by Easton, Don
“Here it comes,” whispered Sammy.
“Think you’d end up like that wino in the park?” asked Wang.
“Maybe.” There were several seconds of silence before Goldie continued again. “Why they did it or had me deliver him way out there still puzzles me. My own guys, who I used to pick him up, are still looking at me like I’m squirrelly. I said it was a prank to drop off a wino in someone’s yard. It all seemed like a big risk for nothing.”
“You never asked?”
“Was told it was a need-to-know basis. The whole thing wasn’t professional in my books. Totally out of character to the point that it was comical. The fuckin’ wino almost … well, I shouldn’t talk about that. Anyway, it gave us both a good laugh after.”
“Both? Thought you said there were three of you?”
“The third guy I told you about before. The one wearing a suit. He doesn’t laugh at anything. I’ve never met anyone so cold in my life.”
“Like that woman’s boyfriend who was going to cut the guy’s nuts off tonight?”
“Man, that was nothing compared to the guy wearing the suit. You could see it in his eyes. Black, cold … like they were dead. Let’s change the subject. It gives me the creeps thinking about him. We shouldn’t be talking about it, anyway. Especially in a car. How about turning on some tunes?”
“That’s it,” said Sammy, turning off the recorder and looking at CC. “What do you think? Time for you to string some wire naming Goldie?”
“That’s it?” said CC. “There’s nothing to say this is even my case. The victim’s tox’ came back negative for alcohol or illicit substances. He’s certainly no wino.”
Jack didn’t want to say what he thought. The Shaman? The Enabler? Guys above Goldie. Then some guy in a suit with dead eyes? The wino in the park has got to be Melvin. But why would they kill Melvin? Goldie has proven himself to be a smart businessman … and these others are above him? Nothing makes sense.
“Maybe it is a coincidence,” said Sammy. “Might not be related to your thing.”
Jack’s mind was still replaying what he heard. They thought it was comical? Something to laugh about? They’d probably really find it funny if they saw me shooting Winston in the alley. He realized his fist was clenched and took a deep breath to relax his body. He knew it was one conversation he would not tell Natasha about. She was in enough pain already. He glanced at CC and said, “Melvin looked like a wino. If you didn’t take the time to know him, you would think that.”
“Goldie’s big,” said CC. “What? Maybe a size ten to twelve shoe? Sammy might have a point. It could be a coincidence.”
“Come on, CC,” said Laura. “We traced the gun to Goldie’s doorstep, it was used to murder Melvin, and now Goldie talks about a wino in a park who almost escapes? It fits.”
CC sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Don’t get me wrong. I think we might possibly be on to something. But what I think doesn’t matter. It’s what evidence we have, both supportive and contradictory, that counts. I’m speaking about how the Crown or a judge would view it. I sincerely doubt we could get a wiretap on Goldie based on what we have so far. Not to mention, you heard these guys — they use code names. Also words like product. Even Goldie said they shouldn’t be talking about it in a car.”
“To be this close to nailing him for murder,” said Laura. “It’s driving me nuts.”
“Close to nailing him for murder!” exclaimed CC. “That’s a laugh. Girl, we’re a long way from that. Even if we could prove it was Melvin he’s talking about, what have we got? It sounds to me like Goldie was only the delivery boy. If the evidence was going against him, all he would have to say is he thought it was all some sort of prank. He even told his guys it was. You know what the judges are like. He doesn’t have any convictions. Upstanding businessman. He’d probably end up with probation or at best, a few months served before being released. Hell, if we did catch him, I’d cut a deal with him in a second and let him walk if he’d give us whoever did do it. Even then, without a motive, it would be damned hard and likely impossible to get a conviction. Sorry to break your bubble, Laura, but in my books, we’re not close at all.”
“A wire on Goldie might give you whoever did it,” said Sammy. “Maybe identify The Shaman and The Enabler, or even the guy in the suit with dead eyes.”
