by Don Easton
“Told Homicide yet?”
“Spoke with CC. She said there’s not much you can do with it under the circumstances. Guess she’s right, but I still thought I should tell you.”
Less than an hour later, Jack burst into Louie’s office.
“I’m going to do an intelligence probe on Satans Wrath, starting tonight.”
“They’re involved in your porn file?”
“No. I’m putting that on the shelf for a moment. This is more important.”
Louie studied Jack’s face, then said, “This is connected with the murders, isn’t it?”
“It could turn out that way if —”
“Come on, Jack. I know this means a lot to you, but give Homicide a chance. We work on organized crime. The brass won’t put up with —”
“Satans Wrath is the number one organized crime group in this country.”
“I know, but what does that have to do with the murders?”
“Our lab cross-matched speed found at the murder scene with speed seized in Quebec connected to Satans Wrath. Now they matched a gram of speed found in an alley off East Hastings as coming from the same chemist!”
“East Hastings? Even Satans Wrath wouldn’t hang out in that scuzzball part of town. Does Homicide know?”
“They’re who the lab did it for.”
“Jack, I understand that this is personal for you, but it’s still up to Homicide.”
“Come on, Louie! Identical speed connected to Satans Wrath in Quebec is turning up here! There are more members of that gang in this city than there are in any other province. And they’re big enough and cautious enough to find an abandoned farmhouse to conduct business.”
“They’re also one of the most dangerous! Damn it, Jack! This isn’t the way we’re supposed to do things! What am I going to have to do to educate you?”
“This isn’t coincidence! If they’re not involved with killing Liz’s kids you can bet they’ll know who did do it!”
“You’re not listening! This is a Homicide investigation. It’s up to them to —”
“GIS wouldn’t make any progress in that part of the city! They’d stand out like nuns in a brothel. Homicide told the lab that it’s not enough of a lead to do anything about it. They’re a reactive section, not proactive.”
“What makes you think you would succeed? Every operation mounted against them has soured. Years of wasted surveillance, dead informants, wiretaps that turned up nothing.”
“I’ve had a good teacher.”
Grazia sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Some lowly speed dealer from East Hastings wouldn’t travel all the way out the Valley to do a deal.”
“I know, but someone higher up the ladder might.”
“But East Hastings?”
“I’ve got to start somewhere. I’ll come up with bigger connections sooner or later.”
Louie paused, then said, “Okay. Check it out. But be careful! The brass wouldn’t approve of you sticking your nose into the murder investigation. Wigmore is acting a little kinky these days. He would never authorize funding for us to do street-level drug buys. For now, keep it strictly to surveillance and see what you learn. Forget trying to claim any expenses.”
“I know. I haven’t claimed any expenses yet.”
Louie gave him a hard look. “I didn’t really think you took last week off. You’ve already been buying dope, haven’t you?”
Jack shrugged and said, “I wasted my time — and money. Three scores and no matches.”
“Jesus, Jack! I don’t want you taking risks like that! Policy says you need authorization and a proper cover team if you plan on buying dope. If Wigmore found out, you’d be toast.”
“Wigmore won’t find out.”
“He didn’t get to where he is by being stupid. I’ve got some news for you. Your new partner has arrived. He’s been here all week. Seems anxious to meet you.”
“Who?”
“His name is Danny O’Reilly. Came from back east. Was in Public Relations but —”
Jack groaned. “Just what I need, my own PR person. I bet he’s a pansy.”
“He has Drug experience and GIS. I’m told that PR was just temporary while he was waiting to sell his house and transfer out. It was his baby who puked on the prime minister.”
“That guy? What a hoot! The way I feel about politicians, I’d rather work with his baby.”
“He’s a few years younger than you. Acted a little nervous, but after what he went through with the PM, who wouldn’t be? Take him with you on surveillance. Nothing else until we get grounds to ask for authorization.”
“You got it.”
“Better come up with a project name.”
“How about Project 13?”
“Perfect. One more thing. I have no idea what your new partner is like, so be careful. I mean it when I say I don’t want you taking risks. Especially with Satans Wrath. If something doesn’t feel right, phone me and I’ll back you up. Day or night.”
“Thanks, Louie.”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Later that afternoon, Danny found a private moment to call Susan.
“What’s your new partner like?” she asked. “Or can’t you talk now?”
“I can talk. He looks like a hood, but actually seems quite nice.”
“You sound surprised.”
Danny paused, then said, “Sorry, I don’t have much time to talk. I wanted to let you know that I won’t be home for dinner. Sounds like I might be working late.”
“You’ve already worked all day! I thought we were going to unpack tonight. Speaking of which, the movers found the headboard and frame for our bed. It arrived today.”
“Sorry, honey, I have to work.”
“Is he making you work?”
“Jack? No. He told me to go home and work with him tomorrow night, but…”
“But what?”
“I need to stick close to him.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. I’ll dig into those boxes tomorrow.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll put the bed frame and headboard together myself.”
“Who needs a headboard? It’ll just bang on the wall and wake up Tiffany.”
Susan giggled. “You’re awful. Love ya.”
