A Delicate Matter

by Don Easton

  One hour later Rose was walking down the hall to attend the meeting when Jack called again. “What now?” she asked. “I’m about to enter Isaac’s office.”

  “I just received a call from my weenie-wagging friend telling me that Pure E scheduled a meeting and party for this evening.”

  “It’s good he’s keeping you up-to-date, but we already knew that,” Rose said.

  “There’s more. The Gypsy Devils are supplying the usual security and acting as gofers at the hall Satans Wrath rented for the meeting. Weenie is to meet the GDs first at the Barlow farm and go over their duties. After they all go to the hall Weenie is to meet someone from the three-three and then take part in disposing of Neal after the party.”

  “What time and where do you think the hit will happen?” Rose asked.

  “Considering how late the party will go, I don’t expect it’ll happen much before two or three in the morning. Weenie doesn’t know where yet. I told him that I wouldn’t interfere or do or say anything that might jeopardize him, either with Satans Wrath or from possible prosecution. He thinks the GDs will be forced to do the actual hit, but it’ll be under the supervision of the three-three. Hopefully Weenie will be able to limit his role to that of spectator, but it’s not guaranteed.”

  “I appreciate you telling me,” Rose replied. “I realize that disclosing this makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, it makes me nervous,” Jack admitted, “but I made you a promise to be straight with you and I’m keeping it. That being said, I don’t believe there’s anything we can do about it without jeopardizing Weenie. I hope you trust my opinion on that.”

  “I do and am content to let the chips fall where they may, so to speak. I’ll mention it to Isaac — but trust my judgment on that. He’s already concurred and I’m confident that the protection of your informant will supersede any interference on our part.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know your brain will be spinning today, Jack, what with the imminent seizure in France, your undercover role with Todd Doringer, and now worrying about your informant being involved in a hit.”

  “It’s called multi-tasking — I don’t need reminding. But you’re right, my head is spinning. I feel like I need to be cloned so I can be everywhere at once.”

  “No matter what happens, stay focused on Doringer. The other two matters are out of your control. Try not to think about them. Doringer is a dangerous man. I want you to be at the top of your game.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate what you’re saying,” Jack replied.

  “And by the top of your game, I don’t mean by having the coroner pick up his body when you’re finished,” Rose added dryly.

  “Gotcha. You’d prefer his body never be found.”

  “Don’t even joke about —” Rose quit talking when she heard the dial tone. A moment later she was ushered into Isaac’s office and she nodded cordially to him.

  Her thoughts were still on Neal Barlow as she took a seat beside Connie and Inspector Dyck. When she looked at Isaac, behind his desk, his steel-grey eyes were on her. Bet he senses something is up.

  “Something else happen?” Isaac asked abruptly.

  Yup, he knows. Rose cleared her throat. “I just received an update from Corporal Taggart on an unrelated matter.”

  “An unrelated matter?” the assistant commissioner asked. “I would’ve thought he had a full plate today as it is. Is it in regard to the cocaine shipment being intercepted in France later?”

  “No, sir. It involves the, uh, delicate matter we discussed last week,” Rose replied. She caught movement in her peripheral vision. It was Connie, tensing. How did she clue in?

  Isaac became more sombre. “I see. Has the anticipated action taken place?”

  “Corporal Taggart received word from his informant that the matter will be dealt with late tonight. There’ll be some involvement required on the part of the informant. As such, Corporal Taggart feels there’s nothing we can do without endangering his life.”

  Isaac grimaced. “Please keep me informed on the matter.”

  “Yes, sir.” Good. He won’t interfere. Jack, your trust in me is deserved.

  “On to the matter at hand.” Isaac looked at Inspector Dyck. “I gave instruction for Corporal Taggart not to become involved in the homicide investigation of Dwayne Beggs unless requested by your unit. Was such a request made?”

  Inspector Dyck glanced sideways at Connie. “After the beating death of Jamie King, Corporal Crane spoke with Corporal Taggart. At that time she told him she was going to deprioritize her investigation into the Beggs homicide. She then gave him permission to look into the matter himself.”

