At noon, he gave up on sleep, puttered around the house for a couple of hours, then took Lobo for a jog. Time dragged. He called Steele and they ran Lobo through attack training. Brad took a few turns with the arm pad. Lobo wouldn’t bite Brad so Steele did the running.
He called Archer and left a message saying he’d come at seven the next morning. The two deputy chiefs often clashed. Collins as old school as they come, was responsible for detectives. Archer, a generation younger, was responsible for patrol and special operations, like narcotics and TSU. Given a choice, Brad would rather deal with Archer.
He showered until the hot water ran out. He plugged in his clippers and gave himself a buzz cut. At least now all his hair was the same length. He ate little at supper and then watched TV. His thoughts drifted between the explosions last night and Annie. Still no trace of her. Davidson hit dead ends in her search. He felt a chill down his spine and his stomach rolled. The longer this went on the more he hoped she was dead.
After midnight, Brad crawled into bed. He remembered looking at the clock at 0330.
The spring sun streamed through the window shades, interrupting his sleep. He rolled over, not wanting to get up—too little sleep. His head hurt and eyes stung.
He let Lobo out into the backyard to take care of business while he took a shower. The hot water streamed over his head, washing away the dull throb. He dressed quickly and glanced in the mirror on his way out. He looked like shit.
He pulled the Camaro away from the curb and peeled down the street. No traffic at this time of day. He turned on the early morning news. The big story was the explosion that injured several cops and that no arrests had been made. He shut the radio off.
Brad waited outside Archer’s office. “This is an ungodly hour.” Archer unlocked his office.
“Most days, I’ve already been at work for an hour.”
“Good for you,” Archer snarled. “Have a seat.” Archer slumped into his office chair. “I didn’t think this biker thing was going to escalate. This is on me. Devlin warned me the bikers were escalating.”
Brad shook his head. “You didn’t send those guys in—Collins did.”
“I kept silent. How’re your guys?”
“One guy in ICU, unconscious,” Brad said. “He’ll make it, but who knows when, if ever, he comes back to work. Knight’s a bit better, but he won’t be back for a few weeks. The other guys will be back to work next week. We’ll be short tactical cops for a while.”
“A lot is going to fall on your shoulders,” Archer said. “The bikers are a big problem. I was slow to realize that.”
“I’m not the solution to your problem.”
“I disagree,” Archer said. “We have a better chance of stopping the bikers with you in the lead. A cop’s job is to look for trouble and respond. You’re a damn good cop, so you do those two things well. You have swagger, you’re cocky, and you often piss me off. Your team will follow you anywhere. They trust you.” Archer stood. “Take the rest of the day off. Hug your dog or whatever you need to do to clear your head, but I need Brad Coulter back tomorrow. Then tell me what you need to get these bastards.”
Brad nodded. “Whatever I need?”
“Within reason. We’re not going to make a big show of this. No announcement, no media releases, and no fancy task force name. That’s not the way we do it.”
“I need a favor,” Brad said.
“Name it.”
“I need a picture of the missing girl, Annie, circulated to every cop in the city. I want to know every time they get a lead or think they’ve found her.”
“Done.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gypsy Jokers’ Clubhouse
Wednesday Morning
Annie and Sissy were cleaning up after the meeting the night before. Annie washed the clubhouse floor while Sissy scrubbed the big table. It was like a warped version of Cinderella. They weren’t in rags, but what they wore didn’t cover much. Annie was a slave, trapped in this bizarre culture. The men were vile and foul-mouthed, and they treated women like property. It got worse as the night wore on and they got drunker. She’d tried to put up a fight for the first week. Sissy told her it wasn’t worth it, that Annie would be killed. At least Wolfman was always drunk and it was usually over fast. But having his foul smell in her bed the next morning disgusted her. Some nights he brought others with him. She prayed for death.
Sissy still watched out for her.
Annie cleaned her way to the kitchen. Alf stared at some papers.
“What’re you doing?” Annie leaned over Alf’s shoulder.
He looked up, “Huh?”
“What’re you working on?”
“Oh, the booze order,” he said. “They sucked most of it back last night. Another big party next week, so I have to order more.”
“Is that what you do here?”
“I do whatever they ask.” He scratched his head with a pencil.
“Is Alf your real name?” Annie asked.
He glanced at her, then looked down again. “No. My name is Albert.”
“Then why do they call you Alf?”
“It’s a nickname the bikers gave me.” His face reddened. “It means Annoying Little Fuck.”
“That’s mean,” Annie said.
“You just figure out they’re mean?”
“Why do you stay?”
Alf shrugged. “Nowhere else to go. If I left here, I’d be out on the streets.”
“Could you leave if you wanted?”
“But I don’t want to.”
Annie leaned close and whispered, “I’d leave if I could.”
“They won’t let you go, they own you. If you got away, they’d find you.”
Annie started cleaning, then turned back to Alf. He was struggling with the paperwork. “Do you want me to help you?”
“It’s pretty hard,” Alf said. “It’s a lot of numbers. I was never good at numbers. Not good at anything, I guess.”
