Mafia Trilogy 03 - The Scythe

by Jonas Saul

  “Can you tell me anything else?”

  “All I know is that the man was British and he had at least six bodyguards. He was very rich. I was having a smoke outside when they left in three cars.”

  “Was Joanne with them?”

  He didn’t hear her whispered response. Aaron leaned in closer. She nodded, her eyes rimmed in tears.

  “She was my friend. She talked about getting out of this place. She wanted to get away and said she would take me with her. Joanne said she would help me put my life back together. And now she’s gone and those bastards got paid to forget that the British man was even here.”

  “Got paid? How much we talking?”

  “A hundred thousand dollars was left with the owner. Can you believe it? One-hundred grand. Just to keep his presence here anonymous. But I also think it was to buy Jan and Joanne because they never came back. The boss spread the money out among the bouncers and a few of the dancers. I didn’t get a cent. I’m fucking done with this place. It’s been dead in here since. And who knows when the rich guy’ll come back and I’ll disappear. No, not for me. Wake-up call, honey, wake-up call.”

  “Are you saying my sister and Jan left with this British guy?”

  “Yes, but I could tell they didn’t want to.”

  The woman adjusted her legs in her crouched position.

  “Is it safe for you to go back in there?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m done. I’m never going back in there. Not with how they treated you for simply asking questions about your sister.” Her face darkened for a moment, her eyes wet and pleading. “You are her brother, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. And I need to find this British guy. Is there anything else you can tell me? Did they have Ontario license plates on the cars? Diplomatic plates? Or were they rentals?”

  “What’s a diplomatic plate?”

  The door opened to the back of the club. Four bouncers started across the parking lot toward him. They had weapons. Aaron saw brass knuckles in one hand, a hammer in another.

  Shit’s gonna get bad, fast.

  “Get in my car. Now.”

  “What, I can’t be seen with you …” she trailed off when she saw the bouncers.

  “Go,” Aaron ordered as he slipped behind the wheel. He turned the engine over and dropped the car in drive just as the dancer fell into the passenger seat beside him. The forward motion of the car as he slammed the accelerator down shut both car doors.

  As he exited the parking lot, the bouncers were doing their best to run after his vehicle.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Chapter 4

  “What was all that back there?” Aaron asked.

  “No idea,” the woman said. She was still dressed in a body-hugging skimpy dress and heels. She looked over her shoulder out the back window. “Fucking hotheads.”

  The dancer rummaged through her tiny purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and made to light one.

  “Not in my car. No smoking.”

  Aaron hit the entrance ramp to the QEW, gunning the Nissan’s engine to get to highway speed as fast as he could.

  “I need a smoke,” she said, the annoyance in her voice evident.

  “No, you don’t. Talk first. Then smoke.”

  “Talk?” She dropped the pack of cigarettes back into her purse.

  The years of dancing, and whatever else she had been doing to herself, had been hard on her. Out of the darkness of the club, the sun showed her age. She had to be in her late thirties, or early forties. Her skin had lost its youthful elasticity from years of nicotine abuse. The capillaries on her nose were already breaking from the benefits of too much alcohol.

  “I need to know who this rich British guy is and why he would spend any kind of serious money to keep his presence in a strip club quiet. On the night he leaves the club, two girls leave with him and are never heard of again. Doesn’t that sound fucking odd to you?” He snuck a glance at her.

  “Of course. We’re all scared he’ll come back. No one knows anything. All we saw was him having a good time, tipping like crazy, and then he met with the owner, and left with Jan and Joanne. That’s all I saw …” she trailed off as she stared out her window.

  “Maybe he’s a politician,” Aaron offered.

  “No. Too public. Other customers would have recognized him. I have a feeling this was just some rich dude. The kind that get what they want.”

  Aaron dropped the visor to block the low sun. “Do you think the money he left behind was silence money for the two girls he took with him?” My sister. “Or maybe he simply has so much money that he bought them.”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  Aaron said, “And what was the big deal back in the parking lot. The bouncers usually just kick someone out and leave it at that. Why would they come out ready to rumble? Why would a professional bouncer in a reputable establishment bring the fight outside the club once everything had been defused? Something’s wrong here.”

  A lot of things aren’t adding up.

  He applied his turn signal and changed lanes, moving into the express lanes to avoid the slower moving collector lanes.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The police.”

  “Oh, no we’re not,” she shrieked. “Let me out.”

  She tried the door. Aaron flipped the child-lock button.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “Calm down.”

