by Easton, Don
“Proving it will be another story,” said Laura.
“Angelo and Dominic tried to rob some people connected to the big league,” mused Jack. “My guess is the antique store employee is, or was, a money bagman for the organization. In fact, with him making the store’s deposits, you can bet that his real job is to transport drug money. Our two Italian brothers found out that the dealer they tortured had just done a deal. Maybe they were hired for protection by whoever was doing the buying. Bet they grabbed the dealer later and when he didn’t have the money, they tortured him to find out who did. The dealer then gave them the name of the bagman from the antique store.”
“You could be right on that account,” said Laura. “I agree we could be on to something big as far as drugs go, but how did the gun used by Angelo and Dominic end up being used to kill Melvin? And why?”
Jack paused as he scanned the reports again, hoping an answer would jump out at him. It didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said. “If the brothers are dead … and after talking with dear old mom, I tend to think they are, then —”
“Maybe she lied and said they were dead so we would stop looking.”
“Didn’t get that sense, did you?” asked Jack.
“No,” admitted Laura. “She seemed genuine. Plus the brothers aren’t all that bright. If they were alive, I think they would have been located.”
“I agree. Following that logic, I think they’re dead because of who they tried to rob. Their bodies haven’t been found, which means whoever killed them may have inherited the gun. If their bodies were dumped in an alley, then anyone could have come along and picked over the remains like vultures. We need to find out who killed them.”
“Any ideas how?” asked Laura.
“Find the employee from the antique store and put a bullet through his other arm. See who comes after us.”
Jack saw Laura’s concerned look and quickly added, “Don’t take me seriously! I’m joking.”
“Oh, man. Good … I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to tell with you.”
Jack chuckled and said, “Of course I was joking.” Then his face became serious and he said, “You know, it would probably work.”
“Jack!”
Jack grinned and said, “Okay, okay. Plan B. How about we look at Arthur Goldie and his businesses and see if we can confirm our suspicions?”
“Shake the tree and see who falls out. Get an informant or something. Maybe the narcs will help out.”
“Exactly. Even if we are off base on who killed Melvin, either way, these guys could be good targets. I’ll talk with Rose and let —” Jack stopped to answer his cellphone. It was a nurse from the hospice.
“Appreciate ya comin’,” said Ophelia, staring up from her hospital bed at Jack. Her normal raspy voice sounded even worse. She tried to wiggle to a better position, so he adjusted her bed to raise her upper body, but suggested she lay still while he pulled up a chair.
“I should have come here sooner,” she said. Her voice crackled as she spoke, making her words difficult to hear. “The morph’ they’re giving me isn’t bad.”
“That’s good,” replied Jack. “Have you managed to steal any so you can sell it on the street later?”
A smile flittered across her face before she became serious. She stared at Jack for a moment before saying, “Guess you know this is the last time you’ll have to come and visit.”
“I don’t have to come here,” said Jack. “I’m here because I want to be here.”
“Yeah, well, I appreciate it. You being a cop, too. Go figure.”
“You’re not a bad person, Ophelia,” said Jack. “You’re sick, but you’re not bad. I’m sorry that life dealt you the hand it did.”
“Win some, lose some.” Ophelia coughed several times and briefly nodded off. A minute later she awoke with a start, perhaps afraid that she wouldn’t awaken. She was relieved to see that Jack was still there. “Lucky I’m dying in here rather than out on some pig farm. Things could be worse.”
Jack nodded, but for Ophelia he knew that things were never a lot better, either.
“So, how come you do come to see me? You don’t owe me nothin’.”
Jack looked intently at Ophelia and said, “I respect you for the kind of person you are. You’re the type who worries about people. For the kind of life you’ve had, it would be easy to use it as an excuse, but you don’t.”
“There’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”
“You’re a good person.”
Ophelia blinked her eyes a couple of times and said, “Thanks for seein’ me.”
