by Warren Court
She held out her arm. “There,” she said. On her arm was written a ten-digit phone number. I memorized it.
“Cheryl? You all right?” a voice said behind me. I turned. There were two men at the mouth of the alley.
“This pig is hassling me.”
“Pig? You a cop?” one of them said, and they advanced on me.
“Yeah,” I said.
“He’s not armed,” Cheryl said. “And he hurt me.”
“You bitch,” I said, and I flicked open the baton.
One of the men laughed. “What you gonna do with that?”
I jabbed Cheryl hard in the stomach with the baton and she fell in front of me. I wanted her out of the equation. I began backing up, swinging the baton slowly in front of me. The men took out knives.
“We’re gonna carve you up, pig. Sunday ham, like my momma used to make.”
“You had a mamma? Thought you were raised by a sack of shit,” I said. It was the first thing that came to my mind. The guy paused for a second and contemplated the ridiculousness of that insult, and then he came at me fast. I caught him on the top of the head with my baton and he went down just as fast.
The other one was right behind him and he grabbed my arm and pushed me hard into the metal garbage bin. He held my arm and, with his free hand, laid a punch down on my chin. I saw a rush of stars come across my eyes, and I was scared like I was the first time I got in a tussle on the job. But this was different: I was unarmed, with no backup, and I was off the clock. I was going to die.
I took another two quick blows to the head. I was going out when I felt the guy suddenly being ripped off me by some huge force.
“Motherfucker!” I heard someone scream. Then Sergeant Coolie was standing over me.
“Jack, get up. You okay?” He helped me up and handed me my baton. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait a minute.” I went over to Cheryl, who was still writhing on the ground. Next to her were both of her friends, out cold. The one who had hit me was bleeding from his mouth. I grabbed Cheryl’s arm and looked at the phone number written on it again.
“What’s that?” Coolie said.
“Our guy’s beeper number.”
“We should run this bitch in,” Coolie said.
“No time. We have to page this guy before she warns him.”
Chapter 26
Coolie and I sat in his car.
“Come on,” I said.
“Just calm down, Rook. This guy sees some random number or a payphone number, he might not call it back. We need to get someone this guy Trashy knows to set something up.”
“What about that snitch, Garigue?”
“Garigue? I don’t know. He’s a good source. If we blow him off on Trashy, word will get around. Could put him in danger.”
“Okay, so we set something up for real. This guy deals. What if Garigue has something to sell him? We let the deal go down and at least we get a look at Trashy and follow him to his abode. Then we wait on him, nail him later on after he’s forgotten all about his deal with Garigue.”
“That could work.”
“Where do we find Garigue?”
“I know a place.”
Bannister’s strip club. I knew it well. Spent many a bachelor party in there. A real downtown Hamilton dump.
We got there ten minutes after thumping Cheryl and her friends. I followed Coolie in; he went straight to the bar.
We took two stools down at the end. There were some biker types at the other end, a couple of rowdy twenty-somethings along pervert’s row, and a smattering of pathetic middle-aged men getting table dances.
There was a beefy bouncer in a sport coat sitting on a stool in the corner, and the guy behind the bar was all rippling muscles under a tight grey T-shirt. He eventually came over.
“Coolie. What’s up?” he said.
“Couple of beers, Ben.”
The bartender got two from a fridge and plunked them down. Coolie didn’t offer to pay, and I knew this place had a strict no-tab policy. They were on the arm, no charge. Cool.
I drank my beer.
“They know you in here?”
“You could say that.”
“And Garigue comes here?”
“He does.”
With my eyes fully adjusted to the dark, I saw two men sitting at a table way in the back, eyeing us. One was skinny with stringy black hair. The other was enormous and his belly sat on the table. They had no drinks in front of them. A girl in a bikini sat next to the fat one doing her nails.
“Don’t stare back at them,” Coolie said.
“Who?”
“The Scallas. This is their place.”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s not on any books.”
I swirled back around on my stool and sipped my beer and looked in the mirror. A couple of girls came up to us, but Coolie waved them off after giving one of their asses a squeeze.
“Not tonight, ladies,” he said. They scurried off. We finished our beers. Coolie ordered another round.
“Enjoying the freebies?” I heard a voice behind me say. It was the skinny guy. Bruno Scalla; I knew that the fat one was Enzo. Bruno was standing behind Coolie and smiling. We swung around on our stools.
“Hey, Bruno,” Coolie shook his hand. The junior Scalla brother had this weird grin on his face.
“Who’s this?” he said.
“This is my partner. Jack, this is Bruno.”
