by Don Easton
“I’ll be a lot happier now that you and I are done.”
“Did you know someone dropped Damien’s phone in my mailbox Friday? Had pictures of me and my wife and kids on it.”
“What? Fuck, I didn’t know. You shittin’ me?”
“No.”
“Well, I got nothin’ to do with it.”
“I’m surprised Lance didn’t mention it,” Jack said.
Cockerill paused a moment, then said, “Yeah, me, too. Guess he forgot.”
Or knew it was a mistake and was embarrassed. “You and I need to meet face to face.”
“What the fuck for? You said we’re done!”
“Yes, but there’s something I need to tell you. It won’t take long. All you have to do is listen, then you can go on your merry way and never call me again.”
“Can’t you tell me over the phone?”
“No. Never trust phones.”
Cockerill snickered. “Fuck … you sound like one of us. Yeah, okay. Where and when?”
Jack parked in an underground parkade and soon saw Cockerill plodding toward his car. Their eyes met and Cockerill got in beside him.
“Glad you’re not waving your pecker around,” Jack said glibly.
“You better destroy that video,” Cockerill snarled, glaring at Jack.
“No worries,” Jack replied.
“So what do you wanna say to me?”
“Two things. The first has to do with your future well-being.”
“My future well-being? What the fuck? I thought you and I was finished!”
“We are,” Jack assured him, “but there’s something you need to know.”
“Okay, what?”
“You’re having trouble handling the stress. Mixing drugs and alcohol. I’m not trying to be your mother, but I’ve dealt with a lot of people in your position. You need to be careful.”
“You had me come here for this?” Cockerill glowered. “Fuck, you already told me that.”
“You’re thinking because you and I are done the stress will go away.”
“Yeah, it already has. Finally feel like I can breathe again.”
“Only because you haven’t had time to think.”
“About what?”
“It was your info that pointed me to the grow-ops and to busting the weed shipment the Gypsy Devils delivered to Dallas.”
“I know. So?”
“And it was your info that led me to video Buck beating that dealer to death.”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re not going to be looking at Satans Wrath the same anymore. You turned on them and it’s going to eat away at you. I think you’re going to continue drinking and popping pills.”
Cockerill brooded for a moment as he stared out the windshield, then turned back to Jack. “So what the fuck do you care?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m a cop and you’re some guy who gets his jollies by jumping out from between parked cars and waving his dick at people.” Jack yawned as if Cockerill’s indecent acts bored him and meant nothing, then said, “I probably shouldn’t give a shit about what happens to you.”
“Exactly. So why’re you talkin’ like this?”
Jack made a face. “The thing is, I don’t think you’re that bad a guy. You don’t have any record for assault or violent crimes. By how you reacted after seeing the people murdered in the farmhouse, I knew you were upset.”
“Upset? Fuck … it made me puke,” Cockerill admitted.
“So all I’m sayin’ is it would be better for you, as a person, to get out of the club. With Pure E running things, it won’t only be the eyes of three victims you’ll be remembering. Pure E is barely getting started. Are those the kind of memories you really want to collect?”
Cockerill turned away, possibly to hide his face.
“Start making friends with different people. Put all this behind you.”
Cockerill folded his arms across his chest and kept silent.
“You’ve been straight with me,” Jack said, “so I thought I’d be straight with you. The one thing about advice is it’s free. What you do with it is entirely up to you.”
“You said there were two things you wanted to say to me. What’s the other? Gonna remind me to brush my teeth before bed?”
“It’s about Damien. He didn’t flee the country. He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“He became my informant to keep Vicki and Buck from going to jail. It was Damien who told me about the boatload of coke in France.”
“No way,” Cockerill said in disbelief. “Vicki? What did you catch her with?”
“Last Friday when we searched Damien’s house she shot me. If I hadn’t been wearing my vest I’d be dead.”
“Are you shittin’ me?”
“No.” Jack pulled up his shirt to expose a bruise directly over his heart.
Cockerill’s jaw slackened. “I never heard nothin’ about that. The search and takin’ all his money, yeah, but Vicki tried to kill ya?”
“Damien made the deal shortly after,” Jack said.
Cockerill appeared to digest this new information, then said, “And the club found out and is spreadin’ the word that Damien took off, so nobody will know the top man ratted?”
Jack nodded. “Vicki let them know. She was pissed off that Damien wouldn’t become an informant to save Buck at the beginning. She pretended to be a secretary for her own lawyer and called Basil Westmount and leaked what Damien did.”
“Holy fuck … which means me givin’ you information to catch Buck ended up in Damien gettin’ whacked.”
“Yup. So don’t blame yourself for talking. Others have, as well, including Damien.”
Cockerill stared out the passenger-side window for a moment, then turned back to Jack. “Are we done?”
“Yeah, take care of yourself, Mackie boy. I mean that.”
