None So Deadly

by David A. Poulsen

  He gave me the address of a less than stellar motel in the northeast part of the city, the Big West Inn, Room 204. Then he hung up. No details. No reason for the “meeting” given.

  I thought about shaving and finding a fresh shirt but decided the kind of meeting that would take place in the Big West Inn required neither. I figured whoever was there would have to settle for clean.

  The drive took twenty-six minutes. By the time I got there, I was even less enthusiastic about the place than I had been just thinking about it. It was dumpier than I remembered. The exterior was a tapestry of chipped paint and cracked plaster, the parking lot littered with pages of ancient flyers, fast-food wrappers, and plastic containers of every shape and size.

  I ran up a set of outside stairs to the second floor and found room 204. Part of the 4 was missing but there was enough of it there to tell me it was the right room.

  I tapped on the door. No answer. I knocked again, louder.

  Cobb’s voice called out, “Yeah.”

  “It’s me,” I said. “I’m coming in.”

  “Yeah, come on.”

  I turned the handle on the door and pushed.

  The place was hazy — not cigarette smoke but something, I wasn’t sure what. It smelled of musty carpet, overripe bananas, and old sweat. Not a welcoming combination. I took two steps into the room. There were five people sitting around a table in the centre of the room. The table looked as if it might have been nice once — maybe when it had been part of the furnishings at one of Calgary’s first speakeasies.

  There were several beer bottles on the table. Poker night, it seemed. Cobb was at the far end; the chair at the end closest to me was vacant, presumably awaiting my arrival. I recognized a couple of the people at the table — I’d seen them in action before. They were former cops, one retired and one on disability. They were also fearless, as ruthless as the worst of the bad guys, and often well-armed. I nodded in their direction, received a nod from one, a near-smile from the other.

  I knew one more member of the gathering. Ike Groves, who preferred to be called “The Grover,” was an informant Cobb had used when he was still on the force and had kept in touch with. He now and again showed up on the payroll of Cobb’s private enterprise. The Grover was a slimy little worm with a permanent whine in his voice, but his intimate knowledge of life on the streets of the city made him occasionally pretty valuable. I wondered what the occasion was.

  There was a fifth guy at the table whom I didn’t know. He looked totally out of place — not geeky exactly, but a long way from macho. Three more guys, all really macho, were leaning against the wall to one side of the table. And there was someone else — someone I’d missed at first glance. A girl. She was sitting in a shadowy corner of the room drinking a Tim Hortons coffee.

  Cobb gestured at the vacant chair. “Introductions are in order. Let me do the honours,” he said. “Gentlemen, lady — this is Adam Cullen.” Cobb started with the geeky guy I didn’t know. “That’s Chip.” He pointed to the two ex-cops next. “You’ve met Frenchie and McNasty. And, of course, you know The Grover. Those three are Malibu, Taurus, and Patriot.” He paused, waiting for me to say something. I knew better. The introductions, of course, were useless. Clearly, Cobb either didn’t want the people in the room to know each other’s real names or he didn’t want me to know them. This was already feeling like one of those the less you know the better it is arrangements.

  When I didn’t respond, he continued. “As the conversation unfolds you’ll begin to understand what this is about. At the end, if you have questions, you can ask.” He looked from one to the other around the room, then said, “Grover, you’re up.”

  Ike Groves leaned forward, fidgeted for what seemed like a long time, pulled out a package of cigarettes, looked at Cobb and put them away. I was feeling nervous already, and nothing had been said so far. “What do you want me to say, man?”

  “What I want you to say, Grover, is exactly what we have been saying in this room for the last hour. I need my man here to get a feel for what we’re doing, and it will do the rest of us good to review it one more time.”

  More fidgeting. “I wasn’t planning on telling this to a whole shitload of people.”

  “Grover, there is exactly one person in the room that wasn’t here when we went through this earlier. Somehow that doesn’t feel like a shitload to me.”

  “Still, bro, I wasn’t planning —”

  “Plans change.”

