Subverting Justice

by Don Easton

  One was tall and skinny with bushy hair that had been dyed orange. Looks like something someone used to clean their ears. The other man was husky, with a week’s worth of stubble on his face. Where are Burnside and Richards? Still washing the blood off themselves? Guess this is it. Showtime.

  “Hey, you guys here for the five c’s?” Jack said as he approached.

  The man with the stubble looked perplexed. “Wong send ya?”

  Jack didn’t answer, opting instead to pull the wad of money from his pocket. When Stubble reached for it, Jack shoved it back in his pocket.”

  “What the fuck? We ain’t got time to play games. Give it to me.”

  “I’m keepin’ it,” Jack replied.

  “Whaddaya mean?” Stubble’s lips curled and he stepped closer in an obvious act of intimidation. “Fork it over, mother, or Wong Junior will end up being chop suey.”

  “Like I’d give a shit,” Jack said, moving his face closer and locking eyes with Stubble. “I collected this from Wong twenty minutes ago. You guys are late.”

  “What the hell?” Stubble glanced at Bushy Hair and stepped back. “Did Wes call ya? We ain’t that late. Who’re you?”

  “I’m the competition,” Jack said.

  “Whaddaya mean, competition?” Bushy Hair asked.

  “I don’t know Wes, but I guess me and him got the same idea,” Jack replied. “I’ve been coming up with chumps willing to pay me for protection, but I didn’t know someone else was already doing it. That is, until last month when someone told me they were already paying. At first I didn’t believe it, so I waited and watched. Sure enough, I see these two dudes collecting, too.”

  Stubble and Bushy Hair exchanged open-mouthed glances.

  “Take a look.” Jack showed the pair the photos he’d taken of Burnside and Richards on his cellphone.

  “That’s Les and Archie,” the Bushy Hair said.

  “Is that their names?” Jack asked. “They ain’t too bright. I followed them and they left the chump list in their car. I got a picture of it, too.”

  Stubble glanced at the photo. Jack saw his jaw clench and his hands curl into fists.

  “The thing is,” Jack hurried to say, “you guys only got a dozen names. I’ve got a hundred.”

  “A hundred!” Stubble stared at him. “Bullshit. We got Kent sewn up. If you were dippin’ in we’d know.”

  “Kent, hell, I’ve got names from all the jails,” Jack replied. “The only problem is I don’t have the muscle or the know-ledge to really convince people.” He paused to look at their faces. “You guys look like you’ve done time. Me, I never have. I know I can’t walk the walk and talk the talk. I’d like to partner up with you.” He paused to let them digest his words. “I could supply you with almost ten times as many names.” He waited a beat. “For a percentage of course.”

  “If you ain’t been on the inside, how the fuck did you come up with the names?” Stubble asked.

  Jack glanced around on the pretext of ensuring nobody was within earshot, then lowered his voice. “It’s my girlfriend. She works with a support group for women who have husbands and boyfriends in jail. She knows which women are scared shitless and gullible enough to pay. So far, my girl has been bullshitting them by saying she has connections with different gangs on the inside that she can pay to keep their guys safe, but it’d be nice if we actually did have some muscle.”

  Stubble glanced at his buddy. “I’m gonna make some calls. You wait with him.”

  When Stubble left, Jack gave Bushy Hair a friendly smile. “So … my name’s Bruce. What’s yours?”

  He sneered, then replied, “John Fucking Doe.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful. Mind if I call you JFD for short?”

  An uneasy silence ensued until Stubble returned. When he did, he cast a suspicious look at every car and pedestrian passing by, then turned to Jack. “You’re coming with us. Got some people who wanna meet you.”

  “Where?” Jack demanded.

  “Not far. The Black Water. We can walk.”

  “I’m a janitor. I gotta be at work by two this afternoon.”

  “You’ll be done by then,” Stubble replied.

  Be done by then … as in wrapped up in a body bag? Oh, yeah, this’ll be fun. A few drinks, a few laughs … what could possibly go wrong?

