I’d forgotten that Rachelle had transferred to my former school a couple of years before.
“Okay, that’s now … fifteen years ago?”
“I’d say almost all schools would have included it back then.”
“Including private schools?”
“Hard to say. Some of the charter private schools do things differently. But most try to follow the Alberta Education curriculum for the most part.”
“Thanks. I guess that’s about what I thought. How are you enjoying my old alma mater anyway?”
“I love it. Great kids and a really good bunch of teachers and administrators. Hey, it’s Alberta, so there are always funding problems, but we soldier on.”
“And I imagine my name comes up a lot. The former student who is a wonderful role model for today’s students — that sort of thing.”
“I’ve lost track of the times I’ve heard people talking about you.”
“Yeah. Hey, thanks Rachelle, I appreciate this. And say hi to Lorne for me.”
“I will.”
I powered off the hands-free and thought about what Rachelle had told me and how it fit in with what I knew. Or at least what I thought I knew.
Donna had paid considerably less attention to her photo album in her grade eleven year than she had previously. The note referring to someone as a bastard (and a pig) was in a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, a novel that was studied in grade ten or eleven. And I had a feeling that the person she’d exchanged the note with had been holding back a little in our conversation of a couple of days previous.
Not exactly a mountain of damning evidence. I guessed that any real investigator would have laughed out loud at what I’d pieced together so far.
Anyway it was time to change hats. I’d just turned onto 9th Avenue and was only a couple of blocks from Garry Street. I pointedly turned my thoughts to Jay Blevins and Zoe Tario. And the MFs. Hoping I’d see one or both of the first two. And not so much as a glimpse of the latter.
I’d seen dozens of scenes in dozens of movies and television shows where a cop or detective is watching someone’s house. I figured out in the first couple of hours of my first assignment that there was a whole lot of stuff that hadn’t received sufficient attention in any of those shows.
The cold, for example. On a November night in Calgary, even during a Chinook, if you were in your car for any length of time, you would want that car to be running and the heater cranked to the hottest setting available. However, when involved in surveillance, running your car means running the risk of being detected while you’re detecting.
Luckily I had thrown an extra down-filled jacket, two bulky sweaters, and a blanket into the backseat of the Honda earlier in the day. After a half hour in front of Zoe’s building I bundled up. I was uncomfortable but managed to stay this side of hypothermia. It occurred to me that having so many clothes on that I could barely fit behind the Honda’s steering wheel and covering my legs with a blanket probably left me lacking something in terms of manliness, which I didn’t care about, and mobility, which I did.
Secondly, the movies and TV generally skip right over the part about going to the bathroom. In my case that involved crawling out from under the blanket, unwedging myself from the front seat of the Accord, and, while trying to look casual just in case someone was peeking out from some unseen window somewhere, taking a whiz in the gutter on the passenger side of the car. I tried to be as surreptitious as possible but found it hard to be stealthy when looking — and feeling — like the Pillsbury Doughboy.
The dark helped. Which is the third thing skipped over in all the cop shows. I came to the realization that there is a reason most of the scary scenes in scary movies are shot at night. It’s because it’s dark and … scarier then. I don’t think I’m a coward but I had to admit that the cave-like black of Garry Street — it was cloudy so no moonlight — got to me after a while. While I blessed the darkness during my furtive excursions to the passenger side of the car, I cursed it the rest of the time.
But while I shivered and complained for most of the night, the one thing I did not do was fall asleep. Which meant I was awake at 2:17 a.m. when Zoe came walking up Garry Street in the company of a guy and girl, both of them about her age. They came right by the Honda but none looked inside. I was able to get enough of a look at the guy to be certain he was not Jay Blevins.
Cobb had told me to call if anything interesting happened. I decided the arrival of Zoe and a couple of kids who were either homeless or addicts or both didn’t qualify.
Zoe’s arrival wasn’t the only occurrence. At 4:08 a car turned onto Garry Street from behind where I was parked. It wasn’t the first vehicle I’d seen that night. Two others, one from each direction, had gone by my location. The first was just after midnight, the second at 1:46 a.m. While I noted the times in my notebook, neither of those vehicles — the first was a taxi, the second a pickup truck — caught my attention.
This one did. It was moving slowly and without headlights. It was a dark, menacing object that would pass by the Honda in a matter of seconds, a minute at the most. I slumped down as much as my layers of clothing would allow and eased my head to the left, hoping to get a look at the car and its occupants without whoever was in that car seeing me.
The car slowed still more as it passed me. There were two men in the car, both in the front seat, and as they went by, both were concentrating hard on the warehouse. The man in the passenger seat had his phone out and was talking to someone as they went by.
The car came to a stop three or four car lengths past me. I was afraid they might pull in and hang around for a while but after a couple of minutes it looked like the passenger side guy wrapped up his phone call and they drove off.
As the car disappeared around the corner I started the Accord, waited a five count, and pulled forward. I wasn’t planning to actually follow the car, but if I could spot it under streetlights I could at least identify it. I figured that much didn’t qualify me for a John Wayne reprimand.
