The Consultant

by Claude Bouchard

  Diamond Jimmy grinned as he replied, “I.D. ain’t worth shit to me. I could show you cards that make me Frank Sinatra. Tell me more about Wayne and Bryan and your organization.”

  “We don’t like talking too much about our organization,” Chris responded. “When you talk too much, the wrong people can learn things they shouldn’t. We’re interested in doing business and you’re testing us. One of our delivery boys fucked up last Saturday and you didn’t get your blow, four keys. Bryan offered you three keys of smack instead for the same price. We got more coke coming in on Wednesday and a delivery from Asia on Friday. Bryan told you about those too.”

  He looked calmly at Diamond Jimmy with a slight smile, waiting for the latter to respond. He could tell that he had convinced the man.

  “Alright, what do you want from me, Bob?”

  “Like I told you this morning, the four keys of snow which didn’t happen on Saturday are now available,” Chris replied. “Are you interested?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Diamond Jimmy answered.

  “Good,” replied Chris, nodding.

  “You got it with you?”

  “It’s close by.”

  “Go to the bar and have yourself a drink,” said Diamond Jimmy. “When you’re finished, go to the can, second stall. You’ll find your part of the deal. After, head for the McDonalds one block north from here. In the bathroom, there’s a broom closet. Leave the stuff there, just behind the door. Then have a coffee or something and wait until someone asks you for a cigarette. Understand?”

  “No problem,” agreed Chris, standing. “Nice doing business with you.”

  “Sit down, Bob,” Jimmy ordered. “I ain’t done yet.”

  Chris returned to his seat, gazing calmly at the biker as the latter continued.

  “You were real clear that I shouldn’t talk to Wayne or Bryan about our little meeting, right?”

  “That’s what I asked,” Chris replied slowly, feeling slightly uncomfortable for the first time.

  “That tells me that you’re ripping off your buddies to do a little personal business,” stated Jimmy with a grin. “Am I right?”

  “Yeah, I guess you are,” Chris nodded uneasily.

  “Don’t worry, Bob. I didn’t tell your little friends but, silence has a price.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty percent off what we had agreed to this morning,” the biker informed him. “Is that okay?”

  “I guess I don’t have much choice,” Chris shrugged as he rose to his feet.

  "No you don’t,” Jimmy smiled. “And Bob, don’t try anything stupid. If you do, we’re gonna kill you. Have a nice evening.”

  Chapter 16 - Wednesday, January 29, 1997

  As was his usual routine, Nick Sharp started the day with a hot cup of coffee while scanning through the New Activity Report; burglaries, rapes, muggings, drugs, missing persons; same old, same old.

  He started to turn a page of the report when something caught his eye; Missing person; Richard Beauchamp, 327 Landry, St-Eustache, long blonde hair, five nine, one hundred sixty pounds. Reported missing by Louise Rousseau, friend and Quality Imports, employer.

  “What the fuck is it with that place?” he muttered to himself, wondering if Jonathan had had a chance to look into to it.

  He reached for the phone and dialled his covert colleague’s number.

  “Hey, bud. Howya doing?” he asked, waiting the usual few seconds for Jonathan to activate the scrambler.

  “Fine, Nick,” replied Addley. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to call recently. I’ve been busy catching up on some of the work that goes with my official title.”

  “No problem, Jon,” Nick reassured him. “I got a quick question for you. Remember when we talked about Quality Imports a couple of weeks ago? You told me you’d see if you could look into it. I was just curious to know if you had done anything with it.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Jonathan responded. “I’ve had somebody working on it for a week now but I haven’t heard anything from him so far. Why do you ask?”

  “The N.A. report has something about a missing person this morning and guess where he works.”

  “Quality Imports,” Jonathan replied, more a statement than a question.

  “Yup, Quality Imports. Like I said, I was wondering if you were looking after that place and thought you might be interested in this information."

