Cobra Clutch

by Devlin, A. J. ;

  Kendricks and his gang outnumbered me greatly. They had until two AM to plan the exchange and ensure that the location they selected worked to their advantage. And as soon as they got their hands on the knife that killed Johnny my pop and I would be as good as dead. Even though taking out a legendary ex-cop like my father would bring a lot of heat down on the Steel Gods, I had no doubt Kendricks would do it. My pop could ID both him and his gang, and Kendricks had to know that if he let my old man go it would only be a matter of time until Frank Ounstead and the Vancouver Police came after them in full force with the evidence and testimony needed to put them away.

  I left the hospital in a state of despair. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t know what to do. I floored the gas pedal and tried to speed away from the pain. My mind raced faster than my truck, and I sifted through ideas quickly. I drove aimlessly until I found myself in Gastown. That’s when a plan started to take shape in my head. I flew past red brick buildings and weaved in and out of traffic, the heavy-duty suspension of my F-150 absorbing the bumpiness of the cobblestone street. The steam-powered clock struck ten as I neared the intersection at Cambie and Water Street, and the grill of my pickup sliced through the thick vapour released by the famous landmark as it drifted into the road. I took a hard left off of the one-way street and shot up a block to Cordova, before cranking the wheel again and heading back in the other direction. Once I passed the crusty, green-hued statue of old Gassy Jack a few blocks later, I was as confident in my next move as Vancouver’s founding father was when he set sail down the Fraser River with nothing but a barrel of whisky and dream of a saloon.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The strip club was rocking. A giant disco ball spun overhead, reflecting a dizzying array of coloured light off of tabletops, glasses, watches, jewelry, glittery, naked breasts, and g-strings. I shoved my way through a bachelor party and even though several rowdy guys shot me dirty looks, they all had the good sense to not make an issue of it.

  Melvin Van Lowe was halfway through his steak dinner when I interrupted him, and he seemed less than pleased. “You ratfink bastard,” he snapped.

  “I need your help.”

  “Fuck you, Ounstead. My nose still hurts and you gave me up to the cops even though I did you a favour.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about your nose. I was upset over Johnny’s murder and shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But I had to tell the cops that Stormy Daze hired you. Besides, I knew for a fact they were preoccupied with other leads so I doubt they gave you much of a hassle.”

  “Yeah, well, they still called me. I almost had a fucking anxiety attack, man.”

  “You know what’s good for treating anxiety?”

  “Pussy?”

  “I was going to say a round of beers on me, but hey, whatever works.”

  “Can you just hurry up and tell me what you want? I’m trying to enjoy my dinner.”

  I pulled up a chair next to Melvin and pleaded my case. “I’m in some serious trouble.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Just hear me out. Believe it or not, you’re the only person who can help.”

  Melvin eyed me curiously as he sliced off a chunk of baked potato and plunged it into a tiny cup of sour cream. “Go on,” he said.

  I quickly summarized my encounter with Remo Willis and how I obtained the knife that had killed Johnny. Again, I skipped over the part where I made a fleshy-biker scramble out of one of the Steel Gods, but I did inform Melvin of the shoot-out and fire at the pub and my pop’s subsequent kidnapping. Melvin was so stunned a piece of potato fell out of his mouth.

  “They got Frank?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yeah. But I know how to get him back.”

  “How?” I laid out my plan. “Look, Jed, you know I got a lot respect for Frank and all, but this is some hardcore shit. I mean, yeah, I’m pretty good at snapping photos of slutty housewives and stuff, but I’m not exactly a surveillance expert. I’m sorry. I really think you need to bring in the cops.”

  “I can’t risk it. I can do this, Melvin.”

  “Maybe you can. But I can’t risk a bloodthirsty biker gang discovering that I helped you and then coming after me.”

  “They’ll never know. Even if things go bad, I’ll leave your name out of it. I give you my word.” Melvin took another bite of his steak.

  “If I were to help you do this, I’d like something in return.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want Frank to float me some business. It doesn’t have to be his top-tier clients or anything. Just some jobs here and there that don’t require me to squat in the bushes and wait for some horny buffalos to start knob-gobbling. If he did that, I could really start to grow my agency and attract a broader clientele.”

  “Done,” I said. “Although if you really want to accomplish that goal, you might want to think about painting over the big-breasted, warrior women who adorn your office walls.”

  “Are you fucking crazy? Those chicks are awesome.”

  A flexible stripper laid down on the stage directly in front of us and proceeded to bend her legs in all directions. Melvin was so deep in thought he didn’t even look.

  “What do you say, bub?” I finally asked.

  “Okay,” he said, before paying his bill and following me out of the club.

  We spent the next half-hour next door in Melvin’s office carefully filling a duffel bag with all types of surveillance equipment, including parabolic microphones, audio recorders, GPS trackers, and LCD digital camera binoculars.