  “Yeah, I guess … but —”

  “Look, Grover, I’m getting tired over here,” Cobb said in a low, cold voice. “Now we can cancel our arrangement and you can walk out of here, or you can start telling this whole shitload of people what we have been talking about.”

  The Grover nodded. I’d caught his act before, and I knew that Cobb would get what he wanted. The Grover knew it, too. He nodded a second time.

  “Okay,” he said. “Like I told you before, Rock Scubberd has a son from a previous lady. The kid’s name is Brock and he’s nineteen years old.”

  The bigger of Cobb’s associates — the one he’d introduced as McNasty — chuckled at that. “Rock’s kid’s name is Brock. Rock and Brock. That’s just fucking groovy.”

  The Grover didn’t react — stared straight ahead. I was never sure if Grover was as fucked up as he made out or if that was part of the act.

  “Turns out Brock likes ’em young. Like I said before, the younger the better. Been in a couple of scrapes because of it, but so far Dad and his boys have been able to convince people that pursuing things might not be a good idea. Up to now the kid’s managed to stay out of big trouble.”

  Grover hesitated and looked at Cobb like he hoped he was finished.

  “Tell us again about his MO for his … activities,” Cobb prompted.

  “Mondays and Thursdays every week, like clockwork. He’s got a couple of connections, punks who wanna be tough guys. They find the girls for him. Usually kids that’re messed up on something and will do pretty much anything to get either a couple of hits or some money to make a buy. Pretty simple stuff. The guy that brings the girls most often is a guy named Ernie. Don’t know the last name. Don’t even know if he’s got one. There’s another guy, but most of the time it’s Ernie.”

  “And Brock has a place where all this goes down.”

  “Yeah, he’s got this little house in Ramsay.”

  Cobb held up a piece of paper. “Address and map. Everyone here has one.” He tossed the page across the table to me. “Now you do, too. Sorry to interrupt, Grover. Please continue.”

  “A girl, sometimes more than one, is brought there and they party a while with Brock; then the tough dudes take the girls back to wherever they want to go, and the kid goes off home like he’s been at the movies or something.”

  “The old man know about his party pad?”

  The Grover shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “And when the party’s over, he always goes home.”

  “I can’t say that for sure. I’m not there watching what’s going down. But from what I’ve been able to learn, it seems like that’s the way it happens, yeah.”

  “And does he ever go there at any other time? Just to hang out … anything like that?”

  “Again I’m told no. The living room is set up for his … romantic inclinations. The bedroom is storage so there’s no real reason for him to be there when he doesn’t have a girl there.”

  I glanced over at the girl drinking coffee. She looked like she was paying attention but like what she was hearing was no big deal.

  Cobb looked at me. “My friend Grover here is far too modest. The truth is he’s been watching the place — with a little help from his friends — and everything he’s said here is good information. I know because I’ve checked it out myself. With a little help from my friends.”

  I thought I saw Frenchie and McNasty move their heads up and down a little, but I couldn’t be certain.

  Now Cobb looked aroun
d the table. “I’ve told all of you that there’s a time crunch, so this has to happen Monday night.” He turned his gaze back to me. “I wasn’t intending to involve you, but we lost one member of the cast, so the understudy has to step in. On Monday night you will arrive at Brock’s party pad with Pink here.” He indicated the girl.

  “Pink?”

  “Is an entertainer. Dances to Pink’s songs. Thus the name. Pink does other things to entertain her clients, and for the record is twenty-one years old —”

  “Twenty-two,” Pink interrupted. “It was my birthday Monday.”

  “Happy birthday,” Cobb said. “Of course, what is of particular interest to us is that, as you can see, Pink looks fourteen. Right up Brock’s alley. Turns out The Grover is a man of many interests. Among other things, he does a little pimping — Pink is one of his ladies.”

  “I dislike that term,” Grover’s whiny voice intervened. “I see myself as a business manager. And I want you to take good care of my baby when she’s in there.”

  “I think it’s fair to say she’ll be a lot safer with us looking after her than in some of the situations you put her in.”

