by Don Easton
“I used to be a soldier.” Time to change the subject. “To give you a tip, try not to act nervous around punks like that. Be firm, exude self-confidence … and look them in the eye. If they persist, call the cops. That’s what you pay your taxes for.”
“I know, I know,” Tom replied. “It just isn’t my nature. I’ve always tried to avoid conflict. Since my stroke, I even find it hard to go out in public. I feel like everyone is staring at me.”
“They might be,” Jack replied. “I bet most are admiring you for having the strength and determination to carry on.”
Tom didn’t answer and Jack realized he was distracted.
Jack turned around and saw two uniformed police officers, accompanied by a park ranger, approaching. Crap, not now, guys. That’s all I need, for the three-three to show up and see you …
“Turn and place your hands on the counter. We’re not going to hurt you,” one officer said.
Jack saw that their name tags identified them as McDonald and Baker.
“We heard that you may have forgotten to take your medication or perhaps lost it,” Baker continued. “I’m simply going to pat you down. Perhaps I’ll find it.”
Okay, guess the charade is over. “You won’t find any medication,” Jack said as he placed his hands on the counter and spread his legs. “What you’ll find is my badge in my front pocket. I also have a pistol holstered in my waistband over my right hip.”
A minute later Baker handed Jack his pistol and badge back. “We received a call that the three guys you had a run-in with were hassling people in the park.” He smirked. “Looks like they hassled the wrong guy.”
“One of them squirted ketchup on me,” Tom said.
“So I see.” Baker nodded.
Tom gestured to Jack. “When he pushed him away to make him stop, the guy tried to punch him.”
McDonald looked amused. “We spoke to them and they said they’d been attacked by a wino and were on their way to the hospital. Also said you were a mental patient and that you were looking for your pills.” He eyed Jack’s clothing, then looked at his partner and sadly shook his head. “I heard they weren’t payin’ these Mounties enough,” he said in a stage whisper. “Probably explains why he went crazy.”
Jack returned their grins.
“Want him charged?” Baker asked. “We’ve ID’d them and can round them up.”
“No, but thanks, anyway. What I gave him is far more than he’d ever get in court. Let him think he was thumped out by a wino. Might deflate his ego a little.”
Baker chuckled, then his face became serious. “Looking at how you’re dressed, I suspect you don’t want a couple of uniforms hanging around.”
“You’re right about that,” Jack replied.
As the officers left Tom looked at Jack. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“Yes, thank you,” the young woman echoed.
“No problem. Sorry I lied about who I really am.”
“That’s okay,” Tom said. “I suspected you were a police officer when I first met you.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Not many homeless people are on a dental plan. You also stayed put the whole time. Didn’t scrounge for empty bottles or butts.”
Jack nodded. “I’d appreciate it if the both of you kept my presence secret.”
Both Tom and the young woman assured him they would, then Jack paid for his hot dog and headed back to his sleeping bag. He was halfway there when Tom caught up to him. “So you’re not here because of … you know … yesterday?” he asked.
Jack paused to finish chewing the bite he’d just taken of his hot dog. “Those two guys you met around the side? Involving the envelope?”
Tom nodded.
“No, it’s nothing to do with that, although I’m a little curious.”
Tom’s face revealed his grief. “My son was sent to jail a couple months ago. It’s the second time he’s been caught selling crack. He’s addicted to it.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Tom hung his head. “Yesterday I paid those two men money for my son.”
“I understand that it must be difficult, but if you continue to pay for his mistakes — especially over drugs — he’ll never learn to stand on his own two feet.”
“I know, I know.” He sighed audibly, then said, “I’m so ashamed. I know it’s wrong.” His tone became desperate. “He’s my son. I worry. It was only five hundred dollars.”
“Which for you is a lot of money.”
“Yes, it is,” he admitted.
“Of course you worry. You love him and want to protect him.”
“Yes, I want to protect him. I’m his father.” He looked at Jack. “You think it’s wrong?”
“It’s not wrong to love your son, but there comes a time when he has to be responsible for what he does.”
Tom appeared to think about it, then said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“You mentioned your daughter is an accountant?”
“Yes, she works hard. She’s made my wife and me very happy.”
“She must be smart. I’m sure your son is, too. Perhaps he’ll change his ways.”
“Yes, I pray that he will.” Tom eyed Jack carefully. “So you’re really not here because of me or those two men from yesterday?”
“Definitely not. The men I’m interested in meet here on occasion to discuss and plan serious crimes. I hope to follow them when they leave to see what they’re up to.”
Tom’s face brightened. “I could help you. I’m here almost every day. If you have any pictures or could describe them, I’d be happy to let you know if they show up.”
“Actually that’d be appreciated. I hope to be here myself, but if they ever show up and I’m not around, I’d like to know.”
Jack brought out his phone and slowly scrolled down through the appropriate photographs while Tom studied the pictures. He then handed Tom his business card. “They’re dangerous,” he warned. “All I’d like is a phone call. Don’t talk to them or ever try to follow them.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. Phoning you will be as brave as I get.”
“Thank you,” Jack said. “Now I’d better get back to my position.”
