by Don Easton
LOOSE ENDS
LOOSE ENDS
Don Easton
A Castle Street Mystery
Copyright © Don Easton, 2005
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Barry Jowett
Copy-editor: Jennifer Gallant
Design: Jennifer Scott
Printer: Transcontinental
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Easton, Don
Loose ends / Don Easton.
(Castle Street mysteries)
ISBN-10: 1-55488-563-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-55488-563-3
I. Title. II. Series: Castle Street mystery.
PS8609.A87L66 2005 C813’.6 C2005-900168-2
1 2 3 4 5 09 08 07 06 05
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
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To Brenda, my guiding light:
Without you, I would not have survived.
Without you, I would not have cared.
To Mike and Steve:
Even as children, your individual personalities combined
to strengthen our unity at a time when it was most needed.
You are both extraordinary, and our lives
could not have been complete without you.
I love you all.
chapter one
Ben Anderson paused to savour the sweet smell of alfalfa. He had no idea that his world was about to collide with a very different world. A world that would attack without provocation or warning. A world that for all eternity would feed off his soul like starving rats in a war zone. Ben was a farmer. He didn’t know this other world existed.
He tossed another bale onto the hay elevator and watched as the bale slowly ground its way to the top before tumbling into the loft above.
It was early afternoon and the sun was hot. The morning shower had done little to cool the air. The sun sucked the moisture out of the ground and the added humidity caused his shirt to cling to his back and chest. The smog from Vancouver, over an hour’s drive away, hung in the air. Ben chose not to notice the smog. The smell of cattle and alfalfa was much more rewarding.
He caught a glimpse of Maggie’s freckled face and her red hair done up in pigtails as she scrambled to keep up with the bales falling from the elevator and bouncing down onto the loft floor. For a ten-year-old, she was a hard worker.
At two years younger, her little brother was not a lot of help. But no one ever told Ben Junior that. His hair was blonde and his face was well tanned from working on their family farm. Unlike his sister’s pressed jeans, his were dirty and ragged over one knee.
Ben Junior looked serious as he swung a hay hook into another bale and dragged it with both hands across the wooden floor. The bale slid easily. The floor had become shiny and polished over the years from bales being dragged to the back of the loft.
Wizard drove the new silver Acura down the highway. He had already switched cars three times within the last two hours, but now that The Suit was with him, his paranoia intensified. He slowed down and watched his rear-view mirror. Cars passed him. A good sign.
At a glance, Wizard’s clothes gave him the appearance of a businessman who had taken the day off to go golfing. It was Wizard’s face that gave a clue as to what business he was in. His nose had been broken so often in his younger days that the swelling between his eyes had become permanent. Deep creases in his forehead gave the impression that he was much older than his forty-five years. His salt and pepper hair was trimmed short, and his moustache and greying goatee partially hid a scar that traversed his upper and lower lips.
It had taken him twenty years to become president of Vancouver’s west-side chapter of the Satans Wrath Motorcycle Club. It had been a long road, and he wasn’t finished yet. Satans Wrath had dozens of presidents in charge of chapters in eleven countries. Each country had one national president. Wizard would do whatever it took to replace Damien as the national president for Canada.
Wizard glanced at The Suit’s face. The Suit was about his age, but he was skinny and weak. He hated that he needed him. It was Rolly, another member of the club, who had first told him about The Suit.
Rolly had told Wizard that The Suit was a sick bastard. Someone to be shunned. Wizard was more of a businessman. He saw opportunity. It was his idea to recruit him. Not as a club member, of course, but strictly for business. Only Rolly and Damien knew about The Suit. His identity remained top secret. His real name was never spoken, and personal meetings were handled with extreme care.
Wizard played the game well, and Damien rewarded him by assigning him to oversee their most valued business ventures: drugs and prostitution. Many in the club thought Wizard was a genius when it came to business. Some said he had a psychic ability when it came to beating the competition or the police. It was what eventually earned him his nickname. Wizard wasn’t psychic. He didn’t have to be. He had The Suit.
Ben shut off the machinery and for a moment enjoyed the silence. He put his hands on his hips and slowly arched his back. He was a big man and the work came easy to him, but a heart attack he had suffered two years ago told him not to exert himself.
Maggie’s face immediately appeared up above.
“What’s the matter, Dad?”
“I think it’s time for some lemonade. I’ll come up and see how you two are making out.”
Seconds later, Ben Junior’s face appeared. “Did it break down again?”
“No, Ben Junior, it didn’t break down this time.”
“Are we finished then?” asked Maggie.
“No, not yet.”
“How come you turned it off?”
“Slow down, Ben Junior, I thought we could use a rest is all.”
“Yeah, Doodle looks tired. But not me! I’m used to man’s work.”
