Honorable Assassin

by Jason Lord Case

  Evan McCormick was not used to speaking with men who used such measured words and reasonable tone. His research had authenticated this man but his senses told him that anyone pretending to be a crook and talking like a lawyer is definitely an undercover cop. Trust was not something easily given to anyone outside the club and only a few inside the club.

  “Who the fuck are you to talk to me about honor?” Evan asked. “You work for the Troys. I can’t think of men with less honor.”

  “There are many things about me you do not know. Yes, I am currently associated with the aforementioned association, but that is not a permanent situation. I foresee a change in the wind and I will be there when the storm is over. I want to know if you will stand with me. Will you?”

  “You’re right. This is not the place to carry on this conversation. I don’t trust you and I don’t think there is anything you can do to make me trust you. I will say you have balls, coming in here and talking shit, but I don’t think I like you.”

  “There is no need for us to like each other, but there is a need for us to trust each other. I need to know if you are the sort of man I can trust.”

  “Get the fuck out of here before I kick the shit out of you. I still don’t know what you’re selling.”

  “All right. I’m going to leave, but we will speak again. I am giving you the opportunity to become more than you are. You have the ability to rise above the crowd, but you limit yourself through your associations. I am suggesting that you advance to the next level of authority. You may be the President of this group but you still pay tribute to others. I am suggesting we step beyond that.” Terry rose and nodded to Evan, who did not move.

  Kingston had shown up at the rally with half a dozen men but he had not told them why he was there. As far as they were concerned they were going to carouse and get wild. They hung together nervously, however. They did not feel accepted among the bikies. They were dressed wrong and looked out of place.

  The one thing that concerned Terry was that Evan might talk to someone else. He had been deliberately vague about what he was up to, however. He had said nothing definitive but that did not matter. It had not gone as well as he had hoped. It looked as though he would need to find a different candidate. Or maybe not.

  It had been a month since Superintendent Barlow had first spoken with Sergeant Black and though there had been a real push, there had been no positive results in the search for the torturer. It seemed that it had been a pipe dream.

  Evidence against Henry Cuthbert was also difficult to find. Henry conducted business carefully enough to keep himself out of prison. They could probably have gotten him on some minor charges but he would be provided with good lawyers and the city would probably end up sued for harassment. They needed something positive, something big and worthwhile.

  “I’m sorry Superintendent, I have been flogging my men to get something for you. I put money on the street, but no one will take it for a good lead. This man has them scared to death or they really don’t know. I found nothing on a torturer.”

  “Well Senior Sergeant Black, at least we have made the attempt.” Barlow was relaxed by dint of several glasses of scotch. It was late in the afternoon on a Saturday.

  “The Henry Cuthbert thing is not that productive either. He seems to have moved up in the organization when his predecessor, or more than one, was killed. You remember, that was the Lee Pierce thing where he went renegade and started blowing up trucks and the like. Somebody finally shot him.” Sergeant Black looked at the scotch bottle but Barlow did not offer him any.

  “Yes. Forensics determined that it was not the driver that shot Pierce, right?”

  “Uh, I was not on that case. It actually happened north of the city and outside our, that is my, jurisdiction. I can get you a copy of the files on Monday, but we don’t have that case here.”

  “No, thank you. I think I will take a trip up there on Monday if my schedule is clear. I remember there was something about that whole case that did not strike me as clean. I’ll be going home now, Sergeant. Are you on the roster for next Saturday?”

  “I’m not certain yet, sir. I can make it happen if you think it would help.”

  “Yes. If they give you a problem, tell them to see me.”

  It was actually never a problem for Senior Sergeant Randolph Black to be assigned to boring office duty Saturdays. Nobody else wanted it, and even for overtime pay it was the least desirable assignment to be had on a summer day in Sydney. Black had his own ideas about it however. Meeting with the Superintendent and hashing out big plans without Inspectors or the Chief Inspector made him feel special, important, and destined to succeed. Not finding anything of significant value made him look like a failure. It was imperative that something be found, fixed or fabricated to indict Henry Cuthbert.

  Sergeant Black saw the opportunity when one of the constables brought in a runner from the street. He was in possession of a little under an ounce of cocaine in separate little bottles. Half the bottles mysteriously disappeared and nobody ever said anything about it.

  A half ounce of cocaine was enough to imprison anyone, especially when it was already packaged for sale.

  Terry was looking for another candidate worthy of consideration but the field was bleak. He was in the gym, pumping iron and running, when the bearded man covered with tattoos stopped by for a workout. It put Terry on his guard when that same man joined him in the steam room after the exercise. There was nothing to worry about, however. Saxon wanted a conference and his messenger was being simply being discreet. Messages were often sent this way.

  The meeting was not held in any of the usual haunts of either the Dark Knights of the wise guys. It was held in a family restaurant. It was after the lunch crowd was gone but before the dinner patrons started to fill the place. Terry was there before Evan but he was not the first in. There were already several seedy looking characters eating or just drinking coffee. Saxon arrived by himself but he was not alone.