  “Don’t worry, Nick. It’s in capable hands. I’ll get in touch with my guy though, just to see how it’s going. Thanks for the call.”

  * * * *

  Chris cruised along the 440, heading west while enjoying the impressive lead guitar from Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’. As he drove past Industrial Boulevard, his usual exit, the phone rang, interrupting his listening pleasure.

  “Chris Barry,” he answered.

  “Good morning, Chris.”

  “Well, good morning to you, Jonathan.”

  “I tried to reach you at the office but was told you weren’t in yet.”

  “Yeah, I have a little errand to run this morning; something to do with our story. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Nothing really particular. I just hadn’t heard from you recently and was wondering how you were doing.”

  “I’m doing great, Jonathan. Never better. I’ve been working on our little project and it’s really coming along.”

  “That’s good to hear, Chris. Listen, I heard that somebody where you work was recently reported missing. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Absolutely,” Chris beamed. “I know everything about it.”

  “Okay,” said Jonathan. “I wanted to make sure you were aware. If you need any help, Chris, don’t hesitate to call. I’ve got other consultants I can recommend and even I have been known to be handy on occasion. I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, boss,” Chris replied reassuringly. ‘If I need help, you’ll be the first one to know.”

  * * * *

  As they had agreed the previous day, Wayne and his cohorts assembled for their daily meeting, this time in Bryan’s office. Once all were seated, Wayne started the conversation.

  “So, gentlemen, anything new to report?”

  “Two things,” Greg answered, addressing Bob and Bryan more particularly. “First of all, Wayne and I had a quick discussion yesterday about Rick’s disappearance and thought that it would be a wise move to bring it to the attention of the police. We felt that it was something we would have done if we hadn’t been aware of what happened to him.”

  Both Bryan and Bob nodded in agreement.

  “Secondly,” Greg went on. “The coke we were expecting today came in, as scheduled. We all agreed the other day that we get it the hell out as soon as possible so can everybody stick around tonight so that we can unpack this stuff?”

  He was answered with more nods from the others in the room.

  “So, Bryan,” Wayne spoke up. “You might as well give Diamond Jimmy a shout and see if we can move this through him. Don’t sound too pushy. I don’t want him to start thinking we got problems or have him looking for discounts. But I do want to get rid of this shit quick.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bryan replied confidently. “He said that they were looking for a volume supplier with quality dope. That’s what I’ll show him we are; nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Anything else?” asked Wayne, accepting the short silence which ensued as a no. “Good. We’ll meet in the warehouse at five-thirty.”

  * * * *

  Dave McCall sat at a table at Le Mirage on St-Martin Boulevard, waiting for Chris. He had had some business to attend to at Laval’s central police station earlier that morning and had called Chris to invite him to lunch.

  The purpose of their getting together was twofold. For one, Dave enjoyed Chris’ company and, barring their brief encounter the previous Friday, they really hadn’t had a chance to chat since late September. Secondly, Dav
e had gone through the new activity report early that morning and had learned of the disappearance of one Richard Beauchamp, employed by Quality Imports. Not one to leave much to coincidence, Dave planned to ask Chris if the latter had noticed anything strange going on at his current place of employment. Chris was a very intelligent and observant man and might have spotted some oddities.

  “You invited, ergo, you pay,” said the familiar voice from behind him.

  “Ah, no wonder the poor get poorer,” Dave sighed, rising to greet his friend.

  Like school children, they talked up a storm throughout the meal, pausing only to stuff an occasional bite of their jumbo smoked meat sandwiches or fries into their mouths. To hear them, one would have thought that they were two childhood friends who had known each other forever. The fact was the two men had met just a little over six months ago but an immediate chemistry had formed. Their wives had also become close friends after having met towards the end of the summer and they now saw each other on a regular basis.

  They finished emptying their over-filled plates and, thoroughly stuffed, leaned back in their chairs to attempt digestion over a cup of coffee.

