A Delicate Matter

by Don Easton

  Cockerill brooded. “Okay, I’ll give you the full package.” He paused to adjust his pant leg where his jeans had been cut to make room for his cast, then looked at Jack. “Their prospects will be picking up from four different grow-ops next week. Two on Wednesday night and the other two on Thursday. I don’t know where the other three grow-ops are, but I know where it’ll end up.”

  “How much?”

  “Total of about five hundred keys.” He paused to see Jack’s reaction.

  Jack shrugged indifferently. “Keep going.”

  “The prospects take the weed to a stash house where they press it into kilo bricks and wrap it. Out of that, two-hundred-and-fifty keys are picked up by a full-patch GD by the name of Neal. He passes it on to his brother, Bob, who’s an independent trucker.”

  “They hide it in the trailer with a load of something legit?” Jack asked.

  Cockerill shook his head. “We had the sleeper cab in his truck custom built in Mexico. It’s got double walls and roof to hide dope.” He paused. “Neal and Bob … I don’t know their last name.”

  “Is Neal a big fat greasy guy with a long braided goatee?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Neal Barlow,” Jack said.

  Cockerill nodded. “The other half of the weed is sold off piecemeal to local players.”

  “Where’s the stash house the GDs use to press and brick it up?”

  “I dunno. That sort of shit is beneath me.”

  “Why don’t the prospects deliver it straight to Bob? Neal is full-patch. I would’ve thought, as you put it, that doing that sort of shit is beneath him.”

  “Neal lives with Bob in an old farmhouse out in Delta, so any raid on Bob would be on Neal, too.”

  “I see.”

  “Neal brags that he’s good at spottin’ heat and would never lead the cops to the semi.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “So this works out better for you, don’t it?” Cockerill said. “All you gotta do is watch Bob’s semi and wait for Neal to arrive. That’ll probably be about four o’clock Friday morning once it’s all packaged up. Then you’ll get to arrest him and Bob, along with scoopin’ up two-hundred-and-fifty keys. Not only that, if you watch their prospects and find out where the stash house is, you’d get the rest.” Cockerill leaned back in his chair and smiled, wiping the palms of his hands together like he was washing them. “That oughtta make us even.”

  Jack ignored Cockerill’s last comment. “Regarding the two-fifty keys in the semi … sounds like it’s going to one customer.”

  Cockerill nodded.

  “Doesn’t anyone from your club swing by to confirm the dope is there or at least crack a brick open to check the quality?” His question caused Cockerill to tense. The idea of ratting on one of your own not to your liking?

  “Ah … not much anymore,” Cockerill replied. “It used to be that we’d have one of our prospects drop by to inspect it, but we trust the GDs now. Even if that did happen, Neal might not be around. He’s the only full-patch who touches the stuff — so that’s who you really want. You’d be better off to bust Neal and Bob when they’re loadin’.”

  No, who I really want are full-patch Satans Wrath members. He saw Cockerill waiting for a response. “You’re right. Neal and Bob it is.”

  Cockerill looked relieved.

  Why do I have the feeling that you’re holding something back from me?

  Cockerill grinned and cast a sideways glance at Sophie.

  “What’s so funny?” Jack asked.

  Cockerill chuckled. “Ah, it’s nothin’. We joke by saying, hey, Neal and Bob, are those your names or is that what you do?” He gave a wry smile. “Guess they’ll be kneelin’ and bobbin’ in jail after this.”

  Jack faked a smile. “Good one.” He saw Cockerill relax further. “How is it that you know where the grow-op is?” he asked casually. “You’re not some flunky prospect. It seems odd that you’d be involved at that low of a level.”

  “Fuck, what’s the deal on how I know where it is?” Cockerill said in annoyance. “What’s important is that I know.”

