Mafia Trilogy 03 - The Scythe

by Jonas Saul

  His sister wouldn’t have left a message like that on his phone and then disappeared without a word. Nothing was normal about anything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. She hadn’t answered her phone and she hadn’t been back to her apartment. The sister Aaron knew would never do that. That equated to Aaron assessing everything as a threat. He didn’t know what the message meant, and he didn’t know where the danger would come from, but he knew that he had to be on full alert.

  Two deckhands tossed out lines and another tied them to posts on the pier. The ferry docked and began letting passengers board. Aaron paid his fare, walked onto the ferry, and moved to a side railing where he could people-watch.

  A young couple boarded with backpacks on, speaking to each other in French.

  Must be on their way to Montreal, he thought, knowing that Air Canada and Porter Airlines both flew out of the airport.

  The couple headed up the stairs to the observation decks.

  A Coca-Cola truck and a white van with tinted windows moved forward to meet the ferry. Aaron wondered what the white van was delivering to the airport as it eased in behind the Coke truck.

  After a few minutes of boarding, the ropes were pulled from the pier. Feeling no immediate threat, Aaron stared out at the water as the ferry got underway.

  Is this what you did, Joanne? Is there something on the island that I’m supposed to discover? Did Frank or Gary Weeks do anything to you?

  The crossing only took a few minutes, and the ferry slowed in preparation for docking at the island. Aaron moved along the railing toward the front, watching his back. He found it odd that he was following in his sister’s footsteps, at least he hoped he was, and yet not a single cop had done the same as far as he knew. They had the recorded message. Today was the third day since anyone had seen Joanne and they still hadn’t even taken a formal statement from him.

  When the boat bumped the dock hard, Aaron grabbed the railing. The two vehicles started their engines. The backpackers came down the steps while the rest of the few early-morning passengers assembled to exit the ferry.

  He stood in the shadow of the ferry’s pilot house, watching everyone to see if anybody paid special attention to him.

  No one did.

  After the required wait, the ferry emptied, with Aaron walking off last. He followed the pack of people to the main building. The small airport was undergoing renovations. The temporary terminal building sat on the grass south of the runway. Aaron followed the group of people toward it. When he entered the terminal, a wave of cold air from the air conditioning blasted him.

  He found an employee pushing an empty cart.

  “Excuse me,” Aaron said as he rushed over.

  The man was about 5’10”, but his slumped walk made him look shorter, his back rounded in fatigue. The man’s name badge said Everton.

  “Can you tell me if either Frank or Gary Weeks is working today?” Aaron asked.

  The employee stopped and sized Aaron up, then met his eyes.

  “Why you wanna talk to them?” Everton asked in a French accent.

  “Old friends.” None of your fucking business. “Either one working today?”

  Everton looked him up and down again, snorted in derision, and started away.

  Aaron hustled up beside him. “Excuse me, why are you walking away?”

  The man stopped again. “I gotta pull two doubles this week because of Frank not showing up for two days. Dat brother of his, Gary, he here, but he sure is lazy. Neither one of them need a favor from me. You tell them when you find them that they owe me this time.”

  The man pushed away, yanking on the cart handle, and started off again.

  Aaron kept up. “What do you mean, find them?”

  Alarm bells rang in Aaron’s mind.

  Could Frank Weeks be missing too? Is that why he hadn’t shown up in two days? Was there a connection to Joanne?

  “Frank hasn’t shown up for work in two days,” Everton said. “And he hasn’t called in, eidder. Gary’s been walking around like he’s seen a ghost. He’s trying to act normal, but I can tell the difference.” The cart stopped and Everton walked around to the front of it. “If you are their friend, why don’t you know about Frank? Go find him and bring him here so I can go back to working my own shifts.”

  It was time to talk to Gary.

  “Where can I find Gary? What department does he work in?”

  “He’s that guy that loads the luggage onto the planes. But you won’t find him down there today.”

  Everton stared off at something over Aaron’s shoulder. In defense, Aaron spun around, his hands clenching, always ready. No one was behind him, only a line of windows. Outside the windows, Aaron saw the white van with tinted windows from the ferry. Two men with dark suits and sunglasses were escorting another man toward the van.

  “Is that Gary Weeks?” he asked Everton.

  Everton walked back to the cart’s handle and sighed. “Why you asking me? I thought you was their friend? You don’t know Gary by sight?” He started walking away. “I guess I’ll have to cover more shifts this week. I know cops when I see them. Looks like Gary’s in real trouble.”

  Aaron hit the doors and bolted outside, the morning sun feeling hotter after the cool comfort of conditioned air.

  “Hey!” he shouted across the grass as he ran. “Excuse me!”

