None So Deadly

by David A. Poulsen

  She rapped on the door to let the guard know the interview was over. As he opened the door, she smiled at us a last time. I nodded to her and she was gone.

  Cobb’s business card still lay on the table.

  “This doesn’t feel like a win,” I said.

  Cobb and I were sitting in Ric’s Lounge and Grill in the Sheraton Four Points Hotel in northeast Calgary. We were working our way through a plate of nachos and listening to Justin Bieber’s “Purpose” on the house sound system.

  Cobb took a sip of his Caesar and shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So, what now?”

  “You heard the lady. We’re out. Our client has been cleared.”

  “So we just let a woman we know is innocent go to jail.”

  “If you can think of a way we can keep that from happening without breaking our word to Rachel Claiborne, I’m all ears.”

  I shook my head. “I wish I had even the makings of an idea.”

  “Me too.” He looked at me over his glass, a nacho in hand. “You okay for tonight?”

  I shrugged. “You want the truth? I’m scared to death. I’m scared something will go wrong and somebody, maybe several somebodys, could get hurt. Maybe hurt bad. But it’s a little like the situation with Mrs. Claiborne; I don’t have a better idea. And I’m willing to try almost anything to get the MFs out of my life.”

  Cobb nodded. We ate some more nachos and I drank some of the Rickard’s Red I had barely touched.

  “You really believe this can work?”

  There was no hesitation. “Obviously, I think it will work. But if you’re wanting a guarantee, I can’t give you that. All I can tell you is that I’ve been through the thing a hundred times in my mind, including all the things I think can go wrong, and I believe this will happen as I’ve laid it out.”

  I held up my glass and he tapped it with his. “Mike, I haven’t been nearly grateful enough. And that’s bullshit. What you and everyone else are doing tonight is because of my screw-up. Don’t think I don’t know that and don’t appreciate it.”

  Cobb nodded and glanced at his watch. “Monday, Monday.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the song you want to be our theme music for this operation. There’s a line in there about not trusting that day.”

  “I guess I was thinking of another line. Besides, what do you know? You’re the Canadian music guru. You’re not supposed to know anything about the Mamas and the Papas.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Denny Doherty was Canadian. Maritimes, maybe, I’m not sure.”

  “And Denny Doherty, I take it, was one of the Papas?”

  “Check.”

  Cobb drained his Caesar. “I should have known better than to doubt you.”

  “Canadian music guru,” I said. “Not a particularly marketable skill.” I pushed my beer away, thinking too much to enjoy it.

  Cobb saw the gesture and nodded. “I say we get out of here and grab a nap before the big show. It might be a long night.”

  We both threw money on the table and headed out to Cobb’s Cherokee. On the way back to the office and my car, neither of us talked and he kept the radio off. Alone with our thoughts, and in my case a prayer or two.

  THIRTEEN

  I got to the motel a little early, but I wasn’t the first one there. A voice answered my knock with, “Yeah, who is it?” I said my name (Cobb hadn’t given me a nickname) and the door opened. I walked in and nodded to McNasty, who had opened the door. He returned the nod and his mouth made some of the motions associated with smiling. He stepped back and I followed him into the room.

  Cobb was at the same place he’d been when I was there previously. He had a school-type notebook on the table in front of him and was making notes. Frenchie was also there, leaning forward and studying whatever Cobb had written or drawn on the page.

  There was tension in the room. I wouldn’t say they were nervous, but it was far from a relaxed atmosphere. Cobb looked up at me. “Adam, how are you?” His face tried a little harder on the smile and was more successful. “Have a seat, there’s coffee and doughnuts if you feel like either.”

  “I think I’m good,” I said and took the same seat I’d had the last time.

  “There’s one change to the plan. I’ll fill you in before the rest of them get here.”

  “Okay,” I said and looked at each of Cobb’s men, neither of whom gave any indication that anything was amiss.

