by Don Easton
A moment later Jack terminated the call, then looked at her and grimaced.
“Mortimer understand?” she said.
“Yeah, I know. Not fucking likely.” He reached for his phone. “The letter will hit Mortimer’s desk either today or tomorrow. I better give Rose a heads-up.”
Laura listened in as Jack told Rose about Tom’s murder in Stanley Park and their subsequent role in assisting with the investigation.
“You’re finished, Jack,” Rose stated. “Maybe I can save Laura, but you were directly ordered not to work UC. There’s no way I’ll be able to help you out of this one. He’ll call you in and have you off the section immediately.”
“Rose, I need you to hold Mortimer off until Monday.” Jack sounded desperate. “We need these next few days. Tell Mortimer I’m home sick in bed. If he wants a doctor’s note I’ll have Natasha make one up.”
“Why?” Rose demanded.
“I expect Pure E to meet the Russians as soon as he gets back. The cocaine could be transferred over to the bikers this weekend. My informant might get the details.”
“This weekend? Since when does a drug deal ever go down on time? Especially one this big. There’s no way you’ll be able to wrap it up by then.”
“At least let me have a shot at it. If I’m going out, let me go out with some pizazz. Three tonnes of coke would do that.”
Rose hesitated. “Okay … but even if you succeed in taking down such a huge shipment, you’ll be gone. There’s no way he’ll let you stay.”
“I know, but three tonnes — what a way to go.” He ended the call abruptly.
Laura blinked to banish the tears that had formed in her eyes. She’d seen the muscles along Jack’s jaw tighten — he wasn’t sad, just angry. “Jack, I —”
“Mortimer, that self-centred, ignorant prick! He’s going down,” Jack said. “Him and Pure E both.”
Laura was appalled. “Jack, we can’t kill Mortimer. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Wouldn’t it?” he replied, then reached for his ski mask and pillow.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Carl Shepherd was bent over tightening a spark plug when he heard someone approach from behind. It wasn’t unusual. People often walked into his garage from off the street. He was a good mechanic and his rates were low, providing the customer paid cash. Word of mouth brought in a steady income, which nicely supplemented the income from less honest sources.
“With you in a minute,” he said, not bothering to turn around. The sound of his overhead garage door closing caught his immediate attention and he spun around. “Hey! What the —”
“I ain’t here to kill you,” said the man. Big and fat, he wore a ski mask and was pointing a pistol at Carl’s face. “All I wanna do is pass on some info. Info that’ll save your sorry ass from gettin’ killed.”
“Then why the fuckin’ mask and gun?” Carl was more incensed than he was fearful. He’d enough ex-perience to know that if this was a hit, he’d already be slumped over the engine with a bullet in the back of his head.
“Because if word leaks out I did this, it’ll be me Pasquale sprinkles with lighter fluid.”
Fuck, he’s a Satans Wrath — nobody else knows that stuff.
“Anyone in the house?” the intruder asked. “Your old lady?”
“Nobody’s home. My ol’ lady dropped our kid off at daycare and she’s at work.”
“If you’re lyin’ to me, you get wasted first.”
“I ain’t lyin’. She works as a receptionist at a construction company. We only got the one kid. Nobody else lives with us.”
“Good. Turn around and get down on your knees. I’m gonna zip-tie your hands behind your back.”
“You that afraid of me? You already got a piece.”
“What I’m gonna tell you will really piss you off. Then I’m takin’ you for a drive to show you somethin’.”
“Show me what?”
“Turn around and do as I say. I don’t want you tryin’ to do somethin’ stupid.”
Carl begrudgingly did as instructed. Once his hands were tied behind his back, his captor came around to face him. “Okay, you can get to your feet or sit on your ass. Whatever makes ya comfortable.”
“I prefer to stand.”
His captor waited for him to rise, then said, “What I came to tell you is we found out it wasn’t Neal who ratted to the cops. It was one of our guys. You killed your own for no reason.”