“It’s no problem seeing you. My office isn’t that far away.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean for seein’ me.” Ophelia coughed some more, but didn’t take her eyes off of Jack’s face. She knew he didn’t understand. “Let me tell ya somethin’,” she said. “My last day on the street before you brought me in, I was feeling pretty sick. Just leaning against a doorway, too sick to turn a trick. Some lady walked past me with a boy, about five years old. The boy could tell I was sick and said, ‘Look, Mommy!’ The lady gave me a disgusted look, you know, like I was a pimple on the ass of society. Then she said, ‘Don’t stare, honey. That’s just nobody.’”
Jack stared at Ophelia, putting himself in her place.
“Guess what I’m tryin’ to say,” continued Ophelia, “is people who got it don’t give a shit about people who don’t. We’re nobodies.”
“I think you’re somebody.”
Ophelia’s face softened and she looked at Jack and said, “I’ve seen that in you. You’re different than most people. Guess what I’m asking is why?”
Jack swallowed, not sure how to respond.
“Come on,” prompted Ophelia. “I’m gonna croak before morning. It ain’t like I’m gonna tell anyone.”
Jack took the time to take a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. When he finished he said, “I had a sister who died of alcoholism — although that is like saying a bullet killed you instead of the person who pointed the gun at you and pulled the trigger.”
“So, who pulled the trigger?” asked Ophelia. “Your father?”
Jack nodded and said, “You’re pretty perceptive.”
“Perceptive!” snorted Ophelia. “Try experienced.”
Jack sighed and said, “Well, you’re right. Amongst other less than desirable traits, my father was a pedophile. When my sister escaped from home, she lived alone in a grubby trailer and was always taking in stray animals to look after. A friend of mine once saw her on the street and thought she was a homeless person. Basically, she was.” Jack stared at Ophelia for a moment, before acknowledging, “Maybe she is one of the reasons I look at some people differently. I don’t know. Some days I feel like I’ve seen too much suffering. Too much injustice.”
Ophelia reached toward Jack’s hand, so he leaned forward so she could hold it. Her grip was firm, but her flesh felt cold. Her organs were shutting down, including her heart.
“Thanks for telling me,” said Ophelia. “It was something I was always curious about. Helps explain why you let me get away with settin’ that guy up to be whacked with a tire iron that night.”
Jack shrugged and said, “That guy was going to turn a trick with a twelve-year-old kid. I don’t feel bad about letting you get away with it because of who you are inside. You’ve made a few slip-ups here and there. Who hasn’t? We’re all human. But in my books, you’re somebody. Somebody who made a positive difference in this world.”
He realized her grip on his hand had loosened. She was dead.
He never knew if she heard his last words or not.
12
It was Monday afternoon and the meeting in the boardroom was attended by investigators from I-HIT, the RCMP Drug Section, and the Intelligence Unit.
Jack and Laura gave an account of their findings, leading up to their theory about what happened to Angelo and Dominic.
CC rolled her eyes and said, “Thanks, Jack. I knew brin
ging you into this would add to the body count. Now you’re telling me that it’s not only Melvin Montgomery who was murdered, but you’re saying we’ve got two more bodies out there that we haven’t found yet?”
“Sorry about that,” replied Jack.
“Ah, it’s okay,” replied CC. “Was just spoofin’ ya. The both of you did good. Filled in some missing pieces of the puzzle. And as far as the bodies go, if there are any, unless we end up finding them on our turf, it could be Vancouver PD’s responsibility. I’ll bring them up to date on it later, but without any bodies, I’m not sure what they’ll do. Maybe they’ll interview the employee from the antique store.”
“Tell them to hold off on that,” said Jack. “I doubt they would get anything and the police attention could heat up the narcs on their UC operation.”
“I agree with Jack,” said Sammy, who was one of the investigators taking an active role in the undercover operation.
“Not a problem,” replied CC. “I’ll hold off. But where do you propose we go from here?”
“What about a wiretap?” suggested Jack, looking around the room.
“I’ll check with Crown,” replied CC, “but I think it is highly unlikely that we have the grounds to get one. How about getting one for drug trafficking?”