  The trio reached the vehicle. One of the men opened the side sliding door and gestured for Gary to enter. Gary appeared to protest, then he was shoved inside.

  “Hey!” Aaron shouted again. Something is wrong, he thought. It didn’t add up. It didn’t look like two well-dressed police officers or detectives apprehending a suspect because the van wasn’t police issue. This was something else entirely.

  After slamming the side door shut, each man moved to enter the van.

  “Freeze!” Aaron yelled.

  It was an old tactic his sensei had taught him years ago. “Freeze” always made people think it was the police.

  It worked this time.

  The man about to enter the passenger side of the van turned and slowly removed his sunglasses. The pause was enough time for Aaron to reach him.

  He panted, trying to catch his breath. “I need to know … where you’re … taking Gary …”

  The man placed his sunglasses back on and opened the van’s door, ignoring Aaron.

  Aaron reached out and stopped the door.

  The man spun around to face Aaron.

  “You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice dark like an unexplored basement. It sent shivers through Aaron.

  “Who are you?” Aaron asked, knowing that if they were cops they would have to identify themselves.

  The driver had already gotten in and started the van.

  “Let go of the door or lose the hand.”

  Aaron almost smiled. The last thing he needed was being held on charges of assaulting a police officer. But he also understood the law better as he had recently been sitting for too many hours with his lawyer preparing his own defense on an attempted murder case. The cop, if that’s what he was, had not identified himself, and he had just threatened Aaron with violence for simply touching the van’s door.

  Aaron held onto the door. “I don’t take threats lightly.”

  As he spoke the man turned to fully face Aaron.

  Perfect, Aaron thought, open yourself up to me and make your whole body a target. Your move, asshole.

  “Last chance,” the man said. “Let go of the door and step away.”

  Aaron smiled as wide as he could, unmoved by the man’s alpha-male approach. He waited for the lunge or the grab or the punch, but nothing came. He was prepared to block and attack, but instead the man slowly moved his hand across his chest and pulled his jacket open a fraction to show him what was inside.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that his sister was missing and the only lead was Gary Weeks in the back of the van, Aaron would’ve conceded defeat and walked away. Guns were something
altogether more serious. The kind of serious that Aaron wasn’t normally willing to tangle with.

  But his sister was missing, Gary Weeks was in the back of the van, and Aaron didn’t like being threatened.

  Aaron’s left hand shot out, grabbed the man’s right wrist—the one that would unholster the weapon—yanked it down and twisted. At the same moment, his right hand released the van’s door, hit the pressure point at the base of the man’s throat, and applied the exact amount of force to cause prolonged choking, but not enough pressure to collapse the trachea.

  It was times like this he was glad he’d spent his entire youth working out, exercising, and doing his katas. Being a second dan black belt in Shotokan karate and an instructor in his own dojo had been a lifelong dream. Having almost killed one of his students a month ago with his bare hands in a fit of rage had been bad for business. But it was times like this that his extreme skill wasn’t put to the test, it was put to task.

  The man slumped to the ground, clutching at his throat, gasping and choking, his face reddening.

  The driver’s side door slammed shut. Aaron spun and addressed the driver, who now stood beside the van’s grill.

  The driver had a cocked pistol in his hand.

  “Step away, or I will shoot you in the iris of your left eye. You have one second.”

  The man’s voice gave nothing away. He sounded colder than the air conditioning in the terminal. Like shooting someone in the face was as routine as eating ice cream on a hot day.

  That voice persuaded Aaron to ease back, his hands raised chest high.

  The driver helped his friend up into the passenger seat, the whole time keeping the gun trained on Aaron.

  What the fuck is happening here? Aaron thought. Who are these people?

  “Turn around and start walking,” the driver ordered. “Do it now.”

  Aaron did, but not before scanning the terminal windows. At least a dozen people watched from the relative safety of the building. No way would the guy shoot an unarmed man in the back when his hands were raised. Not with that many witnesses.

  The van door shut and the wheels bit the grass as the vehicle raced away, headed for the ferry.

  As they left, Aaron memorized every feature of the two suited men and the little he saw of Gary Weeks.

  “Shit, now what?”

  Chapter 2

  Aaron didn’t have much experience with law enforcement until just recently, but he could tell they weren’t cops. They were something else entirely. Something dangerous.

  He needed to find the detective in charge of his sister’s disappearance and tell him what he just witnessed, and how it was connected to Joanne and her cryptic message.

  Once on the mainland, he jumped in his black Nissan Altima and drove along Lake Shore Boulevard toward Mississauga, where his sister lived in a high-rise building. The police station handling her missing persons case was the same one that booked him on the attempted murder charge months ago.