  “What are you?” the club president wanted to know. “You have never been arrested. You have never been implicated in any sting operations. You are not a regular customer and you’re not a wannabe.”

  “That’s a question that only my eulogy could answer.” Terry addressed himself to his ham steak.

  “And a mysterious fucker as well.”

  Terry said nothing. It was plain that Evan McCormick was interested in what he was proposing or he would not be here.

  “So why are we talking?”

  “Look, Mr. President, our interests coincide but we must barter on a level of trust that we do not currently have.”

  “Do not call me Mr. President.”

  “I shall call you…?”

  “Call me Saxon.”

  “Ok, Saxon. Before we are able to have a proper relationship, we are going to need a heightened level of trust as I said. I know I can trust you to work in your own best interests, but that is not a problem since our interests coincide.”

  “In what way?”

  “You want power and control of the illicit trade in Sydney and I want to give it to you.”

  “Why? What possible reason do you have for wanting to enhance my position?”

  “As you have stated, my current employers are men with no honor. I wish to upgrade the man in that position with one of a certain morality that they do not possess, but I feel you do.”

  “And the benefit to you?”

  “I shall obviously advance my own position to one of more authority and influence. I am not looking to be in charge of the operation. I leave that to men with more ambition. I wish to work behind the scenes making things right for my friends and associates.”

  “But you already have friends and associates. Why would you come to me, a stranger and offer to do anything for me? I suspect your motivation and mistrust you.”

  “Saxon. You are obviously an educated man. You do not speak like the leaders of, say the Rebels. Yes, I have spoken with him. He is a boor and a lout.
”

  “A boor and a lout? You sound like you come from a hundred years ago.”

  “This is my point. You understand what I said; they would not have. You have what it takes to lead men who are not a drunken rabble. You have potential. Tell me, who are your biggest competition, your enemies?”

  “We need to get back to my first question, what are you? A king maker?”

  “Once again, your competition would not even recognize that phrase. You have what it takes to be in charge. Now who is your biggest competition?”

  “We don’t have much competition but the Berserkers cause us the most trouble. A bunch of one percenters. Why?”

  “Honor and trust. If you are going to trust me I need to prove to you that you can. Look for a package in a couple of days. I’m assuming the Berserkers will fall apart without their leader, right?”

  “I don’t know. I do know I don’t want to go to war because someone did something stupid. You planning on doing something stupid?”

  “Only my eulogy can say that.” Terry rose and said goodbye. He paid the check on the way out.

  Saxon sat, still rubbing his chin. He still had no idea what the man was all about but he was certain he would have been successful as a businessman. He would look for a package in a couple of days, but he had no idea what was to be in the package. He was not used to working with such mystery and he did not like it.

  Three days later he got the package. It was delivered to the clubhouse in a locked, insulated box. Evan took it into an office and cut the padlock off. Inside, packed in dry ice, was the former head of the Berserkers motorcycle club. That is to say the head of the former head was in the box.

  Saxon prepared himself for war but the Berserkers went after a club from Brisbane instead. There was something left with the headless body of their president that indicated The Damned had been responsible.

  When the Berserkers hit The Damned, it was like something from an old Western without the Indians. They moved in on the clubhouse, slaughtered everyone in the place and set it on fire. The Damned were not geared up for it and never saw it coming, but their response was not timid either. When the smoke cleared, both gangs had been decimated and the remaining members were searching for new homes. The Dark Knights refused to consider members of either club.

  Terry was contacted at the gym that week.

  “So you got my fuckin’ attention now.” Evan McCormick did not look as happy as one might expect after having two of his major rivals dealt with.

  Terry hoisted his pint of ale and took a long deliberate drink. They were alone but the back room of this bar had been chosen carefully. There was one small barred window. There was no exit save the door and the bar was full of Dark Knight colors. Not only had he gotten their attention, he had gotten their respect. There was never a question among the bikies whether it was better to be loved or feared. Fear was the only way.

  “Saxon, what are you willing to do to consolidate your power?” Terry knew the time for subtlety had passed. He needed to hit him with the plan and suck him in like a jet engine.

  “I don’t know that I need to consolidate anything. I’m in power now. One word and my brothers will cut you up in little pieces. Nobody will ever hear from you again.”

  “You misunderstand the situation. I am not threatening you and I have no power of my own, nor do I want it. I’m no leader but you… You are a natural leader of men and heir to the throne of the underworld if you can take it. With the proper direction, the Dark Knights could easily take over the entire city’s drug supply; the tarts, the cards, all of it. No disrespect mate, but you’ll be sitting in the ivory tower instead of that shitty little compound.”

  “Watch it.”

  “I told you, no disrespect. You built that up from nothing but you should be gaining momentum, not clutchin’. There are half a dozen men in this entire country that have the power to make things happen behind the scenes. The only reason they have this power is they have guards around them. Take them out and set your own men in place. Supply the guards and boom, you are in power. You pay tribute to no man, they all pay tribute to you like a Roman Emperor.”

  “How do I know you’re not setting me up like the Berserkers? How do I know there isn’t a box waiting for my head?”

