Dead Ends

by Don Easton

  “That’s Weasel!” yelled Sy, pointing to the shooter who had bailed out of the back seat. “I recognize that fucker! Back up so I can finish him!” he said, once more hanging out the window with his pistol.

  Jack grabbed him by the belt and hauled him back inside. “Some other time!” Jack yelled. “The cops are here. I see a red light on the dash of some van comin’ up fast behind us. Time to split.”

  Moments later, when they were safely away from the scene, Sy looked at Jack and Laura and said, “You two gotta be the coolest two people I’ve ever met.”

  “That shit was nothing,” replied Jack, as casually as he could.

  “What do you mean, nothing! Fuck man, you saved my life.”

  Don’t remind me, thought Jack. He glanced at Sy and said, “You ever hear about the west-end gangs out of Montreal?”

  “Oh, yeah. Old time gangs … Irish … heard they used to cut off body parts.”

  “My old man was a member all his life,” said Jack. “I was raised in that shit. This is nothing. More annoying than anything. One of the reasons Princess and I moved out here was to get away from it.”

  “Man … how you both handled that back there.” He looked back at Laura and said, “You too, talking to your aunt like we were out for a Sunday drive.”

  Laura shrugged, pretending it was nothing. Hope I didn’t pee myself …

  “Who does Weasel work for?” asked Jack.

  “He’s part of Balvinder’s gang,” replied Sy.

  “You once told me that there were three gangs you were at odds with. Who are they?”

  “Besides Balvinder, there’s Fateh and Quang’s gangs, but I know Weasel is with Balvinder,” said Sy.

  Jack nodded as he wheeled through traffic. His adrenaline was still high and he kept one eye in the rearview mirror.

  “Where did you learn to drive like this?” asked Sy, with a tinge of suspicion. “You handled yourself back there like you drove NASCAR.”

  “Used to drive a cab once,” replied Jack.

  “That figures.”

  “Know anyone in the auto body business?” asked Jack.

  “Damn right. Don’t worry about the bullet holes. I’ll have it fixed for you first thing Monday. No charge. I owe ya, man.”

  * * *

  Jack parked the SUV in the underground parking lot at the apartment complex and they went to Sy’s apartment.

  Brewski, armed with a pistol and a sawed-off shotgun, said he would spend the night with Sy. Jack told Sy that he and Princess were going to return to their other apartment until they knew things were safe. Sy understood their concern. He said he would be calling a meeting with some people tomorrow and asked Jack if he would come. Jack said he would think about it.

  Jack called a taxi and he and Laura were driven to an expensive apartment complex near Stanley Park. After a brief walk to ensure it was safe, they called Connie who gave them a ride back to their office.

  Jack and Laura then spent the next two hours typing reports. Jack also called his boss, Staff-Sergeant Rosemary Wood, who demanded a meeting with him at eight in the morning.

  It was two-thirty in the morning when he arrived home. He was surprised to see Natasha awake and reading in bed. She quickly put her book away and gave him a warm smile as he entered the bedroom.

  “How are you doing? she asked.

  “I’m great,” he replied, still feeling euphoric that he was alive.

  “You sound happy. Have you gotten over yesterday’s court cases?”

  “I don’t think I will ever get over it,” said Jack reflectively, “but I do appreciate that some things in my life are more important.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  Jack paused and said, “Coming home to you.”

  Natasha stared intently at Jack for a moment before smiling and saying, “Glad you finally have your priorities straight. How soon will it be before you’re finished this assignment? A week? A month? Longer?”

  “The bad guy I was with tonight mentioned the nickname of the man I’m trying to identify. It shouldn’t take long. Some stuff is happening. I have to work tomorrow … early. It could wrap up within the week. Why?”

  “Selfish reasons. I want you to myself. Sounds like I won’t have you tomorrow, either.”

  “I’m here now,” Jack replied, reflecting on how close he had come to catching a bullet or two.

