“Do you know what kind of people I killed, Rick? I’ll tell you. My victims were criminals; the nasty kind; murderers, rapists, wife-beaters, pushers, that kind of thing. Do you realize Rick, that you and your friends fit that category? You guys are just the kind of garbage that I used to eliminate as a hobby. That’s who you’re dealing with, Rick.”
The hard look previously on the young man’s face had been replaced by one of petrified fear. He obviously believed what his captor had said and began to visibly tremble, despite his sturdy restraints.
“W-w-what are you gonna do with me?” he stammered in a quivering voice.
“Who killed George, Rick?” Chris asked, his tone quiet, serious, deadly.
“They’re gonna kill me, man,” Rick pleaded.
“Believe me, my young friend," said Chris, almost gently. “That is not your primary concern right now. Who killed George?”
“Jesus, man, can’t you give me a break?” cried Rick, now sobbing.
Chris responded with a cold, hard stare, saying nothing.
“He’s gonna fucking kill me, man,” Rick screamed. “And it’ll be on your fucking head. Wayne did it. Wayne shot George cuz he found some coke.”
“Who was there when Wayne shot George, Rick?” continued Chris, unmoved by his prisoner’s emotions.
“Me, Greg and Matt,” Rick muttered between sobs.
“Who dumped the body?”
“Me and Matt got him into the trunk of his car. Then I drove it into town and Matt followed me. I parked and took off with Matt. But we were just following orders from Wayne. You gotta believe me.”
“I believe you so far, Rick. You’re doing good. Keep it up. Now tell me about this little business you gentlemen have going. How does it work?”
“I don’t know much,” Rick admitted.
The answers were flowing freely now.
“Me and Matt, we’re like gofers, errand boys. We receive the stuff, do deliveries, that kind of thing. Wayne pays us five thousand a month, cash.”
“Who’s supplying the stuff? Where’s it coming from?” enquired Chris, happy with Rick’s cooperation. It made the job so much neater.
“I don’t know who. It comes from Asia, Colombia, places like that,” answered Rick, hopeful that his helpful attitude would play in his favour. “Bob, our supervisor, tells us when a shipment comes in. Matt and I look after those pallets and put the merchandise in the overstock area. Then, in the evening, we all come back and take the stuff out and put the merchandise back into the proper locations.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Chris. “Explain that to me in a bit more detail. What merchandise?”
“The stuff comes in with other stuff we import. Like, say we get some coffee. Well, there’ll be some coke packed into the middle of the crates. Mini-blinds come in from Asia and have heroin stashed in the bottom rail of each blind. That kinda thing.”
“Impressive,” commented Chris, nodding thoughtfully. “You guys must have somebody at customs working for you?”
“I guess,” replied Rick, actually starting to relax. “I know that for those shipments, we don’t use the same broker that we use for the regular stuff we import.”
“Who do you use for these special shipments?”
“Rapid Forwarders. Our contact there is Andy. I’ve spoken to him a few times. I don’t know his last name.”
“Anything else of interest that you might want to tell me?” asked Chris, convinced that the kid had played straight. He surely wasn’t the mastermind behind this operation.
“No. Nothing that I can really think of,” Rick replied emphatically. “Like I said, I don’t know much. It’s not like I’m running this thing. I’m just an employee.”
“Does Peterson have anything to do with this?”
“Shit man, no way,” Rick responded, actually breaking into a smile. “Old man Peterson thinks grass is hard drugs. I’ve seen him fire guys a couple of times on the rumour that they smoked dope. He’d freak if he ever found out.”
“Well, I think you’ve given me all the information you could. You see, Rick? Wasn’t it easier this way, with you cooperating?”
“Yeah, except that now I’m a dead man,” Rick replied sullenly. “I’m gonna have to disappear. And if Wayne ever gets a hold of me, he’ll kill me.”
“Don't worry about Wayne, Rick,” Chris said with a soothing smile. “He’ll never get a hold of you. I’ll make sure of that. I’m gonna help you disappear so well, he’ll never be able to get to you.”
