by Don Easton
Chapter Seventeen
Starting Monday Jack and Laura tried to cross-reference the lists of names that Ferg had given them with police data in Canada to see if they could find a connection. Many of the more common names they had were without dates of birth and it proved to be a difficult task to confirm whether or not it was the same person. It was time-consuming work and by late Tuesday afternoon they were only halfway through the lists and hadn’t had any success.
Jack took a call from Connie. “Hey, you, how’re you doing?” she asked, with an unusually friendly tone. From the background noise, he could tell she was in a vehicle.
“Hi,” he replied. “What do you want?”
“What? I try to be nice to you and you automatically presume I want something?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it so happens that I called to let you know that last night we got a room bug in the bachelor suite where Kondrat and Pratt are staying.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve got my fingers crossed. They share the place with two other goofs, Peter Jones and Ronald Pierce. Being as they all sleep and eat in one room, it makes for a lot of chatter. It’s easy to make out what they’re saying, provided they don’t have their headbanger music going.”
“Let me know if there’s any chatter or contact with Zombie.”
“I will.” Connie paused. “Hey, any chance of getting your informant to stir up some conversation between Kondrat and Pratt about Irving?”
“Forget it,” Jack replied firmly. “My guy couldn’t do that without burning himself. I’ve told you before. There are certain things you don’t talk about.”
“Yeah, I guess you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” she replied.
“Come on, Connie. I already gave you the names on a platter. Now you want me to risk someone’s life by doing your whole job for you?”
Connie’s sigh was audible. “Yeah … I’m sorry.” She paused. “I met with Rhonda a few minutes ago. It got me feeling so damned worked up and anxious to clear this file that I acted on impulse and called you.”
“Don’t try to sucker me back in by using her to —”
“No, no. I wasn’t. My heart really goes out to her … but I know you’re right. At least this time you are. A moment ago she was questioning me about whether or not we had any leads. I said no, because, well, you know why.”
“You can’t afford to risk word getting out.”
“Exactly. I’m sure she thinks we’re not doing anything. It’s frustrating having to keep her in the dark.”
“How’s she doing psychologically?”
“Not good. Victim Services are involved. Her doctor’s prescribed sedatives, but she says she still can’t sleep. She’s also too freaked out to live in her house, so she’s moved in with her sister who lives in Burnaby.”
“Sorry to hear that, but I know it won’t take long for you to wrap it up. I bet next time it’s on the news it’ll prompt the idiots to talk about it.”
“If they’re home for us to listen,” Connie grumbled.
“With four of them living together, the odds are good that they’ll talk about it there at some time or another. Especially with the trial taking place. That should promote some chatter.”
Connie’s tone brightened. “Actually, Roger told me that the trial is expected to wrap up in the next few days if defence doesn’t take too long. The Crown is expecting a conviction, too. I bet you’re right. That should get them talking.”
“For sure it will,” Jack replied. “Are you or any of Roger’s teams following Kondrat and Pratt around?”
“No, we don’t want to take a chance on heating them up. If they think we’re on to them, they might suspect we’ve bugged their place. If they’re relaxed, it might loosen their tongues more.”
“If their guy goes to jail, they may seek revenge against the United Front,” Jack noted.
“Good point. Maybe we’ll hear them planning something. Perhaps talk about making sure they shoot the right guy.”
“Exactly.”
“Hope so.” Connie paused. “Anyway, you’ve really helped me out. I can’t thank you enough.”
When Jack ended the call, he told Laura about his conversation.
“I bet you’re right that things could heat up if there’s a conviction,” Laura said.
“Yes, and if so they might be looking for more weapons,” Jack stated optimistically.
“That’d be nice,” Laura replied. “Between us, Roger’s teams, and ATF, we could have it wrapped up soon.”
“Hopefully, but speaking of Roger, I’d like him to lend us some surveillance teams for this coming weekend. Graves is supposed to deliver the guns on Monday.”
“Right. That,” Laura said, looking concerned. “I don’t like the idea that we’re responsible for four more handguns on the street. Laser-grips yet.”
Yeah, I don’t like it either. “I don’t feel we have much choice. We can hem and hah and philosophize about it, but my feeling is that I’d rather Satans Wrath have a few more weapons in their arsenal than allow the street gangs to become better armed.”
“Guess you have a point there,” Laura replied.
Jack reached for his phone.
Roger listened as Jack told him he suspected Graves would be obtaining guns over the weekend and then asked for help doing surveillance, starting Friday afternoon.
“Sure, I’ll send some teams your way,” Roger said. “The only thing is the trial is expected to end this week. If we get an indication that any of the gangers are heading out to kill someone, we may have to pull off from helping you.”
“I understand. Laura and I will each work different shifts over the weekend and hopefully pair up with your team. I’d like to get a tracker on his truck, but I’m told he checks for one every time he heads out to do something of a criminal nature. If your crews are watching him when we’re not around, I’d like to see how thorough he is when he searches.”
“We’ll see what we can do.”
“I also don’t want any heat. I’d rather lose him on surveillance than let him know we’re on to him.”