  “We’re not going to the police.” She leaned into the passenger door, dropping down in the seat as if someone outside was trying to see her.

  “Why not?”

  “Because. I don’t talk to the police. Never.”

  “Today is a good day to start.”

  She lunged toward him and pounded on his shoulder with both fists, screaming, “Stop the fucking car. Stop the car! Stop the car!”

  Aaron tried to fend her off while attempting to keep his car in its lane.

  “Okay, okay,” he shouted. He grabbed one of her wrists, tightened his grip and twisted until she bent sideways and shouted in pain. “You gonna stop hitting me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, let go.”

  He released her wrist. “Don’t ever do that again,” he shouted. “We could’ve been killed.”

  “Stop the car,” she said, staring straight ahead.

  “Tell me why you won’t talk to the police.”

  “Stop the car. Let me out.”

  They were coming close to the Dixie Road access. Once on Dixie heading north toward Twelve Division, they would encounter over a dozen traffic lights. She would be able to jump out at any one.

  “Just tell the cops what you told me,” Aaron said. “Then I will drive you wherever you want to go. Come on, help me out. We’re talking about my sister, here. You said she was kind to you, wanted to help you. Help her now.”

  “If you don’t stop the car I’m going to show the cop my wrist and say you kidnapped me and that I’m being held against my will. That would be the truth. I want out and you’re not letting me go. This is called forcible confinement. I know some shit and this is forcible. Stop the car. Let me out.”

  Aaron knew she had him. He couldn’t walk into Folley’s office with a half-dressed woman and try to explain this away. He knew enough about what happened at the strip club to tell Folley himself.

  But one thing still bothered him.

  “How did you know what car was mine? There were at least fifteen cars in the lot. Why were you hiding behind mine?”

  He felt her eyes on him.

  “I didn’t know. Lucky guess.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He raced up the Dixie exit and turned north. The light ahead was red.

  “Look,” he tried one more time. “Joanne needs help. You know stuff. Tell me, were they drinking vodka? She said something to me about vodka. Is that connected in any way?” He slowed the car, exasperated. “Come with me to the investigating officer and tell him everything. Please.”

&nbs
p; The car stopped. The dancer manually flipped the lock and popped the door open. She looked back at Aaron before getting out. “That wasn’t part of my deal. No cops. I didn’t sign on for that. Fuck you.”

  She jumped from the Nissan without another word.

  “Hey,” Aaron yelled, but she was already on the sidewalk.

  A horn blared behind him. A row of cars lined up in his rearview mirror.

  “Shit.”

  He hit the gas, the passenger door slamming shut for the second time by the car’s forward motion.

  He slapped the steering wheel.

  “Where are you, Joanne? What’s happening?”

  He stopped at another red light, his mind racing to figure out what to do next. All he could think to do was talk to Folley, tell him what he had learned at the House of Lancaster.

  He waited for the light to turn green. The red-light camera stood sentinel, ready to take pictures of any red-light runners.

  A camera.

  Could there be a camera in the House of Lancaster that records people coming or going? Maybe Folley could get them to show him what happened that night? Or maybe it was all erased for a price?

  It angered him that he felt so helpless. There was really nothing he could do. He held no official capacity like Folley and he couldn’t allow himself to get into trouble while out on bail.

  Aaron realized that his hands were tied. He had to let the system find his sister in their sweet old time. Whenever they got around to it, he might get a call.

  He clenched a fist. If they find her body and someone could have stopped whatever’s happening if they worked a little harder, he didn’t know what he would do. Having learned about Gary and Frank Weeks and talked to the stripper, he wondered how far ahead the cops were. What could they possibly be doing to solve this if he’s out here getting closer by the minute?

  That left one thing for him to do. Someone at the strip club knew something and they were hiding it. Whether it was the dancers, the bouncers or the owner, someone knew something. He’d rather spend a year in jail and save Joanne than lose her.

  He pulled out his cell phone and called Daniel, his assistant from the dojo. He needed more people on his side. He would warn Daniel of the risks and explain the downside. Then he would get him to call a few of the black belts from the gym and see who wanted to go to the strip club to get some answers.

  It was time to start asking the questions the hard way.

  Being a nice guy simply wasn’t working.

  Chapter 5

  Nancy Demeers walked a block up Dixie until she saw a coffee shop. Dressed as she was in her blue hip-hugging dress, people would stare, but she didn’t care. She had done what was asked of her. She would collect her money and leave Toronto. Maybe it was time to visit her sister in Halifax.

