When Perrault and White came in, bikers rushed for the last chairs. No one dared take Perrault and White’s chairs.
Perrault stood, placing his hands on the back of his chair. “All right, motherfuckers, we got a lot to talk about. Shit’s happening. I don’t like it. Not one fuckin’ bit.”
Conversation stopped. There were times Perrault smiled, and his long handlebar mustache gave him a happy-go-lucky look. Not tonight. His dark eyes flashed anger and the dark mustache added to the sinister look.
“The raid Friday night was a surprise. I don’t like surprises. We pay good money to know what the hell is going on. We got lucky. But we were this close,” he held his fingers inches apart, “to a lot of time in jail.” He turned to Hehn. “What the fuck happened?”
“I swear, boss, as soon as our girl in the court clerk’s office got word of the warrant, she called me,” Hehn said. “I told you right away. She told me about the snitch the cops had hidden away. Cops thought they were smart not putting the name in the warrant, but how many guys would they have tucked away in holding? I got Johnny Mac over to the cells to get as much info as he could. But ya gotta understand, shit like this happens fast.”
Perrault glared at Hehn. “Why’d we only have two hours notice?”
“She only sees the court stuff. We used to have that chick in records, but she got canned for stalking that cop. The final straw was when she handcuffed herself to his cruiser. They fired her ass that night.”
“So, get another chick in records.”
“We’ve been trying, boss, but—”
Perrault banged his fist on the table. “I need it fixed, dammit. We got lucky this time. We won’t be that lucky again. Get someone inside the cop shop right fuckin’ now.”
“Sure, boss.”
“White, good job in the clubhouse with the cops.”
White was all smiles. The sergeant at arms lapped up the praise. That’s what a lap dog does. White’s grin was evil, though. The big nose scrunched into this face, the close-set eyes, trimmed beard, and bald head added to the Satan-like image. The eeriest thing was the ‘SS’ etched into his forehead. He said it was for Satan’s Soldiers. Hehn figured it was White’s worship of Nazis and the German SS. Either way, he was a scary-looking motherfucker.
“Morales,” Perrault said. “What the hell happened with the Head Hunters? You assured me they were ours—that they’d patch over to us. It turns out they were meeting with the Gypsy Jokers, playing us against them. You didn’t see this coming?”
“I swear they were patching to us,” Morales said. “The Jokers found out and killed them. We’d have done the same if we knew they were playing us against the Jokers.”
Perrault paced the front of the room. No one spoke. No matter how long it took, they’d wait out the silence. To do otherwise would be suicide.
“White’s right.” Perrault rubbed his eyes and then took his seat. “The Head Hunters were always a liability. It wasn’t that we needed them—we wanted their territory. The Jokers want it, too. Now the Northeast is wide open. We need to claim it right away. White, send the Jokers a message. They took something we wanted—the Head Hunters—we take something of theirs.”
“You got it, boss,” White said. “When?”
“Tomorrow night,” Perrault said.
“With pleasure.”
Perrault pointed toward Hehn and Morales. “You two need to get some info on those cops. I recognize one name. Devlin. He was a pain in the ass a few years ago—undercover narc. He hasn’t been around for a couple of years. He’s back on the street and got Lenny to squeal. May the fucker rot in hell.”
Hehn and Morales nodded.
“Lenny wasn’t alone in the betrayal,” Perrault said. “Lenny spilled his guts to our lawyer. White, get the fuckin’ maggot we trusted to clean this place.”
White pointed to another member and they left the room. A minute later they were back. They stopped in front of Perrault, holding up the limp body between them. Each time they lifted him to a standing position, his knees buckled.
Perrault lifted the traitor’s head. His face a pulp of red and blue. His nose was off to the side, eyes swollen shut, lips puffy. His breathing was raspy and shallow through missing and broken teeth.
Perrault glared at the group. “Betrayals or mistakes, even little ones, are costly. It hurts the club. It hurts our business. I will not tolerate betrayal.”