  Grover opened his mouth to answer but changed his mind and closed it again. I studied the girl named Pink. She didn’t seem to mind or even notice that she was being referred to in the third person. In fact, she’d stopped paying attention and had pulled out her phone.

  Cobb spotted her out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry, you can’t use that in here. No calls, no texts.”

  She looked at him, shrugged, and put the phone away. She picked up a travel magazine that lay on the table beside her. I didn’t see Pink planning a European vacation anytime soon. Vegas maybe? But I knew I was being unfair in thinking that way. She looked up at me at just that moment and I smiled at her. The smile wasn’t returned. I didn’t blame her.

  Cobb turned his attention back to the table. “Everything will be as usual as far as Brock knows. He’s a creature of habit, so it’s best if everything happens the way it always does.”

  He nodded in my direction. “Except that in place of Ernie, who’s under the weather at present, it’ll be you making the delivery.”

  McNasty chuckled again at that. I had an idea that it would be a while before Ernie was out from whatever weather he was under.

  “You will drive Pink to the house and walk her up the sidewalk to the door,” Cobb continued. “Brock will hand you some money; you turn and leave. And you’re done. The house will be wired and there will be a couple of cameras. By the way, I’ve been in the house and his computer is loaded with kiddie porn. Bad stuff, the kind that could get him behind bars for a long time. With that and Pink’s performance, we’ll have all we need and more.”

  It was starting to come together in my mind. It was a con. And once we had all the damning evidence on Brock, I was sure there’d be a meeting with his father and maybe Mrs. Scubberd, too.

  Cobb turned to Pink. “You know at what point you call out?”

  She nodded.

  “And what exactly will you say?”

  “We’ve been through this,” she complained. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “And I’m not suggesting that you are,” Cobb said gently. “What would be stupid is if we did this without sufficient preparation. What exactly will you say?”

  “I’m supposed to say, ‘I’m only fourteen. You can’t do that to me.’ Then I scream, ‘Please don’t.’”

  Cobb nodded and said, “Good. That’s perfect.” He turned then to the two ex-cops I’d met before. They didn’t need prompting.

  Frenchie, the smaller of what Cobb liked to call his “operatives” — I knew from previous encounters that he was French Canadian — spoke next. “We’ll be in the car across the street and down a few houses. We move on the word fourteen. We hit the door when she screams. Once in the house, he takes Scubberd,” he nodded to his partner, “and I get the computer and Pink and we’re out the door.”

  The bigger operative, McNasty for this operation, added, “I get Scubberd dressed and out to the car.”

  Cobb looked at the three guys leaning against the wall. “That’s you, Taurus.”

  The middle guy, who didn’t look much older than Pink, nodded. “Got it. The minute they’re out of their car, I do a U-turn and pull up in front of the house. I’ll be there.”

  Grover leaned forward. “The kid ain’t no pussy. He’s not going to be easy to get to that car.”

  McNasty spoke again. “I’ll get him to the car. The boss said he has to be alive. He didn’t say anything about being gentle. If he gets ugly with me, I won’t be gentle.” A pause. “When we get to the car, I put him into the back seat and I get in beside him. We drive away.”

  Frenchie picked it up at that point. “Pink and I get into the second car, the Malibu.” Another nod from another of the guys leaning against the wall. “I deliver Pink to Grover, who will be waiting for us about a mile from Scubberd’s house. In front of the Old Shamrock Hotel.” He patted a pocket. “Once Pink is back with Grover, my chauffeur and I bring the computer back here.”

  Chip spoke up then. “As soon as everybody’s out of the house, that’s when I go in. I figure I need ten minutes, fifteen at the most to pull down the technology. As soon as I’m loaded, I’m out of there. I join you in the van.”

  “Where I’ll be in the back calling the show,” Cobb said.

  Calling the show. Very theatrical. Which was in keeping with how carefully scripted all this sounded.

  Cobb continued, looking at Chip. “We take you around the corner to where the last car — Patriot — is waiting. Your driver will bring you straight back here.”