Annie peered over Alf’s shoulder—an Alberta Liquor Control Board order form. “Okay, I see what they want. Fill in the number of bottles of liquor or cases of beer here.” She pointed to a column. “Then here you calculate the total.”
Next to the line for rum he wrote twenty, then hesitated. “This is where I have problems.”
“It’s easy. Twenty bottles at $9.90 each are $198.00.”
“I don’t … how did … how did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always been good at math.”
Pickens entered the kitchen. “What’re you two up to?”
“I … I was helping Albert,” Annie mumbled.
“Helping Albert?” Pickens grinned. “I see. Alf, you got a problem with this task?”
“Well, a little, sir. Annie is good at it.”
“Is she now?” Pickens said. “Then how about you wash the floor. Annie, sit down. Let’s see how good you are.”
Pickens rattled off the number of bottles and cases of beer he wanted. Annie entered the numbers as fast as he said them.
“Now total it up,” Pickens ordered. Annie made the calculations one after the other, then totaled the order.
Pickens scrutinized her work. “Amazing. Where’d you learn that?”
“I don’t know, just comes to me. I took an accounting course at school last year.”
“Wait here.” Pickens left the room and returned a minute later with a big ledger he set on the table in front of Annie. He flipped it open. “Tell me what you see.”
“It’s a receivables ledger for a movie business. It shows profit and loss. Lots of profit.”
Pickens placed a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “That’s very good.”
The back door opened, and Wolfman stomped into the room. “What the hell’s going on?”
Pickens looked up from where he was leaning over Annie. “Piss off, Wolfe.”
Wolfman grabbed Pickens by the shoulder. “She’s mine.”
Pickens pushed Wolfman back. “Whoa, bi
g fella. She’s just looking at the books.”
“She don’t do books. She does me.” Wolfman grabbed Annie’s arm, dragged her out of the chair, and slapped her face. “Get in your room, slut.” He shoved her toward the hallway. “Alf, lock her up.”
Pickens caught her arm. “Stay here, Annie.”
Annie slipped behind Pickens. Wolfman had at least four inches and a hundred pounds on Pickens. She didn’t think Pickens would last long if Wolfman wanted to fight.
Wolfman stepped forward and grabbed Pickens by the throat, his meaty hands squeezing. Gagging, Pickens grabbed both of Wolfe’s thumbs and bent them back. He took a half step back and swung a leg upward, striking Wolfman in the balls. He groaned, released his grip, and dropped to his knees. Pickens swung a boot into Wolfman’s side, then chopped down on his neck. Wolfman crumpled to the floor.
Keaton stormed out of his office. “What the hell’s going on?” He glanced at Wolfman on the floor, then to Pickens. “Who started this?”
“He did,” Pickens said.
“Over the girl?”
Keaton glanced at Wolfman.
“I’m tired of the bitch.” Wolfman struggled to his knees. “You can have her.”
Keaton turned to Pickens. “I hope she’s worth the trouble.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TSU Office
Wednesday, Late Afternoon
Brad set the last rifle onto the rack, then closed and locked the cage door.
He should head home right away—Lobo was waiting—but he sat in his chair, placed his feet on his desk and rocked back. He closed his eyes and held his head with both hands.
He thought about the information Collins received. They were played, setup, but by who? He was missing something. This biker war or whatever it was, didn’t make sense. It seemed disconnected.
The phone interrupted his thoughts. He swung forward, boots hitting the floor as he reached for the phone. “Coulter.”
Silence.
“Anyone there?”
A muffled voice replied, “Got some information on the outlaw bikers.”
“Who is this?”
The voice grew louder, “You want the bikers or not?”
Brad held the phone tight against his ear. “Yeah.”
“You’re Coulter?”
“Yeah, I said that. Who’re you?” How’d he get this number? It was unlisted. Not even in the police phone directory.
“I have information about the bikers.”
“We know about the Gypsy Jokers. Satan’s Soldiers, too.” Get to the point.
“Not information like I have. I know what’s happening in their meetings. What they’re thinking—what they’re planning.”
“We have a pretty good idea what they’re up to.”
“Really? How’d the tip to your deputy chief work out?”
“You fucker!”
“Hey, that wasn’t me.”
Brad grabbed a pen, feeling the need to write something, to calm down. “Okay, we can talk. Who’re you?”
“No need to know my name, not now. I want to meet. Not only you but that drug guy, Devlin, too.”
Brad’s gut did flips. He wanted this guy to be legit, but every nerve was on edge. Take it slow. “I can arrange that. We can meet tonight.”
“Nope. You don’t call the shots, I do. I’ll call tomorrow at six p.m. and give you the location. You’ll have precisely fifteen minutes. You get there a few minutes early, a few minutes late, I don’t show.”
“Hey, wait —” Brad was talking to a dial tone.
Brad’s mind raced as he hung up, then dialed out.
“Devlin, it’s Brad. I just got a call from a guy who says he has information about the biker war. He wants to meet with us.”
“He got a name?”
“No, we didn’t get that far.”
“How do we contact him?”
“He’s gonna call back tomorrow, 1800 hours.”
“We gotta have a serious discussion. Stay put. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Devlin paced around the TSU office. “If this guy is legit, this could be a break. A big break. We can’t screw this up.”