  “Physically, yes, but I can see your thoughts are elsewhere. They have been a lot lately.”

  “Sorry. It’s hard to concentrate sometimes. I really want to catch this guy.”

  “I understand that part. There is always someone you really want to catch. I accept that and I want you to be able to concentrate on your work and come home safe. I don’t see you a lot, so when I do, it would be nice if you thought of me and not some criminal.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jack stared briefly at Natasha and said, “Are you okay? You’ve seemed really tired lately … kind of run down.”

  “It’s late. Damn right I’m tired.”

  “You shouldn’t have waited up. I could have slept at the UC apartment.”

  “No, when you called at midnight, I said I wanted you to come home. It’s Saturday night … I want my guy to sleep with.”

  “To sleep?” said Jack, suggestively, as he bent over and kissed her on the nape of her neck.

  Natasha smiled and said, “That, too. So hurry and come to — hey, you’ve got broken glass stuck in your sweater. Looks like windshield glass.”

  “Oh … that,” replied Jack, as he stood up and saw where Natasha was pointing. “I was in a fender bender tonight and rear-ended somebody. Nobody was hurt.”

  “I thought you sounded strange when you called. Sounding all lovey-dovey.”

  Jack shrugged and smiled in response.

  “A rear-ender … sounds like your fault. See? You do need to concentrate on what you do.”

  “I’d like to concentrate on your body.”

  Half an hour later, Natasha’s breathing told Jack that she was asleep. He felt too anxious to sleep and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

  Car chase and shoot-out on the streets.… The brass will go nuts. Sy was going beserk when I left him.… Somebody is going to die …

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Whiskey Jake was the president of the east-side chapter of Satans Wrath. It was not yet eight o’clock on a Sunday morning when he arrived at the mansion belonging to Damien, the national president of the club. He didn’t question the order to attend.

  He stopped at the electronic gate outside of Damien’s estate and looked into the closed-circuit television camera. Seconds later, the gate swung open and he drove inside. He parked his Mercedes beside a green Jaguar that belonged to Lance Morgan, who was the president of the west-side chapter. He then walked over and pressed the intercom button beside the main entrance and stared into another camera.

  “Hi, Whiskey Jake,” responded a woman’s voice. “They’re out back. Go around the side. I’ll bring you a coffee.”

  Vicki was Damien’s wife. At thirty-seven, she was eighteen years younger than Damien. Whiskey Jake thought she was sexy and attractive, but even though he was a giant of a man who towered over Damien, he knew better than to even fantasize when it came to Vicki. His loyalty to the club was above all else.

  Whiskey Jake lumbered around to the back of the house and met up with Damien and Lance who were sitting in a gazebo near Damien’s swimming pool. Whiskey Jake hadn’t sat down yet when Vicki brought him a coffee.

  “Black,” she said matter-of-factly, “two sugars,” before returning to the house.

  Without comment, Damien and Lance stood up and the three men went for a walk. Damien had his house swept for bugs on a regular basis, but even in his gazebo he would not take a chance.

  “Okay,” said Damien. “Sounds like The Brotherhood are at it again. First thing I hear on the news when I wake up is about a car chase and shootout on the streets last night. The police haven’t made any arres
ts, but are speculating that gangs involved in a turf war are responsible.”

  “Yeah, I heard it on the way over,” said Whiskey Jake.

  “First, what is the plus side?” asked Damien.

  Whiskey Jake said, “The drive-by shootings have taken the heat off of us. Last night will help some more. The cop’s Organized Crime Task Force will focus on the shooters in The Brotherhood. Strictly bottom-end people. Maybe they’ll make a few arrests, seize some guns, get some publicity, and try to make themselves look good. Nothing to affect our club.”

  “And the negative side?” asks Damien.

  “Might affect our business to a small degree,” responded Whiskey Jake.

  “Could do more than that,” said Lance. “Politicians could use public fear to posture for votes, maybe strengthen gang laws under the Criminal Code and give the OCTF more funding and manpower as a result of the shootings.”

