The Ambitious City

by Scott Thornley

  “Yup, that makes sense. Bigboy earned his chops planting explosives in a granite quarry up north.”

  “The house is sitting on a concession road with visibility in every direction. There’s a stand of trees across the road—where our men are—but coming at them in daylight would be a disaster. Ten men, the woman and two kids … we don’t want a bloodbath. Those kids and their mother, at least, have got to come out of this walking and talking.” MacNeice studied the boys jumping off the porch, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “How we gonna guarantee that?” Swetsky said, looking over at him.

  “I’m not sure yet. But they’ve gathered together for a reason, and I don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  The Jokers, with three dead and one in custody, had to be finished in Dundurn. If there were any others, they’d likely headed back to Quebec. “We can set up roadblocks out of sight of the farmhouse in both directions. If any of them leave, we can pick them up. The problem is, the moment they see us they’ll alert the farmhouse, and then we’re into a gun battle, or worse.”

  “Just a thought—surely ten men can’t all stay in that house overnight. Some of them are going to leave at some point this evening,” Aziz said.

  “Good point.”

  “So, sooner than later’s what you’re saying?” Swetsky said, sitting down.

  “I’m with Mac—I don’t want an exchange of gunfire. But I can’t think of a way to prevent it,” Aziz said.

  “Tell me more about Melanie Butter,” MacNeice said. “Is she steeped in the biker culture or is she a hairdresser whose fatal flaw is her choice of men?”

  “I only met her once, at her salon in Burlington. She had photos of her kids clipped onto the mirror. No tattoos, at least that I could see. She looks like someone who cuts hair. She most definitely didn’t have a hate-on for cops.”

  “It’s a long shot, but do you think we could get Melanie on her cellphone, tell her what’s about to happen at the farmhouse?

  Suggest that she take the kids out to get some snacks so they’ll be out of the way when we sweep in?”

  “A Hail Mary pass,” Vertesi said, miming throwing a long ball.

  “Yes, with the clock ticking down. If she outs us they’ll be gone in a flash, and we’ll have to stop them on the road.”

  “It ain’t hard to get her number; I know the woman who owns the salon.” Swetsky pulled out his cellphone.

  MacNeice looked at his watch. “It’s 8:38 now. Montile will be here soon. Assuming Palmer’s as good as his word, he’ll be here too …” MacNeice looked at Swetsky for confirmation.

  “He’ll be here, and if he isn’t, I’ll put him on report.” The big man’s jaw tightened.

  “Right. Aziz, let the SWAT team know we’ll meet in the parking lot of LaSalle Park, which is roughly five minutes from the farmhouse. From there we’ll use cruisers to set up roadblocks on both ends of Concession Road 2. Have the firefighters and EMS arrive in the park at 9:45 so we don’t overlap. I’ll call Ms. Butter at 9:35 and, depending on her reaction, give her some time to get out. Either way, we arrive at the farmhouse at precisely 9:45 p.m. Questions?”

  “Who goes in first?” Vertesi asked.

  “The SWAT team will cover the terrain from the house to the barn and the garage. We’ll position ourselves on the lawn. I’ll try and talk them out peacefully. We’ll be wearing armour and stay behind our vehicles.”

  “Keep an eye on Ross—he really does know how to blow things up.” Swetsky walked over to the whiteboard, where he tapped the image of the farmhouse. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have that driveway peppered with IEDs.”

  “Right, so we’ll put the SWAT van on the grass. Ryan, make sure we have prints of these images with the names of the actors Swets gives you.”

  “IEDs in Aldershot … what’s next?” Vertesi said, shaking his head.

  “Aziz, find out the status of the department helicopter.”

  “For what?” Vertesi asked.

  “Your boss wants light on that farm.” Swetsky smiled.

  “Minimum, we’ll hit the house with our headlights and the SWAT van floodlights.”

  Aziz dialled the number.

  “How do you rate our chances of pulling them out of there without a fight?” MacNeice asked, looking at Swetsky.