  Inside the surveillance van, Laura saw Jack glance in her direction and scratch his neck. “Get me out of here,” she said to Wilson. “I need to grab my car. They’re going to the Black Water.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He indicated I need a flea collar.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Twenty minutes later Jack found himself sitting with Stubble and JFD at a table in the centre of the Black Water bar. Natural instinct told him to sit with his back to the wall, but exhibiting such paranoia was something a cop would do. He’d also have preferred to sit closer to an exit in the event he had to fight his way out. Then again, if given a choice, he wouldn’t be there at all.

  The bar had already been open for a few hours. The cheap drinks sought by those who had an early morning taste for alcohol or a fix to start their day attracted a clientele not particularly choosy when it came to the victuals. For Jack it was the sort of place that caused him to wash his hands as soon as he entered the men’s room and again before he left it.

  Some customers, whose body odour and bloodshot eyes denoted their alcoholism, stared despondently at the drinks in front of them. Others, addicted to stronger substances, were in various states of mental alertness.

  Some addicts sat in clusters, giving off a nervous frantic energy as their bodies told them they needed to score again. Others were on the nod — eyes closing and heads briefly dropping to their chests, then jerking up again. One such person sitting a few tables away was an imposter. Good job, Laura, you fit right in.

  Stubble and JFD each ordered a bottle of Pilsner beer; Jack ordered a glass of draft. The glass made a better weapon. It could easily be broken on the table leg, providing a jagged edge to slash someone’s jugular.

  After they’d each paid for the drinks, Jack leaned into his two companions. “So, who we waitin’ for?”

  “You’ll see,” Stubble said, then turned his gaze elsewhere in an obvious indication he didn’t want to talk.

  Jack saw that JFD was sizing him up, but considering how their conversation had gone before, he decided to ignore him and quietly busied himself by using his thumbnail to scrape remnants of lipstick off the rim of his glass.

  Minutes later Jack saw Stubble give JFD a nod. He looked toward the entrance to see Burnside and Richards approaching. Richards was wearing the same green nylon jacket he’d worn previously, but today Burnside wore a brown V-neck sweater. Where’s your red-and-black lumber jacket, asshole? Too bloody?

  When they arrived at the table, Burnside stood glaring at Jack. “This him?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Stubble replied.

  Jack glanced at Burnside, then turned his back and took a sip of beer.

  At last Burnside and Richards took a seat on each side of him. By their build and the size of their necks, Jack believed that his original assessment that they were on steroids was correct. He then realized that all eyes were on Burnside. So you’re the cock of the walk. Jack faced him, as well. “So, your buddy tell you what’s going on?”

  Burnside glanced at Stubble. “He told me.”

  “Good. I’m looking to partner up with —”

  “Show me the pictures … now!” Burnside ordered.

  “Sure, no problem.” Jack held his cellphone and Burnside and Richards leaned in.

  “It wasn’t yesterday,” Richards said, looking relieved.

  “I told you he said last month,” Stubble stated.

  Burnside fidgeted with the cross dangling from his earlobe while staring at the pictures
. Then he leaned back and looked at Jack. “When exactly did you take ’em? How long were you following us?”

  “I took them at the end of October,” Jack replied. “Then I followed you. That’s when you left your list in the car and I got to thinking we should partner up. I was going to talk to you then, but decided I should chat with my girlfriend first and get as many names as I could.”

  The conversation stopped when the waitress approach-ed. Burnside and Richards each ordered a bottle of Pilsner. As soon as she left, Richards looked at Jack. “So you ain’t seen us or been following us in the last month?”

  Jack shrugged. “No need. I got your list. Yesterday I had to work, so I figured I’d reach out to you this morning. I only guessed that your two buddies were involved when I saw them waitin’ at the intersection.”

  “After you took our money,” Burnside said.

  “Yeah, but hey, what’s five hundred bucks? That’s nothing compared to what we could make if we partner up.”

  “How’d you know we were collecting five hundred?” JFD asked.