“What the fuck?” Carl felt enraged. He wanted to grab the man by the throat. “You’re lyin’!”
“’Fraid not.” The man waited a moment. “Told you it’d piss you off.”
“You made us torch our own guy! Him, Bob, and Roxie…. What the fuck, man?”
“It wasn’t my idea. Pure E ordered it. He wouldn’t wait until we were sure who the rat was. The fucker just wouldn’t listen.”
“Then who was the rat?”
The man uttered the name like it was poison. “Mack Cockerill.”
“Your fuckin’ go-between you used with us? I heard he died of an overdose weeks ago.”
“Yeah, we’re not sure when he started rattin’. Probably a couple months before that. He’d started drinkin’ heavy and poppin’ pills. We were on the verge of takin’ away his patch when he croaked.”
Carl realized the stress was making him hyperventilate, so he made a conscious effort to breathe evenly and keep his voice steady. “You’re right about pissin’ me off.”
“Pure E figures you guys might find out about it next month if it comes out in court down in the States.”
“Over that grass seizure the cops did in Dallas?”
“Yeah.”
“So it wasn’t Neal who ratted that one out. It was Mack.”
“Yup, but if you’re pissed off now, let me finish. Pure E put in an order to have all six of you guys whacked.”
Carl took another deep breath and released it. “He figures we’ll come after him.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Some of the guys would. They’d know you’d get us all eventually, but someone like Thor … he wouldn’t care.”
“Which is why Pure E decided not to take any chances. Late this afternoon you’re gonna get a visit from one of our guys. It’ll be a bullshit message to suck you all out to Abbotsford on the nineteenth of this month. Once there, you’ll be wasted.”
“So why’re you tellin’ me?”
“That fuckin’ Pure E — what a world-class prick,” the man responded, almost as if he was talking to himself. Then he said, “He’s poison for the club. We got word that the cops are formin’ a special task force to come after us because of the shit he’s pulled.”
“The message left at Neal’s place.”
“Yeah, that was only one of his fuckin’ brilliant ideas.” The man shook his head in disgust. “Me and a couple other long-time members been talkin’. We’d be better off without Pure E, but the thing is, he got voted in. Lots of our younger guys think he’s a fuckin’ hero. The truth is, he ain’t got no class. The fucker rides me about my weight right in front of broads. A buddy of mine is exec level and Pure E calls him grandpa. The guy’s got no respect for nobody.”
“Yeah, so? I still don’t get why you’re tellin’ me this.”
“I’m thinkin’ maybe we can help each other out.”
“How?”
“To explain how, I gotta show you somethin’.”
“Show me what?”
“Somethin’ you need to see with your own eyes. Then we’ll talk some more. We need to take a drive. I’m gonna blindfold you because I’m not drivin’ around wearin’ a ski mask. Some cop’ll think we’re out to rob a bank. I don’t trust you to drive in case you try to jump or somethin’. So … two choices. Choice number one is you can lend me your wheels to get there while you lie in
the back seat. When we get there I’ll put my mask back on. When we’re done, I got a buddy who’ll pick me up and you can drive back on your own. Choice number two is we can go in my car and you can do the round trip in the trunk.”
“My keys are in my pocket.”
“Good. Turn around and get down on your knees. I got a rag I’m gonna tape over your eyes.”
Minutes later Carl lay on the back seat of his crew cab as his captor drove. He thought it strange that he was being given a play-by-play description of what streets they took, including the announcement that they had entered the eastbound lane of the Trans-Canada Highway. Later he was told they’d passed Abbotsford and were going northbound from the Lickman Road exit to Industrial Way.
His captor eventually told him he was stopping to open a barbed-wire gate. Then he felt his truck bounce along a bumpy road and finally come to a stop, at which point he was pulled upright and his blindfold removed.
Carl blinked. They were parked in a forest clearing and in front of his truck was a chain-link fence surrounding a compound with a shipping container.