“Two of the pictures look like those guys,” Tom said.
Jack turned and saw two members of the three-three walking toward the concession stand. “It is them,” he said anxiously. “I need to go.”
He moved off. Seconds later he called Laura. “Where are you?” he asked. “Floyd Hackman and Vic Trapp are standing at the concession stand.”
“I’m back in the van and in the lot to the north. They must’ve parked elsewhere. Do you have a problem?”
“That’s funny. Two guys asked me a short time ago if I had a problem. Why does everyone think I have a problem?”
“I take it you don’t have a — uh-oh. Hang tough.” Laura’s tone became tense. “Two cars just arrived in the north lot. One’s a white Lexus.”
“Whiskey Jake,” Jack said.
Laura was quiet for a moment. “Confirmed it’s WJ. Three just got out of the second car. Pasquale Bazzoli … Nick Crowe … Buck Zabat.”
“Perfect,” Jack said. “I don’t have any problem at all. It’s showtime.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack watched the bikers congregate at a picnic table. A couple of minutes later Buck Zabat stood up and stomped off a few paces, then returned and waved his hands in what appeared to be anger at Whiskey Jake.
Gee, Buck, the idea of murdering your mom not to your liking? Then Jack watched as Buck thumped his own chest with his finger. Guess I’m wrong about that.
After a moment Whiskey Jake and the three-three got to their feet, and Trapp patted Buck on his back. There was no doubt in Jack’s mind who’d volunteered to do the murder.
>
The bikers left, with Hackman and Trapp heading to the south parking lot while the others went to the north lot. Once they drove off, Jack met with Laura and told her what he’d seen.
“It makes me feel sick,” Laura said. “Murdering his dad is bad enough. Now he wants to do his own mother.”
“Satans Wrath is his family,” Jack reminded her. “He’s disowned both his parents. In his mind they’ve completely gone against everything he was taught to believe.”
“That Satans Wrath comes before all else.” Laura looked disgusted. “So now what?”
“Stick to our plan. Continue surveillance here at the park until they meet again before the hit. Then it’s a simple matter of identifying what they’re driving and wait for them out on the Trans-Canada.”
“It’s not that simple,” Laura replied tersely. “What happens if they don’t go that direction, or if they do, but we lose them? We’ll have had Vicki killed for no reason.”
“There’s plenty of reason to see that bitch in the ground,” Jack said bitterly.
Four days later Jack and Laura’s surveillance came to fruition. For fear of using the surveillance van a second time and having it noticed, Laura drove her own car to the parking lot south of the concession stand, parked it, and then posed as a jogger. She used a trail to traverse the short distance to the point where she could see the parking lot to the north.
It was 8:50 a.m. and Jack had barely crawled into his sleeping bag when he received a call from Laura.
“Heads up, two guys arrived in the north lot in a silver Nissan Altima. I can’t see the plate, but I recognize the driver. It’s a prospect for the Westside chapter — John Appleton.” Laura paused. “This is happening. They wouldn’t have prospects guarding the lot otherwise.”
Laura sounded tense and Jack understood why. Today is going to be the day Vicki dies. Playing a role in that isn’t something she relishes. “Who’s the other guy?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve got my monocular on him now. Short brown hair, clean-shaven, early twenties.”
“Maybe a new prospect. What’re they doing?”
“Parked in the lot and sitting in the car.”
Jack felt tense, as well, but for him it was fear of what could go wrong. “What’s your position?”
“Sitting on the seawall, but now that they’re here I better move.”
“Head back to your car. Once the real players arrive I’ll let you know, then you can drive past the lot and record all the plates and vehicle descriptions.”
“Will do.”
By 9:20 a.m. four of the three-three had arrived and met at a picnic table. None of them arrived together, which indicated they had probably come in separate vehicles. The only one who didn’t show up was Buck Zabat. Perhaps they decided that killing your own mother was too much, even if you were willing to do it.
Ten minutes later Whiskey Jake arrived and joined the group. Jack then called Laura to have her drive past the parking lot and obtain the vehicle info.
The meeting didn’t last long. Nick Crowe appeared to do most of the talking while Floyd Hackman, Vic Trapp, and Pasquale Bazzoli just listened. When Crowe was finished, Whiskey Jake spoke.
Jack felt a familiar anger — not at the bikers, but at Mortimer. If it hadn’t been for the assistant commissioner, he’d have had listening devices planted to pick up the actual conversation. That and separate surveillance teams assigned to every one of the participants.
Minutes later he watched as Whiskey Jake gave a thumbs-up to the others, and they all climbed to their feet and departed. Jack called Laura to tell her.
“I’ve recorded the info,” she said. “Besides the prospects’ and Whiskey Jake’s Lexus, there are six other vehicles. One’s a rental van and the others are registered to names I’ve never heard of.”
“Two must belong to citizens,” Jack said as he gathered his belongings and hurried back to his SUV. “But the rest …”
“I found a spot to watch when they leave,” Laura said. “I’ll let you know what they’re driving then.”
“Sounds good. As soon as they’re gone, we’ll head out on the Trans-Canada and wait. From what our friend told us, I expect they’ll be doing heat checks in the city for an hour before heading out on the highway. Still, let’s hustle to make sure we’re there ahead of them.”