“We have to be careful, or we’ll end up dead,” Brad said. “So far the bikers have been ahead of us. We can’t talk to anyone. Not with a leak.”
“It’s not one leak. It has to be several.”
“Or one person in the right place to get all the info,” Brad said.
Devlin paced as he pulled out his cigarettes. “I gotta smoke.”
“What?”
Devlin tilted his head to the door. “I gotta smoke. Talk to me while I get my fix.”
“Yeah, sure.” Brad followed Devlin out the back door.
“Your habit is getting worse,” Brad said.
Devlin closed the door and lowered his voice. “No, I had a thought. What if TSU is bugged?”
“Oh shit,” Brad said.
Devlin inhaled, held the smoke and then exhaled slowly. “You gotta get the office checked right away, your trucks, too. Until you do, we gotta meet elsewhere.”
“We can’t do this alone,” Brad said. “Not anymore. We need cops to cover our backs. You worked with my team, they’re all righteous cops. Steele saved my life two years ago. Zerr is as honest and ethical a man as I’ve ever met. Ames is steady and calm. They’ve got combat skills and common sense.”
“What about Nichols?”
“Nah. I’ve got some problems with him.”
“Okay, call them. Do whatever you have to to get them over to your place, but be discreet. Say you’re throwing a party at your house in half an hour. Tell them to bring beer and chips.”
Brad led Steele and Zerr into the kitchen. Devlin and Ames were sitting at the table. Steele set a case of Old Vienna beer in front of Devlin, who ripped open the case and grabbed a beer. “Great, they’re cold.”
“We stopped at the Crowchild bar and got off-sales.” Steele slipped into a chair. “What’s so important I had to miss CHiPs?”
“I had you pegged as a Dukes of Hazzard guy,” Zerr said, smiling.
“I’m partial to Charlie’s Angels. Not the same without Farrah Fawcett, though.”
Devlin glanced at Brad, shaking his head. “These are your best guys?”
“You two get your hormones under control,” Brad said.
“Sorry, boss,” Steele said.
“Sorry,” Zerr echoed. “Where’s Nichols.”
“I didn’t invite him.” Brad was about to put his trust, and maybe his life, into the hands of his team. After a moment he decided he was okay with that. “The stuff with the bikers is more serious than you know. The Jokers and Soldiers are fighting for control of the city.”
“We had that figured out,” Zerr said.
“I’m gonna tell you something only two other people know. I trust you, but you can’t say anything about this.”
“Jeez, boss, what’s going on?” Steele asked.
“Devlin and I have been doing surveillance on the Satan’s Soldiers and the Gypsy Jokers. We’ve got photos and names. We know their bikes. Two of us against the bikers isn’t enough. Now we have a guy with the bikers who wants to give us information.”
“Informant or undercover?” Ames asked.
“He’s not undercover. It was a phone call, just like the phone call Collins received. We don’t know who he is or what he’s after. My first instinct is that he’s setting us up. So, we think trap. Devlin and I are going to meet the guy tomorrow.” Brad pointed to Steele, Ames, and Zerr. “We need you three as backup. No uniforms. Don’t look like cops.”
“That’ll be difficult when you make us get buzz cuts like yours every week,” Zerr said. “We stand out everywhere we go.”
“Not Ames, he just looks old,” Steele said.
“Kiss my wrinkled butt,” Ames replied.
“Yeah, well, do your best,” Brad said. “Wear hats. Go for the cowboy look. Ames can do the grandpa look. At 1800 hours tomorrow we’
ll get a location. We have fifteen minutes to get there. You three need to keep close backup for us. If the shit hits the fan, get everything we have responding.”
“You said there were two things,” Zerr said.
“There’s a leak. Someone is giving the bikers information.”
“One of ours?” Steele asked.
“No fuckin’ way,” Zerr said.
“It’s a good source,” Brad said. “Someone ran our license plates the night we were doing surveillance. I found them in a report records gave us.”
“That’s easy to figure out,” Zerr said. “Check the regimental number.”
“It’s Collins’,” Brad said.
“The deputy ran your plate numbers?” Steele asked.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” Ames glared at Steele. “Someone used Collins’ regimental, dumbass.”
“We all have to be careful,” Brad said. “If you want to pass on this, that’s fine with me.”
Ames nodded. “I’m in.”
Zerr glanced at Steele, who said, “Fuckin’ right.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thursday Afternoon
Brad arrived back at the office about 1600 hours after afternoon court. Too late to get any work done and the informant wasn’t calling ‘til 1800 hours. He flipped through the daily reports and then picked up a stack of phone messages. Dispatch had called several times, but left no message. He sat back in his chair, picked up the morning paper and flipped to the stock market page. He liked what he saw.
A couple of minutes later his phone rang.
“Coulter.”
“We’ve had several calls for you today from a teacher,” the dispatcher said. “Her name is Sarah. She left a phone number.”
“Okay, give it to me.” He wrote the number on his desk pad. “Thanks.”
Brad stared at the phone number. He didn’t expect to see or hear from Sarah again after the first date. He lifted the receiver and dialed.
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