  Now on bail after his arraignment, he had certain terms he had to comply with. One of which was to stay out of trouble. Having a gun pointed at his face and smacking a guy around wasn’t staying out of trouble.

  He was also supposed to not use his hands. That was exactly what the judge had said, “Don’t use your hands … they’re lethal.” After what happened to one of Aaron’s students, he had decided to sell the dojo to the Russians that had been pressuring him to sell for over a year. Whatever form of martial arts they wanted to offer at the dojo was their business. Aaron knew he couldn’t teach anymore after what happened. The money he got last week from the sale, which his lawyer had pushed through seriously fast, saying it would look good for him, was enough to allow him to stay unemployed for at least a year. After that, maybe he’d look into bouncing at a club or private security or something along those lines.

  He hit the Dixie Road access and started north, wondering what crackerjack cop would wind up listening to Aaron’s theories. He only hoped the cop would take him seriously, because he was through doing it on his own. As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, having a gun in his face really shook him up. He would prefer to never have that happen again.

  Just south of Eglinton, he pulled into the Peel Regional, Twelfth Division office and parked in visitors. It was just after seven in the morning. He had no idea when detectives came on duty or if anyone would see him without an appointment, but he had to try, or at least get the name of the officer who was handling his sister’s case.

  If the cops would’ve contacted me for a statement already, I would know who to see.

  A pretty blonde police officer in full uniform sat at the front desk, her hair done up in a bun. She looked all business.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he came closer.

  She moved papers aside without looking at him. Then she picked up her coffee mug, took a sip and set it back down before addressing him. She didn’t say a word, only took in his tank top and open collar shirt, no doubt assessing him as someone who broke the law. Who else would come in this early in the morning?

  I guess you looking at me means I have the floor?

  “My sister is missing. It was reported a couple of days ago. I have information for the detective handling the case.”

  “Name.”

  It didn’t sound like a question.

  “My name is Aaron Stevens.”

  She looked up at him. “No. The name of the missing person.”

  You could have said that, bitch.

  “Joanne Stevens.”

  The officer lifted her coffee mug again and sipped louder this time, her right hand dancing on her keyboard.

  “Detective Folley has the case.”

  “Could you let him know I’m here?” Pulling a toenail off with pliers might be easier than getting you to help me out here, Cruella.

  “He’s not seeing anyone at the moment.”

  “Just ring him up and tell him that Aaron Stevens, Joanne’s brother, needs to talk to him. He hasn’t even taken a formal statement from me yet.”

  The expression on her face made it clear, she heard his exasperation.

  “When I said that he’s not seeing anyone at the moment, that’s what I meant, as in he’s free. No one else is in his office.”

  Egg and yoke on my face.

  “Sorry, I thought you meant that he wouldn’t see me,” Aaron said, his soft explanation not removing the scowl from the cop’s face.

  She lifted a phone, dialed three numbers and waited. Two uniformed officers exited a side door and walked out the front with Tim Horton’s coffee cups in their hands. Numerous jokes about cops and donut shops raced through his mind. He stared at the woman behind the desk to take the smirk off his face.

  She set the phone down.

  “You don’t have an appointment,” she said. Then she grabbed a pen and paper and began jotting down Folley’s name and a number. “Call this number and book something with him for next week. He’s pretty busy this week.” She handed him the paper and lifted her coffee cup to her mouth.

  “You’ve got to be joking?”

  She stopped mid-sip. Only her eyes lifted to meet his.

  “I mean, this is a joke?” He schooled himself to exercise caution, but school was out. “I’ve got information that might help in finding my sister. Why doesn’t anybody want to hear what I have to say?”

  “Sir, you’re going to have to calm down.” She stood up. “Call the number I gave you, after you leave the building.”

  “What’s your name and badge number? I know that’s something, by law, that you have to surrender upon being asked. When this is all over, I will report this. I will tell them that I knew pertinent information about a missing person and that I just witnessed a kidnapping not thirty minutes ago, and you refused me. The guy had a gun and threatened to kill me. You told me to exit the building and book an appointment.” He said the last bit in a snarl. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he did.

  Her face softened. Af
ter being arrested himself, held in jail overnight until the arraignment, standing before the judge and being let out on bail, regular cops didn’t intimidate him anymore. They were just doing their jobs, and as long as he wasn’t breaking the law, he had nothing to worry about.

  A male voice behind him said, “Did you say you just witnessed another kidnapping?”

  Aaron spun around, lowered into a half crouch. A moment before, no one had been there. Whenever someone crept up on him, his training took over. Years of training with a blindfold had fine tuned his reflexes to lightning quick.