I extended my hand a bit, then pulled it back as Bruno didn’t even acknowledge me.
“What can we do for you, Coolie?”
“I’m looking for a guy.”
“Who?”
“Robert Garigue.”
“That little rat. What do you want with him?”
“Just want to talk to him about something. It’s nothing big. Don’t worry.”
“Do I look worried?”
“You seen him?”
“He was in a little while ago. He’ll be back. I hope you don’t want him for anything important, Coolie.”
“Don’t worry about it; it’s got nothing to do with anything. Just trying to get some payback on someone, and he can help us. And that means you’re helping us, and we won’t forget it.”
“Sort of like a business transaction. I got credit with you guys for lending out Garigue.”
“Yeah, exactly. You got a marker with us.”
“Speaking of markers, yours is coming due end of the month.”
“I know, Bruno. I know. I’m good for it.”
“Good to hear. What are you staring at, jackass?” Bruno finally turned to me.
“Nothing.” My face went red hot. I had to hold in the urge to assert my authority over this skinny punk.
“Nothing. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, Bruno. He’s okay, understand?”
“Sorry, kid. Just busting your balls. Enjoy the beers. They’re on the house, as always. Take a chick in the back and bang her if you’d like; they’re all clean. I check them myself regularly.”
I grinned a fake grin and Bruno left, and we both swung our stools back around.
“Ain’t he a peach?” Coolie said under his breath. “Don’t take him up on it. That’s all you need—videotape of you banging some stripper in here.”
“The rooms are videoed?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the videos—the mayor, the Crown attorney. Even the head of Internal Affairs before he went to Internal Affairs. Larson. Whole bunch of people.”
“Wow.”
“It’s an insurance policy, I guess.”
We waited through one more beer. It was getting late. I feared that Cheryl or maybe her two bodyguards had put word out to Trashy about us, and that we were losing the initiative; the guy was going to do a runner. But finally, Garigue walked in. He only glanced at us, no reaction, and walked over to the Scallas’ table. He sat there for a while.
“They know he’s a snitch,” I said. “But th
ey don’t do anything?”
“Garigue is playing a dangerous game, but it’s so complicated. Man, I can’t begin to tell you. He never snitches on them; that would mean the end. Only on things about the Scallas’ competitors or bad elements that bring the heat down on everyone, like this Trashy character. I think he’ll help. He put us on to Cheryl in the first place. The okay to do that probably came from the Scallas themselves.”
“Really,” I said. “Why not just get Bruno to help us?”
“Come on, man. You that dumb? The Scallas can’t be labelled as snitches, ever. That’s a bullet in the head. But Garigue…”
“He’s expendable. Does he know it?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Garigue walked past us and left.
“That’s it. Let’s go.”
We finished our beers quickly and followed after him. Outside, it was dark and quiet. All the bars had shut down. I heard a bolt drawn behind us. Bannister’s was doing an illegal lock-in. When we got to the car, I looked back and saw the group of youngsters being forcibly escorted out the side door. Then it was slammed shut.
Instead of taking the car, we followed Garigue on foot for a couple of blocks. We stopped at a shop doorway that provided protection from the few passing cars at that late hour. Garigue was there smoking a cigarette.
“Yo, Coolie. You come to see me in there? That ain’t cool, man.”
“Had to be done. We need some help. We talked it over with Bruno. It’s cool.”
“You talked it over with Bruno? So he knows I’m helping you. You trying to get me taken out?”
“Relax, man. It’s a legitimate request. Bruno gets a marker on me.”
“What about me?”
“You get a hundred bucks if it works out.”
“A hundred bucks?”
“It’s twice what we normally pay.”
“What is it?”
“All we want you to do is call this number, set up a drug deal. We’ll supply the drugs. They’ll be the real deal. You can keep the money from the sale and get the hundred on top.”
That was the first I’d heard of that part of the plan. I had no idea how we would get our hands on that stuff, but I figured Coolie knew what he was doing.
“Whose number?”
“That same guy—Cheryl’s boyfriend, Trashy.”
“That dirtbag. I’ve never sold to him before.”
“Doesn’t matter. This guy is a super-junkie, right? He’ll want the score bad, just to stick half of it up his nose. We got his pager number. You page him, set it up. Make the deal, and you walk away with the money plus a C-note from me.”
“Okay. What time tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? What about right now?” I said. I was eager to get my hands on this Trashy, do the dirty on him and move on in life.