It was getting dark as Danny drove the two-door compact sports car, following Jack’s directions. He stopped for an early amber light and heard a slight grunt of disapproval.
“I heard about your niece and nephew. Just wanted to say I’m sorry. Susan and I have a baby girl. It would be hard to imagine anything more terrible.”
“Thanks,” Jack replied.
“I hope Homicide solves it soon. I wonder if they have any leads?”
“They don’t think they do.”
Neither spoke for several minutes. Danny then flipped on the windshield wipers and asked, “Where we going?”
“East Hastings.”
“Being as we’re partners, maybe you could tell me why?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see Jack sizing him up. He seemed to be weighing his response carefully.
“We’re starting what’s called an intelligence probe. Project 13. It’s —”
“About speed,” said Danny.
Jack looked surprised, so Danny continued. “The thirteenth letter of the alphabet. Letter M. Stands for methamphetamine. Bikers sometimes tattoo the number on —”
“So you know a little bit about drugs and bikers.”
“A little. Spent four years on Winnipeg Drugs. Also saw you at the office going through pictures of bikers.”
“Satans Wrath. Ever work on them back east?”
“Not really.”
“They have at least eighty-five members out here on the West Coast. In our area they’ve got four chapters with between eighteen to twenty-five guys in each chapter. Every chapter in the country has a local president and they all report to the national president. He’s
a guy by the name of Damien who also lives here. They’ve also got about a dozen strikers.”
“Strikers?”
“Probationary members who do a lot of the dirty work for the club and take the risks.”
“Sounds like a big group to be taking on.”
“It’s worse than that. The rule of thumb is that for every regular member of the club, there are about ten hard-core criminals who work for them. Overall, in our area alone, we’re dealing with an army of about nine hundred professional criminals.”
Danny let out a low whistle, then said, “So what are we up to?”
“I think someone in Satans Wrath is either directly or indirectly supplying speed to the area we’re going to. I’m going to find out who. Are you a trained operator?”
“UC? No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Why not?” Danny tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“You look too straight for undercover.” Jack paused for a moment, then looked at Danny and said, “Actually, that’s not altogether true. There is a certain aura about you. You remind me a little of a used car salesman who’s trying to sell me a lemon.”
Danny chose not to respond. He stared out at the part of the city they had entered. On the steps of a men’s hostel, a small knot of men huddled in the doorway. Farther down the block was a small park. A syringe stuck out of the trunk of a dogwood tree.
He drove past several pawnshops. Heavy steel reinforcement bars guarded the windows and doors. One building had been bulldozed, leaving a cesspool of rubble and garbage.
“Turn left and drive slow down the next alley.”
Danny did as directed. Partway down the alley, he noticed that Jack paid particular attention to a grey steel door behind one building. A light above the door had been smashed out, but the words Black Water Hotel could still be seen in black on the door.
Moments later, Danny parked on the second level of a parking garage that overlooked the front of the hotel. The hotel was in dire need of paint. A sign in red neon lights hung from the front of the building. The letter T was burned out so it appeared from a distance as “HO EL.”
“Pop the trunk.”
Danny watched as Jack took off an ankle holster holding his Smith & Wesson semi-automatic 9-mm calibre pistol and, along with his badge, stashed them both in the trunk. He handed Danny a pair of binoculars.
“Why are you stashing your piece?”
“I find it uncomfortable to wear.”
“Really?”
Jack stared at Danny briefly, then said, “Your job, O’Really, is to stay here and watch.”
Danny wasn’t amused. “You’re not going down there alone. Policy says that —”
“Policy can get you killed. You’re not ready for the Black Water yet. Wait here.”
Danny waited until Jack walked away from the car before making an entry in his notebook. No doubt Superintendent Wigmore would be interested. He checked his watch. Less than an hour before he was to call him and report in.
Danny used the binoculars and saw Jack approach the front of the hotel. The red neon lights flared off the hookers’ faces as he spoke with them at the entrance. Then he ducked inside.
It occurred to Danny why Jack had left his gun in the car. That son of a bitch!
chapter six
Jack discreetly studied the patrons in the bar. A short, squat-looking man sat at a table with a hooker. A steady stream of people came and went. The money exchanging hands under the table made it pretty clear that he was a low-level dealer. Jack heard one of the customers refer to him as “Spider.”
Jack knew that trying to order an ounce of speed right away would generate some interest — and suspicion. But the higher he could start up the ladder, the sooner he could reach the bigger dealers. The type who preferred remote locations. He approached Spider’s table.
“I’m lookin’ to score,” he whispered in Spider’s ear.
“Who sent you to me?”
“Nobody, man. I’m in the business too. Not hard to spot,” said Jack, taking a seat.
“How do I know you’re not a narc?”
“If I was a fuckin’ narc, I’d have already busted ya for the flaps you got on ya.”
Spider stared at him for a moment, then said, “What do ya want? I got everything.”
“Speed.”
Spider held his hand under the table to show Jack a small piece of paper folded in a flap.