  “And?” prompted Damien.

  “The OCTF might find out that we are supplying The Brotherhood with meth and GHB,” continued Lance. “Once the OCTF knock off the dumb shits in The Brotherhood, they’re not going to want to disband and lose their power. They’re bound to come after us next.”

  “Exactly,” said Damien. “We need to educate The Brotherhood. The harder it is for the police to nail them, the more insulation we have, and the more police resources will be spent on The Brotherhood.”

  “They’re a bunch of punk kids,” said Whiskey Jake. “Hard to organize and they won’t like it if they realize we’re taking over. We know the leaders, but we don’t know who all they control or how many they got.”

  “Exactly why we should make a move. Discreetly start grooming a leader to take over The Brotherhood. Someone to gain power over them and make it easier for us to control.”

  “Like a mole,” said Lance.

  “Exactly,” replied Damien. “Pick someone we already control. End their war before the police use it as an excuse to ask for more money and resources. Allow The Brotherhood to set up a couple of dummy bosses underneath whoever we pick as a protective layer for us.”

  “Like the canary in the coal mine,” said Lance.

  “Precisely. At the moment, they have too many bosses, which is another reason there is so much conflict.”

  “Right now they have seven bosses,” said Whiskey Jake.

  “Which are too many idiots if we are to control them properly.”

  “Maybe we should cut their number down?” suggested Whiskey Jake.

  “Exactly what I have in mind, but with all the heat over these shootings, the timing isn’t good for us to openly do it ourselves. It could also have the potential of backfiring on us. The Brotherhood might realize we are the bigger threat and unite against us.”

  “So how do we do it?” asked Whiskey Jake.

  “We need to figure out which side is winning and go with them,” replied Damien. “We need someone with more brainpower than the current bosses to move things along. How about Cocktail?”

  “He’s got the smarts,” said Lance. “Both sides of The Brotherhood deal with him and know we back him. They trust him and know he would never expose himself by being a boss. Makes them trust him more. He’s also smart enough not to double-cross us.”

  “Good,” replied Damien. “Tell him to pick who he thinks is going to be the winning side, then offer to help them out. Set the losers up to be taken out all at once. Professionally. No more idiotic drive-by-shooting shit.”

  “You got it,” said Whiskey Jake.

  “In the meantime, except for Cocktail and his action, tell all our guys to stay clear of The Brotherhood.”

  “After last night, the heat will be all over them,” agreed Lance.

  “Plus, the dumb shits will probably retaliate immediately instead of waiting,” said Damien. “Give everything a few days. Once the air clears a little, tell Cocktail to meet the bosses and provide us with an assessment. Make sure our prospects are around to ensure secrecy and security with Cocktail. If there is any doubt, abort. I don’t want the police to ever connect him with us or The Brotherhood.”

  “So once a stronger side emerges, we’ll eliminate the weaker side,” said Whiskey Jake.

  “Yes, but not us personally,” replied Damien. “Get them to do it. We’ll give Cocktail some … professional advice that he can pass along. Get the losers in one spot. Take care of them all at once and make sure their bodies never surface.”

  “He could use a pretext that we have ordered a truce meeting for them to straighten things out,” suggested Lance.

  “That would work,” replied Damien. “Anything to get them all together in a place without witnesses. Won’t be as much heat if they disappear. Especially if their money disappears at the same time.”

  “I think they’re smart enough not to use banks,” said Lance.

  Damien nodded and said, “But I doubt they are sophisticated enough to launder or use offshore accounts. Tell Cocktail to get the losers to give up their cash before they dispose of them.”

  “Torture the fuckers first,” said Whiskey Jake, as if he was going over his own mental checklist.

  “Cocktail can split it amongst himself and the winning side,” continued Damien.

  “If we take out three or four of their bosses,” said Lance, “with the number of punks out there and a lack of leadership, there could be a lot of retaliation on an undisciplined level.”