  McNasty spoke again, looking at Cobb. “I get a call from you on my cellphone. I sound very concerned. When the call is over, I tell the kid there’s been a fuckup, apologize all over the place and we take him back to the house. Once he’s out of the car, I leave and we all meet back here and drink some beer.”

  “You drink beer,” Chip said. “I process the video and the audio and pull what we need off the computer. Once you have that in hand, I’m out.”

  “Good,” Cobb said. “Any questions?”

  Frenchie said, “Any way of knowing if the kid will be packing? And what do we do if he is?”

  “The scenario as it unfolds will have Brock naked, so even if he’s carrying, the weapon won’t be on his person, so to speak. And if when you guys hit the door, he dives for his gun, you do what you need to do. But he comes out of there alive. Is that clear?”

  “I can probably help with that part,” Pink said. “I’ll make sure he’s … busy at the moment you guys come into the house.”

  “Good.” Cobb nodded. “More questions?”

  “I have a few,” I said. “But I guess they can wait.”

  “Anybody else?”

  There was general shaking of heads. “Okay. We meet here at eight p.m. Monday. I want everyone ready to roll so we’re at Brock’s house at nine. That’s when Ernie normally brings the girls. Eight o’clock,” he repeated. “Clothing, cars, weapons, everything ready. We good?”

  This time there was nodding in unison. Slowly they made their way out of the place. Grover and Pink were the last ones to leave. Grover turned back to look at Cobb, like he wanted to say something. He must have thought better of it. He turned, took Pink by the arm, and they were gone, leaving Cobb and me alone in the room. I went to the fridge, pulled two beers out of the box that was the only thing in there. I sat back down, pushed one of the bottles across the table to Cobb. I opened mine and took a long pull.

  I didn’t know whether to be pissed off or run over and give him a hug. I settled for somewhere in the middle. “How much is this little production costing you?”

  He shrugged, drank some beer. “Actually, not that much. I called in some favours, reached out to some people I know, and bingo, we’re ready to perform. I think I’ll call it All’s Well That Ends Well.”

  “I believe that name’s take
n.”

  He laughed. “Damn.”

  I set my beer down. “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too many moving parts. Too many people involved. If there’s even one fuckup, the thing becomes Macbeth in a hurry.”

  Cobb raised his eyebrows.

  “Cursed,” I said.

  “Anything else?” Cobb’s face had turned dark, rigid.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Mike. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. And if it works it’ll get the MFs off my back forever. Nothing would make me happier, believe me. But I don’t want a whole lot of people put in harm’s way to get me out of a mess I created for myself.”

  Cobb looked at me for several seconds before answering. “I get that, Adam. And that is exactly what is uppermost in my mind. Nobody in this wants to get hurt. And everybody knows exactly what they have to do to make it work.”

  “Not everybody.”

  Cobb smiled at that.

  “Your role will be minimal.”

  “It doesn’t feel minimal.”

  He went through it again. “You and Pink pull up in front of the house. You walk her up to the door. When Brock answers the door, you say Ernie couldn’t come and he sent you. You wait for him to give you the money for Ernie and you ask him what time he wants you to come back for her. He’ll tell you that and you turn and leave. You get back in the car and you drive away.”

  “Uh-uh. Once I leave the house, I want to be in the van with you and Chip … the command centre. I want to see how this goes down.”

  Cobb started to shake his head. I held up my hand. “That’s not negotiable. I want to be there.”

  Cobb closed his eyes, then opened them, nodding slowly. “Okay, we can do that.” He pointed to the map. “When you get in your car after you leave the house, you continue straight down the street and turn right at the first intersection, then take the next right and then right again. In other words, you drive around the block. Park on the side street immediately west of the house.” He pointed again. “The van will be a couple of houses east of Brock’s pad in front of the corner vacant lot. We’ll be able to listen to what’s going on in the house. If it seems that Scubberd might be coming out of the house or looking out the window for some reason, I’ll put my foot on the brake pedal. If, when you come around the corner, you see brake lights, you don’t approach the van; turn around and retrace your steps back to your car.”