  Isaac addressed Connie. “Was this because you thought Jamie King was responsible for the murder of Dwayne Beggs?”

  “Yes, sir,” she admitted. “That and knowing bikers were involved, which is Jack’s, uh, Corporal Taggart’s specialty.”

  “And in light of this new information we received this morning, do you still believe King was responsible?” Isaac asked.

  “Sir, Corporal Crane had not closed her investigation on Beggs,” Inspector Dyck said. “She simply deprioritized it. Her decision to have Corporal Taggart involved, due to his sources of information in the biker community, was prudent, given the information we had at that time.”

  Isaac turned to Connie again. “Corporal Crane, I suggest you always protect this man.” He nodded his head in the direction of Inspector Dyck.

  “Sir?” Connie said in obvious confusion.

  “Because Inspector Dyck protects you,” Isaac said flatly. He glanced at Inspector Dyck. “Yes, I understand that cases evolve — but I have not availed myself of all the notes, details, or wiretap logs concerning this matter, let alone become aware of the gut instincts of the investigators involved.” He focused on Connie again. “So Corporal Crane, do you feel that Corporal Taggart may well have the person responsible for the murder of his informant within his sights?”

  Within his sights? Rose tried not to cringe.

  “Yes, sir,” Connie replied. “The evidence is circumstantial, but two of Doringer’s associates own a hydroponics store and planted a tracker on Corporal Taggart’s car when he met with them. Doringer lives on a boat, and coupled with his background of violent behaviour, I’d say there’s a strong likelihood that he is, in fact, the murderer.”

  Isaac swung his gaze to Rose. “So Corporal Taggart’s stated objective is to work in an undercover capacity and receive permission from Todd Doringer to board his boat, where he then hopes to see the motor on the tender.”

  Stated objective? Sir, are you implying — Rose’s thoughts were put on hold when Isaac continued with a comment directed at Inspector Dyck.

  “The tender, I am told, is covered with a tarp. Even if Corporal Taggart receives permission to board the boat, it does not give him carte blanche to view objects not in sight.”

  “Sir,” Inspector Dyck replied, “Corporal Taggart is a seasoned undercover operative. I’m sure he’s most familiar with what the legal requirements would be.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he is, too,” Isaac said, returning his attention back to Rose. “Nevertheless I’d like to ensure — for court purposes of course — that all his actions are corroborated.” Isaac paused, but continued to stare at Rose. “As the investigation into Doringer has now become a murder investigation, I want Corporal Crane to take charge and be part of Corporal Taggart’s cover team to witness or respond to any, shall we say, unforeseen events.”

  Rose returned Isaac’s stare without blinking. She was well aware that his eyes were remaining purposely fixed on hers, not Connie’s. Yes, I understand completely. You won’t go along with Jack saying that Doringer fell on a fish gaff and died from having it rammed up his ass.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Jack, with Laura and Tina, drove onto the one-o’clock ferry as
planned. Awaiting their arrival on Vancouver Island would be a surveillance team comprising members of the Victoria RCMP Drug Section, who’d be responsible for their protection. The team was under the leadership of Corporal Willy Mineault, a trained undercover operative and a good friend of Jack’s, but his command would be relinquished to Connie if any operational decisions were to be made. Connie had boarded the same ferry as a foot passenger and would join Willy in his vehicle.

  As Jack got out of the car on the ferry, he received a call on his regular phone from Vivian Mah.

  “Contact made?” he asked.

  “Yes, Aaron just hung up. He told Doringer that you boarded the ferry.”

  “Looks like their tracker is working well,” Jack said. “Is Doringer on his boat?”

  “Yes, there are three members in the OP monitoring him and they’ll provide you cover or surveillance if need be.”

  “Good. Make sure you tell Connie, as well. She’ll be riding shotgun with Willy so you can relay through him on the radio. Technically she’s in charge.”