His captor had put the ski mask back on. “This is it,” he said. “Time to get out.” He opened the rear door of the cab.
His hands still zip-tied behind his back, Carl wriggled out of the truck, easing his feet to the ground. He watched as his captor crossed to a pile of rocks and lifted one, then held up a baggie containing two keys. He used one key to enter the compound and the second to unlock the shipping container, which they entered.
Carl focused on the apparatus in front of him. What the hell is that?
As if reading his mind, his captor said, “It’s an animal incinerator. At least, that’s what it’s intended for. It can do a man in about three hours. Easy to operate, too,” he said, flipping open a metal lid. “The body goes in here.”
Fuck! Is he going to kill me here? Suckering me into thinking he was gonna let me live?
“This is where our three-three dispose of bodies. It’s so secret that only they’re supposed to know about it. I only found out by slappin’ a tracker on one of their cars. Even that wasn’t easy ’cause it’s rare for any of ’em to come out here.”
“Wh-why’d you bring me here?” Carl couldn’t quite keep the fear out of his voice.
“To show you where you and your guys will all end up if Pure E has his way.”
Carl just stared at the incinerator.
“By the way, did I tell you that Pure E is dealin’ with some badass Russians at the moment? That’s why he’s waitin’ till the nineteenth to waste you guys. He doesn’t want to cause any heat that might scare the Russians off. The thing is, it’s only him that’s dealin’ with ’em, which kinda worries us ’cause we don’t know who they really are. They pick him up in a black stretch limo to talk to ’im, but aren’t the type to shake hands and do intros, if you know what I mean.”
Why’s he blabbin’ about that stuff?
“Come to think of it, the limo they picked him up in is identical to the limo one of your guys owns. What’s his name?”
“Mouse.”
“Yeah, him.”
“What’re you gettin’ at?”
“I’m just sayin’ we’re kinda worried about Pure E dealin’ with these Russians. I sure hope nothin’ happens to him. He’s gonna meet them again Saturday mornin’. The limo just pauses on the street and he hops in. Knowin’ Pure E, he’ll probably get there early.”
Is he tellin’ me what I think he’s tellin’ me?
The masked man eyed him for a moment. “Then again, I suppose if somethin’ did happen to him, it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. If he disappeared without a trace and you guys hung up your colours, I bet our club would be so busy lookin’ for them Russians we’d forget all about you.”
His captor took what appeared to be a tube of lipstick from his pocket. Carl watched his subsequent actions in silence, then nodded.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Laura had parked to watch the Lickman Road overpass and the ramp leading onto the Trans-Canada Highway. Once she confirmed that Carl was on his way back to the city, she called Jack and drove to pick him up.
“I think it went well,” Jack said on getting into the SUV. “Guess time will tell, though.”
“Time we don’t have,” Laura replied.
“We should get an indication when he gets a visit this afternoon. Our friend will let us know how that went.”
“You don’t think Carl will say anything about this morning?”
“I don’t think he’s that stupid … or reckless. He has a wife and child to think about. Before he left, he told me he might not even tell some of his guys what’s going on.”
Laura nodded. “Handpick who he needs.”
“Quite likely. Thor’ll be picked. The guy’s built like a gorilla. He’d be enough by himself. Carl also said he might drop a hint that some of his guys are thinking of leaving his club, so that way it won’t cause any suspicion later when they disband.”
“Basic club constitutions say they need a minimum of six to form a club or chapter. If only one quits and there isn’t a replacement, they’d be finished as a club, anyway.”
“Exactly. He also gave me his number to let him know exactly when and where to do their thing. I told him Saturday morning, but didn’t want to sound like I knew all the details yet.”
Laura looked solemn. “So what now? Do you really want to watch Carl this afternoon?”
“No, we can’t risk being spotted. Let’s call it a day. I want to pick you up at six tomorrow morning and go for a drive.”