“We’ve got one on Jojo,” said Sammy. “So far he’s the biggest fish we’ve caught and even he is small compared to what we know about some of the big players who frequent Goldie’s. As far as the wire on Jojo goes, it hasn’t been all that productive. He likes pay phones followed up with a lot of heat checks before meeting anyone face-to-face. Even after the heat checks, if we’re lucky enough that he hasn’t spotted our surveillance, when he does meet someone, he has a habit of meeting several people over a space of a few minutes in places like restaurants, nightclubs, or bars. That makes it difficult to figure out which person is of importance and which one is just a casual acquaintance. With what we have so far, there are absolutely no grounds for us to get a wiretap on anyone else.”
The conversation continued for several minutes, but eventually it was decided that Drug Section would continue with their undercover operation in the hope of gaining grounds to apply for a wiretap on people connected with Goldie Locks. Jack and Laura would start doing surveillance of Goldie and his nightclub to see what they could learn.
“Keep me informed of all the players,” said CC. “If you do get a wire, maybe we can match somebody up with a younger brother affiliated with a youth gang. Or someone with a kid demented enough to murder a homeless guy.”
“The kid had to be old enough to drive a van,” said Sammy. “Makes him sixteen, at least.”
CC laughed and said, “You ever been to Surrey? Half the stolen cars are taken by kids a lot younger than that. The footprint we found at the scene could be from a twelve-year-old.”
“Good point,” said Sammy, shaking his head.
“How long before you think you’ll bring the UC op to an end?” asked Laura.
“We’re already halfway through July,” replied Sammy. “We’re supposed to have things wrapped up by the first week of August at the latest.” Sammy looked apologetic as he glanced at CC and added, “I have to tell you, it doesn’t look good that we’ll connect with any of the big players. Our budget can’t afford the hundreds of thousands of dollars it would take to buy at their level. They deal multi-kilos. We have a budget that is at the ounce level.”
“Don’t worry about it,” replied CC. “It’s a hell of a long shot, anyway. Even though Jack and Laura did trace the gun to Goldie’s doorstep, it doesn’t mean that anyone he knows had it. Angelo and Dominic may have tossed it before they … well, disappeared.”
Jack and Laura looked at each other and she gave a subtle shake of her head. Jack thought the same way. If Angelo and Dominic didn’t toss away the gun when they kneecapped Bernie, they likely didn’t toss it away over shooting someone in the arm. And what twelve-year-old kid would throw a gun away?
Laura saw Jack smile at her. It was a smile she had seen before. He’s got a plan.
It was eight o’clock Tuesday night when Jack found a place to park in an alley one block down from the rear door of the Goldie Locks nightclub. He rested the binoculars on the steering wheel to hold them steady and was able to see Goldie’s car parked behind the nightclub. It was a new Aston Martin V8 Vantage Roadster with a custom gold paint job, complete with vanity plates reading GOLDIE. Laura was in another car, and found a place to watch the front of the nightclub.
An hour went by before Arthur Goldie appeared out the back door of his club. Jack noted that Goldie’s physique made him relatively easy to see. He was a tall man with a thin body, which made his hands, feet, and head look extra large and gangly in comparison. He was forty-three years old and kept the hair on the sides of his head shaved short, but had a mop of thick brown hair on the top of his head. He was dressed in khaki-coloured slacks and an open moss-green windbreaker that revealed a canary-yellow golf shirt underneath.
“We’ve got action out back,” radioed Jack. “Looks like he’ll be eastbound in the alley.”
“I’ll see him when he comes out,” replied Laura.
“Keep it loose,” cautioned Jack. “I don’t want him to see our faces yet.”
“It’ll be real loose, out of sight, if he steps on the gas with what he’s driving,” replied Laura. A moment later she said, “Okay, got him. Turning north from the alley. What’s he got on the top of his head?”
“Just his hair,” replied Jack, while turning north on the street one block west of Goldie before making a quick right on Robson Street to catch up.
“Looks like a dead rat.”
