“Every detail,” I said solemnly. Willis nodded and continued.
“His throat was spewing blood and he was trying to talk but all that came out were these gurgling sounds. I pulled off my mask and used it to apply pressure but it was no use. Lance yanked me to my feet. I took a few swings at the son-of-a-bitch but he dropped me pretty quick with a kidney shot. I laid there gasping for breath while he told me I was an asshole for putting the Steel Gods in jeopardy with my extortion plan and that I should be thanking him and Damian for cleaning up my mess. He placed his mask and knife on the bag of money and started dragging Johnny toward a portable toilet.
“That’s when I decided to make a run for it. I wrapped the knife in my ski mask and was careful not to touch it. Then I grabbed the money and bolted.” Remo Willis pointed at the blood-crusted blade. “This knife is all you need to put them away. It’s covered with Lance’s prints and Johnny’s blood, and it was custom made by Damian himself.”
We cruised by a couple of high-rise apartment buildings before turning right onto Kingsway. We passed a skate park on the right and I watched as skater after skater kept bobbing up and out of the concrete pit, each time executing different flip tricks or aerials. The sprawling shopping complex that was Metrotown was now visible in the distance. I realized that I no longer felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against my neck. I looked in the rear-view and saw that Willis had lowered his weapon. If I was going to make a play for it then this was the time. The only thing was that I no longer saw the need. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t feel like my life was in danger. And most importantly, I believed everything Remo Willis was saying.
“Do you think Lance would turn on Kendricks if the cops offered a deal?” I asked.
“I think he’d probably give up the entire crew,” replied Willis.
“Why?”
“Because underneath all that muscle is a selfish prick. Lance would do everything in his power to avoid hard time. The drug trade, the weapons smuggling, even the prostitution — he’s dialed into it all. He’s the lynchpin of every single operation because he’s Damian’s number one guy.”
“Aren’t you worried about doing time if this comes out?”
“They can’t arrest me if I’m in Mexico, man.”
Willis raised his weapon again and motioned toward the Metrotown SkyTrain station creeping up on the left. “Drop me off over there,” he said. I headed in the direction of the station.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” I said. “Why take the knife and run? Why not just go along with the murder after the fact rather than turn on your friends?”
Remo Willis chewed on his bottom lip as he searched for an answer. “I’ve done some bad things,” he finally said. “But never to anybody that didn’t deserve it. What happened to Johnny — that shit was straight up cold-blooded. And I’ll never forget the way he looked at me when I took off my mask. He was lying there with his throat slashed, blood gushing everywhere, and he didn’t even seem scared. He just looked so confused. He didn’t understand what was happening to him and died without ever knowing why. I see his face every time I close my eyes, man. It haunts me. I may not be able to take back my part in getting him killed, but maybe by giving you this evidence I’ll be able to unburden myself enough to get some fucking sleep.”
I pulled up to the sidewalk that led to the SkyTrain station. I put the truck in park, switched off the ignition, and turned around. Willis leaned back, raising the gun.
“You don’t need to keep waving that gun at me,” I said. “I believe you.”
“I’m not taking any chances. But even if you don’t believe me you will once the cops run the DNA and prints on that knife.” Remo Willis started to get out of the truck.
“Willis, wait.” He hesitated.
“I understand why you didn’t go to the cops. But I don’t get why you brought this to me,” I said, motioning to the bagged knife. “How did you even know I was looking into Johnny’s murder?”
“I’ve still got friends in XCCW. And from the way they tell it, you stormed in there looking for answers about Johnny’s death and sucker-punched Grasby so hard the douchebag shit his velvet pants. Wish I could have seen that.” Remo Willis hopped out of the king cab. He kept his gun pointed on me, but hid it underneath his coat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said earnestly.
Remo walked backwards to the sidewalk before turning and starting up the stairs to the SkyTrain station. I exhaled loudly and took another look at the knife. My gut told me there was sincerity to Remo Willis’ plea. Besides, if he was lying and did kill Johnny, why would he take such a huge risk by coming to see me just to give me a fake murder weapon? No, I was certain Remo Willis was telling the truth.