Danny threw his tie in the trunk and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, then slid his holster off his belt and strapped on Jack’s ankle holster. Minutes later, the door banged shut behind him as he entered the Black Water.
The smell of smoke and stale beer turned his stomach. It was noisy and crowded. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There were no windows in the long room, and the cardboard-tiled ceiling, like the walls, had been painted a flat black. A stage in the centre was brightly lit.
In the dim glow at the back of the bar, he saw some pool tables and the silhouettes of several men with cues stalking the tables before executing their shots. At a right angle to the entrance another door opened and he caught a glimpse of the lobby. The rest of the illumination consisted of a few lights recessed in the ceiling, which filtered a yellowish glow through grime.
He saw Jack slouched at a table, talking with a hooker and a short man who was built like a fire hydrant. Beer bottles and cigarette burns decorated the green elastic tablecloth in front of them. Danny strode over to an empty table where he could watch. What scum.
A waitress came by and Danny ordered a bottle of beer.
She stepped back and looked at his shoes, and then slowly worked her eyes up the rest of his body until she stared into his eyes. “You a cop?”
Danny felt the lump in his throat. “No,” he said, flashing open his sports jacket to show it wasn’t concealing a gun.
“This doesn’t look like your kind of place.”
“Yeah? Got nowhere else to go. Just lost my job. An hour ago I could’ve got you a good deal on a ’94 Buick. But not now.”
“I can’t afford a car.”
He felt more comfortable when the waitress returned with his drink and gave him a friendly smile. He opened his wallet and gave her a generous tip. More generous, he thought, than someone like her deserved.
He didn’t see the waitress eyeball the money in his wallet — or the subtle nod she gave to some junkies at the next table.
Jack looked at the dope in Spider’s hand and shook his head. “Not worth my while. As I said, I’m in the business too. I’m lookin’ for an ounce. If it’s good, I’ll be lookin’ for a lot more.”
“You want a fuckin’ ounce just like that! I said I got everything man, but I’m not a fuckin’ warehouse!” Spider gave Jack a hard look and said, “I smell a cop!”
“What do ya mean, ya smell a cop?” asked Jack.
Spider looked past Jack and said, “Sittin’ by himself over there.”
Jack turned slightly in his chair and saw Danny sitting at a nearby table. Damn it! If he blows this… He looked at Spider and said, “That guy looks too straight to be a cop.”
“Maybe.”
“Listen, I’m here to do business.” As Jack spoke, he slowly pulled a wad of cash partway out of his front pocket and then shoved it back in.
Spider sat back in his chair. Jack could see him trying to make a decision. Having seen the money, greed would take over. The waitress came and Jack held up one finger.
Danny toyed with his drink and checked his watch. About time to call Wigmore. He saw Jack order another beer and knew that he had time to slip into the lobby and make a call.
Spider saw Danny walk to the lobby, then asked Jack, “So, you want an ounce?”
“Yeah, for now.”
“What makes you think I want the competition?”
“Relax. I’m puttin’ out far away from here.”
Spider mulled it over, then said, “Okay. Wait here.”
Jack watc
hed Spider slink over to the next table and talk with a woman. She was big and solid-looking but had no fat. She wore a man’s singlet white under-shirt that looked grey. It was stretched tightly over her bare chest. Her black jeans and knee-high leather boots gave her a certain air of hostility. She had long red hair, but judging by the black roots, Jack knew it had been a long time since she had last bothered to dye it. She had “HD” tattooed on one arm and “Live to Ride” tattooed on the other. A tattoo of a rose was visible on the top of her breast.
She gave Jack a long cold stare, then whispered to Spider.
“Fuck, Red, I talked to ’im. He’s all right, I tell ya!” Jack heard Spider reply.
Moments later, Spider returned. “Go to the can and wait!”
Jack entered the men’s room and stood by the sink. He glanced at the graffiti covering the wall. Much of it was obliterated with grime. Seconds later, Spider and two junkies entered, and Jack barely had time to look up before the junkies grabbed him by the arms, smashing him back against the wall.
“Hey! What the fuck are —”
Spider clamped his hand over Jack’s mouth and said, “Shut your fuckin’ trap! This ain’t a rip. We’re goin’ to have a little look-see is all.”
His hand tasted and smelled of smoke and stale beer. He took his hand away and ripped Jack’s shirtsleeve back as one of the junkies pinned his wrist to the wall. Spider took a syringe out of his jacket pocket. The syringe was filled to capacity, and Spider hovered the silver tip of the needle over a vein in Jack’s elbow. A drop of murky liquid dangled from the tip.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, man!” hissed Spider. “Don’t even try an’ breathe! ’Cause if you do, we’ll spike you right now. And there’s enough in this rig to kill an elephant, let alone a pig!”
Danny checked to make sure the lobby was empty, then he called Wigmore.
“You think he’s trying to buy dope where?” Wigmore asked.
Danny repeated the name. “The Black Water Hotel. On a street called East Hastings.”
“Bingo! I spoke with GIS today. They said that some drug found in an alley off East Hastings matched the same drug found at the murder scene. I knew Taggart would get involved. I might recommend he be charged with obstruction!”