“Can I keep the drugs I took?” asked Rick hopefully. “That would at least give me some cash to start off.”
“Yeah, Rick. Fine. You can take some of the coke. Anyhow, I promise that you won’t have to worry about any future financial problems.”
Chapter 14 - Monday, January 27, 1997
“Come on in, Bob,” invited Wayne from where he sat behind the large desk in his office at Quality Imports.
Also present were Greg Pierce and Bryan Downey.
“Close the door behind you, Bob. Have a seat.”
The silence which ensued quickly made Bob, Quality Imports’ receiving supervisor, uncomfortable.
“Can somebody tell me what’s going on?” he asked after several seconds, not having the faintest idea why they wanted to see him in the first place.
“Where the fuck is Rick, Bob?” demanded Wayne in an accusing tone.
“How the hell should I know?” Bob retorted, suddenly feeling persecuted.
“Well, he’s your goddamn employee and he’s not fucking here,” Wayne shot back angrily. “I figured you’d have some goddamn idea of what the fuck your employees are doing.”
“What the hell is going on?” asked Bob, glaring at the three other men.
“What the hell is going on?” mimicked Wayne in a surly tone. “I’ll tell you what the hell is going on. That little bastard was supposed to pick up four keys of coke here and deliver it on Saturday. He never showed up for the delivery and our client is not happy. Now, we can’t find the little prick anywhere and the coke is gone. That shit’s as pure as you can get, Bob. Once cut, it’s worth over a million on the street.”
“Rick wouldn’t do something like that,” Bob defensively argued, having been the one who brought Rick into the business. “He knows what crossing us could mean.”
“He knows what crossing us could mean,” repeated Wayne sarcastically. “A million bucks can encourage a twenty-five year old punk to do a lot of stupid things, asshole.”
“He’s not at home?” Bob queried, scrambling for a logical explanation.
“I tried to call him a few times Saturday night when I found out that he hadn’t showed up for the delivery,” Bryan dejectedly responded. “We called again yesterday and Wayne went over to his place. His car wasn’t there and neither was he.”
“Maybe he had a wild weekend with one of his bimbos,” Bob hopefully suggested.
“He has four kilos of snow, Bob,” growled Wayne in frustration. “Why would he pick up the dope and then decide not to deliver and party with a broad instead?”
“Have any of you considered the fact that maybe he got arrested?” asked a sweating Greg Pierce. “He might be spilling everything he knows to the cops right now.”
Silence filled the room as everyone realized that Greg’s suggestion was a definite possibility.
“W-we would have heard something on the news,” said Bryan unconvincingly.
“Yeah, right,” snorted Wayne in disgust. “Whenever the cops bust a punk with a million dollars of blow, they automatically call the reporters to make sure anybody else involved gets tipped off nice and proper. You ain’t too bright sometimes, Bryan.”
“Hey, fuck you, Wayne,” Bryan retorted, pouncing from his chair towards the other man. “I ain’t the one letting high school drop-outs run around with four kilos of coke.”
“Gentlemen, please,” cried Greg in exasperation. ‘I don’t think this is the time to argue about your levels of stupidity. We’ve got t
o figure out what happened to Rick. In the meantime, we should assume the worst and presume he was arrested, which means, let’s shake our ass and get whatever fucking shit we have here, out of here.”
Greg’s use of profanity was practically non-existent. When Greg started swearing, he was serious.
“Greg’s right,” stated Wayne, his tone more controlled. “Bob, you go have a serious talk with Matt. See if he knows anything. And I do mean anything. And go over to Rick’s place again. Get inside and check it out. Greg, what’s our current inventory?”
“The four keys was all the coke we had left. The next delivery is Wednesday, twenty-five kilos. We have half a dozen keys of heroin but Bryan has three of those sold. Another shipment will be in on Friday; ten kilos.”