“Guy like Trashy will be unreachable at this late hour,” Garigue said. “A nuclear bomb could go off beside his head and he wouldn’t come out of it. He won’t be awake till around eleven tomorrow. How about we do it at one?”
“Fine,” Coolie said. “We’ll pick you up. Out front of the hardware store on Ottawa.”
Chapter 27
I didn’t get much sleep the rest of the night, and I felt like I was underwater that morning, moving slow and sluggish. Even a cup of black coffee didn’t help. It wasn’t until Garigue got in the back of Coolie’s car that my adrenaline started pumping and I felt hyper-alert.
Coolie had picked me up an hour before in his own vehicle. We called Garigue and, surprisingly, the rat was very punctual. We took him across town and found a payphone. We figured this was a long shot, but it was all we had at this point. Eventually word was going to get to Trashy that we were hot for him and he’d skip town.
We stood beside Garigue as he made his call. He punched in the payphone’s number and hung up. It took ten minutes for the call back. Garigue held the receiver away from his ear so we could hear. I could make out a rough voice on the other end.
“Trashy, that you?”
I don’t like that name.
“Whatever, dude. Look, I got some stuff for you. It’s good. I figure you could—”
Who is this?
“It’s Garigue. Robert Garigue. You know me.”
Do I?
“Sure. I ran into you and Cheryl that night down in the village. Man, you were a little bombed. Maybe you don’t remember?”
Oh, right. Garigue.
“I got a hold of a shitload. It’s real good. I need to move it fast. Discount prices.”
Not over the phone. What are you, an idiot?
“So let’s meet up.”
One hour, outside the Wheat Sheaf pub in the village.
Garigue meant Hess Village, a city block lined with bars and restaurants.
“You live down there?” Garigue asked. I winced. Don’t blow it, dude.
What’s it to you where I live? Trashy said.
“I could come to your place,” Garigue said, and Coolie nodded approval.
No, out in the open. The pub. One hour. And man, if I see a cop around, I’m going to smoke you.
“Yeah, whatever, Trashy. See you soon.” Garigue hung up. “I hate that guy,” he said.
“Did you really run into him in the village?” Coolie asked.
“No. I can’t remember where I met him but I knew he wouldn’t, either. Cheryl introduced us.”
“Yeah, she’s a lovely lady,” I said.
“She pull a knife on you?” Garigue said.
“Yeah.”
“She always does that with first-timers. She’d rather slice than suck.”
“Let’s go,” Coolie said, and we got back in his car.
Without a proper surveillance team this was going to be tricky. We put Garigue in place at the pub. I set up across the street at a patio, ordered a beer and faced the street, trying my best not to stare at Garigue. Coolie was down the block in his car, pretending to read the paper. We had no radios. It would have to be hand signals only. After the deal went down, Garigue would vanish and we’d concentrate on Trashy.
Coolie had scored him some high-quality H, five grams worth divided into three small bags. Depending on how much Trashy had on him, he could take one bag or all of them. Garigue was going to price them for a quick sale but not so low that Trashy would suspect something. If Trashy didn’t buy, that would be all right; we just wanted to follow him back to his hovel. I presumed Garigue could keep the heroin in lieu of the proceeds from the sale. That didn’t sit right with me, but so be it.
I nursed my beer and pretended to eye the menu for a fourth time. The waitress came back and went away in a huff when I didn’t order anything else. I hoped this Trashy guy wasn’t going to take me on a long hike, I could feel the pint pressing against my bladder, but I couldn’t break the surveillance to go take a piss. Normally we would have eight or ten guys set up on an operation like this. It was just me and Coolie.
Trashy finally appeared, one hour late. My gut tightened when I saw him coming up the street, shuffling along. It had been over a week but I recognized him. He was looking around cautiously. Garigue saw him and nodded at the laneway that went around the back of the pub. It ended in a small parking lot with high fences all around it. The deal would go down there and both of them would have to come out the same laneway. Or so I hoped.
Garigue and Trashy talked for a minute on the street. I could practically smell Terrance from my vantage point a hundred yards away. I looked up at Coolie and our eyes met. He nodded and put the paper away.
Garigue led Trashy down the laneway and disappeared around the corner, as planned. Two minutes later he came back and nodded his head at me. It was done. But there was no Trashy. I waited a second more. Garigue crossed the street and ducked into another pub. I stood up and strained to see down the laneway. No Trashy. I looked nervously at Coolie and shrugged my shoulders. He got out of his car and headed to the laneway. I crossed the street and met him at the entrance.
�
�What the hell?” I said. “He do a Houdini?”
“He might be shooting it back there. Go down there and take a piss.”
