by Don Easton
Connie became hostile. “What do you mean by that?”
“Satans Wrath paid some of his guys a visit tonight. They’re blaming them for the rip and demanding payment.”
“Oh.” Connie’s tone returned to normal. “I must be on the right track if Satans Wrath think they did it, too.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Satans Wrath think the Cobras were involved because of what you told Larry. After you showed him the photos, he passed on the info to the Gypsy Devils, who then told Satans Wrath.”
“That jerk! Wait’ill I get my hands on him.”
“Don’t,” Jack replied. “If he knows we know, it could jeopardize my informant. Leave it for now.”
“What are Satans Wrath going to do?” Connie asked.
“They gave them until Saturday night to pay up. If they don’t … well, I think you get the picture. At that point a few of them will end up in hospital and the deadline will be extended for another two days.”
“And if they still don’t come up with the money after the next two days, then what?”
“Then I’m told that Satans Wrath won’t be so nice to them.”
“Crap,” Connie muttered. “I’ve got more work now than I can handle. When did you find this out? Isaac told you explicitly —”
“To watch from the sidelines. Yes, I know. I received the information from my informant right before you called me. I’m at home. It wasn’t like I was out investigating the Cobras. I simply heard about it.”
“Oh.” Connie said. “Still makes me think the Cobras had something to do with the murder for Satans Wrath to become involved this fast.”
“Possibly, but it was intimated the Cobras needed to be taught some respect. I think Satans Wrath are using it as an excuse — not that they need an excuse.”
“The Anti-Gang Unit also told me that the Cobras move a lot of weed on the street, which supports my belief that King did it.”
“Weed is everywhere,” Jack said. “You can get it by the truckload.”
“Yeah. So how’s it going with your semi full of weed?”
“I’m pretty much out of that one too,” Jack replied. “Drug Section is taking over the investigation and they’ll be working with the DEA. So far it looks like everything is going according to plan.”
“That’s good.”
“So what do you plan on doing about King?”
“Forensics hasn’t finished,” she said. “We still have his boat and will be checking for DNA.”
“They might have towed the body out.”
“Gee, don’t you think I thought of that? We also found rags and rope in his boat and seized some dirty laundry from his room.”
“So you’ll check for DNA, gunpowder residue, blood —”
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“I know my job,” Connie said firmly, “and to tell you the truth, I’m too tired and too busy to listen to you trying to tell me how to do it.”
“I didn’t mean to be telling you how —” He quit talking when he realized she’d hung up. You think you’re tired and busy now? We’ve got the Cobras, Gypsy Devils, Satans Wrath … and me. Connie, your murder count can only go up.
Chapter Thirteen
It was 4:15 a.m. when Neal Barlow turned off the main highway to complete the last delivery of marijuana to his brother’s semi. He yawned as he glanced in the side mirror of his pickup truck — nobody following. The gravel road was narrow and without street lights. If anyone was tailing him it would be obvious. Not that he was concerned. To ensure he was alone, he’d already driven through several quiet residential areas after leaving the stash house.
Minutes later, his senses came alive and he braked to a stop. A car was parked in the middle of the road with the driver’s door open and the interior light on. He rolled down his window and listened. The car’s engine was not running and he could see a toddler’s car seat in the back. Nobody appeared to be around. He tapped his horn, wondering if someone was slumped over in the car. It was then that he felt the muzzle of a pistol in his ear.
“Put your hands on the dash, you fucker, or I’ll blow your brains out!”
Neal gasped as his head spun around to look. A man in a ski mask pointed a pistol directly at his face. He saw the hard cold eyes staring at him — and the latex-gloved hand holding the gun.
“Grab a piece of the dash now!” the man ordered.
Neal slowly put his hands on the dash, afraid that any sudden movement might get him killed.
“Behave yourself and you won’t get hurt,” the man said, opening the door. “All we want is your wheels.” He glanced over the hood and barked a command. “Mad Dog! Get over here and search this fucker. Make sure he don’t have a phone to call the cops.”
Neal saw Mad Dog glance through the passenger window, then run to the driver’s side. He was also wearing a ski mask and latex gloves. Although he was considerably shorter than the man with the gun, he had a powerful build, and he grabbed Neal by the collar and flung him out of the truck. Neal landed on his hands and knees. “Face down on the road!”
Neal quickly complied. Mad Dog searched him and took away his phone, which he handed to the man with the gun.
“Good, load ’er up while I cover him,” the man ordered.
Neal watched as Mad Dog opened the trunk of the car and took out a flat-screen television, which he loaded into the back of his pickup truck. Oh, shit. They’re taking my truck. The weed! Fuck! They’re going to get the weed. Next he retrieved a pillowcase containing bulky items. On the way back to the truck he dropped the pillowcase.
“Be careful with that shit!” the man with the gun said. “I tossed a camera in there.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mad Dog replied, scooping up the pillowcase and stowing it in the back of Neal’s truck.