  “If shit really goes wrong, we’ll claim Cocktail was acting on his own,” said Damien. “If it goes well, the winning side should feel indebted. As far as retaliation goes, without their leaders the kids will fold pretty fast. For a brief time it might draw a lot of police scrutiny, but all we have to do is wait it out and make sure we don’t get caught in the middle.”

  * * *

  Satans Wrath would not have to wait long to see who the weaker side was. Jack would be placed firmly on that weaker side … and targeted for assassination.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jack and Laura arrived at the office at quarter to eight on Sunday morning and saw that their boss was already there.

  “Come in, have a seat,” said Staff-Sergeant Rosemary Wood, gesturing to the two chairs in front of her desk. She waited until they were seated and said, “Well?”

  “You read our reports?” asked Jack, pointing to the papers on her desk.

  “I read them,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Driving like a couple of lunatics while shooting and smashing up cars on our public streets. It must have been quite a night.”

  “It was,” admitted Jack.

  “Both of you feel you are okay to work?”

  “We’re fine,” both Jack and Laura said in unison.

  “You’ll need to see the Force psychologist.”

  “We know.”

  “I’m sure you do. Be nice to the man, he is only trying to help.”

  “Don’t worry, Rose. We’ll be nice and say the right things,” said Laura.

  “For sure,” agreed Jack. “I don’t want him recommeding stress leave.”

  “I know you will say the right things,” replied Rose, shaking her head. These two make a living out of fooling some of the toughest people on the planet. Our poor shrink won’t stand a chance. She looked at them and said, “About last night, it was a miracle nobody got hurt.”

  “The incident was over within thirty seconds,” said Jack.

  “A lot of people can get hurt in thirty seconds,” replied Rose.

  “I know, but under the circumstances I did what I thought was best.”

  “You never shot back … I take it you weren’t armed?”

  “No. Seldom are when we’re undercover.”

  Rose nodded and said, “After you called me last night, I called Isaac.”

  Jack sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Assistant Commissioner Isaac was the criminal operations officer who oversaw all the operational investigations in the Pacific region. He wasn’t someone you would bother at home without serious consi
deration. More so, when the call was made after midnight.

  “How did he take it?” asked Jack.

  “Well, he wasn’t exactly happy,” replied Rose, “but you won’t be kicking your Stetson up the highway to Nunavut Dog Sled Patrol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Good. What did he say?”

  “When I woke him up to say that you had been involved in a … situation, he groaned and muttered, “not again” and asked who was dead. When I said that the situation did not result in anyone’s death … that is correct, isn’t it?” asked Rose, while scrutinizing Jack’s face.

  “So far,” replied Jack.

  “So far?”

  “Sy is planning retribution. He asked me to attend a meeting with him today.”

  “You mentioned that last night and Isaac is in agreement that you do attend to find out what you can and to defuse the situation if possible.”

  “If possible,” replied Jack.

  “Naturally, you won’t take part in any retribution yourself.”

  “Naturally,” replied Jack.

  “Good. Isaac wanted that made clear. Also, he was relieved that nobody was hurt, but was irate that none of the perpetrators would be charged. I explained that you two couldn’t go to court because it would burn your informant. He didn’t like it, but agreed. Maybe later other evidence will surface where charges could be laid without you having to appear in court.”

  “Sy would never co-operate,” said Jack. “Even if he did, with his record of violence, a jury wouldn’t exactly feel sorry for him.”

  “Well, in the end, Isaac said perhaps it was a blessing you two weren’t going to court because he knew how it would play out with the media if they ever found out.”

  “So everything is okay, then?” asked Laura.

  “In my view, Isaac’s response was pragmatic. He said that under the circumstances, it would appear that what you did was reasonable given the situation.”

  Both Jack and Laura exhaled loudly and smiled at each other.

  “He told me to tell you, Jack, that his response may have been different if someone had been killed.” Rose looked sharply at Jack and said, “I am to tell you specifically that he means citizens, good guys … and bad guys.”