  “When you leave the house after you drop off Pink, you don’t get in the van that’s in front of the party house.” He held up a crude, hand-drawn map. “That van will be there, but I want you to drive one block farther east and turn left. You’ll see another van parked on the side street almost at the corner. You park your car, get out, and walk down the street away from the van; then cross the street and walk back to the van. You climb in the side door of that van.”

  “I said I wanted to be in the command centre.”

  Cobb nodded. “And you will be. Chip and I will both be in there along with Jean-Luc … uh, Frenchie, once he drops off Pink with Grover and joins us with the computer in hand.”

  The little French Canadian laughed and wagged his finger at Cobb’s gaffe.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Who’s in the other van?”

  “Nobody.”

  I didn’t say anything but my face must have given away my confusion.

  “It’s a decoy,” Cobb said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Decoy to do what?”

  “It’s just precautionary. I told you the other day I believed everybody would do what they’re supposed to. But just in case they don’t, we have a little backup plan.”

  It wasn’t hard to guess who the weak links in this chain were. “You think Grover and Pink might pull something?”

  “I can’t say,” Cobb admitted. “I think Pink is okay, but Grover …? If he tries anything I want to be ready.”

  I had a few more questions, but they remained unanswered as the other players in Cobb’s production began to arrive. Once everyone was there, Cobb went around the room again, asking everyone if they were clear what they had to do and if they had any questions. I spent some time looking at Grover, but there was nothing that indicated he was anything but a team guy. No one had questions. I noticed that Pink had chosen clothes and a small amount of makeup that, if anything, made her look even younger. My disgust for Brock Scubberd rose another notch.

  They stood around in groups of two or three, some drinking coffee and talking in low voices. The doughnuts went untouched. Nervous stomachs, maybe. I knew mine was. Chip went from person to person, attaching tiny microphones and earpieces. Pink and I didn’t get the earpieces. Grover didn’t either.

  “What the fuck?” he whined. “I need to know what’s goin’ down, for Chrissake. My baby’s gonna be in there and I need …”

  He stopped talking then because Cobb had risen out of his chair and walked to where Grover was sitting, Pink to his left.

  “You need nothing,” Cobb’s voice was low and slow and it was the only sound in that room. “You don’t need to hear anything, and you sure as hell don’t need to talk to anybody. Including right now, Grover. You understand what I’m saying to you? All you have to do is be sitting in your car in front of the Shamrock when Frenchie arrives with Pink.”

  Grover’s eyes narrowed and for a brief moment it looked like he might challenge Cobb. He wisely decided against it. He gave a brief nod and leaned back in his chair to create a little more distance between himself and Cobb.

  It wasn’t long before Cobb looked at his watch and said, “Okay, cellphone ringers off.” He waited until everyone had complied. “All right, let’s go.”

  He didn’t want everyone to leave at once, so again we filtered out in ones and twos. Pink and I were the last ones to leave. By the time we got to my car, everyone else had left the motel’s parking lot. Except Cobb and Chip. Cobb stepped to the driver’s side window. I opened it.
r />   He looked at his watch. “What time have you got?” I looked at the car’s clock. “Eight thirty-seven,” I said.

  “Okay, at a quarter to, you head out. You don’t have to rush but don’t dawdle either.”

  I nodded, preferring not to ask my voice to do anything just then. “Good luck,” Cobb said. He crossed the parking lot to his Jeep. Seconds later he and Chip were gone.

  Pink opened her window and lit a smoke. Normally I’d have asked her not to light up in the car, but I decided to let it go. As the clock hit a quarter to, she tossed the cigarette out into the parking lot and I started the car.

  Once we were on the street, she said, “Full tank. Good idea.” It was the first time she’d spoken directly to me.

  “Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t be good to run out of gas tonight.”

  Neither of us said anything more after that and we kept the radio off, the car’s engine the only noise around us.

  As we drove by the last cross street before Brock Scubberd’s house, I saw the decoy van sitting in front of the empty lot on the corner.

