City of Crime

by Warren Court

  “I’m not a message boy.”

  “He’ll appreciate your help. As will I.” He stood, and without another word, he and his bodyguard left.

  Don wasn’t far away and came back in the office. If things had gone bad with that little meet, I wondered, would he have come to my aid?

  “Don, what is this?”

  “Hey, pal. Guy wanted to meet you. I said I’d facilitate the introduction. Soos calls, you do what he asks.”

  “I don’t work for him.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means he has friends all over. Pass the message on; that’s all he’s asking.”

  “Emerich Soos. Sounds like Doctor Seuss.”

  “My advice—don’t let him hear you calling him that.”

  I grinned.

  The dog came up to me and tugged at my shirt.

  “Where’d you get this?” I said.

  “The pound. I need a guard dog.”

  “You in any trouble?”

  “No. Just want to have something around that can bite.”

  “Hey boy,” I said to the dog.

  “Pass the message on to your boss, Jack. Don’t go making enemies you don’t have to.”

  Chapter 31

  I saw Estrada the next day.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “I met someone yesterday.”

  “A chick?”

  “I’m married.”

  “So?”

  “Guy named Soos. Says he knows you.”

  I saw Estrada gulp visibly.

  “Where?”

  “Does it matter?” I wanted to keep Don out of it. “Soos sent for me. Says to tell you he wants to talk. About that drug raid.”

  “Can you arrange a meeting with him?”

  “I guess. I have a middle man.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Estrada frowned. “No secrets between us, kid.”

  “It’s just a friend. A civilian”

  “All right, set it up. You’re coming as backup.”

  “Great.”

  “Can we go get us some bad guys now?” Estrada said.

  I gave that some thought; seemed ironic, considering the line we were now crossing. Or had I already crossed it?

  Don was not surprised when I came back to him to set up the meeting with Soos.

  “What’s he got on you?” I said.

  “Nothing. Nobody has anything on me,” Don said.

  “How long you known him?”

  “About ten years.”

  Then I realized. “He was the one you were driving that car for the day I busted you. You wouldn’t roll on him.”

  “You don’t roll on Soos. You roll on him, you roll yourself right into an open grave.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Look into his background and you’ll see nothing but shots of him with celebrities at black-tie affairs. Charity events. But he’s the real deal. Don’t forget it.”

  “He does business with the Scallas?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “If he’s selling drugs to the biker gangs and cutting out the Scallas, won’t that cause a rift?”

  “Let’s just say that the Scallas and Doc Soos give each other a wide berth. Now enough with the A&E Biography. I’ll call Soos and set something up.”

  “Estrada says a park, open air. Early morning.”

  “Right.”

  I got the call from Don within the hour. Soos had agreed to meet the next day at the Royal Botanical Gardens parking lot. The gardens didn’t open until ten and Soos wanted to meet at nine.

  We got to the parking lot two hours before the meet. My throat was as tight as a nun’s arse, but Estrada looked cool and confident. Was it a façade? We were meeting a reputed gangster and drug dealer, to proffer some sort of deal. What was I doing? I was throwing my job away here, potentially. What if Estrada was undercover for Internal Affairs? Or Rico, for that matter? We’d brought him along. He had no idea what was going on; we would let him know later. But was his dumb act just that, an act? Was he recording us? Were there teams of Internal Affairs guys in among the rose bushes and australis?

  The sun was up now and we had the cars parked with their noses pointing towards the entrance to the parking lot. The bushes behind us were wet and there were puddles on the uneven pavement from an early morning rain. We had the sun at our backs.

  The cars were in a V with a gap of two feet between them, enough for Estrada and me to duck behind if this got ugly. Rico stood in the comfort of the V, a shotgun down by his side. I knew he could sweep a street with that mother; I’d seen him on the range. He was so-so with a pistol but loved to fire the shotgun. Me, I was a bit afraid of the thing personally. We were due to go on training for the new AR-15s we were getting. But those would never come out unless you were on a tactical team. The team that could be covering us right now with those very same AR-15s, with scopes.

  Soos was punctual. He arrived in a long, black 7 Series BMW and pulled up straight to our car. The four doors of his vehicle opened simultaneously and Soos got out with three muscle men, one of whom was the black guy, Louis, from the meeting in Don’s office.

  They approached us and I felt my balls scoot up inside of me. I remembered something about fear being a good thing. Balls to that.

  Estrada stepped forward a pace or two and I came up behind him, slightly to the right.

  We were wearing street clothes, which contrasted starkly to Soos and his men’s very expensive and menacing-looking dark suits. He pulled sunglasses from his pocket and put them on and smiled.