“Even if we did get a wire on Goldie, do you really think he would ever talk about it and go over the details again with whoever did it? At least in a place where we could hear? I bet this is as close as you would ever get … and it isn’t nearly enough. It would be nice to know who the guy with dead eyes is, though.”
“And The Enabler,” said Jack.
“You don’t know if he was the one laughing in the park with Goldie,” said CC. “His name wasn’t used to clarify if he was the third guy.”
“Goldie thought the idea wasn’t professional,” said Jack. “He asked and was told it was on a need-to-know basis. It had to be his boss, which is the one they call The Enabler.”
CC shrugged and said, “Logical, provided we’re even talking about the same incident.”
Her choice of words irritated Jack. Incident? He knew that was how it would be referred to in a courtroom. Grabbing an innocent man … sticking a plastic bag on his head and chasing him through the woods to murder him would be simply stated as an “incident.”
“What about a search warrant?” suggested Laura. “Maybe we could find a dirty shoe or boot in Goldie’s house that the lab could match with the dirt in the park where Melvin was killed?”
CC frowned and said, “Sorry, I doubt we have grounds for a search warrant, either. And as far as lab evidence, it sounds like you’ve been watching too much CSI on television. Things tend to work a little differently in the real world.”
“I know, but occasionally we get lucky with the lab,” countered Laura.
“‘Occasionally’ being the operative word,” said CC. “Another issue with courts would be potential motive. Why would someone like Goldie, if he did do it, deliver some wino —” She paused, catching a dark look from Jack before correcting herself and saying, “Okay, homeless person, to a park for a couple of other guys to shoot him? Tell me how you would answer that question to a judge?”
Jack thought about it. He knew CC was right. Her reasoning was sound. Why would anyone do it? Goldie is wealthy. Whoever he works for must be more so. Is there some past connection to Melvin’s life that nobody knows about? His own choice of words caused him to reflect and think deeper. Nobody knows about? … Nobody … like Ophelia said, “People who got it don’t give a shit about people who don’t. We’re nobodies.” Goldie said they were laughing. They wouldn’t be if there was a specific reason to murder Melvin. It would have been strictly business. Whatever their reason, Melvin was a random pick. The motive for the crime was the murder itself. The victim could be a nobody. But why would any presumably sane person want to murder an innocent person for no reason? Or is the person behind this whole situation even sane?
“Well, sorry if I brought you in on your day off for no reason,” said Sammy. “It seemed important to me.”
“It is important,” said Jack. “I need time to go over it in my head. But I’m positive we’re on the right track. We’ve got to identify these three guys. The Shaman, The Enabler, and Dead Eyes.”
“And I’m not saying it isn’t important,” said CC, defensively. “All I’m saying is that so far, don’t expect much judicial backing.”
“I never expect that,” said Jack evenly.
CC gave a sharp glance at Jack. “Don’t even think about it!” she said tersely.
“About what?” asked Jack, his voice sounding both innocent and surprised.
“Don’t give me that shit! About whatever it is you’re thinking.”
Jack slowly shook his head and said, “I’m thinking we need to come up with a plan. Something to gather more evidence to support the judicial criteria you need to make a case.”
“Are you ridiculing me?” asked CC, her voice tinged with anger.
“No,” replied Jack. “I wish I was, but I respect your abilities and your opinion. If you say we don’t have enough, then we don’t have enough.”
By his sincerity and the sadness in his voice, everyone knew that Jack meant what he said.
“We need to keep digging,” continued Jack. “And we definitely need to find out who these other guys are. We’ll get more evidence … somehow.”
It was the somehow that bothered CC. Which is why I told him not to do whatever he was thinking in the first place! God, here we go. Full circle.
“Any plan come to mind?” asked Sammy. “Not that it is any of our business. We’re concentrating on drugs, but if there is something we can do to help, let us know.”
“I appreciate that, Sammy,” replied Jack. “If we come up with something, I’ll be sure to contact you.”