“A drive where?”
“Mortimer’s house.”
At 7:00 a.m. the following day Jack drove down a residential street in Edgemont Village in North Vancouver. “We’re only a couple of blocks away. Time for me to be a little old man.” He reached for the backpack he’d stuffed with various disguises. “You better duck down below the window.”
Laura did as instructed and watched Jack slouch low in his seat. He put on a pair of thick black plastic glasses — without any lenses — followed by a fedora, which he pulled tight over his ears. When done, he rested both hands high on the steering wheel. Anyone glancing at him through the rain-swept windshield would think he was an old man.
“Mortimer’s got a nice house,” Jack reported as he drove slowly past. Three-car garage … Bingo!”
“What do you see?”
“Two houses down there’s a van parked on the street that looks like the one parked near my house on the day our pictures were taken.”
“Abe’s Furnace Repair?” Laura asked.
“Give me a sec … coming up to it. Same type of magnetic sign on the door, but this one reads Wayne’s Carpet and Flooring. Must be Abe’s brother.” He paused. “The plate’s too dirty to read, but that’s okay. Stay down. I’m going to widen the search and see if there’s a mobile surveillance team, as well.”
Ten minutes later Jack reported that he’d found what he was looking for. Three cars were parked side by side, all facing out, in a lot near a coffee shop two blocks away. Each one had someone behind the wheel. “Okay, got Floyd Hackman in one … Vic Trapp next … and Pasquale Bazzoli. Bet Nick Crowe and Buck Zabat are in the van.”
“You get the plates and vehicle descriptions, Mr. Magoo? Or does dementia prevent you remembering?”
Jack chuckled. “Grab your notebook. Hackman’s in a blue Toyota Camry. Backed in with no front plate. Same for Bazzoli, sitting in a black Nissan Rogue. Trapp’s front plate was on. He’s in a silver Ford pickup, licence —”
“Okay, okay, wait,” Laura interrupted, digging in her purse from her cramped position on the floor.
“Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re not as young and spry as you used to be. Am I speaking loud enough for you?”
“Jerk.”
“Wow, you seem really sens
itive this morning. Glad I didn’t mention your weight.”
“I’ll have you know I weigh the same now as the day I left basic training.”
Jack snickered. “Hurry up and start writing before I do forget. Then we’ll go to my place. Natasha has to leave for work at eleven. I want to go over the call with her again.”
Oh, yeah, that. Natasha’s about to deliver a kill order. Laura thought about the professional killers clustered around Mortimer’s house. Timing will be crucial — but what if Pure E sets his own agenda? Oh, man …
“Ready to copy?” Jack asked.
Laura stared at the pen in her hand. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Jack saw the tension on Natasha’s face. She sat beside him at their kitchen table, her eyes on the cellphone he was holding … and his finger poised to punch in the number. He glanced at Laura across from them. Her face was ashen, without expression. Between them lay a pen and a pad of paper.
Natasha’s eyes slowly lifted and met his. “Okay … I’m ready.”
I love you so much. Jack swallowed, then said, “Remember, hold the phone so I can listen. If you’re unsure of anything, or I tap your arm, say something in Russian and have him wait while I write out what you need to say.”
Natasha nodded and seconds later, Jack handed her the phone. “It’s ringing.”
“Hello?” Pure E answered.
“Yes, Mr. Evans.” Natasha’s voice was crisp and clear.
Jack grabbed the pad and quickly scribbled.
“Yes,” Pure E replied.
Natasha saw Jack point to the pad. Russian accent! She nodded, then continued, “We shared a drink the other night. Da?”
“Yes, I know who you are,” Pure E said. “Nobody else has the number to this phone.”
“Good. Then it’s still safe to talk. How are you making out with your business partners?”
“Really well. I’m in Calgary at the moment. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“You’ve been telling people lots of people about our potential arrangement.” Her tone was accusatory.