Cockerill grunted, then got out.
Jack watched him walk away, then saw him pass a woman carrying shopping bags and give her the once-over, so he tapped his horn. When Cockerill looked his way, Jack gestured to his own eyes with two fingers, then pointed them at Cockerill. I’ll be watching you, asshole.
Cockerill gave Jack the finger, then smiled.
Chapter Twelve
On Monday morning Laura gulped the last of her coffee and left the mug on a table in her foyer when Jack arrived to pick her up for work. She wasn’t surprised when he told her about his meeting with Cockerill, but did feel a slight pang of disappointment. Cutting him loose right when we’re tasked with coming up with a viable operational plan that’s time sensitive.
Jack glanced at her. “Fair is fair. He’s more than repaid his debt to us.”
“Could you at least let me say what I’m thinking, rather than reading my mind?”
Jack gestured with his hand as if to ask, What’s the difference?
She decided to let it go. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have cut him loose. All I’m saying is the timing stinks. It would’ve been nice to have his help tracking down addresses for the op plan.”
“The guy is on the edge of losing it completely. If I’d told him he needed to give us more, he’d have refused. It also wouldn’t be right. Besides, I doubt he knows where most of these guys live. You and I will have to find that out on our own.”
“Still, it must be hard for Cockerill to look at the guys he was so close to, knowing he’s responsible for a lot of what happened.”
Jack braked for a red light. “Exactly. I did try to make him feel better.”
“Hoping he might come back to you,” Laura said.
“It would be nice, but in the meantime he needs a break.” He turned in his seat to face her. “So do you.”
Laura was pissed off. You jerk. Quit sounding like
this isn’t bothering you, too. “And you don’t?” she retorted. “Bet Natasha and your boys wish you’d take a break, too.”
Jack frowned. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m just worried about you.”
Probably not as much as I worry about you. And what troubles you’ll get into.
“You’re right, though,” Jack continued. “My whole family could use a break, including me. Stevie had a nightmare Saturday night that bad guys were coming in through his bedroom window.”
“Poor little guy.” This job is tough enough on me, but to have children … oh, man.
“It hurts to know that your nine-year-old son is suffering because of what you do.” The light changed to green and Jack accelerated. “I told both my boys that these particular bad guys would never hurt them, because of what I or some other operator would do to them.”
“They believe you?”
“Yes, they should.” His tone was deadly.
“You and I might know that,” Laura said quietly, “but your kids are little.”
“My kids have grown up with what I do. I’ve had a few contracts on my life over the years. Mostly by dope dealers. As one of them said, it wasn’t personal, it was only to stop me from testifying.” His tone turned sad. “I’ve always made sure my sons know that if they get up in the night, they’re to call out to me so I don’t shoot them by mistake.”
“Oh, man,” Laura lamented, this time aloud.
“Yeah, makes me sick when I think about it. They shouldn’t have to go through that. Anyway, I assured them that these guys are different. They’re more professional — at least I used to think they were. Mike asked what I’d do to them. I gave them a hint of how the torture would go. I think he felt sorry for them after that.”
“Jack, they’re little kids! What did you say to them?”
“They’re smart. They know the game. What I said is too gross to repeat, but they both slept well last night.”
Laura shook her head. “If I ever have kids, I don’t want you telling them any bedtime stories.”
Jack chuckled. “Enough of that talk. We’ll push it hard for the next few weeks. Once the op plan is completed, it’ll take time to get the task force together. We’ll take a break then.”
“It won’t be any too soon. I’m looking at the task force coming in like the cavalry in an old western. I feel like the two of us are barely hanging on.”
“I know.” He glanced at her. “There’s something else troubling you. What is it?”
Laura grimaced. “I’m worried about going up against Pure E. We could never do it alone.”
“We won’t be alone.”
“I know, but with how Mortimer is, I hope he doesn’t try to scale down the task force after a couple months. This is going to take time.”
“We nailed Damien on our own,” Jack reminded her.
“Yes, but it took ten years. Then we only got him for money laundering — his wife killed him. You want to leave Pure E out there that long?”
Jack stared straight ahead, but Laura saw his nostrils flare, like a wild animal checking the air. It was something that happened when he was particularly enraged — either when he was about to attack or formulating a plan. A lethal plan.
“What’re you thinking?” she asked, fearing what his response might be.
Jack’s words sent a chill up her spine. “Pure E isn’t going to be out there for long. We’ll get him one way or the other.”
Jack parked in the stall at work, then stole another peek at Laura as they entered the building. She hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Bet she’s upset. She’s stressed out as it is and then I go and say a dumb —
“What is it?” she asked. “Have I got something stuck in my teeth? You keep looking at me.”
So much for being sneaky. “No, I was thinking what I said to you — one way or the other — was stupid. No wonder you get stressed out around me.”