  Scubberd’s party pad was the third house in.

  The house between Scubberd’s and the corner lot was boarded up. On the other side of the Scubberd house, another older bungalow, not very different from the party house, was dark. I hoped the residents, if there were residents, weren’t home. The fewer people around to see what would be happening over the next hour or so, the better. Farther down the block, there were lights on in some of the houses, but no one outside that I could see. There were a few cars parked on the street and in a couple of driveways. In one of them, I knew McNasty and Frenchie were waiting and watching.

  I eased to the curb in front of Scubberd’s. I decided to shut the car off, not wanting to appear to Scubberd too eager to get out of there. I looked over at Pink. “You ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, let’s do this.”

  We climbed out and she waited for me until I came around the car; then we walked the rest of the way to the house together, up two steps to a concrete landing with an iron railing on the sides. Scubberd opened the door before we could knock or ring the bell. That threw me a little. That wasn’t how I’d rehearsed it in my mind. He stood at the door, dressed in jeans and a Mötley Crüe T-shirt. He was scowling at me.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Ernie couldn’t make it tonight. He asked me to bring her.”

  “What do you mean he couldn’t make it? He didn’t say anything to me.”

  I shrugged. “Shit, I don’t know. He just called and told me he had something he needed me to do. I didn’t ask no questions.” I grinned stupidly in the direction of Pink and he looked at me for a couple of seconds longer, then switched his attention to her.

  “Well, well, aren’t you just the sweetest little piece ever. What’s your name, baby?”

  “My friends call me Pink,” she said.

  “Pink.” Scubberd chuckled at that. “Well, I certainly plan to be your friend … Pink. You better come inside. It’s chilly out here.” He looked up and down the street, checking maybe to see if anyone was watching.

  He held out his hand, stuffed a couple of bills into mine. “You tell Ernie that I’m going to kick his sorry ass next time I see him. And” — he glanced again at Pink, but he was talking to me — “you can come back at midnight. I might just want to take a little extra time tonight.”

  I nodded, and as Scubberd stepped back to let Pink inside, I turned and walked back to the car, willing myself not to look around, especially not back at the house. I got in the Accord, started it, and drove off, following Cobb’s instructions, rolling one more block east before making the left. As I did, I saw the second van in place. I drove halfway down the street and parked on the opposite side. I got out, locked the car, and walked up the street away from the van. Then I crossed over and strolled back, trying hard for the look of someone taking his evening constitutional and enjoying the walk.

  When I got to the side door of the van, I tapped. Chip slid it open and I climbed inside, pulling the door shut behind me. Chip turned away and began fidgeting with a couple of dials on a receiver. There was a small screen set up so that both he and Cobb could watch it. Both were wearing sophisticated-looking headsets with attached microphones.

  Cobb was sitting in the driver’s seat, but had it swung around so he was facing the back of the van. He was looking at the monitor. “He’s just poured her a drink,” he said. “I don’t think his MO has included date-rape drugs, but be ready. If it sounds like she’s starting to lose consciousness, we may have to move — no, there she is, I’ve got her now. She’s telling him that she wants to be a Hollywood actress. I can’t see her, but she sounds pretty convincing. Okay, everybody listen now. Everybody focus.”

  He looked at me then and gave a thumbs up. Chip handed me a headset.

  The first voice I heard was that of Brock Scubberd. “Okay, baby, I think it’s time you and me got a little better acquainted.” There was the sound of people moving, I couldn’t see the monitor but guessed he was kissing her and clothing was coming off. “Oh, baby, you look good, you look real good. This is gonna be a night both of us are gonna remember for a long time.” More rustling noises. Lasted a little longer this time. “Oh, yeah, that’s good, this is gonna be so good. Okay, baby, my turn now. Oh, you wanna do that. Aren’t you a bad girl. Hey now, easy with that shirt … that’s first-class material right there, just like what’s inside the shirt … and especially what’s inside the pants. Oh yeah, you come here.”