  “Set this up nicely, huh? Real smart guys we’re dealing with here, Louis.”

  It occurred to me that this was a modern-day O.K. Corral, with Estrada, Rico and I in jeans and pullovers to cover our Glocks. Soos’s men, all four of them, were decked out like the Earps and Doc Holliday, and we were the cowboys. But weren’t we supposed to be the Earps, the cops? The winners of that confrontation? Something was wrong here. I just hoped this didn’t get to shooting.

  “What do you want, Soos?”

  “Mr. Soos,” Louis barked.

  “That’s all right, Louis. Estrada and I go way back. Don’t we, Sergeant Estrada? I’m a busy man, so I’ll get right to it. That raid the other day: that was my merchandise.”

  I smiled; couldn’t help it.

  “Your partner here thinks I just put myself in it,” Soos said, and nodded at me. I felt a chill go down my spine, then a sudden rush of hatred and resentment for this creep. “But you and I know I can tell you just about anything, and nothing is going to happen. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

  “That dope is ours.” Estrada said. “Going to put those greasy fuckers away for years. They’ll do a dime, easy.”

  “I don’t judge who I do business with, as long as their money is green. Like I told your boy here, I’m not greedy. I wouldn’t think of asking for the money and the dope. Just want to be fair about this.”

  “I can’t get either of them out of evidence.”

  I was appalled. Estrada was seriously considering doing something for this prick. We should be throwing his ass to the ground and putting the bracelets on.

  “You can figure something out, I’m sure. It’s been done before. I’m giving you a day. I want something in my hands by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  “Call Louis with the details.”

  “What’s in it for us?” Estrada said.

  Soos was turning to go and he stopped. “Ahh, there it is,” he said. “Ten percent.”

  Estrada said, “Twenty.”

  “You getting into the dope business, Sergeant?”

  “We give you the dope, you resell it, we want a twenty percent cut.”

  “Making us what, partners?”

  “A one-time transaction, ad hoc,” Estrada said.

  “Ad hoc. I like that. Whenever we ne
ed each other sort of thing. Okay, Sergeant. Welcome to the big leagues. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

  Chapter 32

  We let Soos and his posse leave and waited thirty minutes before mounting up ourselves. I was sweating in Estrada’s car; I wiped my forehead and looked at him.

  “You just lose your virginity after, what, nine years on the job? This is how it’s done.”

  “We’re drug dealers now?”

  “No, just selective enforcement of laws governing controlled substances.” Estrada laughed and I wanted to knock his block off. He saw the look on my face.

  “You’re cool with this, right, kid? I mean, if you’re not, you have to say so now.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t know what I was.

  We were only half a kilometre away from the parking lot of the Royal Botanical Gardens when a squadron of unmarked cop cars surrounded us and forced us over.

  “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?” Estrada said.

  It was then that I saw Detective Macintyre get out of the lead car. He was the only one who got out. He was wearing a leather coat and it blew open and I saw the butt of his Glock sticking out. His belly was sticking out too, and I saw a gold chain around his neck. No tie. Estrada rolled down the window.

  “Get in the back,” Macintyre said to me.

  I hesitated.

  “Go on,” Estrada said, and I opened the door and hopped in the back of the car. Macintyre took my spot in the front.

  “How’d it go?” he said.

  “He’s a smooth operator but it went good. We’re going to have to watch that guy.”

  “He’s a criminal.”

  “So are we,” I almost said.

  Macintyre moved the rear-view mirror until our eyes met. Could he read my thoughts?

  “What about him?” he said to Estrada, meaning me.

  “He’s cool. Ain’t you, Jack?”

  I nodded.

  Macintyre said, “Just keep your mouth shut and don’t buy anything extravagant with the money.”

  He moved the mirror back to its original position. Thank god. Staring into those eyes was like looking at the Devil.

  “He balk at twenty percent?”

  “A little, but he acquiesced.”

  “Good. He doesn’t move a lot down here, but twenty percent is nice.”

  “What about the Scallas?” Estrada asked.

  “Soos has the mountain. The Scallas have downtown and Stoney Creek.”

  “Doesn’t make sense, guy from Toronto being able to muscle in on our turf,” Estrada said.

  “Soos was from here. Boxed here when he came over from Hungary. Ran a meat shop, then a PR agency. All the while dealing heroin and hookers to the biker gangs. Those companies were just a front. He even did business with the Scallas. They get along, but they are not bosom buddies. Neither of those two trusts the other.”