“Think the rat is under the hair.”
“Copy that,” snickered Laura. “Okay, he’s picked up a ruby coming on to Robson. No indicator on, looks like he’ll be going straight through.”
Jack glanced at Goldie’s club as he drove past and then entered the left turn lane at the next light. He spotted the Aston Martin to his right where it was still parked, waiting for the light to change.
For the next ten minutes Jack and Laura followed Goldie. Eventually, he parked in another alley behind a restaurant before entering through the rear door. Unlike many criminals Jack had worked on, Goldie seldom checked his rear-view mirror and did not drive in a manner to detect if he was being followed. Is he really an innocent business man? Or does he feel safe because he thinks he is so immune and protected by others who do the dirty work?
“Keep an eye on his wheels,” radioed Jack. “I’m going on foot to walk past the front of the restaurant to see if I can spot who he’s meeting. He either owns the place or has to be on good terms with someone to walk in through the back. I’ll call you on your cell.”
Jack glanced in through the front windows of the Wang Hui Chinese Restaurant as he strolled past. He didn’t spot Goldie, but did see a group of Asian men sitting around some tables that had been pushed together. By their boisterous mannerisms and the way they were dressed, Jack had the distinct impression that they were gang-affiliated … and not the boy scouts. He spoke to Laura on her cell and relayed his observations.
“Sounds interesting,” replied Laura. “Want to start scooping licence plates? Maybe find out who —” her words broke off suddenly. “Hold it, Goldie’s out again and chatting in the alley with some guy. Short, barrel-chested Asian wearing black, baggy pants, and a red golf shirt. Maybe forty to fifty years old.”
“The restaurant is Chinese,” said Jack. “Bet it’s the owner.”
“Okay, that was quick,” continued Laura. “Goldie is back to his wheels and the red golf shirt went back inside the restaurant. Your call. Want me to stay with Goldie?”
“No, let him go. I don’t want to heat him up. Let’s watch this place and see if we can figure out who the clientele is and what is going on that would require a back-alley meeting.”
Over the next couple of hours, Jack and Laura recorded numerous licence plates of people coming
and going from the restaurant. They also noted a pay phone outside the restaurant was used frequently by the clientele, some of whom clearly had cellphones.
By noon the following day, Jack’s and Laura’s desks were piled high with paper. They identified the owner of the restaurant as Hui Wang, who named his restaurant in the Asian fashion of Wang Hui Chinese Restaurant by using his surname first. It was also discovered that Wang was the owner of a furniture store called Wang’s House of Bamboo.
What Jack found of particular interest was that Wang had been charged for trafficking in crystal meth several years earlier, but was not convicted after someone else claimed ownership for the drug.
Laura glanced at the mug shot of Wang and confirmed that he was the man in the red golf shirt.
Jack discovered that he was partially right in that the clientele belonged to a gang. In fact, there were three different Asian gangs represented by the clientele. The Big Circle Boys, Sun Yee On triad, and some who had been listed by the Vancouver Police Department’s Anti-Gang Unit as belonging to gangs who were unnamed. Their criminal records included: attempted murder, kidnapping, assault, extortion, pimping, auto theft, identity and credit card theft, and drug trafficking.
“Except none of the drug trafficking is heroin,” said Jack, looking at the different records. “These guys are all into ecstasy and meth. If Goldie is involved with heroin, then he’s visiting the wrong crowd.”
“Maybe Wang plans on adding to his menu,” suggested Laura.
“Maybe, but something doesn’t sit right,” replied Jack. “Goldie seems much more sophisticated. The Chinese we saw were basically a bunch of hoods strutting around like Hollywood gangsters. They all seem close-knit. To me, Goldie doesn’t fit in.”
“He must somehow. He met with Wang in the alley.”
“You’ve got a point there. I’m going to call Sammy and see how they feel about approaching some of the dealers associated with Wang. Those guys are punks in comparison to the players who hang out at Goldie Locks. If heroin is about to be moved through there, it might be an opportune time.”