Maggie pretended not to care. Doodle wasn’t a nickname that she appreciated, but this time she wasn’t going to give her little brother a reaction.
Ben climbed the ladder into the loft. Without being asked, Maggie poured three glasses of lemonade from a plastic jug.
She gave her father a big smile as she sat down on a bale.
Ben grinned to himself when he saw her concentrating on holding the plastic glass while extending her little finger. That’s my girl, always trying to be a lady. His attention to Maggie didn’t go unnoticed.
Ben Junior retrieved a cardboard cutout that he had made that morning. It was in the shape of a shark and he had used silver foil to give it ext
ra large teeth. Seconds later, the shark attacked the back of his sister’s head in a feeding frenzy.
Maggie swatted at the shark and the silver teeth fell off.
“Daddy! She broke it! I made this for Uncle Jack.” He started to wail.
“He started it! I was just —”
“That’s enough, you two! Keep that up and you’ll both spend your last few days of summer vacation weeding the garden.”
The children knew enough to keep quiet, at least for the moment. Maggie pretended to pick particles of hay from her glass. She then flicked her wet fingers in Ben Junior’s direction. Seconds later, the children made a face at each other, then giggled, forgetting their anger.
Ben Junior gulped down his lemonade and went to swing wildly on a rope hung from a rafter in the loft.
Maggie saw a yellow jacket walking around the rim of Ben Junior’s empty glass. Several other wasps, attracted to the sweet smell of the lemonade, hovered nearby.
She took a small sketchpad and stubby pencil from her hip pocket and drew a caricature of a wasp, sporting a happy face, climbing out of a glass.
Ben leaned over to take a look. “Pretty good, girl,” he said. “I think you’re going to make one heck of an artist some day.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Maggie flashed her newly grown adult teeth, which looked out of proportion in her face.
Ben looked at all the bales that had been dragged to the far end of the loft. The children’s muscles had not developed enough to stack them properly.
“Okay, I think you kids have earned your keep for today. Check with Mom first. I think she’s in the garden. If she doesn’t need you then you can go and play.”
“Whoopee!” Ben Junior yelled. “Come on, Doodle, let’s go!” he said, leaping from the rope and crashing in amongst some bales. Both children scrambled to be first to reach the ladder.
Moments later, Ben Junior raced down the gravel driveway on his bicycle. Muddy water sprayed out from the puddles in some of the deeper potholes. Ben Junior lifted his feet high off the pedals, but not high enough to avoid getting splashed by the mud. Maggie followed behind but kept her distance.
Elizabeth, watching from the garden, shook her head.
“You two be back in time for supper!” she shouted. Then as an afterthought she added, “Maggie! If you want to pick some berries, I’ll make your favourite pie for dessert!”
Wizard checked his rear-view mirror as he turned off onto a gravel road. He held his breath and let it out when he saw that the Acura was the only car on the road.
“Where the fuck are you taking me?” The Suit asked.
His German shepherd stuck its nose out of the back seat and licked his ear. He yanked the choke chain around the dog’s neck, jerking it back.
“Just a small detail to talk about with Rolly. Will only take a couple of minutes. I’ll get you to the motel on time.”
The Suit didn’t respond. Wizard’s business could not be discussed in phone calls. He took a gold cigar case out of his Armani suit and opened it.
A ring-necked pheasant flew up from the side of the road as the car swept by. The German shepherd lunged at the side window. Flashing fangs exploded with saliva as the beast turned its attention to the rear window.
Maggie hung on to her plastic pail of blackberries as she followed Ben Junior around to the front of the abandoned farmhouse. Her skinny, freckled arms hung from her T-shirt and bore scratches from the sharp thorns of the nearby blackberry bushes. Ben Junior’s mouth and cheeks bore deep purple traces from the juicy berries he’d already eaten.
The front door of the house, leading into the kitchen, had been kicked open. By the way the big splinters of wood hung from the lock, Maggie figured it had to have been done by a grown-up. Most of the windows were broken, and the kitchen cupboards were only a shell. The grey linoleum was buckled and cracked. It made her think of a giant web.
“Next time, I’m gonna bring my stuff and draw a picture of a big spider on this floor.”
“Why?” replied Ben Junior. “I’m sure there’s real ones in here.”
A pigeon burst from the top of a cupboard and flapped across the kitchen.
Ben Junior instinctively grabbed Maggie’s arm but let go as the pigeon escaped through a broken windowpane.
“Scared you, Doodle?” said Ben Junior.
“It scared you too! And if you don’t stop calling me Doodle, I’ll tell Mom you stole money from her purse.”
“It was only a quarter,” he said.
“You still stole.”
“I just borrowed it. I’m going to put it back.”
“Doesn’t matter. You never asked, so that means you stole. I should tell Uncle Jack.”
Ben Junior paused, then changed the topic. “Come on, let’s play grown-ups!”