“Okay,” said Wayne, thinking furiously. “Bryan, call our guy with the Aces of Death. Tell him we’ll get him three keys of horse for the same price we had agreed on for the four keys of coke. That’s a great deal for him and it’ll clean out our inventory here. I’d like you to deliver it personally cuz he was really pissed off with Rick’s no-show on Saturday. If we get in with these guys, we can really start moving some shit. Talk to him about the stuff we have coming in this week. I want it out of here as soon as it gets in. We’re gonna have to play real careful until we find out what happened to Rick.”
* * * *
Wayne paced back and forth in his spacious office, consumed with frustration, anger and, especially, fear. They had to find Rick and until they did, keeping the business going could be extremely dangerous.
The timing for this could not have been worse. Although they had done very well since they had started importing drugs a few years ago, they were now on the verge of making some really big money. The Aces of Death had a strong hold on the drug trade throughout Quebec and had solid ties with two major biker gangs in Ontario which controlled the market there. Combined, these two provinces held close to sixty percent of the country’s total population of close to 30 million, which was not a negligible customer base. Wayne’s contacts in Asia and South America had informed him that production was now running to perfection so they could supply whatever volume he required. As it was, the Aces of Death organization was currently looking for one supplier with the capacity to cover their entire needs. Everything had seemed perfect.
A light tapping at the door broke into Wayne’s thoughts.
“Excuse me, Wayne,” said Chris Barry. “You got a minute?”
“Sure, Chris, sure,” Wayne forced a smile, gesturing towards a couch in the corner. “Have a seat. We haven’t really had a chance to chat much since you joined us. I’ve been pretty busy. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Chris responded reassuringly. “I’m no stranger to heavy workloads and busy schedules.”
“What can I do for you?” asked Wayne, settling into an armchair across from Chris.
“Well, actually,” replied Chris, looking a little troubled. “I wanted to tell you something that might be of interest to you. Maybe it’s nothing but I thought you should know.”
“Sure. What’s up?” asked Wayne, feigning interest.
“Saturday afternoon, my wife and I were out shopping and on our way home, we happened to drive by here so I stopped to show her the place.”
Wayne leaned forward in his chair, his interest in what was being said suddenly much more genuine.
Chris continued. “We came inside and I was showing Sandy my office when I saw a black Maxima drive by towards the back of the building. We continued the tour and just as we walked into the warehouse, the lights came on. I went to the main aisle and called out and one of the guys from receiving, Rick, he said his name was, came walking up the aisle towards us. When he recognized me, he relaxed a little but he seemed nervous the whole time we chatted. He asked me what we were doing here and I explained and introduced my wife. I asked him what he was doing there and he told me that a customer needed a rush order and you had asked him to get it. His story was plausible but, like I said, he really seemed nervous and that left me wondering. When he saw that we were turning back towards the offices he seemed relieved and hurried back towards the shipping area. My wife and I left the building and I walked over to the west side to look down towards the rear. I could see the Maxima parked by the shipping dock and they were putting a box in the trunk.”
“They?” Wayne interrupted, sounding concerned. “Rick wasn’t alone?”
“Well, I thought he was when I saw him inside but there were two guys with him at the car. I didn’t want them to see me and think I was spying on them so I headed back to the other side where I was parked. As I was getting ready to leave, I saw the Maxima pull out onto the road and take off. They seemed to be in a hurry, which made it seem even stranger.”
“I see,” said Wayne with a stern look on his face. “Something’s definitely wrong here, Chris, because I never called Rick about any special order. I wonder what they took?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Chris ruefully replied. “I was pretty far so all I can say is that it was a cardboard box, not too big.”
“Hey, don’t worry about,” Wayne reassured him. “We’ll check the inventory to try to find out what’s missing. This might explain why he didn’t show up this morning.”
“Oh really?” Chris questioned. “Do you have anything valuable enough that somebody would abandon a job for?”
“Well, we do import some electronic components that could be worth a couple of bucks,” Wayne explained, obviously angry. “If he found a market for them and has been taking stuff for a while, it might be worthwhile.”