“You’re the boss.”
* * *
Late the following day Jack received an update from Connie. “The trial’s over,” she announced.
“That was fast. It’s only Wednesday.”
“Apparently, defence decided not to call any witnesses.”
“And it was only yesterday you wanted me to risk my informant,” Jack noted.
“I know. Sorry about that. I got emotional.”
“Gee, isn’t that what you accuse me of?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t go overboard about it.”
Overboard … guess that’s a nicer word than implying I murder people, like you usually do.
“Anyway,” Connie continued, “the good news is the punk from the Death Heads was convicted of first degree and sentencing is set for a week from today.”
“Perfect,” Jack said. “That should stir up some conversation. You going to spend tonight in the monitor room listening to the room bug?”
“You bet I am. The monitors are working until midnight, but if Kondrat or Pratt are home shooting their mouths off, I’m not going to wait until morning to find out what they’re saying. I wouldn’t be able to sleep regardless.”
“Hope it works out. Also, thanks for letting me know. Give me a call to tell me how it went.”
“You got it.”
* * *
Connie was good to her word. When Jack arrived at work Thursday morning, Connie had left a message. He noted that it had come in at 4:40 a.m.
“Things are hot,” Connie had said. Then he heard her yawn. “But nothing that helps me. The four of them went to bed a few minutes ago. They’re really pissed off over the trial and said they needed to do something, but didn’t suggest what. Other than that, they’re also pissed off at Borman, saying what a pussy he is and that it’s time they got rid of him. By that, it didn’t sou
nd like they were thinking of killing him. I think they just want him replaced. Anyway, time for bed. Maybe next week after sentencing we’ll get something.”
Jack deleted the message, then ruminated about it. He recalled Lance’s words for the prosecutor to be wary, with mention that she could get a rock tossed through her window.
If Borman’s no longer in charge, will they decide to do something more than throw a rock through Ana’s window? He subconsciously bit his lower lip as he thought. How stupid are they?
Chapter Eighteen
It was approaching suppertime when Buster Linquist parked the moving truck behind the storage company he worked for. He was tired and hungry, but he knew his day wasn’t over yet.
It was the third Thursday of the month. Church night. The monthly meeting would take place at the clubhouse, and he had to be there.
As a prospect, he wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the meeting. His job was to cater to the whims of the members, such as washing their bikes, perhaps providing security where needed, and most definitely cleaning up the clubhouse after.
He was in a hurry to leave work, but when he rounded the side of the building where he’d parked his new ride, he stopped, his mouth gaped open in shock. Kondrat sat side-saddle on the seat of the Harley staring at him. Behind him Pratt had tilted one of the rear-views up and appeared to be squeezing a pimple on his face.
“What the fuck?” Linquist roared as he broke into a run. “That’s my hog you’re messin’ with!”
Pratt stepped back, but Kondrat remained seated. When Linquist was within striking range, he pulled his fist back to take aim at Kondrat’s face.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Pratt barked. He leered at Linquist as he held a pistol in his hand, waving the muzzle from side to side as an added warning.
Linquist hesitated then lowered his fist. “What the fuck you doing? I’m not in the mood for games!”
Kondrat smiled and slid off the bike, leaving his jacket open to show he also had a pistol tucked in the front of his waistband. “You see, the thing is, we ain’t nobody’s bitches.”
“You won’t get away with slappin’ us around like that little asshole-suck Borman,” Pratt chipped in.
“What do you want? Why’re you here?” Linquist asked, making a conscious effort to control his rage.
“Now that’s better,” Kondrat said. He grinned and spoke over his shoulder at Pratt. “I told you these guys would be reasonable.”
Pratt smiled and folded his arms across his chest, which would conceal his pistol from any passersby.
Linquist glared as he locked eyes with Kondrat.
“What we want is respect,” Kondrat stated. “You an’ your other guys won’t be dealin’ through Borman anymore. We gave him his walkin’ papers today.”
“You’re telling me that Borman’s no longer boss?”
“That’s right,” Kondrat replied. “The Death Heads are officially under new management. You can pass that on to whoever.”
“Under new management,” Linquist repeated. “Who?”
Kondrat looked taken back. “Me,” he stated, sounding irritated that the question was even asked.
“You?” Fuck me, you gotta be kiddin’.
“That’s right. From now on, you’ll be dealing through me.”
“I see.”
Kondrat stared at him.
If you’re looking for a reaction, I’m not going to give you one. I’ll be the good little messenger boy like you’ve asked me to be. Then, when I get the okay, I’ll rip your nuts off and shove ’em down your throat. After that I’ll gut the both of you.
“Also, tell your guys there’s gonna be some changes,” Kondrat stated firmly.
“Such as?”
Kondrat paused, loudly inhaling mucus from his sinuses before spitting.
Is that supposed to impress me?
“Such as, you won’t be tellin’ us how to run our business,” Kondrat continued.
“In what way?”
“In every fucking way,” Pratt said, coming around from behind the bike. “Yesterday that bitch prosecutor convicted our bro. He’ll be gettin’ sentenced next week.”