  What’re you hiding? Jack’s face hardened. “Because I’m not going to call people out to say we’re going after a ton of weed only to find out that it’s a ton of bullshit! If I’m suspicious about something, I ask questions. Right now I’m suspicious. Generally you’d use one of your flunky prospects to deal with Neal on something risky like going to a grow-op. It’d also be an opportunity for you to throw it in Neal’s face that the two of you aren’t equals. An oppor-tunity I know your club would use.”

  Cockerill looked edgy, then made an obvious effort to look nonchalant. “Yeah, what you said is right, but it’s no big deal. One of our prospects once told me that Neal wanted to take me out to do a little salmon fishin’ and drink some beer. I took him up on the offer and the four of us went out. That’s when I met Larry, ’cause it was his boat we used. Larry ain’t all that bright and pointed out where his grow-op was when we trolled past.”

  Telling me that shouldn’t have freaked you out — so what is it? “Okay, that makes sense,” Jack said. “Can you point out the location on a map?”

  “Yeah, it’s on an island. Get me a map and I’ll show you.”

  Jack looked at Sophie and raised an eyebrow.

  “Be right back.” She returned a moment later and unfolded a map. Cockerill pointed to a remote region on an island near the coastline.

  “West side of Bowen Island,” Jack noted.

  “Satisfied?” Cockerill asked. “You’ll let me go now?”

  “A couple more questions,” Jack replied. “What does Larry’s boat look like?”

  “It’s an aluminum job with a red canvas cover over the wheelhouse, but it’s small enough that you could pull it up on shore. It won’t be hard to spot because the bow is painted like it’s on fire. Same kinda thing you see on hotrods. He keeps it at the Hidden Bay Marina. If it’s not there, then he’s probably at the grow-op, which is about an hour away. Maybe a little less — we were fishin’ and not going all that fast.”

  Jack eyed Cockerill curiously. “Which of your prospects was with you on the boat?”

  Cockerill’s eyebrows pinched as if he was trying hard to recall. “I can’t remember. It was a coupla months ago.”

  “You remember Larry’s name but can’t remember one of your own guys?” Jack said sarcastically. “There were four of you drinking beer and crowded into a small boat. Why are you lying?”

  Cockerill locked eyes with Jack but didn’t respond.

  Jack knew why. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and smiled.

  Chapter Four

  Cockerill’s shoulders slumped and his head hung like a cowering dog’s. Jack saw Sophie looking at the situation in bewilderment. “Prospects usually aren’t important to the club,” he explained. “There’s no reason to hide his name. That is, except for one.” He looked at Cockerill. “It was Buck Zabat, wasn’t it? He’s detailed to check the shipment.”

  Cockerill slowly looked up. “Yeah,” he mumbled. His sombre look said he’d crossed a line that he never intended to cross.

  Jack looked at Sophie. “Buck is the son of the national president of Satans Wrath.”

  “Oh.” Sophie looked unsure of what it meant or how to respond.

  Jack refocused on Cockerill. “So if I don’t bust Neal and Bob when they’re loading the truck, I’ll probably catch Buck checking out the dope later. Maybe even nail them all with a conspiracy charge.”

  Cockerill swallowed.

  “Mind you, that’s only one option,” Jack continued. “What if I don’t bust anyone when it’s being loaded, but wait’ll the truck’s unloaded? There’d be less heat on you and I could catch whoever is buying it.”

  Optimism flashed across Co
ckerill’s face. “Better yet, they’re takin’ it to the States. You could get ’em at the border! They’d get big time for importing into the States.”

  “They?” Jack questioned. “Does Neal go with Bob?”

  “No, not Neal. Bob has an ol’ lady. Her name’s Roxie. She drives the rig, as well.”

  “Down to the States,” Jack confirmed.

  “Yup. They make regular runs hauling freight and cross the border in Alberta at the Aden crossing. Roxie’s sister works at U.S Customs there. She trusts them and never checks the cargo. Even if she did, she wouldn’t find it.”

  “Because it’s hidden in a secret compartment in the sleeper cab,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. Two-fifty of weed is the most the cab will hold, but with the regular runs they make, supplyin’ orders larger than that works out fine.”

