by Garry Ryan
Keely nodded. “All okay.”
Lane looked east toward the traffic whispering down the hill and into the river valley. Beyond that, a vehicle accelerated. The silver sedan growled up the incline.
He waited. The noise of the accelerating vehicle faded.
Keely asked, “You okay?”
A quartet of cars slipped down the hill. He heard them push through the air. You’re dropping into the valley. Into Moreau’s territory. For an instant, the darkness folded over him. He found it difficult to breathe. He saw another body. A pair of cowboy boots. A tattoo on an arm. Lane closed his eyes and breathed.
Keely said, “My dad was happy to hear from me.”
“Good.”
“The message is clear,” Keely said.
“Which message is that?”
“Moreau’s message. We’re supposed to back off because we’re getting too close. Pike got killed and it spooked Moreau. That’s the message he sent us.” Keely looked in the direction of the traffic. “What are you looking at?”
Lane shrugged. “Nothing.”
“What will you do to Moreau?” Keely asked.
“First we get Matt and Jessica back, then . . .” Lane started and then found he could not complete the sentence.
“What’s the next step?”
“I need to get some money out of the bank.” Lane walked to the car.
Keely followed. “What’s the money for?”
Lane got into the car and waited.
Keely got in behind the wheel.
“I need to buy some phones.” Lane put on his seat belt.
“What’s the plan?”
“Communications that can’t be traced.” Lane’s phone rang. He plucked it from his pocket.
“Uncle Lane?” Christine asked.
“Yes.” There’s terror in her voice.
Keely accelerated and headed toward the city centre.
“What’s wrong?” Christine asked.
“Tell me what happened.” Lane watched the speedometer as Keely accelerated to one hundred.
“Somebody phoned Uncle Arthur.”
Keely passed a truck pulling two trailers. The roar of the diesel engine momentarily filled the inside of the Chev.
“Well?” Lane asked.
Christine’s words came out in a rush. “He said, ‘Tell your boyfriend to back off.’ What’s it mean? We tried to phone Matt, but he’s not answering.”
Lane looked at his watch. “I’ll be home in less than an hour. Are Dan and Arthur there with you at home?”
“Yes! And Roz too.”
“Stay at home. Lock the doors. I’m on the way,” Lane pressed end, dialed a number and put the phone back to his ear. “McTavish?”
“That’s correct.”
Lane recognized the deep baritone. “Lane here. I need a patrol car at my home. Officers you can trust.”
“Right away, Detective Lane. What’s happened?” McTavish asked.
“Someone’s abducted my nephew.” Lane pressed end.
After a brief stop at a bank machine, Lane returned with a wad of cash. He stuffed the bills into his jacket pocket. When he got into the car he said, “Take me home.”
“How are you keeping so cool?”
“I’m not.”
Keely frowned. “You could have fooled me.”
“I have to focus on the moment and getting them both back. If I think about anything else . . .” Lane looked out the window. “Just get me home.”
Keely looked ahead as the light turned. “We need to talk with Saadiq.”
“Who?” Lane asked.
“Shit! Saadiq, my brother. Do you need a driver or a partner?” Keely closed her mouth before she could say more.
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you going to let me in on your plans?”
Lane took a breath as rage threatened to engulf him. Think!
“Saadiq can help with the phones, and we can trust him. My brother has some friends.”
“Some friends?” We can’t let too many people in on this.
“Yes, people he trusts. People who know about Moreau and want to see him fall.”
“Explain.”
“People like Moreau think they’re entitled because they’re born here. Moreau and his crowd don’t much like first- and second-generation Canadians like me.” Keely eased the car into the left lane and accelerated. “Some of us have a pretty good idea about what Moreau is up to because lots of immigrants clean his restaurants and empty his garbage. A few of us even do some of his dirtier work.”
“Saadiq’s friends work for Moreau?” Lane asked.
“One of them has a cleaning contract for one of Moreau’s restaurants.”
Lane looked at her. He tried to smile. “Can I be your partner?”