  “I thought you said you weren’t a surveillance expert?”

  “Just because I own it doesn’t mean I know how to use it yet.”

  “Where did you get all this stuff anyway?”

  “The Spy Store. That place is awesome. It’s like every cheater’s worst nightmare.”

  Melvin zipped up the duffel bag then outfitted both of our cell phones with Bluetooth headsets. When we were finished and ready to leave he went around the office, kissing his fingertips and tapping the cleavage of each of the bosomy fantasy women that were spread throughout the room on the walls.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

  “I do this before every job. For luck.” Melvin walked over to a mural of a winged vampiress with a battle-axe. “I call this babe Solita. She’s my favourite.”

  “I’m just going to wait for you by the car,” I replied.

  Melvin nodded and leaned his forehead against Solita’s enormous rack, and I think the little freak may have started to motorboat her two-dimensional boobs as I left. But considering he was about to help me try and rescue my father from a pack of homicidal bikers, I decided to cut the guy some slack.

  Melvin followed me in his cherry-red Dodge Viper as I drove my truck through the downtown streets of Vancouver. I checked my watch. 10:45 PM. I only had about three hours until the exchange. When we arrived at our destination I instructed Melvin to wait in his car.

  “How long you going to be?” he asked.

  “Depends,” I replied.

  “On what?”

  “On how convincing I am.”

  “Can you ballpark it for me?”

  “No, Melvin, I can’t.”

  “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “Wait.”

  “Fine. But I’m going to pull my car around to the other side.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think I saw a couple of MILFs drinking wine on the patio of one of those houses we drove by,” he said, before digging a pair of LCD digital camera binoculars out of the duffel bag.

  “Just stay sharp, okay? And keep your phone close.”

  “I’m not a fucking idiot, Ounstead.”

  I left Melvin to his Peeping Tom preparations and ente
red the building. I double-checked that my snub-nosed .38 Colt Cobra revolver was tucked behind my back and under my shirt in my waistband, and my fingers lingered momentarily on the reassuring comfort of the pistol’s cold steel.

  It didn’t take long for people to stare. Conversations turned to hushed whispers. The room grew smaller as bodies slowly circled me. I could feel the cumulative gazes like the growing heat from an increasing number of spotlights. When I got close the people around him parted like I had just waved the staff of Moses. I climbed up and under, and then walked until we were standing toe-to-toe. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and vexation. He crossed his arms and waited for me to speak.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  Bert Grasby burned holes into me with his eyes, before glancing outside of the wrestling ring and taking note of the dozens of XCCW wrestlers who had stopped packing up after the evening’s show and were instead transfixed by the scene playing out in front of them. Even Pocket was silent, standing slack-jawed next to Tubbs. Grasby took a step forward and got in my face.

  “And then some,” he replied.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Do you know what my favourite animal is, Ounstead?”

  “I don’t really care.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “No.”

  “Take a fucking guess.”

  “A monkey.”

  “A monkey?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why a monkey?”

  “They have pudgy bellies, can’t keep their hands off their dicks, and have been known to hump other members of the same sex. Reminds me of you.”

  I didn’t see the punch coming. The fist came from behind and clocked me pretty good on my left cheekbone, but I instinctively rolled with it in hopes of limiting the damage. Bert Grasby’s face was extremely flushed, and combined with the snow-white, velour tracksuit he was wearing, his chubby head looked like a cherry tomato that was balanced atop an egg.

  “There’s more where that came from, cockbucket,” snapped Dylan, as he individually flexed his pecs in what I assumed was intended to be an intimidating gesture. I’m pretty sure the combination of what I said next and my use of air quotes made it clear to Dylan I was far from rattled.

  “I think the only ‘cockbucket’ around here is your asshole, kid.” Dylan snapped and lunged toward me.

  “Enough!” barked Grasby, and Dylan responded with the promptness of a well-trained attack dog.

  The room was silent for a moment as Grasby, Dylan, and two skinhead, muscle-bound wrestlers I didn’t recognize glared at me venomously. We were in the same community centre arts and crafts room where I had first encountered Grasby. Dylan was again dressed in a Lycra Speedo, although I noticed he had heeded my advice and forgone the neon tassels around his biceps. Dylan’s nose was heavily taped and he wore a protective clear plastic mask over top of it. Remembering how he had squealed after I had shattered his nose during our street fight made the pain in my cheekbone lessen. Having regained his composure, Grasby leaned against a desk and continued with the point he had tried to make earlier.

  “Leopards are my favourite animal. They’re amazing predators. The thing about leopards though, what really makes them special, is the way they treat their prey. You see, after a leopard makes a kill it doesn’t just eat and go on its way. No, a leopard eats a little, then clenches its prey between its teeth, climbs up a tree, and places its kill in the branches so no other predator in the jungle can have it. The leopard will then continue to return to that tree and devour its prey until there’s nothing left but bones.” Grasby pushed himself off the desk and sauntered toward me until I could smell his spicy foul breath.