I turned the corner and was almost relieved to see that they were nowhere in sight. I decided to give it one shot. I’d turn onto 9th Avenue and see if they were in range.
I did and they were. There were only two cars moving on 9th Avenue at that moment: my Accord and a sporty silver job heading east about a block and a half ahead of me. I pulled over, grabbed the binoculars, and lined them up.
Audi. Nice car. Expensive car. I put the binoculars away, turned off of 9th Avenue, and took a circuitous route back to the warehouse to make sure they hadn’t doubled back and were following me.
When I got back to my post I shut off the Accord and pulled out my cell phone. I dialled Cobb’s cell number and was surprised when he answered on the second ring, even more surprised when he sounded wide awake.
“What’ve you got?”
“How do you know I’ve got anything?”
“You wouldn’t call at 4:30 a.m. unless it was to tell me something. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. And you’re right, I do have a couple of things I thought you should know about.”
“Shoot.”
“Zoe arrived home with two friends, one male and one female, at 2:17 a.m. They were on foot. They went inside and so far they’re the only people who have gone in or out of the building. I didn’t recognize either of her friends, but the male wasn’t Jay Blevins.”
“What else?”
“Just a few minutes ago a car cruised the street, real slow going by the building, lights out, two guys, silver Audi, expensive. The guy in the passenger seat was talking on his cell phone, finished the call, and they drove off.
“Didn’t get out of the car.”
“Nope.”
Cobb was silent … thinking.
“I couldn’t get any kind of a look at either of the guys in the car. They only made one pass along the street.”
“Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You still at the building?�
�
“Watching it like a hawk.”
“Okay, if those guys come back, dial this number, let it ring once, and hang up. I don’t want them to see you talking on a phone.”
“Got it.”
“It’s almost five a.m. Assuming they don’t come back, how about I come by about seven, buy you breakfast, maybe we have a chat with Zoe?”
“When you say buy me breakfast, are you thinking of that happening in a restaurant? Because my ass is frozen solid in this car so a donut and coffee in either of our vehicles isn’t going to cut it.”
That brought a chuckle. “There’s a restaurant in the old Kane’s Motorcycle place on 9th Avenue. Cool place, real good food. Motorcycle diner motif.”
“I know the place.”
“Good. I’ll meet you there at seven. We’ll eat, you can unfreeze your ass, and then we’ll pay a visit to Zoe and friends.”
“That sounds real good, especially the part about thawing my assets.”
“And good work over there. I appreciate it.”
“Any time.”
“Careful, I might take you up on your offer.”
“I meant any time in the summer.”
“Right.” He hung up the phone.
I bundled up again and started the countdown to seven a.m. … and warmth.
Cobb was already there when I walked into the restaurant. Kane’s Harley Diner wasn’t fancy but it did what I figured the owners wanted it to do. It featured fifties-ish Formica counters, lots of stainless steel, mirrors, motorcycle stuff everywhere, and big portions of hearty food — a biker’s idea of heaven. Except that the clientele extended far beyond the biker community — diners of every stripe.
Cobb was in a booth at the back. I almost didn’t recognize him. Peacoat, green toque, unshaven since I’d last seen him.
I slid into the opposite side of the booth. “Is this the can’t-beat-’em-join-’em look?”
“Something like that. I’ve been spending a fair amount of time around here. I figured better to look like a street person than a cop. People talk to street people.”
“You been to bed yet?”
He shook his head. “Maybe later today.”
“I thought the idea behind me taking on spy duty was to let you get some sleep.”
“The idea behind you taking on spy duty was to let me get some things done.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. You getting anything done?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer. A tall, skinny, early twenty-something server in a black T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson logo on it, camo pants, and a red bandana wrapped around his head came to the table.
“You guys know what you want to order?”
“Not yet,” Cobb told him.
“You wanna start with coffee?”
“Please,” I said. “The hotter the better. And if you’ve got a mug instead of a cup, that would be great.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Cobb said. “I’ll do that too.”
When Red Bandana was gone I thought again about asking Cobb what he’d been doing with his free time, but decided it wasn’t important.
The server returned back seconds later with two coffees, both in mugs.
Cobb sipped. Tasting it like wine. He nodded approval. “That’ll be fine,” he said.
Red Bandana started to roll his eyes, looked at Cobb, and changed his mind. Walked off. I grinned at Cobb. “A street person with attitude.”
“But lovable when you get to know me.”
I warmed my hands on the mug. “You planning on filling me in on what you’ve learned?”
He shrugged. “Not much really. I’ve been spending a lot of time down in that area where Jill saw Jay. I figured for him to be going in that direction, he maybe has a place to stay somewhere around there. I’ve talked to a bunch of the locals and three different people have seen Jay in the last few days, all of them in that same general area, but nobody actually talked to him beyond saying hi. And all of them said the same thing — Jay seemed to be going somewhere, no time to stand around.”
“You think he knows the MFs are looking for him?”