“After I drive you home, I’ll set up a meeting with Saadiq and his friends.”
“After that we have another man to meet.”
Fifteen minutes later, they walked into the front door of Lane’s home. Arthur met them at the front door. He was a wet towel wrapped around Lane.
Christine stared at them from the couch where she sat next to a wide-eyed Daniel.
Roz stood on her back legs and rested her paws on Lane’s thigh. She whimpered. He reached down and rubbed her behind the ears. Roz turned her head and licked the back of his hand. Her wagging tail twisted her off balance and she dropped back onto all fours.
“Where would they take Matt?” Arthur asked.
Keely answered. “That’s what we need to find out.”
Christine leaned forward to put her head in her hands. “They took Jessica too?”
“Looks like it,” Keely said.
Daniel put his hand on Christine’s back and rubbed between her shoulder blades.
“Harper wants you to get packed so we can get you somewhere safe,” Lane said.
Arthur stepped back from Lane. Christine lifted her head.
Arthur said, “I think we’ll stay here. We might as well be cooped up at home rather than someplace else. Besides, if we’re here, we can help you get them back.”
Mary sat in one of the women’s shelter’s second-hand rocking chairs and looked down at a sleeping Joshua. She gently combed her fingers through his thickening hair. It seemed to get longer every day. He took a deep breath. She stood, walked over to the crib, set him down and covered him with his blanket, one of the things she’d remembered to bring with them.
She looked around the room at the desk with initials carved into it, the dresser with decals on it and the single bed pushed up against the wall. Mary listened. A baby cried somewhere down the hall. A toilet flushed. She looked out the window and down to the street. Cars were parked on either side of the pavement. Mature trees touched branches over the middle of the road. The streetlight cast a soft glow over the shelter’s empty sidewalk and private front yard.
So easy to escape, she thought. All I had to do was ask the woman driving the bus how to get to the women’s shelter and here we are. She sat on the bed and watched Joshua breathe. I need a plan, a way to get him out of this mess. Then she thought about Russell. I hope he’s okay. The woman who had admitted Mary and Joshua to the shelter had taken one look at her swollen nose and said, “I don’t want you to contact anyone. It’s safer for you and your son. And it’s safer for the other women in the shelter.”
“Saadiq’s business is all the way out here?” Lane asked as they travelled south along Deerfoot Trail.
“Yes, he’s waiting for us. It’s after closing.” Keely eased off the freeway and headed east. She turned down a street where small industries and businesses had their parking lots out front.
After two kilometres, she turned north into a cul-de-sac and parked out front of Saliba’s Deli.
They got out of the Chev and stepped inside the deli. “Saady?” Keely called.
Saadiq pushed through the swinging door behind the glass display of meats on one side, desserts in the middle and fresh veggies
on the other side. He looked Lane in the eye. “So, I finally get to sit down with Detective Lane.” Saadiq came around the counter, hugged his sister and offered his hand to Lane. Keely’s brother had black hair, a thick five o’clock shadow, a straight nose and a smile that invited friendly conversation.
Keely pulled away from her brother. “We need some help.”
“So you told me on the phone.” Saadiq walked to the door, locked it and turned off the OPEN sign. He turned to Lane. “Kevin Moreau took your nephew and your friend’s daughter.”
You’re putting Matt and Jessica’s lives in his hands. Lane looked at Keely as he said, “That’s correct.”
“You need secure communications?” Saadiq studied Lane.
“That’s right.” Lane sat down at a nearby table.
Saadiq pulled a phone out of his shirt pocket, dialed and then put it on speaker and set it on the table in front of Lane.
“Hey, Ben, I need the best secure phone you’ve got.” Saadiq lifted his chin at Lane. “How many do you need?”
Lane looked at Keely.
“How many? Be on the safe side.” Saadiq sat down and leaned closer to the phone. “We’ll be just a moment, Ben.”
“Ten,” Lane said and looked at Keely.