  “There’s a little business I was hoping to talk to you about while we’re here,” said Dave, “Something about Quality Imports.”

  “Sure. Shoot.” Chris responded, curious of what his friend had to say.

  “We have a reporting system that generates daily data about all sorts of crimes across the country,” started Dave. “All law enforcement agencies are linked to it. I was looking over today’s report this morning and there was a mention of a Richard Beauchamp who’s gone missing. The guy worked for Quality Imports. Have you heard anything about it?”

  “Well, I did hear that the guy hasn’t show up for work since Friday,” replied Chris, obviously trying to remember what he had heard. “Seems to me, it wasn’t the first time this kind of thing happened. I think somebody said that the kid was suspected of having a drug problem. I’ve only seen him a couple of times myself. He worked out in the warehouse, shipping or receiving. I don’t spend much time back there.”

  “You don’t think his disappearing has anything to do with Quality Imports?” Dave queried.

  “Why would I think that?” Chris asked, puzzled. “Do you think there’s a link between him and that murder?”

  “I don’t know," Dave admitted. “And it probably is just coincidence. I mean, people skip out on jobs everyday, right? I just noticed the thing on this guy because the name Quality Imports was in the report. Seeing as I had a contact in the place, I thought I’d ask.”

  "Well, I haven’t seen anything weird going on but I can keep my eyes open a bit more if you want,” offered Chris. ‘You know, go take a walk around every once in a while. Maybe I’ll see something.”

  “Sure, you can do that but don’t go out of your way. I don’t want you getting yourself into any trouble on my account.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chris laughed. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  * * * *

  Bryan had spent most of the day working his real job and making official company sales. By 3:00 p.m. however, he felt that if he wanted to swing a rapid deal with the Aces of Death, he'd better give Diamond Jimmy a call. He keyed in the now familiar number to the biker’s phone and waited for a reply which was not long in coming.

  “Yeah,” Diamond Jimmy gruffly answered.

  “Jimmy, Bryan. Howya doing?”

  “Getting richer by the pound,” replied Jimmy, laughing at his own joke. “What do you got for me?”

  “As expected, it snowed today. The forecast was accurate.”

  “We talking quality?” enquired Jimmy.

  “The best, Jimmy. Same as the stuff you should have got last weekend,” Bryan replied.

  “That I finally got yesterday,” Jimmy grinned over the phone. “Great. We’re talking some fine shit.”

  “W-what do you mean, Jimmy, yesterday?” Bryan asked slowly as his stomach tightened.

  “Your man, Bob, cut a quiet deal with me,” Jimmy laughed proudly.

  “Bob sold you the four keys?” asked Bryan, fighting to control his anger. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Easy, Mister Manager,” Jimmy warned. “I don’t have to call nobody, understand? Somebody comes to me with a solid proposition, I do business. He gave me a better price than you do. You’re lucky I even told you about this.”

  “Why tell me this now?” questioned Bryan, still fuming.

  “Cuz I don’t approve of double-crossing little pricks,” Jimmy chuckled. “So, you still wanna do a deal?”

  “Absolutely, Jimmy,” Bryan answered, swallowing his ego, “Same quality, same supplier; twenty-five kilos.”

  “Alright. Big time," exclaimed Jimmy, apparently impressed with the quantity. “Give me the night to work out the cash and call me in the morning. I think that we’re gonna do some fine business together. I won’t even ask you for a discount like I did with Bob. Later, Mr. Manager.”

  Bryan slammed down the phone and stared blankly about, breathing deeply in an effort to control his rage. They had questioned to what extent the Aces of Death could be trusted and, in the meantime, one of their own was screwing them right under their noses.

  After a moment, he picked up the phone and punched in Wayne’s extension. They would need to have a little chat with their partner, Bob.

  * * * *

  Chris moved quietly into the warehouse, checking the time as he sauntered amidst the rows of high racking; 5:17.