“Yeah … so?”
“So seeing as she’s gonna put him away, we’re gonna put her away,” Kondrat stated.
“Yeah,” Pratt said. He gestured at Kondrat with his thumb. “Last time the two of us only kicked her fuckin’ mom’s door open. This time it’s gonna be different. A lot different.”
“And it ain’t none of your fuckin’ business,” Kondrat stated, pointing his finger for emphasis.
Linquist sneered. “Sure, no skin off my ass. I’ll pass the word. Anything else?”
“Yeah, one more thing,” Kondrat said. “Tell your people if they don’t show us the respect we deserve, then we’ll swing over to the Asians. See how much coin you’d lose out of your piggy banks then.”
“I’ll tell them.” He then moved close enough to Kondrat that their faces were almost touching. “Now get the fuck away from my bike,” he snarled. “Come near it again and you’re dead.”
Kondrat let out a snort then glanced at Pratt before the two slunk away.
Chapter Nineteen
At 8:30 p.m. Jack was watching TV with Natasha when his phone vibrated. He recognized the number as belonging to Lance. “What’s up?” he asked.
Lance was unusually terse. “Quite a bit. We need to talk.”
“Has the deal with Linquist been postponed?”
“No, so far that’s still a go. That’s not why I called. We need to meet in person as soon as possible.”
Okay, about the only thing he doesn’t like to talk to me about over a phone is murder. Who, when, and why? “I’m available, but isn’t it church night?” He saw Natasha make a face.
“I’m outside the clubhouse now,” Lance continued, “but I’m skipping it.”
Okay, I don’t like the sounds of that. “Usual place?”
“You at home?” Lance asked.
“Yes,” Jack replied, feeling uneasy. You’re not dropping in for a beer.…
“How about someplace halfway to save time?”
“There’s a parking lot on the west side of Crab Park off of West Waterfront Road. It’s between the park and the Pan Pacific Hotel, close to where the Helijet lands. It’ll be empty at this time of night.”
“I’ll be there. Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
It was dark when Jack saw Lance’s van pull in and skid to a stop. Seconds later they met outside their vehicles. There were certain conversations that neither one of them ever wanted to discuss inside a car, building, or over the phone.
Jack listened as they strolled through the lot while Lance told him about Linquist’s confrontation with Kondrat and Pratt.
“You know we can’t let this sit,” Lance said when he finished.
“I know,” Jack replied. “Wait a sec while I make a call, then we’ll talk.”
“There ain’t a lot of time,” Lance noted.
Jack motioned with his hand for him to calm down while he walked out of earshot then made a hasty call to the monitoring room. “Nicole, I’m glad it’s you working tonight,” he said.
Nicole was good at her job, and despite the fact that Jack’s phone was blocked she identified him by his voice. “Hey, Jack. Dare I ask why?” she replied.
“Do you know if the two rats, I mean Kondrat and Pratt, are home?”
“They are, along with both roommates.”
“Is Connie with you?”
“Not tonight. She was in last night. What’s up?”
“I heard a rumour that Kondrat and Pratt could be up to something. Anything to indicate that on your end?”
“They got home about an hour ago and were bragging to their roommates about telling someone off. They had music on and with the noise it was hard to tell, but they mentioned a name once. It sounded like Buster. Something along those lines. Other than
that, only the usual crude and juvenile behaviour you’d expect from their calibre.”
“Call me if they leave tonight, will you?” Jack asked.
“You got it, but there’s nobody working in here after midnight.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “That’s fine.” He then ended the call and returned to where Lance waited.
“So, these two punks had to be dealt with,” Lance stated while giving Jack an angry look, perhaps expecting him to object.
“Makes sense to me,” Jack replied indifferently. He eyed Lance curiously. “Had to be dealt with?”
“The hit is in progress as we speak. I gave the order to —”
“I don’t need names,” Jack said, “only details.”
Lance looked puzzled.
“It’s easier if I don’t know the names for later on if I’m questioned. Provides you more protection in the event someone in my outfit gets the idea to arrest them. Saves me from having to lie.”
Lance frowned. “Okay, the job was given to two club members, one of whom is good at picking locks.”
Picking locks … that narrows it down to about three that I know of. Better tell Nicole to take her headphones off before she gets a broken eardrum …
Lance looked concerned. “Besides those two, only me, my vice-prez, and Whiskey Jake know about it.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Lance paused. “I can tell you who won’t be involved. We told Linquist to go to the hospital emergency tonight and put blood in his piss to fake a bladder infection or something.”
“In other words, an alibi,” Jack noted.
“He’ll know it’s goin’ down tonight, but not how or by whom.”
“With so few knowing about it, there’d be serious heat if your two guys were caught.”
Lance looked startled. “Of course there would!”
“Relax. I said I understand. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere. Simply thinking out loud.”
“Oh … okay, good.” Lance took a deep breath, then continued, “My idea is to give the Death Heads an idea of how professional we are.”
“Professional? Are you thinking a car bomb?”
“No, with that there’s always a chance we’d kill the wrong person or some citizen walking past.”