  “So that’s why you guys are courting the GDs,” Jack said. “You need their Customs connection to deliver to the States.”

  “It ain’t like they got anything else going for them,” Cockerill sneered.

  “What does Roxie look like?”

  “Tall, good-lookin’ … blonde hair with a long braid that hangs down to her tits.”

  “Do Bob and Roxie hang out with the GDs at the Steinhouse Pub in Port Coquitlam?” Jack asked.

  “Probably … if they’re not out on the road,” Cockerill replied. “The GDs hold their monthly ‘church meetings’ in a barn beside where they live — so Bob and Roxie are pretty tight with the club.”

  “I’ve seen Roxie,” Jack said. “She’s got a real wicked sense of humour.”

  “Maybe.” Cockerill looked dubious. “I’ve never spoken with her.”

  “Too bad,” Jack said sardonically.

  Cockerill looked quizzically at Jack, then shrugged. “Anyway, it’d be easy to nail them at the border. They’d get big time in Montana.”

  “Where exactly do they deliver it in the States?” Jack asked.

  “Texas.”

  “In exchange for cocaine?”

  “Usually,” Cockerill admitted, “but lately things have changed and the truck doesn’t bring anything back. If you wait until the return trip, you won’t get anything.”

  “Why not bring the coke back in the truck?” Jack asked. “Don’t you trust the GDs with your blow?”

  A fleeting instance of fear crossed Cockerill’s face, then he sat back and stretched his arms in a pretence of looking calm. “Nah, it’s not that. Too many eggs in one basket. We worry about you guys provin’ conspiracies.”

  That I know, but why did the question scare you? Jack had heard rumours that Satans Wrath was on the verge of opening up a cocaine distribution network in Europe. Is the cocaine being allocated for there? He eyed Cockerill. “Who do you deal with in Texas? If we don’t pop the semi at the border, it might be better to do it when they’re unloading. It’d put the heat on the buyers instead of up here.”

  Cockerill grimaced. No doubt he’d already given more information than he wanted to give.

  “Come on,” Jack demanded. “You might think you’re safe with us taking them down at the border, but I don’t take chances. With Roxie’s sister working at Customs, we can’t make it look like some random search. She’d know and I couldn’t count on her to keep her mouth shut with Roxie. If we’re going to do this, it’d be better for you if we made it look like the heat came from Texas. It’s not like your club would have a hard time finding new customers.”

  Cockerill scratched his nose. “Yeah … okay. It goes to Dallas. We deal with a group called the West 12th Street gang. The truck’s leaving Friday morning. They got some legitimate freight they haul, as well, but should unload the weed in Dallas on Sunday.”

  “Good.” Jack nodded. “And what’s your role?”

  “I handle the money on this end. Usually, though, I end up giving it to Buck, who hands it off to Neal. If Neal isn’t around, sometimes it gets handed off to a GD by the name of Mouse.”

  “Mickey O’Bryan, alias Mouse,” Jack said.

  “Yeah … you know your stuff,” Cockerill noted. “He runs a limousine service.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jack admitted.

  “He’s only got one car. A six-passenger stretch limo. Buck said it’s pretty cool, though.”

  Buck being in Mouse’s limousine was an important piece of information. Jack would apply for a wiretap that’d include the limo, but he didn’t want Cockerill to realize the significance of what he’d let slip. “I don’t care about some car,” he replied. “Tell me about the money. How and when are the growers paid?”

  “A day after the weed is pressed and the bricks counted, Buck pays Neal, who hands it off to their prospects to pay the growers. The GDs get their cut after the weed is delivered to Dallas, then Bob and Roxie get paid by Neal when they return.”

  “I would’ve thought Bob and Roxie received the money from the West 12th Street boys and brought it back themselves for disbursement.”

  “Nope, it don’t come back with them. I got no idea how that works other than it takes a coupla weeks before I get it. I think only the exec in our club know those details. All I know is that eventually I get my cut, along with the payment for the GDs.”