  “I didn’t. I asked Wong if he had the money and that’s what he gave me.”

  “And your old lady … she some kind of shrink or somethin’?” Richards asked.

  “Somethin’ like that,” Jack replied. “She’s taken psych-ology courses.”

  “And you really got a hundred names?” Burnside asked.

  “More or less. Guys are always gettin’ released, but new ones appear.”

  Burnside paid for the drinks when the waitress returned, then turned to Jack. “Show me your list.”

  “I’m not that stupid,” Jack said. “I’m not bringing it with me until I know I can trust you guys. That’s somethin’ we still need to work out.”

  Burnside glanced at his colleagues. “I think he’s all right. He took these pictures a month ago. With what happened yesterday … there ain’t no way anyone could’ve predicted that.”

  “What happened yesterday?” Jack asked.

  “None of your fuckin’ business,” JFD said.

  Jack wrinkled his brow. “Sounds like it could be if we’re gonna partner up.”

  “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, so forget it,” JFD said.

  “Fine, but that brings me back to the issue of trust. I got something in mind that you could do to alleviate that.”

  “Which is?” Suddenly Burnside shifted his gaze across the bar and said, “What are you doing in here?”

  Jack glanced back and saw Lorraine Dole approaching.

  “No Johns out there now,” she replied. “Me and some of the girls just came in to warm up.”

  “Yeah?” Burnside replied. He gave a wave of his hand to where two other women were about to sit down. “Go sit with them, then. I’m busy.”

  Jack then turned back to Burnside. “You collect on the last Friday and Saturday of the month, right?”

  Burnside nodded.

  “Okay, I work Saturday afternoons, so that day isn’t good for me, but how about, as a show of faith, next month you let me collect from the Friday people? There’s only six on the list, so it wouldn’t cost you much. Do that, then I’ll give you the hundred names I got. Then we can work out some sort of percentage deal.”

  “You want us to give you three grand?” JFD sounded incredulous.

  “What? You’re whining about three g’s?” Jack scoffed. “That’s chump change. With me on board the pot will be about fifty g’s a month. By my math, that’s a lot better than the six you’re collectin’ now.”

  “By my math, it’s a fuck of a lot better,” Burnside said.

  Jack eyed him. “Good, so you wanna partner up?”

  Burnside twiddled his earring, then at last said, “Yeah. I think that’d be good.”

  “Great,” Jack said, raising his glass to toast.

  Burnside didn’t respond. “The thing is, there’s another guy I gotta talk to first.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Our guy on the inside. He’ll be here soon.”

  Time to bruise an ego … something a guy like him won’t appreciate. “So that guy is the boss? He tells you when to jump and you do it?”

  Burnside scowled. “I don’t jump for nobody! We need Wes ’cause he gets us the names, but I run the fucking show.” He looked defiantly at his colleagues. There were no challengers.

  “Sounds like we got a deal then.” Jack stared at Burnside a moment. “Right?”

  Burnside looked at his colleagues again. Richards and Stubble nodded, but JFD made a point of looking away. Burnside issued a snort of disgust, then turned to Jack. “Yeah, sounds good, but I still gotta talk to Wes. At least make him feel like he’s in the loop.”

  “I understand,” Jack said. “It’s better to keep everyone happy.”

  Burnside nodded, then clinked his bottle on Jack’s glass.

  “Good,” Jack said, before taking a swallow. The others at the table did likewise, except for JFD, who looked displeased. Jack tapped Burnside on the arm. “If John Fucking Doe is going to sulk about it, I’ll buy the next round to cheer him up.”

  “John Fucking Doe?” Burnside questioned.

  “That’s what he told me his name was.”

  Burnside gave another snort. “His name is John, but John Fucking the Dog would be better.”

  “Fuck you,” John said.

  “Personally, I think JFD has a nice ring to it.” Jack grinned.

  Burnside grinned back. “Yeah, me, too.” He glanced across the table at John. “Whaddaya think? JFD?”