She raised her eyebrows.
“Make it twenty.”
“How soon?” Ben asked.
“Right now if you can.”
“Give me thirty minutes.” Ben hung up and Saadiq stuffed the phone in his shirt pocket.
“Who’s Ben?” Lane asked.
“A friend.” Saadiq down across from Lane and asked, “You want a cup of coffee? We’ve got a few minutes.”
Keely sat down with them. “Coffee would be nice.”
Saadiq went in the back and called, “How about something to eat?”
Keely raised her eyebrows and looked at Lane. “That would be nice, too.”
“The usual?” Saadiq asked.
“Sure.” Keely looked out the window.
“I know why I’ve never really sat down with your brother.”
“He went one way and I went another.” Keely shrugged. “He’s my family.”
“What’s he into?” Lane asked.
“Nothing anymore. We told him to stop. He stopped. He just kept his old friends who still dabble in this and that.” Keely watched her brother through the display glass. “Some of his friends have connections with people who do odd jobs for Moreau. But they’re friends of Saadiq’s first.”
“Lucky for Matt and Jessica.”
“Very.” Keely smiled and nodded.
The door to the kitchen swung open and Saadiq appeared. “Coffee’s brewing. Give it five minutes.” He put two falafels on the table, one in front of his sister and the other in front of Lane.
“How much do you know about Moreau’s operation?” Lane asked.
Saadiq sat down. “A few bits and pieces.”
“Give us what you have, Saady. Maybe some of your pieces will fit together with ours.” Keely took a bite of her falafel. She closed her eyes. “Man, you still make the best in the city.”
“Much of Moreau’s operation involves relatives and one or two close friends. He usually uses aunts, uncles and cousins to deliver and pick up for him.” Saadiq looked past Lane as if checking for traffic.
“From where?” Lane lifted his falafel. He inhaled the distinctive aromas of cabbage, tomatoes, sesame seeds, pickled beets, garlic, chickpeas and sweet red peppers.
“West coast. Some farms north of here. A few acreages to the south. Grow-ops in towns and cities.” Saadiq watched a vehicle drive past. “Let’s go in the back. Anybody driving up this road can see us if we sit out here.” He led the way into the back where a small table was tucked among the stoves, stainless steel counters and walk-in fridge and freezer.
Lane smelled coffee brewing.
“You know that Moreau thinks he has power over you as long as your nephew and the child are alive?” Saadiq asked.
Lane chewed and covered his mouth. “Yes, and we need to move quickly. Moreau’s a killer. Lately he’s been pretty busy at it.”
“And he has been killing for years. A very charming killer. Have you ever met him?” Saadiq asked.
“Yes, and so has Keely.” Lane swallowed. I’m starved and this is delicious.
Saadiq turned to Keely. “Where?”
“When I worked undercover at the restaurant, and again the other day at a house he’s building,” Keely said.
“Stay away from him. He’ll smile in your face, then stab you in the heart.” Saadiq made a stabbing motion for effect.
“Or shoot you between the eyes,” Keely said. “He used to have this expression when people asked him how he was doing. He’d say, ‘Just chillin’, not killin’.’ Everybody else thought he was joking. I was never sure.”
“He probably meant it both ways,” Lane said.
“Hey! I forgot. I got some information from Hussein. He sells cars at a dealership in the northwest,” Saadiq said.
Keely laughed.“Now he sells cars. You’ve got to be kidding!”
Saadiq ignored her laughter. “He told me that every two years some of Moreau’s relatives come in and buy new pickup trucks from him. They pay cash. Their used trucks have major kilometres on them. When he comments on it, they always tell him their trucks get lots of highway travel.”
“Proof of Moreau’s delivery system?” Lane asked.
“Exactly. All you have to do is follow the trucks,” Saadiq said.
“I’m surprised the Hells Angels haven’t tried to move in on the operation.” Keely used a napkin to wipe her mouth. “That really hit the spot, Saady.”