  “Zero to ten percent, though the new guys may have some influence. D2D has been almost destroyed. They gave over leadership to a psychopath and a bunch of them died. If they’re trying to rebuild and stay out of the limelight, smoking Pat Mancini was a mistake. Maybe the meeting’s a gut check for the new guys … Mac, while Aziz is checkin’ that chopper, take a walk with me.”

  Swetsky shambled down the exit stairs and MacNeice followed; Swets was so large it was difficult to imagine that anyone coming up could negotiate around him. At the bottom he swung the door open for MacNeice. “Over to my car.”

  “What are you up to, Swets?”

  “Good Samaritan. Ever read that story?”

  “Probably.”

  “It was about a relationship, not charity. He didn’t feel sorry for the fucker by the road. He wanted to get to know him, to know he was going to be okay, and he was willing to put himself out to ensure that he would be.”

  “You brought me out here to talk religion?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I haven’t been to church since I was sixteen. I got laid and didn’t confess my sin.”

  “The clock’s ticking, Swets …”

  “Relax—I know. This is important.” He popped the trunk. Inside was a large gym bag. “You remember what Langlois told you about why Freddy went back to the farm?”

  “The money.”

  “We tore that place apart so thoroughly they might as well flatten it at this point.”

  “And?”

  “So last night we’re finishing our pizzas. I’m eating a pepperoni slice and I look at the circle of sausage in this sea of mozzarella—it was like shazam! There was this oil drum sitting near the back of the barn; I saw the guys rolling it around and Palmer said, ‘Oil,’ and left it at that. If we hadn’t done such a great job trashing the place I might not have thought about it any more. But I go back to the barn on my own and I open up the strapping on that barrel.” Swetsky looked like a very big cat with a canary in his cheek.

  “And?” MacNeice prompted.

  “It’s definitely oil, but there’s this thin wire going down either side. You can’t really see it but you can feel it, hooked into the lip that runs around the waist of the barrel—invisible almost. I reach in and pull both wires and up comes this shrink-wrapped bundle. I pull it out, get a carpet knife from the workbench. This was inside.” He pointed to the bag.

  “The clock, Swets.”

  “Open it up.”

  MacNeice leaned into the trunk and unzipped the bag. It was full of thick bundles of hundred-dollar bills, multiples of Sir Robert Borden looking off to his left, each bundle held together with an elastic band. MacNeice shot back as if the bag were full of snakes.

  “Each bundle’s ten thousand, and there’s over eighty of ’em in there.”

  “And what—you needed help bringing it in?”

  “The guys that knew how much was there are both dead.”

  “I’m going to forget we had this conversation.” MacNeice turned to walk away.

  “Not for me, you righteous fucker—for the Hughes woman! Nobody knows I got this. We take out two hundred thousand and give it to her. The rest goes in as evidence and we make her life a little easier.”

  “I see …”

  “Somebody takes it to a money-changer I know in Niagara. He’ll wire it right into her bank account, assuming she has one.”

  “It’s a crazy idea, Swets … Let’s just get through the next couple of hours and we’ll talk about it again. I’m sorry for thinking—”

  “Hey, fuck, man! If the role was reversed I’da pulled my piece on you already.” He zipped the bag shut and slammed the trunk.
>
  They started walking back to Division, MacNeice’s head spinning.

  “Yeah, the oil drum’s sealed up like it was before … though there’s less oil in it.” Swetsky laughed and slapped MacNeice on the back, so hard it made him stumble.

  47.

  “THE HELICOPTER ISN’T available because the Jesus nut is suspect. They’ve ordered a new part but it’s not in yet,” Aziz said.

  When Vertesi asked what a Jesus nut was, Aziz admitted she’d asked the same question. “It’s the big nut that keeps the rotor blades on. Sounds like a good reason not to fly tonight.”

  When Williams got back, they loaded up Kevlar vests, shotguns, ammunition and two bullhorns. They were getting into their cars when Palmer came loping over. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Your call, Mac,” Swetsky said and climbed into the front seat of MacNeice’s Chevy.