  “Again, no disrespect, but you’d never see it coming if I were.”

  “Again, no disrespect, but what the fuck are you?”

  “I’m nothing but a man who knows what he wants and knows how to make friends. My friends are very happy to be my friends, and my enemies…” Terry knew this was the critical juncture. This was the moment where the pendulum would either swing for or against him. He kept his right hand on his beer, but his left hand was below the lip of the table. He reached the fingers of his left hand under his belt. He took a drink of his beer to cover the movement and slipped his middle finger into the loop of a length of wire he had sown into his belt.

  Evan McCormick sat looking into the eyes of the man across the table. The man was young and despite his assertions, ambitious, but he was no stupid little boy running away from home to join the circus. Evan had seen enough strikers with that look to them. Striker is what they called the recruits who did not yet qualify for colors. The man who was calmly drinking ale, and talking about taking over the drug trade for the entire country, was different.

  “I’m going to need some more specific information to make a decision,” Evan said, slowly.

  The moment had passed and Terry slowly pulled his left hand out of the waistband of his pants. The wire stayed where it was. Both men knew he had been sold on the idea, now all that was to be presented was the plan.

  “Come now, I’ll shout a round.” Evan knew that men spoke out of hand when drunk and he very much wanted to get this man to speak out of hand.

  ~~~

  Chapter Fourteen: The Berserkers and The Damned

  “What do you make of this, Sergeant?”

  “That the file on the bike war?”

  “Yes, the Berserkers headed up to Brisbane and went all hairy on The Damned. Between the two of them, about 10 percent are left alive from what I gather. Most of ‘em went to ground somewhere. We got three of the Damned in jail in Brisbane; weapons charges. They don’t appear to be willing to talk.”

  “Well, Super, I won’t be crying over it.”

  “No, nor will I but what I want to know is, were there hard feelings between these men before? I don’t remember any but I have been off the streets for a long time now and things change.”

  “I don’t recall any problems between the two. The Damned stay in the Brisbane area. They’ve been spotted down here at the bike rallies but never caused a problem. They ran a bit to the darker side of things if I recall. Brought a couple in for heroin some time back. They wouldn’t turn over though.

  “The Berserkers are crankers. They got a lab or two set up somewhere making the shit and that’s what they do. They don’t compete with each other I don’t think. There is one thing that’s strange though. The leader, president if you like, was dead before they went north. He was probably killed by someone in his own club. Cut his head right off, they did. Never found the head, either.”

  Superintendent Barlow poured them each another glass of scotch. The disappointment at not having found the torturer had passed and they were on to bigger and better things. Sergeant Black was certain of a promotion and the superintendent was certain that things would get done without question.

  “I see you had Henry Cuthbert’s car impounded. Did you find anything in it?”

  “No, not this time. He should be more careful where he parks that thing. There’s no telling what might happen.”

  “So, you think something might happen?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure something is going to happen.”

  Something did happen. The Provincial Police pulled Henry Cuthbert over on the expressway and the entire incident was recorded on the dashboard camera of the officers’ vehicle. Everything was relatively
standard for a traffic stop. The lead constable took the license and registration and brought it back to check for wants and warrants. The German Shepherd in the back was getting very jumpy, so the constable riding shotgun put a leash on him and took him out of the vehicle. The dog went directly to the trunk of Henry’s car and sniffed and whined, with his tail going in circles. Naturally the constables wanted to look in the trunk. It was a death sentence.

  Henry popped the trunk from inside the car. As far as he knew there was nothing in the trunk, but he also knew without reserve that if the dog smelled something, there was something there. He took what was, in his mind, appropriate action. He pulled his pistol and when the two constables looked into the trunk to find the vials of cocaine the dog had smelled, he popped the door and came out shooting.

  The first constable hit was the dog handler. The .45 caliber bullet blew a huge hole beneath his ribs and above his hips. He spun around and went down in a spray of blood. Cuthbert could not see the second constable through the trunk of the car but he fired two rounds through the trunk lid, then he came around to the back. The police dog was restrained by the leash initially; the handler had the thong on his wrist. As Henry came around the back of the car, the handler slipped the loop off his wrist and released the dog. Like a bolt of teeth and fury, the dog leaped straight at his target and as Henry instinctively raised his left hand the dog clamped down on it. The lead constable fired one shot that would have taken Henry in the chest if the dog had not made him stumble backward.

  The .45 Smith and Wesson vomited fire and lead. The German Shepherd yelped once as the bullet destroyed its hips. It released Henry’s hand as it collapsed and Henry shot it again. The lead constable got off another shot from his Glock and this time the .40 caliber round creased Henry’s right arm deeply, near the shoulder. The impact jerked his arm back and the .45 went off involuntarily. It blew a hole in the constable’s chest a man could put his fist though. Then the most damning of the recovered footage was recorded. Henry Cuthbert methodically shot each constable and the dog once each, in the head. He closed the trunk and got back into his car. Then he drove away leaving a recording of his black deed still running on the dashboard camera and three victims behind.