I tucked the bagged knife under my seat just as I heard the rumbling of a couple of Harley-Davidson engines behind me. I bolted upright in time to see the Zeppelin boys, the bald headed enforcers for the Steel Gods, leap off their bikes and charge toward the stairs. Remo Willis was almost at the top and had his back turned to the thugs below. I fumbled with my seatbelt before jumping out of my truck.
“Remo!” Willis spun around and saw his former gang members barrelling toward him. His face went chalk white and he started scrambling up the stairs. I gave chase. Halfway up the stairs I heard gunshots.
A young mother clutching a toddler to her chest led a stampede of civilians desperate to get away from the SkyTrain platform. I pushed and shoved my way past them and up the stairs, wondering how in the hell the Zeppelin boys had tracked us. They couldn’t have been following Remo, as they would have certainly jumped him while he was waiting for me in my truck. The only explanation that made sense was that they had been tailing me already. But why? To check up on my progress? To deliver a message for Kendricks? It didn’t matter now. I could only imagine the looks on their faces when they saw their old pal step out of my truck.
I reached the platform. Damaged CCTV cameras dangled from their overhead perches, crackling with electricity while shooting off sparks. I realized the gunshots I had heard were the Zeppelins ensuring there would be no record of the murder they were about to commit. Remo and the Zeppelin boys were by the eastbound track. The bigger Zeppelin was holding Remo’s arms behind him while his smaller and stockier buddy laid into him with vicious punches to the gut.
“Where is it?” screamed the smaller biker, before striking Remo Willis again.
Big Zeppelin had his back to me, and due to his small stature, Little Z couldn’t see me over the combined bulk of Remo and his partner. Even though I had not run a forty-yard dash since high school, I all but channelled my sophomoric speed as I sprinted across the platform and closed the gap.
I neared Big Z from behind and leapt through the air, extending my legs and executing a textbook dropkick. My feet connected with the backside of his rib cage and the big man folded like a cheap accordion. Remo fell to the concrete and was knocked free of the bigger biker’s grip. I hit the ground as well, but before I could jump to my feet Little Z pounced on me. The diminutive biker shrieked and threw wild haymakers, scoring some solid blows to my neck and face. I grabbed Little Z by his throat but he countered by boxing my ears and punching me square in the nose. I heard a crack and knew it was broken, but that was the least of my problems. Remo made a break for it. Clutching his side, Big Z lumbered after him, pulling a gun out of a holster attached to the back of his leather chaps.
“Gun!” I yelled, just as Little Z pulled an eight-inch blade, which looked like another knife that had been custom made by Damian Kendricks. He stabbed downwards. My hands shot up and gripped his wrists, stopping the blade’s decent just six inches above my heart.
A gunshot boomed. I had no idea if Remo Willis had been hit as it was taking everything I had to keep Little Z from plunging his knife into my chest. My arms burned like they were on fire as I pushed against his wrists. He leaned for
ward, using his bodyweight as an edge to tip the scales in his favour. It was working. Despite my best efforts, the stainless steel blade inched closer and closer to my chest. I tried to squirm but had nowhere to go as Little Z had pinned my legs down with his shins. Light glinted off the side of the blade and I heard an approaching SkyTrain’s brakes whine in the distance.
I steadied myself, knowing I had only one chance. I stopped pushing against his wrists for a split second and the blade dropped. The tip sliced through my shirt and I felt it pierce my pectorals. Little Z sensed the kill was close and put even more of his bodyweight behind the knife. It was an instinctive move, the only caveat being that he was no longer able to pin down my legs with his shins. I threw my weight to the side and drove my knee into his groin. He yelped and jerked upward, involuntarily lessening the pressure he was putting behind the knife. I tucked my knees to my chest and shoved the balls of my feet into his waist. I summoned all the strength I had left and pulled his wrists apart and downwards as hard as I could.