Another shrug. “Hard to say. I’m guessing he knows that some bad people aced his old man. Unless he’s living under a rock. The underground communication on the street is pretty effective.”
“That could explain why he seems to be in a hurry all the time. Maybe he figures he could be next and is scared to stay in one place for very long.”
Cobb didn’t answer as Red Bandana returned to our table.
“Know what you want yet?”
“Sorry,” I said. “We’ve kind of been talking. We’ll get on it right away.”
As the server started to turn away, Cobb said, “How long have you worked here?”
The young guy turned back, looked at Cobb, then at me. Tense. “Almost a year.”
“You have a bike?”
His body relaxed as he said, “Yeah, a ’99 Softtail Standard FXST. Cool machine. I love my Harley.” He pointed to the logo on the T-shirt.”
“Sounds like a nice machine. So is that part of the deal? You have to have a Harley to work here?” Cobb took a sip of his coffee.
“No, but some of us do.”
“What’s your name? I like to know my server’s name, you know?’
I looked at Cobb. I thought he was laying it on a little thick.
Red Bandana might have been thinking the same thing. He stiffened a little. But he did answer.
“Davy.”
“Yeah? I got a nephew named Davy. Not David or Dave. He’s Davy.”
“Yeah. Well, you just give me a wave when you’re ready to order.” Davy started to leave again.
“So Davy, you get a lot of people with bikes come in here? You know, it’s called the Harley Diner and everything. I figured maybe it’s popular with Harley owners.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. We get some bikers in here. Anyway, I better get back to work. Just yell when you know what you want.”
Cobb nodded.
I decided not to ask what the point of the exchange with Davy was. “Think Jay Blevins has heard about us looking for him?”
Cobb shook his head slowly, picked up his spoon, stirred his coffee, though he hadn’t put anything in it.
“Scared kid, maybe strung out. Hard to figure what he knows … or what he’s thinking.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure I agreed but I wasn’t sure I disagreed.
“I keep thinking about what Blevins told me,” Cobb said. “About one of the guys in the crack house being on the phone, doing a mock play-by-play of him being in there. Using Blevins’s name … and Jay’s. Whoever was on the other end of the line on the phone knows about Jay.”
“And if it is the MFs and that’s what they’re thinking …”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why doesn’t the kid just get the hell out of town for a while?”
Cobb thought about that. “He’s a kid. He’s not sure what to do other than stay out of sight. And he might be a little shy on travel funds. And if he’s using he’ll want to be close to where he can get whatever it is he’s on.”
“Maybe. And Zoe could keep him here too. He might not want to get too far from her.”
“Entirely possible,” Cobb said.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I drank some coffee. Cobb lifted his mug but didn’t drink, studied it instead.
I broke the silence. “What about the Audi cruising the warehouse last night?”
“Yeah, that bothers me. If the MFs know about Zoe, they’re likely to try to use her to get to Jay.”
“That doesn’t sound nice,” I said.
“These aren’t nice people. Okay, let’s order, then we’ll talk some more.”
Cobb waved an arm and Davy must been looking our way. He came to our table briskly. Businesslike. He had his pad and pencil at the ready.
We ordered. Pancakes for Cobb. Bacon and eggs with OJ for me.
Davy loo
ked up from the order pad. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, one thing,” Cobb said. “You mentioned that the biker set comes in here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Including gang type bikers?”
Some hesitation as Davy studied Cobb trying to get a read on him. Cobb kept smiling like everybody’s favourite uncle.
Davy was shuffling his feet, antsy.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’m wondering if any of the guys in the MFs ever stop by. You know who the MFs are.” Cobb made it a statement rather than a question.
Davy thought for a few seconds, began backing away, wanting to leave.
Cobb lowered his voice.
“I’m looking for an old school buddy of mine, he’s one of the MFs — Blair Scubberd, Rock, the ol’ Rockman.” Cobb grinned like he was remembering one of the ol’ Rockman’s most hilarious moments. “You know him?”
Davy shook his head. Licked his lips.
“But the MFs come in here, right? I was told they did and I was also told I might be able to find Rock here, that he stops in himself now and again.”
“I better get your order in.” He turned away then back to us. “You guys cops?”
Cobb shrugged, which didn’t answer the question. “Thing is, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention to my pal Rock that I’m looking for him. You know, if he ever happens to drop by. I want it to be a surprise when I finally catch up with him.”
Davy turned again and this time kept going.
“You ruined his day,” I said.
“Maybe. I’ve done some more checking on Scubberd. Turns out he was away for a while. Maybe setting up some things in Vancouver. That’s the scuttlebutt. I’ve got a call in to a cop friend of mine out there. See what I can find out. Anyway, our boy Rock has been back in Calgary about a year, and since his return things have been picking up for the MFs, business-wise.”
“Drugs?”
Cobb shrugged. “My guess.”
“I wonder why the change.”
“Starts with M and ends in O-N-E-Y, I’m thinking.”
Serpents Rising Page 13