  She pulled her cell phone out and called the number she was supposed to memorize.

  It was answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?” Nancy whispered into the phone.

  “Speak.”

  The man’s voice was deep, gravelly.

  “I did it. I told the man what you told me to say. I made sure he thought that his sister was taken out of the club. He knows exactly what you wanted him to know.”

  “Good.”

  “Can someone come with my money and pick me up?”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “I’m at Dixie Road and The Queensway in Etobicoke. I’ll be in a coffee shop on the Northwest corner.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  The man’s voice gave nothing away. No emotion, no appreciation, nothing. All it gave her was chills, even though the summer sun beat down on her exposed back.

  “You’ll have my money?”

  “Yes. We need his license plate number. Did you get that?”

  “Of course.” She recited it by heart. “There, you have everything you asked for. Did I do good?”

  She wanted a pat on the back for a job well done. Some form of gratitude. But nothing was forthcoming.

  “Ten minutes. Be ready.”

  “Oh, wait. There’s two more things. He asked about the vodka.”

  “Vodka?”

  “He wanted to take me to the police station to report what I know. I refused and made him pull over to let me out. I think he’s on his way to the cops.” She paused. “I just thought you should know.”

  “Okay.”

  The line went dead. Nancy dropped the phone back in her purse and crossed at the lights. She entered the coffee shop and felt the eyes of all six customers on her.

  Take it all in, bastards. You’re the last batch of people who look at this body without buying me dinner first.

  She was done. No more dancing, no more drugs, no more drinking. Most of all, no more hooking on the side to support her habit. She had enough money to settle down for a couple of years. She would rent a car and head to Halifax or maybe take the bus so she could read on the way. It had been so long since she’d read a good book.

  In the car, she had been worried when Aaron had asked her how she knew his car. And he wanted to take her to the police station. She couldn’t believe it. Her deal would have been off if she walked through the door to a police station. They had been explicit in their arrangement. No police. Only information. Talk to whoever comes around asking for Joanne. Make sure they’re not cops. Find out why they’re asking and who they are. The man with the money said he would decide how important the information was. Once she talked to anyone, there would be a large payout. Enough that she could retire is what the man had said.

  She sat in a corner booth without ordering anything. The girl behind the counter kept staring at her, but she brushed her away, pointing at the other seat as if she was waiting for someone. Eventually everyone in the coffee shop averted their eyes, trying to be polite.

  She wanted a smoke but everything in Toronto was smoke free now. She could barely smoke in her own apartment, it was so strict.

  Outside, the sun beat down relentlessly, heating the already humid air into the mid-thirties. She thought about the heat that Aaron had brought down on himself by showing up at the strip club. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t her deal. It had nothing to do with her. All she had to do was tell him a story and then let her new employer know that she did, along with the plate number. As far as she was concerned, her job was done and she hadn’t hurt anybody.

  The man she met at the club three nights before sounded like he had a Russian accent. The man on the phone was curt and to the point, but she could hear his Russian accent too.

  So why did they want me to tell the brother that the guy at the club was British?

  She had no idea what was going on and she really didn’t want to know. Before Joanne and Jan left work that night, they all had been given a story if anyone came asking questions. She was told the next night that Joanne and Jan had quit and moved away after having been paid off for their help. If her brother hadn’t been close to her and didn’t know where she’d moved, it had nothing to do with her.

  A black Mercedes pulled into the parking lot. No one got out. She wondered if it was her ride.

  The driver honked the horn.

  Nancy got up and walked over to the car. The tinted window on the passenger side lowered an inch. She leaned down.

  “Nancy?” the driver asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Get in. We have your money.”

  Nancy opened the door and slipped into the comfortable leather seat, the air conditioning hitting her like a fridge door.

  “Very nice,” she said.

  The driver pulled out and got on Dixie heading south toward the highway.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “My place.”

  He looked at her and then looked back at the road.

  “Oh, right, sorry … I live two blocks from the House of Lancaster. Easier that way. No need of a car. I walk to work.”

  This little bit of information didn’t seem to impress the driver. He sa
t rigid, watching the road, not open for a conversation at all.

  There was movement in the backseat. Nancy turned to see who was with them, but her vision went dark as something hit her in the face.

  She slumped down and fell out of the seat, her butt hitting the floorboards as she screamed and flailed at her eyes. A fire of pain flared inside her head as her hands grabbed the object on her face. It felt like two knives were sticking out of her eye sockets.