CC looked at Jack. If we come up with something? Give me a break. You already have. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Time to have a private chat with Staff Sergeant Rosemary Wood. I wonder if she knows what Jack Taggart is really all about? Hell, I don’t even know what he is all about. Everything with him is smoke and mirrors. Lies and deception …
It was late Monday morning and Rose glanced at Jack and Laura as they sat across from her desk while Jack brought her up to date on the investigation. The private meeting she’d had earlier at Starbucks with Connie Crane still weighed heavily on her mind.
“So, from our perspective,” said Rose, sounding businesslike, “this investigation, which started out under the auspices of gun smuggling, has changed to ecstasy, meth, and heroin? Knowing of course, that the murder in the park is under I-HIT’s mandate.”
“The drug investigation is legitimate,” replied Jack. Why is Rose sounding so officious? Not friendly like before … “I feel that it is significant enough to fall within our job description.”
“I agree,” replied Rose. “But I was also at that meeting with Drug Section two weeks ago when they said their budget did not allow them to purchase large enough quantities of heroin to allow them to work their way up to the kingpins. Even if we combined our total budgets between our two sections, the penalty someone might receive for drug trafficking would not be worth the cost.”
“I’m well aware of the budget restrictions,” replied Jack. “That’s nothing new.”
“So, with that in mind, are you proposing we enter into a long-term investigation … likely taking several years, in the hope of nailing some of the kingpins through some type of conspiracy charge? I’m not against that, although again, the cost would be prohibitive for what we would achieve in the way of doing any significant damage as far as organized crime goes.”
“No, I agree,” said Jack. “The time it would take, including using all available personnel over that time frame, even if successful, would likely see the rise of several other crime families in the meantime. We would end up one step ahead and three back.”
“Then what is your solution?”
“They’re talking about a man by the name of Woo maybe moving to Montreal and looking for someone to move product. They’re hoping to expand operations.”
“Are you thinking about working a joint project with our unit in Montreal?”
“No. We don’t know for sure that Woo is even going. Even if he does, I don’t see that being overly productive to help us out here. I’m not thinking of using them to help. I was thinking of someone else.”
Rose caught the sideways glance that Laura gave Jack. She has her doubts about something … Connie warned me …
“Are you familiar with the Irish Mafia in Montreal?” asked Jack.
“A little. The Irish Mafia is one of the oldest and makes the top three list for being the most influential organized crime families in North America. In Montreal, they are known as the West End Gang.”
“That’s the boys,” said Jack.
“Some boys,” replied Rose. “They also have a reputation for being extremely violent — including dismemberment. Victims have been found minus body parts.”
Laura pursed her lips in a small grin. Dismemberment … like cutting a guy’s testicles off with a jackknife.
“Are you familiar with one of the captains in the West End Gang, a fellow by the name of Happy Jack O’Donnell?” asked Jack.
“I’m not sure,” replied Rose. “I haven’t heard that name for years. Is he the one the press used to call ‘Happy’ because he was never convicted of anything?”
“The press called him that. His name came up a lot during a trial years ago when a police agent testified against the gang. There was never enough evidence to even charge O’Donnell, but it was clear he was one of the bosses. A journalist who tried to follow up on the story had his car blown up in his driveway as a warning.”
“So, what about him? Or the Irish? What’s that got to do with this case?”
“I’ve got a plan to use him and the Irish Mafia to help us,” said Jack.
“You what?” exclaimed Rose, lurching forward and knocking some reports off her desk.
16
Later Monday afternoon, Jack hung up the telephone as Laura entered their office. He waited until she sat at her own desk and said, “Remember our two Russians in May — the ones we tricked into going to Vietnam where they were arrested?”
“They’re not getting out, are they?”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “No. Remember the posh penthouse suite they rented that backs onto Stanley Park? Two bedrooms, mini-bar, plasma television, underground parking —”
“Yeah, yeah. What about it?”