Perrault swung a finger around the room. “This is a message to everyone. Your loyalties are to the club, or you’re dead—no in between. We lost some grass and some coke during the quick move. We paid this little fuck to clean our clubhouse. He repays us by talking to Lenny. Then he takes the cocaine. Thought we wouldn’t notice. Traitors get a traitor’s sentence.”
White slipped a plastic bag over the traitor’s head and taped it around his neck. He fought against the strong arms holding him upright and jerked his head from side to side. Then he collapsed to the floor. His legs kicked out, his back arched, then he was still.
Perrault flipped the body over with his boot. “Wrap him in a logging chain then throw him into Ghost Dam.”
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday Morning
Brad was sitting on the bench in front of his locker when Devlin slid in beside him, scanned the deserted room, and whispered, “Did you hear about the death in Spyhill Jail last night?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “A prisoner was stabbed to death with a sharpened toothbrush.”
“It was Lenny. He’s dead.”
“What!”
“Murdered. The scene was a mess. The medical examiner figures over twenty stab wounds.”
“How’d they get to Lenny. He was in isolation.”
“Yeah, about that. The prison checked his file. Nothing there saying Lenny was to be in isolation or protected.”
“Fuck, I asked for protection and wrote that in bold print,” Brad said. “It wasn’t a mistake. Lenny was deliberately put with the general population and then someone inside was told to kill him. We’ve got a leak.”
“The court clerks prepare all the transport orders and jail conditions. They see all the court documents.”
““Something’s been eating at me. Who told the lawyer Lenny was in our cells?” Brad asked. “Lenny didn’t. He never got access to a phone. We had him hidden away. You told the guards to keep him secluded. Nobody is going to go against you. It wasn’t another prisoner. Could be we have a guard working for the Satan’s Soldiers.”
“Well fuck, ain’t that grand.” Devlin sat back. “Most of the guards are retired cops.”
“Ex-cops aren’t in need of cash?” Brad asked. “Won’t accept biker cash? Or associate with bikers, or better yet, owe the bikers? Guards could earn a year’s salary with one good tip to the bikers. What if he’s got a habit? Gambling, drugs, or prostitutes. He’s in over his head and can’t pay? He clears the debt another way—information.”
“Could be. Three shifts a day. About a dozen guards. More on Friday night.”
“That’s a lot of guys to check,” Brad said.
“This is getting complicated.”
“No, shit. It haunts me that we can’t find Annie.”
“She’s probably buried in some field outside Calgary,” Devlin said.
Brad shook his head. “I think she’s alive. Davidson’s still working that, but it’s always a dead end. She said they’d got nothing so far, but she’ll keep looking.”
“One more thing.” Devlin pulled out a pack of cigarettes, paused, then put them back in his pocket. “I got summoned to HQ today and got my ass chewed out for the botched raid.”
“Why?” Brad asked. “We had credible information. We were sold out. Lenny got wasted by his people. Not our fault. I’m not gonna lose any sleep over him.”
“Deputy Chief Collins gave the usual rant. Waste of resources—street cops and TSU. The Soldiers want compensation for the damages to the doors. They’re threatening a lawsuit and are talking to the p
ress. You know, police harassing nice bikers, trashing their stuff. That kinda shit.”
“That’s bullshit,” Brad said.
“Collins thinks TSU is out of control.”
“He didn’t want us in the first place. He waits for us to screw up and pounces. It doesn’t matter how many times things go right.”
“Oh, it gets worse,” Devlin said. “I tried to convince him this is going to explode. I said we needed to go after the bikers with everything we have.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said this happens every so often. A club tries to exert control. The other clubs push back. He said it happened in ’71. A few bikers died, and a bunch went to jail. Then everything quieted. He said , ‘To let them kill each other’.”
“Are you kidding?” Brad shook his head. “We’ve already got seven shitheads dead. Annie is missing. We have phony lawyers coming into our holding cells and someone is feeding bikers information. What’s Collins waiting for?”