“How far out should we go?”
“I think it’ll be around Abbotsford.”
“Okay, about an hour out. Where do you want me to set up?”
“We’ll start about three-quarters of the way. You set up at the Number 10 overpass and I’ll continue east and set up on Number 13.”
“Sure would like to know how they plan on grabbing Vicki.”
“Me, too. I bet they do it when she goes to visit her dad for lunch.” Jack paused. “Hopefully my theory that they dispose of bodies out that way is correct.”
“And hopefully by then they’ll have completed all their heat checks,” Laura added.
That, too. Jack again reflected upon the situation they were in. Mortimer, you asshole …
Minutes later Laura reported on the vehicles being driven by the three-three. Trapp drove a white rental van, Hackman a red Camaro, Crowe a blue Ford Fusion sedan, and Bazzolia was in a black Dodge Ram pickup truck.
At 10:30 a.m. Laura took the exit ramp off the Trans-Canada Highway and parked where she could see the eastbound traffic, but at the same time do some surveillance on her own if the three-three took the same exit.
Fifteen minutes later Jack did likewise at the next exit. He turned on the radio as he waited, but the music did little to ease the tension he felt. What if they don’t come out this far? What if they shoot Vicki and don’t try to hide her body? What if they do come this way but spot us? He cursed under his breath. Damned ants.
At noon Jack’s fingers fumbled for his phone when Laura called.
“You nailed this one!” she said. “They’re eastbound past my exit.”
Jack felt his adrenalin surge, but made an effort to be calm. “You sound like you had doubts.”
“Like you didn’t.”
He chuckled.
“Hackman’s in the lead, followed by Trapp, Crowe, and Bazzoli in the pickup. They appear to be driving consistent with the rest of the traffic. I’ll fall in behind.”
Soon the entourage continued past where Jack was waiting. He drove back onto the Trans-Canada and maintained a distance. Laura was barely visible in front of him. She was doing likewise with Bazzoli’s pickup.
“They’ve passed the Mount Lehman exit and are still eastbound,” Laura reported.
“Good. I’ve got your back,” Jack replied.
Minutes later Laura said, “Okay, they’ve taken the exit at Clearbrook Road.”
“Into Abbotsford,” Jack commented. “Good.”
Suddenly Laura yelled, “Hang back! Hang back!”
Jack hit the brakes and pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. “What’s up?”
“Bazzoli stopped on the exit ramp and I had to drive past. He’s got a video camera and is pointing it at every car that passes him.”
Jack cursed. Laura’s vehicle was effectively burned once their targets left the main route they were on. “You still got the eye on the other three?”
“Yes, they’re heading north on Clearbrook Road. Still have lots of other cars for cover. “What do you want me to do?”
As Jack reached for a map he said, “Stay with them and I’ll sit tight. If the traffic thins or they go off the main routes you better break off.”
Moments later Laura spoke again. “They’ve turned east off of Clearbrook onto Hillcrest Avenue. It’s a busy road. Two lanes each way and they’re a block ahead of me.”
“Okay, stay with them. I’m following you on a map. Call out the occasional street as you pass by.”<
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“Will do.” Seconds later, Laura said, “Passing Minter … passing Lynden … Adelaide … coming up to a red light. Indicators on to turn right … Okay, they’re now southbound, but I’m too far back to see a sign.”
“It’s Lilac Street,” Jack replied.
“I’m pulling up to the intersection now. It’s all residential. They’ll burn me if I follow.”
“It’s not that long a street. A few other streets branch off, but those have easier access roads than Hillcrest. We can check who owns or rents what houses later. Is there anyplace to sit and watch for them when they come out?”
“Yes, kitty-corner at the intersection there’s a grocery store. Ample parking.”
“Good. Hopefully Bazzoli will show up soon. If he does, I’ll join you.”
A moment later, Laura grumbled, “Bad news. Hackman and Trapp continued on, but Crowe pulled over. I think they’re still doing heat checks.”
Jack cursed again and punched the dash. The pain in his knuckles didn’t take his mind off the problem. “Keep watching from the grocery lot. There’s nothing else we can do.”
“I’ve got the binos on Crowe now. I can see that he’s videoing passing cars as well.”
“These guys shouldn’t be called the three-three,” Jack muttered. “The ‘paranoid squad’ would be more apt.”
Another five minutes passed, then Laura said, “Okay, Bazzoli showed up and parked facing northbound across the street from Crowe.”
“I’m on my way,” Jack replied.
“Crowe is out and joining Bazzoli in the pickup,” Laura said. “He has his camera in his hand. No doubt they’ll be comparing images.”
Ten minutes later Jack arrived in the lot where Laura was waiting and she got in with him. “No change,” she said, gesturing down the street. “They’re both sitting in the pickup with their heads down, no doubt comparing the plates they each recorded. I’m surprised it’s taking them so long.”
“They probably recorded in Vancouver, too. It might take them a while.”
Laura nodded, then gestured when a truck parked nearby, partially blocking her view. “I can’t see past the intersection.”