“Wouldn’t somebody have noticed an inventory short?” enquired Chris.
“Yeah, I guess. Eventually,” admitted Wayne. “But some of this stuff is only used by a few customers who aren’t very good at forecasting. They don’t order often but when they do, it’s in massive quantities and it’s needed for yesterday. So we stock up heavy and it sits in our warehouse for a few months until suddenly, it all goes at the same time. Until that order is placed, we wouldn’t know that anything was missing unless we did a physical count and we only do those once a year, in October.”
Chris nodded in understanding. “So Rick might have been stocking up for a couple of months by now.”
“It’s possible,” replied Wayne in frustration, “The little bastard. I better not get my hands on him.”
“Well, anyway, that’s what I wanted to tell you,” Chris said as he stood. “Let me know if I can help you with anything. I’d be interested in knowing what happened to Rick when you find him.”
“Sure thing, Chris,” Wayne agreed.
He stood and extended a hand.
“Thanks for the info. I’m sure that what you saw on Saturday will help. By the way; those two guys you saw with Rick. What did they look like? Did you recognize them as some of our other employees?”
“No, I’m pretty sure of that,” Chris replied decisively. “They looked kinda rough if you ask me. You know, like bikers maybe, that kind of thing. There again, I was pretty far so I wouldn’t be able to give a great description. But they seemed to be wearing blue jeans and leather jackets and both had long hair. One had a beard.”
“Okay, good. That might be helpful. One last thing; did you talk to Charlie Peterson about this?”
“Nah,” Chris replied with a wink and a smile. “You know how those top guys are. They blow everything out of proportion and make mountains out of nothing. You’re the operations guy; you’re the one I came to.”
“You’re a good man, Chris,” said Wayne, winking back. “And a good judge of character. You’ve got Peterson down pat. Thanks again. I’ll keep you posted.”
He waited until Chris had closed the door on his way out before picking up the phone. He punched in a few numbers and waited impatiently, swearing under his breath until someone picked up.
“Bob. Rick was here on Saturday with two biker types. Barry happened to be here, showing the place to his missus and he saw th
em loading a carton into the Maxima. Find that little cocksucker and bring him to me. I will personally show him what happens to little bastards who try to rip us off.”
* * * *
“I still don’t think Rick would have tried to steal the coke,” Matt stated determinedly as he and Bob drove through the streets of St-Eustache to Rick’s home. “And if he did, we sure as hell ain’t gonna find him sitting around his place.”
“Listen, Matt,” replied Bob in an annoyed tone. “He picked up the four keys on Saturday and disappeared. He was with two guys when he went to the warehouse. He knows better than to bring somebody to the warehouse. He ripped us off. I know we’re not gonna find him sitting at home but Wayne said to check, so we check.”
They drove the few remaining minutes in silence. As they turned the corner onto Rick’s street, they were surprised to see the black Maxima parked in the driveway of their co-worker’s residence.
“Well I’ll be a sonovabitch,” Bob muttered under his breath. “The asshole is home.”
He parked a few houses away and they proceeded warily on foot, examining Rick’s house as they approached but noticing no apparent activity.
“You got your gun?” asked Bob in a low voice.
“Y-yeah,” replied Matt in a quivering voice.
He found the drug running exciting and profitable but the recent murder, and now this, was somewhat less appealing.
“Well, don’t use it unless you have to,” warned Bob. “I don’t want the neighbours calling the cops about gunshots.”
They reached Rick’s residence and slowly crept up the driveway, still looking for any signs of movement inside or out, but saw none. As they moved on to the front door, they noticed the weekend’s accumulation of flyers and local newspapers sticking out of the mailbox. Maybe Rick wasn’t there after all.
After glancing around for possible witnesses, Bob grasped the door handle, slowly depressed the latch and gently pushed inward. Offering no resistance, the door opened; it was unlocked. He looked nervously at Matt, uncertain of what to do next or what to expect inside. The house might be empty or this could be an ambush. They stepped quietly into the vestibule and closed the door behind them.
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