  “I don’t give a shit,” he replied sullenly.

  “JFD it is then.” Burnside nudged Jack. “I’m Les. Beside you is Archie and that’s Derrick across from you.”

  Jack introduced himself as Bruce, then motioned to the waitress to bring another round. After paying for the drinks, he turned to Burnside. “Listen, about me collectin’ from those six people next month, any chance of you making an intro today? They might not all be as easy as Wong was, and I still have time before I gotta get to work.”

  “Yeah, uh, about that,” Burnside replied. “Don’t go back to that guy in the park.”

  “Why not?”

  “Yesterday Archie and me had a problem with ’im.”

  “A problem?”

  “A problem I took care of.” Burnside then spoke to his colleagues. “It’s already on the news. He’s gonna piece it together sooner or later.”

  “Piece what together?”

  Burnside was blunt. “He’s dead. Stay away from there.”

  “Dead? What the fuck — you killed him? Why?”

  “Had no choice. The fucker tried to call some cop on us. I couldn’t believe it. He looked me right in the eye. Cocky as shit, then took out a cop’s business card and was tappin’ in the number.” Burnside shrugged. “So I thumped him.”

  Jack recalled the advice he’d given Tom over the adolescent punks. Exude self-confidence and look them in the eye. If they persist, call the cops.

  “What’s with you?” Burnside said. “I had no choice.”

  Jack realized his face had given away how horrible he felt. I intended it for adolescent punks — not hardened criminals. He tried to look nonchalant. “Thumped him? What with, a rock?”

  “No, the butt of a piece.” Burnside eyed him suspicious-ly. “You looked upset.”

  “What if he wasn’t dead? He could’ve said something later. Maybe in the ambulance.”

  “Oh, so that’s what’s buggin’ ya.” Burnside smirked. “No worries. I made sure he was dead. I even shoved the cop’s fuckin’ business card down his throat.”

  “Good.” Jack took a sip of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “See, that’s the sort of shit I was talking about earlier. You guys know how to handle yourselves. Me trying to convince people to for
k over money … well, I don’t have that muscle you guys got.”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. You got smarts,” Burnside replied. “Anyone can see that. You supply the names and we get the cash. We’ll make a good team.”

  “That’s what I’m hopin’ for.” Jack glanced around. “So where’s Wes? I don’t have much time. I still need my job.”

  “I’ll call him.” Moments later Burnside ended his call and said, “He’s pulling into the parkade right now.”

  “Great.”

  Burnside looked past Jack. “Fuck, hang on a sec. My ol’ lady is wavin’ for me to come over. I’ll be right back.”

  Jack watched Burnside saunter over and sit next to Dole. Then Burnside and Dole, along with the two other women at the table, leaned in to whisper. When they did, Burnside turned to look briefly at Jack, then around the room.

  Jack glanced at Laura and she gave him a hard look. Yeah, I don’t like that, either. He thought about what he’d learned. I’ve got Burnside for the murder, providing my testimony of what he told me holds up in court — should I bail out now? Then again, the inside man is about to walk in.

  An image of Tom handing him a cup of coffee flashed through his mind. You were a good guy, Tom. You deserve justice.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Burnside listened to what Dole was saying. The initial fear he felt changed to rage. “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she’s sure. Tell ’im, Alice.” She leaned closer to the woman across the table, who also leaned in. So did her friend.

  “It’s him,” Alice replied. “Doesn’t look quite the same, but I’m sure. I sat listening in court for a week when they put my brother away, so I saw a lot of him.”

  “Yeah, and Spider’s still not out yet,” Dole said. “And that was like, maybe seven or eight years ago.” She gave Burnside a hard look. “Hope the fuck you didn’t say anything to ’im.”

  Burnside grimaced, then looked at Alice. “You’re absolutely fucking positive?”

  “Yeah, I’m positive. There was a lady cop who testified, too. I’m not sure, but that could be her sitting over there. The one with the woollen cap an’ looks like she’s on the nod.”