The muscular little man fell into me as I rolled backwards and launched him with my feet like a springboard. Little Z released his grip on the knife as he soared through the air. I rolled over just in time to see his stocky body land on the tracks before getting creamed by the oncoming train. The impact knocked Little Z backwards, and he flopped around on the tracks before getting crunched beneath the tremendous force of the slowing monorail. The train ground to a halt, leaving a splattering of blood across the track. Most of Little Z was under the front car of the train, with the exception of a bloodied stubby arm and a broken leg that were both sticking out at gruesome angles. I struggled to my feet and saw Big Z staring at the train in disbelief. Remo Willis laid at his feet. Big Z quickly composed himself, glared at me and opened fire. I dove behind a cement pillar as bullets whizzed by.
“Police!” shouted a transit cop as he came charging up the opposite stairs.
I peeked around the pillar. Big Z fired two into the cop’s chest, who dropped to the platform, dead. The doors to the train opened. Passengers on board screamed and hid inside the car. Sirens wailed in the distance. Big Z made a run for it.
I hurried over to Remo. He was wheezing and bleeding out badly from a gunshot to the chest. He tried to speak but the only thing his lips were able to form was a bloody spit bubble. He reached a hand out toward me. It hovered there, just for a moment, before dropping to the ground.
THIRTY-TWO
I was three blocks away before I was certain that no police cars were in pursuit. Although I had bolted from the scene immediately after Remo had died and was careful to ensure that no suspicious do-gooder wrote down my licence plate, the potent combination of shock and paranoia in my system caused me to assume that being chased down by the cops was inevitable. Especially since I had just killed a man.
Sure, it was self-defense. But it didn’t change the fact that at that moment a SkyTrain railway was slicked with biker blood. The weird thing was I didn’t feel any different. My old man had killed several criminals in the line of duty. And I had no idea how many UVF paramilitary loyalists had died at the hands of my cousin. I had asked them both many times before about what it felt like to take a life. Neither one said much other than that I should consider myself lucky for not being in the club. I guess my membership status had just changed.
I didn’t have time to brood over killing a punk like Little Z anyway. If it were up to him his custom Hobbit dagger would have left me deader than the Orc army at the end of Lord of the Rings. Besides, after the incident at the SkyTrain, it was clear that both of the Zeppelin boys were murderous scum who clearly had no issue taking a life. Johnny could have just as easily been killed by their hands had Damian Kendricks given the order. The only one of the Steel Gods who had shown a modicum of morality was Remo Willis, and he had paid the price for that with his life.
I unbuttoned my shirt and used the rear-view mirror to take look at my chest. It was bleeding pretty badly. I pulled into a drugstore, grabbed some items to dress the wound, and was back on the road before the clerk had finished ringing up her next customer. I was still a good twenty minutes away from the pub or Declan’s condo so I put my geographic knowledge of Dairy Queens to work. I got off of Kingsway and cut down Boundary Road, the heavy traffic corridor that divided the cities of Burnaby and Vancouver. I turned right on East 49th, purposely taking a back roads route to the DQ location I had in mind. I hit Fraser and drove north until I saw the comforting red-and-white oval beckoning me.
After parking I went directly to the bathroom and locked the door, where I proceeded to reset my broken nose. Thanks to my years in professional wrestling I was pretty much an expert on the matter, although the shooting pain that spider-webbed throughout my head when the cartilage popped back into place was something you never got used to. I moved onto disinfecting and bandaging my chest wound. Upon second look it didn’t seem as bad, although I probably needed a couple of stitches. But now was hardly the time for a visit to an ER.
For all I knew Big Zeppelin had gotten Remo Willis to confess that he had given me the bloody knife. I had to operate under the assumption that he did, which meant the Steel Gods would be coming for me with a vengeance. And after the way I had turned one of their gang members into public-transit mush, I think it was safe to say that Kendricks and his pals wouldn’t come looking for me in order to have a friendly chat.