  A moment of silence, then Vivian said, “Technically … right, I understand, but seeing as it’s your ass on the line, technically I’ll be phoning you first.”

  Jack grinned. “You’ll do or say anything for an olive soup. Talk to you later.”

  At two-forty Jack, Laura, and Tina drove off the ferry at the Swartz Bay terminal on Vancouver Island while Connie hustled out to the area for foot-passenger arrivals and met up with Willy.

  Fifteen minutes later Jack turned off the Patricia Bay Highway and was heading west on Mt. Newton Cross Road toward the Butchart Gardens when he received his next call.

  “Still live monitoring,” Vivian said. “This time Chuck called Doringer. Told him that you turned off the Pat Bay on the Newton Cross Road toward the Butchart Gardens.”

  “Doringer’s response?”

  “He said it sounds like you’re who you say you are.”

  “Any mention when he might call me?”

  “He didn’t say, but I presume he will shortly. At the moment he’s out of his boat and heading down the pier.”

  “I’m going to drop Laura and Tina off at the Butchart Gardens. They’ll have their phones and will be in contact with the cover team. At that time I’ll stash this phone in the trunk and switch over to the other phone.”

  “I’ve got the number. Chuck gave it to him.”

  “If Doringer hasn’t called me by then,” Jack said, “I’ll drive to the Quality Inn at the intersection of Pat Bay and Newton Cross and wait in the pub.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Once I meet him, if there’s a real emergency call me direct.”

  “Real emergency?”

  “Like if he calls Chuck or Aaron and tells them he thinks I’m a cop. Bear in mind that if I’m with him, we may have to code the call.”

  “Code the call?” Vivian questioned again. “I’m a monitor, not a UC operator.”

  “You’ve spent years listening to bad guys code their calls,” Jack told her. “You’ll figure something out if you have to.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll keep it simple. I’ll yell, ‘Run, you stupid bastard! Run!’”

  Jack laughed. Minutes later he dropped Laura and Tina off at the Gardens and then drove to the Quality Inn. As he pulled into the lot, his phone rang.

  “JB?” It was Doringer.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m a friend of Aaron and Chuck. They suggested I give you a call.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Chuck said you were going to be on the Island today, too.”

  “Where are you now?” Doringer asked.

  Like you don’t already know. “I dropped my sister and her friend off at the Butchart Gardens and was about to go for a drink. I just pulled up to someplace called the Waddling Dog.”

  “Yeah, I know the place. It’s at the Quality Inn. Listen, I’m at a restaurant in Brentwood Bay. It’s about a ten-minute drive from the Gardens. I’ve already ordered a drink. How about coming here and joining me?”

  “Sounds good,” Jack replied.

  “I’m at the Blue’s Bayou Café.”

  “Hang on while I punch it into the car’s GPS,” Jack said.

  “It’s right on the water. I’m outside on the patio.”

  Seconds later Jack said, “Got it. Looks close — see you shortly.”

  Moments later Vivian relayed Jack and Doringer’s conversation to Willy and Connie.

  “It’d be a good move to have Laura and Tina hop in the surveillance van,” Willy suggested.

  “Why?” Connie asked. “You seem to have lots of manpower already.”

  “They’re both trained operators and Laura has worked with Jack for a lot of years. She knows his facial expressions, gestures, hidden hand signals. She’d be able to read his situation better than anyone.”

  “But we can’t risk her being seen,” Connie said. “She’s pretending to be his sister.”

  “They won’t be seen in the van. Who knows, we might even be able to sneak her into the OP if it looks like Doringer is taking Jack to his boat later on. Laura would be of a lot more value there than waiting at the Gardens. If I’m wrong and he goes with Jack back to the Gardens we can take Laura and Tina back and easily drop them off without being seen.”

  Connie mulled it over. “UC isn’t my bag, so I’ll rely on your judgment. Go ahead.” She watched Willy dial Laura and as the phone rang, she asked, “Do you know Jack fairly well?”