  Jack nodded. Damien is too smart to ever let those details be known to someone like Cockerill. He decided on a different approach. “Who passes the money to you?”

  “Sometimes the chapter treasurer, sometimes different guys. I never know who until it happens.”

  Something about the tone of Cockerill’s voice said he was protecting his own financial interests. Jack knew that to push it any further might cause him to clam up. “Which is when you hand some money over to Buck to pay the GDs,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. Then the GDs divvy it up amongst themselves. It won’t be Buck I hand it to next time. He’ll be getting his full patch soon. We’re supposed to vote on it, but everyone knows it’s a done deal.”

  “How soon?”

  “September twenty-seventh. That’s when Pure E takes over as national prez.”

  “Current president of the Winnipeg chapter,” Jack said.

  “Was. He’s moving here this weekend. Guess he’s sick of the mosquitos and the snow in Winterpeg.”

  Jack glanced at Sophie. “The man’s real name is Purvis Evans. He was nicknamed Pure E — short for pure evil. A name, I’m told, that’s well earned.”

  “Sounds like a nice guy,” Sophie said.

  “It’ll be a big party with Damien stepping down on the same day Buck gets his patch,” Cockerill added. “Another prospect will then be picked to deal with the GDs.”

  A big party for Damien to celebrate his success. Jack sighed. “Damien must’ve made a fortune over the years. Has he ever told you what he’s done with it or where he plans to retire?”

  Cockerill smirked. “Nope. I’m too low on the ladder for Damien to even acknowledge, let alone talk about shit like that. He surpassed my league long ago.”

  Jack realized he’d clenched his own fist in anger. Cool it. This asshole is already smirking because Damien got away with it. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how pissed off it makes me feel.

  “Same goes for the other guys at the executive level,” Cockerill continued. “I don’t know how they get their cut or what they do with it. For the rest of us guys doin’ the work, we take the cash.”

  “Which guys?”

  “It varies. Depends on who happens to be around when we need something done or to oversee a shipment of cocaine or something coming in.”

  “Speaking of cocaine, I’ve heard a rumour that you guys are opening up a new connection in Europe,” Jack said.

  Cockerill looked startled. “I’ve never heard anything about that,” he lied. “Who told you that?”

  Jack gave Cockerill a hard cold stare in response. A new plan formed. H
is primary target would not be the Gypsy Devils or Bob and Roxie. Neither would it be the West 12th Street gang.

  Damien, I missed my chance with you, but nailing Buck and your top execs would sure lessen the bitter taste of defeat.

  Chapter Five

  It was eleven o’clock the following morning when Jack eased the throttle back on the small boat he and Laura had rented. Earlier they’d checked the marina but didn’t see Larry’s boat.

  As they slowly cruised past the location where Cockerill had told them the grow-op was located, Laura used binoculars to scan the shoreline. “I see it,” she said. “Red flames painted on the bow.”

  “Good. At least it confirms some of what Weenie Wagger told us,” Jack replied. “I’ll feel a little better passing on our intel to Drug Section.”

  Laura nodded. The mandate of the Intelligence unit was to gather information to the point that they could point the appropriate investigative unit in the right direction, but not become so involved themselves that it’d necessitate testifying in court. Not being required to testify would help protect their own undercover identities and prevent gruelling questioning by defence lawyers attempting to identify informants.

  “We’ll continue on past for about twenty minutes,” Jack said, “then head back to the marina.”

  Movement on shore caught Laura’s attention. She toyed with the adjustment on the binoculars. “There’s someone at the front of the boat now. He’s untying a rope.”

  Moments later Larry’s boat headed out behind them and went in the opposite direction.

  “What do you think?” Laura asked. “If he’s going to the marina, it’ll take him close to two hours for a round trip. Would be nice to verify the crop is there and how big it really is.”

  Jack nodded. “If I moor about a ten-minute walk farther down the shore we can walk in. If he comes back sooner we’ll walk along the shoreline like a couple of beachcombers. I doubt it’d heat him up that much.”