  “You are a liability, Detective. You’ll sit this one out.”

  MacNeice opened the door to the Chevy and Palmer grabbed it from him. “What the fuck? What’d I do?”

  “Take your hand off the car.” MacNeice turned to face him and Palmer released the door.

  “But—what’s going on?”

  “You’ll read about it in the Standard tomorrow, like everyone else in Dundurn. You’ve put your personal life ahead of the men and women who count on you, Palmer, perhaps for the last time.” He climbed in, started the engine and pulled away.

  Palmer stood there with his hands out in a classic What the fuck? gesture as the two cars rolled out of the driveway. “That was probably what he looked like when the firefighter whose wife he was banging torched his motorcycle. I’ll write him up tomorrow morning. With any luck he’ll be on a desk by Monday,” Swetsky said.

  Aziz said, “Of course, now we’re down one man.”

  “We were down one man even if he had made it. Would you want him covering your back?” MacNeice said, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

  As they approached the Sky-High Bridge, the conversation in the car died away. The spot where Pat Mancini exploded had been transformed from an elongated elliptical scar to a neat dark rectangle of new pavement. MacNeice glanced quickly back at the city. The rust-red towers of the steel company had lights along their edges, but the massive buildings that housed the blast furnaces, pickling lines, coiler pits and God-knows-what seemed like black holes against the lights of the city. So too the bay, that featureless dark grey slab where pieces of Pat Mancini nestled deep in the bellies of fat, happy carp.

  They were roughly two miles from LaSalle Park before he spoke again. “Get the spotters on the line, Fiza. I want to know if anything has changed. From now on, reports every five minutes, more if the status changes.”

  “Will do.”

  “Did you check the batteries on the bullhorn?”

  “I didn’t check them; I changed them.”

  “Perfect.”

  Aziz made contact with the SWAT team, then reported, “Nothing new, sir. Butter is alone on the porch, smoking. The kids are taking turns on a rope swing on a tree to the right of the driveway.”

  “Good sign. That means she’s hasn’t been invited to the meeting,” Swets said.

  “Let’s hope she stays out there,” MacNeice said.

  In the park’s parking lot, a dozen or so onlookers, some carrying soccer balls or picnic blankets and hampers, stood ogling or taking pictures of the cops with their cellphones. Getting out of the car, MacNeice approached the sergeant standing next to the two large black vans. “Don’t worry about these folks, Mac,” he said. “They’ve been told we’re doing an exercise and a public relations tour, trying to drum up enrolment in the police academy.” He smiled.

  “That’s reassuring, Sergeant Keeler. Did they buy it?”

  “Oh, big time. Actually, it’s not a bad idea. Sure, some of the kids want to touch the weapons, but other than that it does a worlda good to get out here and mingle. I’m not shittin’ ya—it really does.”

  “Put the idea forward.” MacNeice looked over at Keeler’s men, who were standing in front of the second van. “They’ve been fully briefed?”

  “Yes, sir. We have the images on board both vehicles. But I understand DI Aziz brought some printouts?”

  “I wasn’t expecting two units. Was that your idea?”

  “This is a large assignment for us, which means lots of chances to learn. Let’s go into my office.” He climbed up into the van and MacNeice followed.

  Inside the truck, a young officer in black Kevlar was working the computer terminal. The screen was mounted horizontally, with blocks representing the two SWAT units and the two unmarked cars.

  “Jansen, this is Detective Superintendent MacNeice.”

  The young man looked up, snapped his hand forward and said, “Sir.”

  MacNeice shook the young man’s hand and turned to Keeler.

  “Tell me the plan.”

  “We’re aligned with yours. We’ll take this unit to the front left of the driveway, where we have a sightline to the barn, well clear of the house. The second unit will stop here—off to the right—with a clear view to the side of the house and any activity near the vehicles or the garage.” Jansen tapped the keyboard till thin red lines mapped the geometry of the sightlines. Mac’s car was off to the left, angled to provide cover against any fire from the house while shining its headlights at the front door. Vertesi’s car sat at an opposite angle on the other side of the driveway. Pale triangles of white pointed towards the house.