They entered a room off the kitchen that had once been the main bedroom. Part of a broken mirror hung from the back of the door. Maggie placed her bucket on the floor. She found a rag to rub a circle of grime off the mirror and pretended to put on lipstick.
She did not see the freckle-faced kid with pigtails in the reflection. Instead, it was a pretty lady. Like the cover girls who advertise makeup. Except I’m not going to be a cover girl. I’ll be an artist. A really famous artist…
Ben Junior nudged in front of her. “I have to shave,” he said, sounding gruff.
“Well then hurry. You have to drive over and pick up the baby…”
A car’s arrival interrupted their game. They knew the old farmhouse was off limits. Maggie looked at Ben Junior and put her finger to her lips. Outside, a big dog barked.
Maggie peeked through the crack in the bedroom door. She saw two men walk into the kitchen. One carried a blue sports bag. He had a grey goatee on his chin. He also had a tattoo that looked like a couple of words over a picture on his arm.
The other man was dressed in a suit. He was slim, clean-shaven, and had dark, wavy hair neatly trimmed at the top of his collar.
Wizard tossed the sports bag on the kitchen counter, where it landed with a thud.
“I don’t have all fucking day. Where is he?” asked The Suit.
Maggie heard another car arrive.
“He’s here now,” said Wizard, peering out the window.
Maggie looked at her brother. His sparkling blue eyes stared back. He had a devilish grin on his face and tried to push her aside to peek out the door. She grabbed him by the shoulder. He caught the fear in her face and became more sober, stepping back from the door.
Maggie saw the other man walk into the kitchen. He wore a black leather vest and a black T-shirt that partially covered a round and hairy belly. A hunting knife hung from a scabbard on his belt. The end of the handle had a skull on it with ruby red eyes. His balding head and hairless, pie-shaped face and chubby chin reminded Maggie of a plate she had in her dollhouse. The plate had a man-in-the-moon face on it.
“Any trouble finding the place?” Rolly asked.
“Your directions were good,” said Wizard.
“So what do ya think?” asked Rolly. “Good place to rent for a grow op.”
“Later. What about today’s business? Ya get it all?”
“Fifty keys of quick, dead on. Got the French bitch laid down at the Black Water for tonight. She’ll be back on the train tomorrow. That the bread?”
“It ain’t my fuckin’ lunch.”
Maggie saw Rolly unzip the blue bag. She could see the crack at the top of his flat bum. He took out a couple of bundles of money, then crammed them back inside. He reached inside his vest pocket and took out a small plastic baggie of brownish powder. He held it out toward Wizard and said, “I brought it if you want to see it.”
The Suit yelled “You fucking idiot!” while slapping Rolly’s hand. The baggie flew out of his hand and spilled on the counter. “I told you never to bring that crap around me!”
“Relax,” said Wizard. “It’s only a sample.”
“Not this! What about the fifty kilos?”
&n
bsp; “You think I’d be drivin’ around with that!” said Rolly indignantly. “It’s already stashed.”
Wizard picked up the baggie. Sunshine illuminated his arm and Maggie saw the tattoo. The words Dirty Dog were emblazoned over the head of a dog.
These are bad men, thought Maggie. Uncle Jack will know what to do with them! She took out her sketchpad and heard Wizard say, “Make sure the French bitch is on the train tomorrow. Don’t want any complaints from back east.”
Maggie wrote the word Dirty and heard the whine of a dog. She peeked through the crack of the door and saw a German shepherd pad into the kitchen. It sniffed the floor, slowly moving toward her. Its claws made a light clicking sound on the linoleum, zigzagging closer.
Maggie gently closed the door. It creaked slightly.
The men quit talking. Did they hear me? What if they find us? I bet they’d be mad! She looked at the broken windowpane in the bedroom and then at her brother. No way to escape.
Wizard reached into the sports bag, wrapping his hand around the shortened stock of a sawed-off shotgun.
“A hell of a hot day, isn’t it?” Maggie heard Rolly say. She could hear the dog panting.
“Yeah, you can really feel the heat,” replied Wizard.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Everything is okay.
The dog whined.
The mirror in front of Maggie’s face exploded into a multitude of broken shards that penetrated her face and neck like porcupine quills. The first blast caught her hand and the side of her ribcage, spinning her around and dumping her on the floor like a rag doll.
The deafening roar of three more blasts followed, but all missed their mark. Smoke and dust ebbed through the rays of sunshine. The sulfuric smell of gunpowder filled the air.
Ben Junior, unscathed, stood staring at his sister. He could see her eyes. Open, but without expression. She wasn’t moving. Ben Junior closed his eyes and hunched over.
“Fuck! It’s just kids!” said Wizard.
“Good thing. I thought it was the cops,” Rolly replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