Kendricks. That smug son-of-a-bitch. I had bought into his bullshit about Remo Willis. Part of me had even liked the guy and gotten a kick out of his eccentricity. I had been face-to-face with the man who gave the order to have Johnny killed and didn’t even know it. It made me so livid I wanted to snap off the bike-chain tail of one of his Alien metal statues and use it to gouge out his eyes.
I put my savage fantasies on hold and called Rya. Straight to voicemail. I hung up, left the bathroom and ordered a banana milkshake. I took a seat in a booth and tried to calm myself, as my entire body was flush with anger and adrenaline. A few deep breaths and a couple of sips of my milkshake helped settle me down. I tried Rya again. Voicemail. I left a message for her to call me ASAP, hung up, and then dialed my cousin.
“Aye,” piped Declan, answering on the first ring.
“It’s me,” I said.
“How’s she cuttin’?”
“Bad.”
“Need me help?”
“Not yet. Where’s Pop?”
“In his office.”
“Something happened, D. Some bad people are going to be gunning for me.”
“Grasby again?”
“Worse. Bikers.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“Just let the old man know and promise me you’ll stay sharp. They might come looking for me at the pub.”
“Not unless they want a bullet to the barse, they won’t.”
“Barse?”
“Aye, the wee patch o’skin between your balls and your arse.” I shook my head for asking.
“I need to figure out my next move. You mind if I lay low at your place?”
“Have at it, mate.”
I hung up and sucked back my shake so fast I felt the sharp tickle of an oncoming brain freeze. I pressed my fingers to my temple and closed my eyes, immediately seeing the image of the diminutive biker getting squashed by the SkyTrain over and over again. I ordered another banana shake to go.
Despite changing out of my suit into a comfortable pair of jeans and a Henley shirt, nearly half-an-hour later I was still shifting restlessly on Declan’s couch while surfing TV channels and obsessively checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed an incoming call from Rya. I finished my milkshake and cracked a Bavarian lager. I sunk into the couch and tried to push the anxiety out of my head. I flipped past pro wrestling but eventually returned to the channel and tossed the remote onto the couch beside me.
It had been years sin
ce I had watched my former profession, mostly because just the sight of a wrestling ring was enough to trigger images of Max lying paralyzed at my feet. Of course that was before I had started killing people so my usual pangs of guilt seemed to be more or less absent for the time being. I sipped the lager and watched as a couple of B-list jobbers went through the motions in the ring. The bigger man sported a lion’s mane of blonde hair that flowed like windswept silk with each faux punch he threw against his Mohawked opponent. The golden-haired giant slung the punk wrestler into the turnbuckles with an Irish whip, then delivered a running clothesline that knocked the other man out of the ring.
My eyelids drooped as the wrestlers took their fight ringside, and a wave of fatigue suddenly hit me like I had an anesthesia needle in my arm and was midway through counting backwards from ten. I knew the adrenaline I had been running on since the incident at the SkyTrain was fading fast. I tried valiantly to stay awake, but my will couldn’t overcome the combination of Declan’s comfy couch and the smoothness of the wrestling announcer’s hyperbolic voice, which all but lulled me to sleep. The last thing I remember was the Mohawked wrestler slowly climbing to his feet, only to get smashed over the head with a metal folding chair. He never even saw it coming.
THIRTY-THREE
I jolted awake in darkness. The only light in Declan’s condo came from the flickering images of a poker tournament on the television. I checked my watch. Six o’clock. I had been asleep for over two hours. I fumbled with my phone and saw that I had one missed call from Rya. She didn’t leave a message. I called her back but it went straight to voicemail. I cursed to myself and dialed Declan. No answer. I called the pub. No answer there, either. My pulse quickened. The landline to The Emerald Shillelagh had no answering machine or voicemail. Someone always picked up the phone during business hours. By the time the phone rang for the twenty-second time I was in my truck and speeding through a red light.
Cobra Clutch Page 18