Neal felt a nudge in his ribs from the toe of the man’s shoe. You fuckin’ goof. I’ll kill ya someday.
“Listen to what I’m sayin’,” the man said. “We got your wheels and registration. We’ll know where you live. Give us one hour before callin’ the cops. You rat us out before then and we’ll come back someday — and it won’t be a happy day for you. Got it?”
“You don’t know who you’re fuckin’ with!” Neal snarled.
“Yeah?” The man crouched and pointed the gun at Neal’s eye. “You tellin’ me that you’re somebody dangerous? Somebody I better kill now?”
Neal felt his throat go dry and swallowed. “No … I … I didn’t mean it. Take my truck. I don’t care. I’ll do what you want.”
“You better, if you ever wanna collect old age security.”
Seconds later Neal watched as the two men turned his truck around and drove off. He immediately got up and ran to the car. There were no keys in the ignition and a quick rummage through the glove box and ashtray came up empty. He stood for a moment, panting from stress. He wasn’t in shape to run, but figured he could walk the remaining distance home in about twenty minutes.
Ten minutes later he was trudging along the road when he heard a car approach from behind. He turned to look as a spotlight illuminated him. Behind the glare of the light, he saw the symbol of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on the side of the car.
“Put your hands up!” a policewoman ordered from the passenger seat.
Neal swore under his breath and raised his hands.
“We found a stolen car down the road,” the officer said. “We already ordered it to be towed in for examination. Are we going to find your prints in it?”
“Shit no! Well, yes, my prints might be in it, but I didn’t steal it!” Neal exclaimed. “About fifteen minutes ago I was stopped on the road and carjacked by two guys who were in that car. One of ’em goes by the name Mad Dog. They took my truck and my phone. I was heading home to call you.”
Moments later Neal sat in the back of the police car and gave a description of his pickup truck. When he finished, the policewoman turned to her male companion. “Phone it in, verify that the plate he gave us is accurate, then have them put out an APB.” She turned to Neal. “We were in a high-speed pursuit of that car earlier, but had to break it off because it was becoming too dangerous for the public. The car’s real owner had GPS installed, so we were eventually able to track it. Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”
Neal nodded. “Do you have any idea who they are?”
“Not yet. You said one guy called the other guy Mad Dog?”
“Yup.”
“Helps a little, but every jail in the country has had someone called Mad Dog,” the policewoman said.
“There’s a farmhouse not far from where the car was parked,” her partner put in. “Bet they were planning on stealing a vehicle from there until you came along.”
“Yeah, sort of what I was thinkin’, too.”
“I’m going to need a statement,” the policewoman said, taking out a pad of lined notepaper from her briefcase.
The next hour dragged past as the policewoman took his statement. She asked numerous questions about the sound of the carjackers’ voices, what they were wearing, and estimated heights. When she finished writing, she read the statement aloud.
“Yup, that’s right,” Neal said.
“So to clarify, you said they took a flat-screen television, two duffle bags, and something in a pillowcase out of the car and loaded it into your truck?”
“Yup. Got no idea what was in the duffle bags, but they looked heavy.” At least if you catch ’em with the weed it won’t come back on me …
“Probably more stuff they stole from houses,” the policewoman said. “I’m surprised they didn’t steal your wallet.”
“Yeah, I thought that, too.” Neal shrugged. “They were in a hurry. Guess they forgot.”
The policewoman glanced at the statement. “Okay, I think we’re done here. We’ll give you a lift home.” She nodded at her partner.
“Hang on a sec,” her partner said. “Got a call.”
Neal watched as the officer spoke briefly into his phone, pausing momentarily to give him a thumbs-up before turning his attention back to his phone. “The owner says they were wearing latex gloves.” A moment later he hung up, then smiled at Neal. “Your truck’s been located in a shopping mall in Surrey. Your keys are in it and a cellphone is on the floor. It’s turned off, but I’m betting it’s yours.”
“Hey, that’s good news,” the policewoman said. “Rather than take you home, we’ll drive you over to pick it up.”
“What about the two guys?” Neal asked nervously. “The, uh, stuff they put in the back of it? Is it still there?”
“The truck was abandoned and the back of it is completely empty,” he replied. “Whoever stole it got away.”
Neal’s face reddened with rage.
The policewoman stared at him. “I can see how angry you are, but count yourself lucky that you weren’t hurt. Plus we got your truck back.”
“Yeah? Well fuckin’ hallelujah,” Neal spluttered. “You got no idea how pissed I am! If I ever get my hands on Mad Dog, he’ll be Dead Dog.”
Chapter Fourteen
Early Friday morning Jack was on his way to work when Cockerill called and told him that Neal had been robbed on his way home with the last shipment.
“You’re kidding,” Jack replied. “This is the second time the weed has been ripped. Do you figure it’s the same guys?”
“Nah, fuck,” he slurred. “From what Neal says, it was a fooke.”
“Fooke?”