“Was it stupid?” Laura shrugged. “Made sense to me. I know you’re not going to roll over and play dead for the likes of Mortimer.” She turned to face him. “I won’t, either.”
Jack felt relief. I’m really, really going to miss you when you go.
“Darn right you’ll miss me.”
Did I say that out loud?
Laura smiled. “See, hotshot? You’re not the only one who knows what people are thinking.”
Jack gave a lopsided smile.
“So where do we begin?” she asked as they entered their office.
“Start by pulling out the files on the three-three, along with all the files on the ‘prospects.’ The Gypsy Devils, too. I want the most recent photos and addresses.”
“Why the GDs?”
“They’re not any better than the prospects. They still do a lot of the dirty work.”
“Gotcha.”
“While you’re doing that, I’m going to phone CFSEU and give them a heads-up as to what’s coming down the track.” He then tapped the number into his phone and waited.
“Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit, Sergeant Morris,” Roger answered briskly.
“Hey, Rog. It’s Jack Taggart.”
Roger groaned. “How many bodies do you have and where are they?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“You tell me,” Roger replied.
“Sorry to disappoint, but dead gangsters isn’t the kind of good news I’m calling about. How busy are you over there?”
“Busier than a one-armed wallpaper hanger with a case of the shits, why?”
Jack told Roger what had transpired during the past week and the meeting with the brass, who had directed him to submit an operational plan.
After Roger expressed his displeasure about the phone left in Jack’s mailbox, he said, “You’re talking about putting a big task force together. We don’t have the manpower.”
“Isaac suggested pulling members in from around the province,” Jack said. “Your office already has a mix of different police forces. It would be the most likely place for them to work out of. If it gets too crowded, we’ll find a place to rent.”
“Then that’d be great. It’s about time is all I can say. We’ve been so busy with the punks shooting each other that we haven’t looked at the really bad boys for years. You running an informant or two to give direction once it starts?”
“I had one I cut loose a couple of days ago. I’m hoping he’ll come back in time, but I’m not using him at the moment. That being said, I’m optimistic that I’ll be able to turn a better one within a week or so.”
“So money isn’t your informants’ motivation,” Roger said.
“No, their motivation is more like a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Then be careful. All our informants in here have to be turned over to CAST.”
“What the hell is CAST?”
“It’s a new thing. The Covert Asset Support Team. They handle all the informants and everything is done on legally signed contracts.”
“The kind of people I turn need more of a personal touch and their reasons for talking don’t usually jibe with writing it down on paper,” Jack said.
“That’s what I figured. Like I said, be careful and try to hang on to them yourself. I’m hearing rumours about new policy coming from Ottawa.”
“What’ve you heard?”
“I don’t know the details yet, but few cops know how to turn informants and even fewer know how to handle them — and that’s people I know in the field. Ottawa bureaucrats are … well, what can I say. I doubt it’ll be good. Their priorities are to ensure we don’t get sued. It would probably make them happy if we didn’t have any informants. My fear is that anyone with informants will be ordered to turn them over completely.”
“Lovely,” Jack replied.
“Yeah,” Roger agreed. “So how so
on can we expect the task force to be up and running?”
“I’ll have my op plan submitted in about three weeks,” Jack said.
“At the end of October, then.”
“Right. So by the time it’s approved, then sent to Ottawa and they decide who to pull from what sections, I’d say we’re —”
“Looking at January at the earliest.”
“Exactly,” Jack replied. “No worries. As my partner reminded me, vengeance is a dish best served cold.”
The next few days passed with Jack and Laura trying to locate where their targets were living and taking new photographs of them. It meant long hours of surveillance; they were seldom home before midnight and usually back at work by 7:00 a.m. Some addresses turned out to be one-night stands and the real residences weren’t always easy to establish.
By 4:00 p.m. Friday they both decided they needed a break. They were about to leave the office when Jack received a call from Special Agent John Adams in Texas.
“Well, you hillbilly cop,” drawled Adams, “it looks like I’ve come through for you again. Though this time I guess the credit should go to my wife.”
“Yolanda found something on Lance and Whiskey Jake?”
“Yup, did enough translation to get a clear picture. They’re both tied to the same realty company in Chihuahua that Damien was.”
“Realty Rápido?”
“That’s the one, except their money goes from the real-estate office to a lawyer by the name of Miguel Herrero, who transfers the money to a company owned by Lance and Whiskey Jake. It’s called Nighthawk Development and is registered in the Cayman Islands.”
“Where the money ends up,” Jack stated, while writing the details in his notebook.
“Yup. I’ve got the name of the bank and account numbers that I’ll email you. Both Lance and Whiskey Jake have been getting equal shares of the money and have their own accounts.”
“You’ve no idea how happy this makes me,” Jack said. “Do you have a rough tally of how much money’s been transferred over the years?”
“Yup. In U.S. dollars each one has in the neighbourhood of about five mil.”