“I spoke with Derek. The ex- policeman in charge of security for the apartment.”
“Uh, huh.”
“It turns out the two Russians paid for the suite one year in advance. The year isn’t up until the fall. Derek agreed to us using it, providing we guarantee the Russians don’t come back. I assured him they would definitely not be back for at least the next eighteen years.”
“How sweet. Our own little love nest.”
“Exactly. We can pick the key up from Derek this afternoon. I’ve also got two friends, Paul and Katie, who own a forty-five-foot powerboat parked down at the Bayshore West Marina. It’s called the Blue Gator. I’ve been in it. It’s one hell of a beautiful boat. Very lavish. They are willing to let us borrow it. Paul also happens to be Irish and has the brogue.”
“Nice friends to lend us that.”
“I met Katie years ago. She used to be a social worker up in Kelowna. Our paths crossed and we have been friends since. Really nice people. I think Katie has seen her share of the bad side of life as a social worker.”
“So we have the penthouse, a yacht … this is sounding better all the time.”
“The things you have to do when you have champagne tastes and a beer budget.”
“So, when do we do this?”
“Tomorrow. Pack a bikini and your winter coat into a suitcase. We’ll be off to the airport.”
On Wednesday night, Jack and Laura strolled down the street and entered Goldie Locks. Hidden in a van across the street, Staff Sergeant Rosemary Wood took several surveillance photographs of them entering the club. Her portfolio of surveillance photos on Jack and Laura had grown considerably since the day before.
It was dusk on Friday night when Goldie arrived in the alley behind his club and parked his Aston Martin. He stepped out of his car as a four-door, tan-coloured, unmarked police car pulled up behind him.
The plainclothes officer gestured for him to approach.
“Good evening, Mister Arthur Goldie,” she said, somewhat contemptuously. “My name is Staff Sergeant Wood. I am with the RCMP Organized Crime Task Force. You and I need to talk.”
“What? What about?” demanded Goldie.
“Hop in the car beside me. We’ll take a little drive and I’ll tell you what it’s about,” replied Rose.
“I’m not going with you without consu
lting a lawyer,” replied Goldie, taking out his cellphone.
“Why are you acting so paranoid?” asked Rose. “This isn’t about you, particularly. I want to talk to you about two of your customers. I prefer not to be seen by them or have anyone know I talked to you.”
“What customers?”
“Get in. I’ll only drive a couple of blocks away and show you their pictures. These two aren’t who they pretend to be.”
Moments later, Rose drove Goldie a few blocks away and drove into an above-ground parkade.
“So what do you think” asked Jack, turning in his chair to look at Laura. “Figure we can get away with it?”
“Think we can rely on Rose?”
“I think so.”
“Cost is certainly a factor. Like the narcs say, we can’t afford to buy the quantity of dope needed to make the connections.”
“You’re right. But the Irish Mafia can.”
Rose parked the car and turned to Goldie and said, “So, off the top, what can you tell me about Jack and Laura?”
Goldie shrugged and said, “I’m not sure I even know them.”
“Bullshit! Take a look at these,” said Rose, opening her briefcase and handing Goldie a surveillance photo. “Tell me again you don’t know them.”
Goldie glanced at a photo of Jack and Laura sitting in the front of their car. Jack was talking to him out the window of the car. “This was last night,” exclaimed Goldie.
“Tell me again you don’t know them,” said Rose.
“I don’t! I just arrived at my club and they were driving by. The guy asked if we had any free parking for the club. That’s all it was about. Maybe they have been in my club before. The guy likes his martinis … not too many. I’m not saying he drinks too much to drive or anything. Otherwise we wouldn’t serve him.”
“Are these them for sure?” asked Rose, handing Goldie some more photographs.
Goldie looked at the top picture. It showed Jack and Laura bundled up in heavy coats with a glimpse of the Vancouver Airport arrivals area in the background. Their suitcases were piled at the back of a limousine and the driver was getting out.