Saadiq nodded thoughtfully. “The bikers and Moreau have a deal. They don’t interfere with each other’s operations so that everybody makes money. You know Moreau, he can sweet-talk anybody. Apparently some of the guys he went to school with became Angels. Even they don’t want to mess with him as long as he maintains the status quo.”
Ben walked into the back room fifteen minutes later. His brown hair was cut short. He filled up the doorway with his wide shoulders and thick biceps. He wore a yellow T-shirt and green shorts. He looked at Saadiq. “How’s it goin’, man?”
“Hey, Ben,” Keely said.
“Hey, Keely. Where do you want me to put these?” Ben held up a plastic bag.
“Right here, man.” Saadiq held out his hand.
Ben handed him the bag and Keely brought another chair over. “This is Lane.”
“Good to meet you.” Ben shook Lane’s hand and sat down.
“Want something to eat?” Saadiq asked.
“You kidding? I love your falafels,” Ben said.
Within a few minutes, Ben was eating and Saadiq was pouring more coffee.
“How much do we owe you, man?” Saadiq put the coffee pot on the hot plate.
Lane reached into his pocket, pulled out the wad of cash and set it on the table in front of Ben.
Ben put down the falafel, wiped his hands with a paper napkin, counted out what he was owed and handed the rest back.
Lane took the cash, picked out a hundred-dollar bill, handed it back to Ben and then asked, “How do the phones work?”
“Let the poor guy eat,” Keely protested.
“It’s easy.” Ben smiled, stuffed the cash in the pocket of his shorts, chewed and talked.
Another person walked into the room.
Lane recognized Dylan’s angular face and blond hair.
Saadiq looked at his sister. “I told him there was trouble. He’s here to help.”
Keely stood up and hugged Dylan.
Lane, Saadiq and Ben moved to the front of the deli when Keely began to cry.
Saadiq turned off the lights. In the glow of the streetlight coming through the window he looked at Lane, raised his chin and asked, “How come you’re different?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Lane said.
“My sister says you’ve treated her with
respect.” Saadiq glanced at Ben, who was taking Lane’s measure. “You come in here and you’re respectful. Lots of people like you want people like me and Ben cleaning tables and serving coffee.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Lane asked.
“People like Ben, me and Keely. Immigrants and children of immigrants. Lots of Canadians don’t want to allow people like me to join the club. That’s why Kev Moreau is successful, you know. He shares some of what he takes with the people in town who are supposed to know their place even when he’s using them. That, and he makes sure they’re scared shitless of him. I’d just like to know what makes you different?”
“I’d like to know that, too,” Ben said.
Lane looked at their faces and saw nothing but honest interest. He shrugged. “I guess I’ve never understood that kind of thinking. I know what it’s like not to fit in. It’s made me look at most things in a slightly different way. That, and my grandfather used to tell me stories about the people who helped him out along the way.”
Saadiq said, “You look after my sister.”
“I think Keely wants to look after herself,” Lane replied.
Saadiq smiled. “We all need a little help from time to time.”
Ben nodded and lifted the bag of phones to emphasize Saadiq’s point. “They all have more minutes than you’ll probably need. All have call display. If you think someone’s listening in, throw that one away and use another one. I can program first names into them if you like.”
Saadiq asked, “What exactly did you do to them?”
Ben shook his head. “I tweaked them a bit. You don’t need to know any more. They’re untraceable. Just do me a favour and return the ones you don’t use. I keep a stash for emergencies.”
Matt opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Light filled the room from a window above his head.
His right hand was asleep. Matt lifted his head and saw that his wrist was tied with blue nylon webbing — just like his feet.
He tasted burnt plastic. He swallowed. He closed his eyes.
“I’m gonna be sick,” he said. His stomach heaved. “I’m gonna puke!”
The door opened. A man filled the doorway. He wore a red shirt, black jeans and a red devil mask. A muffin top hung over his belt. There was a black leather holster and the black grip of a pistol on his hip. The devil asked, “What’s the matter?”