  “If we’re dealing for the Scallas and Soos, who do we bust?” Estrada said.

  “Plenty of fish in the sea. The Russian mob, for one. The niggers. Any more questions, or can I get on my way?” Macintyre said.

  Chapter 33

  “So, what do you think?” I said to Gloria.

  “It’s bigger than I thought.”

  “Yeah. I wanted twin screws, Volvo Penta four-point-fives. Nice engines.”

  Wave Dancer pulled at her moorings at the yacht club jetty. Twenty-eight feet long, but she was dwarfed by two larger yachts on either side of her.

  “Can we go on it?” Gloria said.

  “You mean go aboard. You’ll have to start getting used to nautical terms, my dear.”

  “What are those bumpy things?” she said, and pointed to the two bumpy things hanging off the side.

  “They keep her from banging into the dock or other boats.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, you call boats she.”

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “’Cause they’re a pain in the ass. I don’t know.”

  She slapped my arm playfully, and I climbed aboard and then helped her. My legs and manner on board were only slightly more confident and steadier than hers were. This was my first boat. I unlocked the cabin and we went in. There was a musty vinyl smell.

  “Yuck,” she said.

  “It needs a cleaning. It’s a project. A new hobby.”

  “Yours,” she said. “Not mine. Does it run?”

  “Does she run?” I said, and took the keys out of the lock and put them in the ignition. It fired up on the third try.

  “So much for amazing engines,” she said.

  “They just need a servicing.” Then for some stupid reason, I added, “You know what boat stands for, huh? ‘Break out another thousand.’”

  “Great, just great. And us trying to start a family.”

  “Relax. It’s not that bad. And they keep their value.”

  I was guessing at that. Filling this thing up had cost five hundred bucks, and that was just half a tank. I was going to keep the expenses of this thing under wraps.

  I turned the idling engines off and one of them sputtered in run-on for a few seconds. I shrugged.

  “I guess it’s okay,” Gloria said

  I took that as about as close to a ringing endorsement as I was going to get out of her, and we locked the boat up.

  Chapter 34

  “There he is,” I said. I snorted another line of coke and started the car, tossing the mirror with its coke remnants onto the back seat.

  “You sure?” Rico said.

  “Silver Audi, headed towards Toronto,” I said.

  We pulled out of the parking lot of the Queen’s Landing Inn just off the highway and gunned it down the service road to the entrance to the QEW eastbound.

  Twenty minutes earlier, I’d gotten a call from my guy in customs at the Niagara Falls border crossing. There was silver Audi in the lane next to his. For the tip, he’d get a couple hundred bucks or the equivalent in coke. For two nights, we’d been waiting for this guy, for the call.

  The Audi was supposed to be carrying one, maybe two kilos of high-grade Colombian cocaine. My adrenalin was surging as we raced along the QEW trying to spot the mule car.

  “There it is,” Rico said, and I slowed down.

  “Okay, same as before. Looks like just one guy. You watch him and I’ll get the coke,” I said.

  We eased up behind the Audi, which was doing over 140 clicks. When we got between the towns of Beamsville and Grimsby, I put on the flashing lights imbedded in the grille of my unmarked car.

  Another head popped up in the front of the Audi, one with bouncy long blonde hair. I saw her draw a hand across her mouth as she looked back at us. Cocky bastard—hauling enough coke to put him away for a long time, cruising at forty klicks over the limit and getting a hummer from some broad.

  The guy slowed down a bit, put his flashers on and started to pull over. He stopped just short of an off-ramp to the service road.

  Rico and I got out. Cars whizzed by and took my breath away. They didn’t slow down a bit for my flashers. We approached on either side of the car, our guns out and pointed at the ground. The driver had his window down and tried to hand me his license.

  “I want you to go up that off-ramp there. Nice and slow,” I said.

  “Huh? Okay…”

  “Don’t try anything funny.”

  The guy crept along the shoulder and we followed right behind, the nose of our car right up his backside. When he mounted the off-ramp, I beeped my horn and he stopped.

  “We were just headed to Toronto for a night,” the guy said when we got back up to his car. He was Puerto Rican or Mexican. His girl was dark, and it set off her blonde locks nicely. Her tits were bulging out of a tight top. Rico tapped on her window.

  “Roll it down for him,” I said, and the driver put the car on auxiliary and lowered the girl’s window. Rico leaned in, his arms crossed, his gun pointed a couple of inches casually from her head. I’d just seen Pulp Fiction and was worri
ed he was going to accidentally blow her head off. Then I’d have to take this Puerto Rican/Mexican chap out as well, and that would be a hell of a mess.