  Willy grinned. “Oh, yeah. He introduced me to his olive soup years ago. We go way back.”

  Connie nodded. Why do I get the feeling I’m outgunned over here? Damn you, Taggart.

  It was 4:00 p.m. when Jack stepped onto the café’s outdoor patio. The view overlooked a marina and he saw Doringer sitting by himself. They made eye contact and Jack approached and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m JB.”

  “Yeah, I’m Todd,” he replied, not moving from where he sat slouched back in his chair. He eyed Jack’s extended hand briefly before leaning forward to shake it.

  Good. At least he trusts me enough to give me his real name. Jack slid out a chair opposite him and sat.

  Despite the crisp autumn air, Doringer had his jacket slung over the back of the chair and was wearing sandals, a dark green T-shirt, and shorts in a multi-green camouflage design.

  Jack unzipped his windbreaker but raised the collar to protect himself from the breeze. He saw Doringer staring at him. “Cooler up here than in California,” Jack said. “Looks like it doesn’t bother you.”

  “Been on the sea most of my life. You get used to it.”

  Jack nodded and took in Doringer’s physical features. He knew he was thirty-seven and had a long record of violence, but now Jack could size him up one on one. Even though the man was sitting, Jack could see he had a stocky muscular build, powerful-looking arms, and a bit of a beer gut. He had a thick short neck and his black hair was cropped close enough to reveal most of his scalp. It was evident he hadn’t shaved for about a week and his skin was weather-beaten. His nose looked like a sausage that had been chewed on by a dog. This guy has been in a few brawls over the years.

  Doringer was silent as a waiter brought Jack a menu. When the waiter left he said, “I understand you’re in the tomato business.”

  “Straight to the point. I like that.” Jack smiled. “I’m in the green business. Green, as in money.”

  Doringer nodded. “You’ll appreciate that I don’t know you, and what you’re requesting isn’t exactly chicken feed.”

  “Trust goes both ways,” Jack replied. “I didn’t just fall off the banana truck from Mexico. I was ripped off once and don’t ever plan to let that happen again.”

  “Nobody wants that,” Doringer said, his expression not giving as much as a flicker.

  You lying scum. “And of course, ther
e’s always that other thing,” Jack said.

  “What?”

  “It’s not just rips — and I don’t want you all to take this personal, but a few years ago a good buddy of mine got set up by the DEA. It’s made me paranoid as hell.” He paused, eyeing Doringer suspiciously. “Like you said, we don’t know each other and that’s a two-way street.”

  Doringer took a slurp of his drink and studied Jack over the top of his glass before putting it down. “So where do you propose we go from here?”

  “To start with, let’s get to know each other.” Jack gestured to the glass. “What’re you drinking?”

  “Lamb’s Navy and Coke.”

  “Sounds good. I’m going to order some food, as well. We can get to know each other a little better before discussing business. You ready for another?”

  Doringer gulped down the last of his drink. “I am now.”

  At 4:30 p.m. Willy tapped on the rear door of the surveillance van parked in a nearby lot. Laura opened the door a crack and peered out.

  “You’ll both have to sit tight for the moment,” said Willy. “Doringer can see the marina from where he’s sitting. At the moment he’s the only one who stays on his boat overnight, so anyone going onto the pier this late in the day would attract his attention. Especially as the OP is so close to his boat. It gets dark about seven-thirty. Maybe you can sneak out to it then.”

  “Seven-thirty? Do you think they’ll be there that long?” Tina asked.

  “I’ve got someone on foot who has the eye,” Willy replied. “Jack’s been with Doringer for thirty minutes and they’re on their second round of drinks. I don’t know, what do you think?”

  “Martinis, beer, wine, or cocktails?” Laura asked.

  Willy clicked his transmitter and relayed the question. “Cocktails.”

  “If it was olive soup, they’d be staying until closing time,” Laura said.

  “Yup, been there,” Willy replied, shaking his head as if recalling something from the past.