around and make a plan.”

  Zerr stared around the bar. His eyes came to rest on a group of Hells Angels in the far corner. “There they are.”

  “Slow down, big fella, slow down. There are about a dozen bikers there. You, me and …” He glanced back. Four rookies stood nervously about ten feet behind them. “Uh, you and me.”

  “Sounds about right,” Zerr said.

  “Now you sound like Coulter.”

  Zerr grinned. “That’s about right.”

  Zerr strolled over to the bikers, Steele hot on his heels. The rookies scrambled along behind, not sure what to do.

  Zerr looked down at the bikers. “Okay, motherfuckers. I’ve got one question and one question only. Answer my question, I leave. You don’t answer my question—things are going to get nasty.”

  The biggest, ugliest biker stood. “And who the fuck are you?”

  Zerr smiled. “Calgary Police.”

  “This is a biker bar. So, why don’t you and your buddy take your scared deputies out of here and go to your own club. What’s it called, the pig and whistle?”

  “That’s good,” Zerr said. “Really funny. All right, to the question. Where’s Jeter Wolfe?”

  The bikers looked at each other.

  The big guy said, “Don’t know nothing about a wolf. I heard a good story about werewolves. Was you looking for werewolves?”

  Zerr grinned and stepped toward the big biker. “You should be doing comedy. I’ll try again. Where is Jeter Wolfe?”

  The biker grinned. “Jeter Wolfe. He’s the Gypsy Joker that almost died a couple of years ago. Big head injury. Crazy motherfucker. Don’t know nothin’ about him.”

  Zerr stepped closer. “That’s weird. I heard he killed a couple of your boys. I thought you’d want to know where he is instead of hiding here. I thought you’d be out looking for him. Maybe you’re all scared and worried you’ll be next.”

  Red crept up the biker’s neck as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Look, pig, you need to leave now or this won’t end well.”

  Zerr grinned again. “I want that SOB. I don’t care how many of you I take down to find him.”

  The biker shook his head. “I got no beef with you, pig. I can’t help you. Why don’t you and your buddies get out of here and we’ll call it square. We’ll pretend like you never came here.”

  “That’s not going to work for me,” Zerr said. “That’s not going to work at all. You guys found him once and I think you’ll find him again. You know places he might be. Tell me and I leave or keep talking shit and we’ll have a problem.”

  The biker folded his arms across his chest. “Well, then I guess we got a problem.”

  Zerr’s left fist came in a fast uppercut. The biker’s head snapped back, his eyes rolled, and he collapsed to the floor. Eleven bikers were on their feet in an instant.

  Zerr squared off against the next closest biker and fired a couple of jabs to his head.

  Steele and the rookies were quickly surrounded by the other bikers. Too dangerous to draw their guns in the crowded bar—suicide to leave them in a holster.

  The bikers were content to let their friend duke it out on his own. Zerr was getting in some good shots but the biker was getting in just as many. Zerr’s head snapped back a couple of times as the biker connected with a left and a right, and then another left and right.

  Zerr staggered backward. Steele was sure Zerr was going to drop. His shoulders sagged and he wobbled on unsteady legs. Then Zerr stood tall, his fists flying and pounding the biker. He fell to the floor beside his buddy.

  The bikers enjoyed watching Zerr fight their man. But they weren’t accepting that their buddy lost.

  They turned on Steele and the rookies. The fight was on. The first biker stepped too close to Steele, who punched the biker once in the throat, collapsing his windpipe. The biker dropped to the floor, clutching his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  Another biker swung a beer bottle that glanced off the side of Steele’s head. He saw stars and his vision blurred. A second bottle crashed against the side of his head. A chair disintegrated on his back. He dropped to his knees.

  Through his blurred vision he could see the rookies fighting with the bikers, but they were no match. It was going to be a massacre.

  Steele pushed himself into a kneeling position and tried to stand but couldn’t. He collapsed onto the floor and rolled onto his back. When his eyesight cleared, he saw four big guys wailing away on the bikers. They looked like construction workers. In the distance, Steele heard sirens and then the bar was full of cops. Twenty or more.

  One of the construction guys lifted Steele off the floor and dropped him into a chair next to Zerr.

  A couple of the rookies stood, dazed. The others grinned through puffy lips and spit blood.

  The fight was over. The big construction guy was talking to Sergeant Briscoe, who was nodding his head.

  The bikers were cuffed and marched out. Paramedics rushed into the bar. Briscoe sent them over to Steele and Zerr.

  Steele turned to Zerr. “What the hell was that about?”

  Zerr looked back with two glazed eyes, dark circles already forming. “I thought if I took them down one at a time, we might have a chance.”

  Steele shook his head. “One at a time? You barely got two down.”

  “Yeah, w
ell—” Zerr’s grin was lopsided. “How many did you take out?”

  “One.”

  Zerr laughed. “I guess I’m ahead.”

  They stopped talking while the paramedics shone a light in their eyes, checked their grip, took blood pressures and pulses. The paramedics gave them ice packs for the bruises forming on their faces. Zerr got extra icepacks for his swollen knuckles. They cleaned a large cut on the back of Steele’s head and told him he’d need stitches.

  They leaned back in the chairs.

  “We didn’t get any information, did we?” Steele said.

  “Nope. Zero.”

  “Explain to me why we did this?” Steele asked.

  Zerr shrugged. “I had some frustration I needed to work out.”

  Steele nodded. “You got that out of your system?”

  Zerr smiled. “I think so. For now.”

  “What were you thinking?” a new voice boomed.

  They turned at the same time. Brad Coulter.

  “Hey, boss,” Steele said. “Good of you to stop by.”

  “Yeah, boss,” Zerr said. “It’s okay. We got it under control.”

  Brad shook his head. “Under control, my ass.” Brad nodded to the big construction guy. “You’re lucky these guys jumped in when they did.”

  Steele shrugged. “I guess we owe you guys big.”

  The construction guy nodded. “You owe us way more than that.”

  “Why?” Steele asked.

  “You screwed up a two-year undercover operation.”

  Brad’s eye grew wide. “What are you talking about?”

  “We’re narcotics undercover. I’m Mitchell. We’ve been working this bar for over two years. First it was a Gypsy Jokers and Satan’s Soldiers. Now it’s the Hells Angels. But the operation is busted.”

  Zerr’s head dropped. “Sorry.”

  “It was time to shut this down anyway.” Mitchell smiled. “This is the second time our operations have been interrupted by cops too big for their britches. The first time we didn’t have to intervene, so we kept our cover. This time we didn’t have a choice.”