  He walked around casually for a few moments until he was satisfied that he was alone, then headed to the last row of racking and climbed the sixteen feet to the top to settle into his little niche among some boxes. He was certain that they wouldn't find him here. Earlier, he had verified the merchandise within these boxes to make sure it was only what it was supposed to be. He sat back and waited, ready to observe.

  * * * *

  Wayne pulled the heavy door to the utilities room shut and securely locked it.

  “Well, that’s it boys,” he announced, turning towards the others. “Now all we gotta do is get rid of the crap,” he added, looking at Bryan.

  “Jimmy said he’d be getting back to me tomorrow,” Bryan answered confidently. “We’re talking about a bigger load of cash this time but don’t worry. This will all be gone in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I hope so,” Greg pitched in worriedly. “I don’t like the way things are going lately. And I still don’t trust these bikers. They’re probably the ones who did Rick in.”

  “We don’t have any proof of that, Greg,” Bryan replied impatiently. “For all we know, Rick overdosed himself and some of his buddies took off with the dope. Whatever happened, I have a gut feeling that it had nothing to do with the Aces of Death.”

  “Could be,” said Greg doubtfully. “But I still think we should be really careful.”

  “Greg, we’re dealing with millions of dollars of smack and coke,” Wayne spoke in a condescending tone. ‘Of course, we should be really careful. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  * * * *

  As the double garage door glided silently upwards, Bob rolled his black Jeep Grand Cherokee slowly up the driveway and pulled in next to the white Corvette convertible, his summer car.

  After cutting the engine, he climbed out of the 4x4 and headed up the five steps leading into the living quarters of his luxurious home, pausing only long enough to step out of his overshoes at the top of the staircase. As he headed towards the kitchen for a beer, he proudly admired his spacious abode, pricelessly decorated by expensive professionals.

  “Who says crime doesn’t pay,” he laughed aloud to the empty home.

  He reached the kitchen, tossed his coat on a chair and was on his way to the refrigerator for a beer when the doorbell rang.

  “Who the fuck is that,” he muttered, changing direction as he glanced at the clock on the stove; 7:47 p.m. “Probably some little punks selling go
ddamn chocolate bars for school again.”

  He opened the front door to find Wayne and Bryan standing there.

  “Hey guys,” he exclaimed in surprise. “Come on in.”

  He stepped aside to let them enter, closing the door behind them.

  “So, what brings you here?” he curiously asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “We had something to discuss with you, Bob," replied Wayne, his tone serious. “And we didn’t think it was appropriate to talk in front of Greg and Matt. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Sure, guys. Sure,” Bob agreed, unsure of the topic of discussion. “Have a seat. I was just getting myself a beer. You want one?”

  “Yeah, Bob. A beer would be nice,” Bryan agreed. “Why don’t I get them for you. You have yourself a seat.”

  Their host did not appear to be armed and Bryan certainly did not want to give Bob an opportunity to grab a gun somewhere.

  “Yeah, alright,” Bob responded hesitantly, growing uneasy. “You know where the fridge is. Go ahead.”

  He turned to Wayne as Bryan went into the kitchen. “What’s going on, boss?”

  “Just a little situation we need to talk about, Bob,” Wayne replied smoothly. “What do you say we just wait for Bryan?”

  Within a moment, Bryan returned with three beers which he passed around to the two others. After each man had opened his bottle and taken a healthy gulp, Wayne resumed the conversation.

  “So, Bob? What have you been up to lately?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Bob, perplexed. “I don’t understand your question.”

  “Well, then I guess I’ll be a little more specific,” Wayne became impatient. “What did you do last night?”

  “Last night? Nothing special,” Bob responded, becoming annoyed and somewhat frightened. “What the fuck is going on, guys?”

  “I had a chat with Diamond Jimmy this afternoon,” Bryan stepped in. “About the coke we just got. He told me that you delivered four kilos of cocaine to him yesterday.”