“I don’t know,” Devlin said. “I know we aren’t getting help. I can’t do this on my own.”
“What’re you going to do?”
Devlin stared at a spot on the wall. “Not sure.”
What Brad was thinking could change his career forever—or end it. “Why don’t we do our job and investigate? We won’t consult with the brass on every little detail and perhaps some larger details. We know there’s a leak. Don’t you think this warrants a little off-the-books work? If we inadvertently go a little too far off protocol, well, sometimes shit happens. Honest, judge, we were just two cops ‘serving and protecting.’”
“The two of us? You’re crazy.” Devlin grinned. “Working on the side could get us transferred to parking complaints.”
“You still believe we’re on the verge of an all-out biker war?” Brad asked.
“Already happening.”
“I’ll talk to my guys. They’ll be in.”
Devlin shook his head. “Whoa. No one else, not yet.”
“What? Now you’re the crazy one. How many bikers are there? Against the two of us?”
“Thirty or more.”
“Shit.”
“We pick one of the clubs—Gypsy Jokers or Satan’s Soldiers. We follow them, take pictures, and identify them. Get all the info we can. Then we tackle the next club.”
“Maybe we get a member to turn,” Brad said. “Or get someone on the inside.”
“Not easy to infiltrate a gang, let alone the bikers,” Devlin said. “Turning someone inside might work, but you gotta find the right leverage.”
“This is your world. What do you suggest?”
“We need to know who the players are,” Devlin said. “The Soldiers get together Friday nights at the Town and Country Hotel bar.”
“Perfect,” Brad said. “We start Friday night.”
“Friday night,” Devlin said. “You don’t have a date?”
“Just with you. I’ll borrow a couple of cameras from Sergeant Sturgeon in Ident. Meet me at TSU at 1800 hours. There’s a storeroom we don’t use. A couple of tear gas canisters were accidentally deployed in there a couple of weeks ago. It’s been cleaned up—mostly. Faint smell. Nobody goes there now. We’ll set it up as our war room, then head out about 2000 hours.”
Chapter Thirteen
Friday Evening
Devlin had filled Brad in on where the gangs hung out, and Brad was charting that information on a blackboard when Devlin walked in.
* * *
OUTLAW MOTORCYCLE GANGS
Northwest: Gypsy Jokers
Beacon Hotel
Southwest: Gypsy Jokers
Westgate Hotel
Northeast: Head Hunters
Crossroads Hotel
Southeast: Satan’s Soldiers
Town & Country Hotel/
Shamrock Hotel
Brad had pushed two desks against a wall and set a folding table in the middle of the room. Two cameras with telephoto lenses sat on the table along with two pairs of binoculars.
Devlin sneezed. “I can smell the tear gas.” He blew his nose and wiped his eyes.
“Do you need a hug? Suck it up. You’ll get used to it.”
“Not bloody likely.” Devlin stepped to the blackboard. “You got a head start.”
“Thought I might as well get this set up. I placed the clubs where you said they hang out.”
“More than a place to drink beer,” Devlin said. “It’s their turf, and if another gang shows up uninvited, it’s considered a declaration of war.”
Brad pointed at the board. “Why do the Jokers have two groups?”
“They’re all Gypsy Jokers. The group in the SW got enough members so the Jokers split the club and staked a claim on everything southwest. They’re very much under the control of Keaton.”
“In the northeast the Head Hunters’ leadership is dead. As a club, they’re wiped out. So, the northeast is wide open. It’s closer to Soldiers territory than Jokers.”
“That’s what the Soldiers think, too,” Devlin said. “There’s a lot of money in drugs and prostitution. The Jokers and Soldiers are greedy, and the northeast is growing like crazy. Lots of potential.”
“Why didn’t the Soldiers expect competition from the Jokers?” Brad asked.
“Up until a year ago, the Jokers were a weak club. Five years ago, most of their leadership went to jail for murder, leaving a leadership void for years. That changed when Felix Keaton became the Jokers’ president. He’s bringing the Jokers back from the dead and wants it all.”