  “You’re all mine, Ounstead. And I’m going to keep coming after you. Because of what you did.”

  “You mean hitting you for disrespecting my friend?”

  “It’s not just that. Hell, I probably could have let that go, especially after Mamba got killed. But you started sniffing around my past. You messed up Dylan’s handsome face and now he looks like Hannibal Lecter. And because of you my cousin only has nine fucking fingers. He even had to quit his fucking bowling team.”

  “There’s no shame in having a big toe for a thumb.”

  “Why the fuck are you here? If you think I won’t end you just because dozens of people saw you walk in then you really don’t know shit about Bert Grasby.”

  I sighed and shook my head. The jerk referred to himself in the third person more than Mr. Miyagi.

  “I’m here because I want to settle things between us.”

  “You want to call a truce?” he said, scoffingly.

  “I want to make you an offer.” Grasby eyed me curiously.

  “I’m listening,” he said, a few moments later.

  “I don’t care that your goons jumped me. Insurance will cover my trashed house and I’ll even look the other way on the fact that you tried to kill me in a drive-by shooting. I’m willing to wipe the slate clean between us so that we can move forward and help each other out in a way that is mutually beneficial.”

  “Help each other out how exactly?”

  “I need you to make a phone call.”

  “To who?”

  “Whichever member of the Steel Gods biker gang it was who set you up with Remo Willis.”

  “Don’t do it, boss,” said Dylan. “This is some kind of trap. He’s probably wearing a wire.” I lifted the front of my shirt, revealing that there was nothing attached to my chest except for the bandage covering my knife wound and an abundance of chest hair.

  “Remo Willis was the person who stole Johnny Mamba’s snake. When his boss Damian Kendricks found out, he was furious that Remo had jeopardized their operation over such a small-time score. So he ordered a hit on Johnny. I found Remo and learned that while he was guilty of extortion, he wasn’t complicit in the murder. After Johnny was killed, Remo felt so guilty he swiped the murder weapon and gave it to me. But before I could do anything with it, the Steel Gods killed Remo, shot my cousin, and kidnapped my father. They want to make an exchange in a few hours and we’re both smart enough to know that my old man and I wouldn’t make it back from that meeting alive. That’s why I need you to call your contact in the Steel Gods and lure them here.”

  Grasby stared at me in disbelief. He glanced around at Dylan and the muscle heads, but they looked utterly confused.

  “Wait, Remo took Johnny’s snake?” Dylan asked, scratching his head. “The guy who hooks us up with our Oxy and juice?” Grasby rolled his eyes at Dylan’s slow-wittedness. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the door.

  “Outside, all of you.”

  “But boss — ”

  “Go.” Dylan and the meatheads left without another word. Grasby sat on a desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “You still haven’t told me what I’d get out of this,” he said tiredly. I made Grasby my offer. His eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  “How do I know you’ll be able to deliver?” he asked.

  “I’m a man of my word, Grasby. And I’d be in your debt.” Grasby stewed over the proposition for almost a minute.

  “Deal,” he said finally. “But I still don’t know how I’m supposed to lure the guy here.”

  “What’s the name of the person who set you up with Remo?”

  “Lance. I don’t know his last name.”

  “It’s Dennings. He’s the same sasquatch son-of-a-bitch who slit Johnny’s throat.”

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Grasby.

  “All you have to do is call him and tell him that I just paid you a visit. When he asks for details tell him you’re not comfortable talking about it over the phone. Trust me, he’ll come running.”

  “And when he arrives? What do I say then?”

  �
�Tell him I came storming in here, all crazed and upset. Mention that I demanded to know where I could find the Steel Gods but you told me you didn’t know.”

  “I don’t know!” said Grasby emphatically.

  “Good. That will make it an easier sell.”

  “What are you going to do while he’s in here talking to me?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that. Just try and stall him for as long as possible.” Grasby nodded and ran his fingers through his wispy hair.

  “And that’s all I have to do?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Whatever it is you got planned, something tells me it’s not going to be good for the Steel Gods’ business.”

  “So what if it isn’t?”

  “They’re the best supplier in the province and literally hook my wrestlers up with any drug they want. Not to mention the fact I just went through a lot of trouble in order to switch my business from the Russians over to them.”

  “The Steel Gods and the Russians aren’t the only dealers in town. Surely a man as resourceful as you can find what you need elsewhere.”

  “I suppose, but it’s a fucking headache I could do without.”

  “Remember what I’m offering you.” Grasby chewed his bottom lip for a few moments.

  “Fine. But what about my safety? How do I know these guys won’t find out I helped you and come looking for blood?”