  Then Pink spoke, the first time I heard her. “Hey, handsome man, what’s that?”

  Scubberd answered. “Just one of the tools of the trade, baby, nothing for you to worry about.”

  “It scares me. Not too close, okay. Can you put it over there?”

  I’d moved to where I could see the screen. The camera was behind Scubberd, so we were seeing only his bare back. He was blocking Pink from view. Scubberd moved out of view for a few seconds, then returned.

  “Thanks, honey,” Pink said. “That’s better.”

  “Good girl,” Cobb said. “She’s letting us know that the gun is a little ways away from them. Shouldn’t be long now.”

  “For you, baby, anything.” Scubberd’s words were slightly slurred, perhaps an indication he was on something, or a combination of things. “Now let’s get those little guys off and you and me gonna have some fun the Brock way.” More rustling, accompanied by some moaning this time.

  Cobb said, “What about the other camera? Can we bring it up on the monitor?”

  Chip shook his head. “It’s recording, so we’ll have the pictures, but I couldn’t set it up to go back and forth between cameras. I had to pick one. Looks like I picked the wrong one.”

  “This is fine.”

  We could see that they were both naked now and Scubberd was on her, moaning and grunting. Not a gentle lover. Then the monitor went black.

  “What’s wrong?” Cobb said.

  “Not sure,” Chip answered. “I’m hoping it’s the monitor and not the camera.”

  “See if you can get it back.”

  “On it,” Chip said, working furiously at a keyboard and what looked like a small mixer board.

  “Okay, everybody, we’ve only got sound for the moment,” Cobb said.

  A couple of minutes passed before either of them spoke again. It was Pink. “Hey, baby, that hurts, don’t be too rough, okay?”

  “Rough is how this game is played, sugar.” There was an unidentifiable noise, then what sounded like a slap or a punch. Then I heard a groan — someone in pain. I looked at Cobb.

  He had both hands on the headset and he was staring at the floor, every part of him concentrating … straining to hear more.

  “Come on, Pink … come on,” he hissed into the mic that he knew she couldn’t hear.

  “Hey, I’m —” Pink’s voice cut off by the ugly sound of someone hitting again, of someone else being hit. And the g
roan was lower, weaker.

  “She’s hurt. She can’t do it. She can’t say it. Go. Now! Go, go, go!”

  I looked through the windshield and could see the house on the next block. From one of the cars across the street and down a few houses, two figures hit the pavement running. I picked up a pair of binoculars from the front seat and was able to train them on McNasty and Frenchie as they sprinted for the house. And even from here I could see they both had their guns drawn. McNasty took the stairs first and without breaking stride aimed a kick at the lock side of the door. It crashed open and they disappeared inside, the little French Canadian closing the door behind them.

  From that point on it was back to the audio feed.

  “What the fuck do you think you—?” That’s as far as Scubberd got. I guessed that McNasty had either hit him or kicked him and Scubberd had gone down or at least been silenced.

  The silence was momentary. “You stupid fucks. Do you know who I am? Do you know who my old man is? You assholes are the other side of dead and —”

  Again the sound of fist contact. Hard contact, followed by a loud groan. “Now you listen, you piece of shit.” It was McNasty, and he was almost growling. “You see what I’m holding? You feel that against your head? Now, my orders are to get you out of here and into that car that’s outside. But the orders don’t say if I have to deliver you dead or alive. I’d prefer dead, so if you open your mouth one more goddamn time, I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.”

  “What about Pink?” Cobb said into the mouthpiece.

  “She’s okay,” I heard Frenchie say, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We’re just getting her covered up, and we’ll be ready to go in a couple of minutes.”

  McNasty spoke again, barking out an order. “Okay, motherfucker, get your pants on, and if you even think about reaching for that piece, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

  The only talking after that was Cobb’s man directing Scubberd. “Now the shirt … your shoes, asshole, get your shoes and put them on. Now.”