“What’s the deal with Keaton?” Brad asked.
“He came here about a year ago from Hamilton,” Devlin said. “He was a big player in the Banditos Motorcycle Club. He led the Banditos in a war for control of drugs and prostitution in Hamilton. I talked to the cops in Hamilton. He’s ruthless. They tried to nail the bastard for years, but they couldn’t tie him to anything. Brutal stuff—torture, beheadings, rapes, families disappeared. Then he comes west with a low life enforcer, Jeter Wolfe. Within months, Keaton’s president with Wolfe his sergeant at arms.”
“Why would the Jokers let him take over?” Brad asked.
“They had no leadership and were going nowhere. Keaton came with money and ideas. He rebuilt the Jokers and started making money right away.”
“Did the Banditos send him here?”
“Probably.”
“Wouldn’t the Jokers fight the Banditos taking over?”
“Keaton has full control now. If the Banditos come west, no one can stop them. Their only competition is the Hells Angels.”
“The two of us against international bike gangs—seems like a flawless plan to me. What could go wrong?”
“This was your idea,” Devlin said. “Let’s go, David. Goliath is waiting.”
Brad parked his Camaro in the back corner of the parking lot at the T & C. They could see the bar entrance and most of the parking lot. Devlin stretched out in the passenger seat. They kept the windows open, enjoying the warm spring night.
“Why don’t you take a walk and have a smoke?” Brad said.
“Now you’re supporting my habit?”
“Just a feeling. We’re watching them. What if they’re watching us? I can’t do it. You look like you belong here.”
“Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Devlin grabbed a radio. “What frequency?”
“They’re radio to radio so no one can hear us.”
“Good idea.”
“What if they spot me?” Brad asked. “What’s the plan?”
“Radio me. I’ll tell you that you’re fucked. Then run.”
Devlin slid out of the car, lit a cigarette, and wandered toward the bar. Brad lost sight of Devlin as he rounded the far corner. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen. Finally, Devlin reappeared and sauntered to the car.
He opened the passenger door and slipped in. “Bar’s starting to hop. Soldiers should be here soon.”
“You sure they’ll show?”
; “I’d give it a ninety-percent chance.”
Devlin pulled out a pack of gum and offered a stick to Brad.
“My favorite.” Brad took the stick. “Didn’t picture you as a gum-chewing guy.”
“You won’t let me smoke in your fancy car. Gum’s the next best thing.” Devlin chewed loudly and stared at the parking lot. “Remember that night of the raid with the four dead bikers?”
Brad stared out the window. “Gosh.” He tapped his index finger on his chin. “Four dead bikers—four dead bikers, I’m sorry. I’m drawing a blank. Oh! Oh! It’s coming to me … no I lost it.”
“Smartass. Thompson said Maggie was back. You got all weird. What’s with that? I thought you broke up two years ago. Did that mess you up so much you don’t date?”
“Ancient history.” Brad avoided eye contact.
“Hey, you don’t want to talk about it, fine with me. I’m just makin’ conversation.”
Brad was quiet. Finally, he said, “Maggie and I were pretty serious then. TSU was brand new. We kept everything to ourselves. That’s what the LA SWAT guys told us to do. So, we didn’t trust anyone, even those close to us.”
“Better that way for family and loved ones. We do the same thing in narcotics.”
Brad faced Devlin. “Now I know I don’t have to keep everything secret, just the sensitive stuff. Maggie needed to know I was okay. I wouldn’t tell her squat. She found out from cops and paramedics. To her, it didn’t make sense that I was silent when others talked about it. The military guys were robbing Brinks and leaving bodies everywhere. Shit was hitting the fan with management and the politicians. The pressure on us was incredible.”
“We ended that with the shootout at Chinook Mall.”
“By then it was too late for Maggie and me. She couldn’t take the secrecy or the danger. She took a job in Banff. I haven’t seen her in two years.”
“Shit, sorry for bringing it up. You gonna call her?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably bump into her at some point.”
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