“Yeah, a fuckin’ fooke. I mean, fluke. Some guys in stolen wheels were being chased earlier by the cops. They hijacked Neal’s truck to switch rides. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They didn’t know when they took it that there was seventy-five keys in the back. Must’ve thought they won the jackpot when they saw it.”
“Is Bob going to be short on this trip?” Jack asked.
“Nah. It took everything left at the stash house to cover it, but they’ll leave with a full load. No fuckin’ problem, man.”
“Good. One more thing. How much have you had to drink?”
“What the fuck? So I popped a couple pills and drank a bit. What’s it to you?”
“Popping pills? Didn’t think the club went for that.”
“Yeah, well … they don’t go for me talkin’ to you, either.”
“What kind of pills?” Jack asked.
“I dunno. Pharmaceutical shit.”
“That can be a deadly combo.”
“You trying to be my mother now?”
“No, I’m trying to take care of you. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“If you’re changing how you behave, guys in the club will notice. Someone could get suspicious.”
“Yeah, well … we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Cockerill snarled, then hung up.
Jack arrived at the office and learned that after Neal retrieved his pickup truck, he’d been witnessed by Drug Section making another trip to the stash house before returning to his own house. The semi, with Bob and Roxie in the cab, left a short time later. It was currently eastbound on the Trans-Canada Highway.
It had already been arranged for the DEA to take over surveillance once the semi crossed the border and then try to make a few sideline busts of marijuana a day or two after the semi left Dallas, so as not to alert the criminals that the police knew about the shipment.
It was midafternoon when Jack and Laura finished doing their reports. Laura turned to Jack. “What now?”
“I know it’s been a fun day watching from the sidelines,” Jack said facetiously, “so how about we celebrate and go for a drink?”
“Olive soup?” Laura replied. “I haven’t had a martini in weeks. Sounds good.”
“No, I’m thinking beer,” Jack said. “The place I’m thinking of isn’t all that swanky. You’ll need to dress down. Try to look … like a hag.” He gave an ironic smile. “If you can.”
“I’ve got a change of clothes in my locker.” Laura got to her feet. “I’m sure I can pull it off. Where we going? The Steinhouse?”
“It’s not the Gypsy Devils I’m interested in at the moment. I want to see how many Cobras are about. Let’s view their photos again, then go for a drive.”
One hour later Jack and Laura each ordered a Kokanee beer as they sat in a corner of the Shot Glass.
Jack waited until the waitress left, then turned to Laura. “See anyone of note?”
“Yes, I’d say almost everyone here has seen the inside of a jail cell,” Laura replied. “Don’t recognize anyone from the Cobras, though.”
“Noticeably conspicuous by their absence.” Jack grimaced. “We’ll stay for a couple of hours in case they show, but I’ve a feeling they won’t.”
“What do you make of it?”
“They’ve gone to ground. They’re scared of what’ll happen when Satans Wrath come back.”
“You seem upset. I thought you’d take delight in seeing the Cobras get a thumping from the bikers.”
“Normally I would, but you have to ask yourself — why have they gone into hiding? If they were going to play the tough-guy role and refuse to pay, they wouldn’t be hiding. Same if they were going to pay it back.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they can’t pay it back. They don’t have the weed or the cash from having sold it.”
Laura clued in to why Jack was unhappy. “It’s not them,” she said. “The Cobras aren’t behind Dwayne’s murder.”
“That’d be my conclusion,” Jack said bitterly. “I think Connie is barking up the wrong tree.”
“Then who did it?” La
ura asked. “The grow-op was really well hidden. Only the GDs, Weenie Wagger, and Buck knew about it.”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Jack said.
The waitress brought them their beer and they each sipped in silence for a moment. “I’ve a theory,” Jack said. “What if some of these grow-ops were robbed by different people? Not even connected with each other?”
“There’s a good chance of that, but how does that help?”
“How many grow-ops do you think are in southern B.C.?”
Laura shrugged. “Hundreds for sure … maybe thousands. It’s hard to say. Most of our members hardly take the time to charge them anymore. They get nothing for it in court. The growers are more upset about losing their equipment than whatever fines they have to pay.” She eyed Jack curiously. “What’re you getting at?”
“I-HIT and Forensics would’ve done a thorough search of Larry’s grow-op right down to the shore.”
“And the water beyond the shore,” Laura added.
“Yes, but how far did they search in the hills behind the grow-op?”
“Nothing in that area except wilderness,” Laura pointed out.
“Unless there’s another grow-op hidden somewhere nearby,” Jack said. “There are deer trails all over the place. It’d be easy for someone to spy on them and know when they were harvesting. Depending upon how far back, they could also access from someplace else.”
“Someone who still might have seen or heard Larry and Dwayne coming and going,” Laura said when she understood what Jack was getting at.
“Want to go on a little boat ride tomorrow morning?” Jack asked. “I know it’s Saturday, but we can take Monday off in lieu.”
“Fine with me.” Laura nodded.
“If there’s another grow-op up there, they’ll be limited by the need to access water. All we have to do is follow the stream that Larry was using farther back into the hills.”