  “The vehicle headlights will be augmented by our roof-mounted floods—three on each unit. Show ’em, Jansen.” Jansen clicked the keyboard again and trios of white cones created a saturated path of light covering the house and the vehicles on the screen. “They better be wearing shades if they want to see us,” Keeler said.

  “Okay, it’s anyone’s guess how they’ll react, but I want to give them the opportunity to surrender. So we’ll put it to them first by loudspeaker. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll wait for your signal—or theirs. If they start popping at us, we’ll unleash.”

  MacNeice nodded. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

  MacNeice stepped out of the van. Before he could get to his car, the vans were already loaded up and turning about.

  “Swetsky, you drive.” MacNeice threw him the keys and got into the passenger side.

  “Mac, I’ve been thinking. If her phone’s inside the house, there’s a risk someone other than Melanie will answer it when you call,” Aziz said.

  “It’s a risk, but I don’t see an alternative, do you?”

  Swetsky was pulling out of the parking lot.

  “No.”

  MacNeice pressed the button and Butter’s phone started to ring. Swetsky pulled onto the northbound county four-lane that would take their convoy to the concession road. The phone rang several times, then went silent for a moment. “Hi, it’s Mel. I’m not near the phone right now. Please leave me a message.” MacNeice disconnected before the beep.

  “Recording?” Aziz asked.

  “Yes, and I think it would be a mistake to—” His phone rang. “MacNeice,” he said.

  “Hi. I’m sorry, did you just call me? I had the phone in my jeans but couldn’t get to it in time.” Like her phone message, the voice was cheerful, melodic.

  “Yes, Melanie, I did.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No. I’m Detective Superintendent MacNeice, from Dundurn Homicide.”

  He heard her inhale sharply. “I’m calling to ask you to get your children away from the house immediately.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Aziz, listening to the spotter, said softly, “She’s off the porch, Mac, moving towards the kids.”

  He nodded to indicate he’d heard. “The house is about to be raided. If there is any violence, I want to be certain that you and your children are out of harm’s way. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, but how—What can I do, wher
e can I go? My kids—they’ve got nothing to do—”

  “I know that, Melanie. Can you get your car out of the driveway?”

  “Shit … no, they’re all blocked in. Mine’s in the garage … oh, fuck … What’s gonna happen?”

  “Spotter says she’s panicking. If anyone comes out right now it’s—” MacNeice raised his hand to stop Aziz.

  “Melanie, look across the road to the forest.”

  “Yeah. But what?”

  “Take your kids.”

  Swetsky tapped his shoulder and pointed. He’d passed the cruiser at the intersection and was turning down the road towards the farmhouse. MacNeice nodded. “Tell them you want to go looking for the rabbits that live in that forest.”

  “Fucking rabbits?” she almost shrieked.

  “Yes. Go straight to the far edge of the forest. There are two police officers there. When you get there, lie down and stay down. They’ll tell you when it’s safe. Do you understand me, Melanie?” He kept his voice calm and reassuring.

  “Go to the far end of the forest … look for rabbits … stay down. Oh, God, if they catch me … fuck!”

  “They won’t. Go now. If anyone comes out, you and the kids are looking for rabbits. Go now, Melanie.”

  “Okay, okay.” The line went dead.

  “Rabbits … that’s fucking amazing,” Swetsky said.

  “If it works.”

  Aziz sat forward suddenly with the cellphone pressed to her ear. “The front door just opened … Spotter thinks it’s Ross—he’s calling her … He’s stepped off the porch and is walking across the lawn …”

  “Do I stop?” Swetsky asked.

  “Keep going.”

  “He’s yelling at her. ‘Babe, where the fuck are you going?’ ” Aziz looked around as the SWAT van loomed over the Chevy. She could see black-gloved hands on the steering wheel. When she looked up, the driver nodded down at her. She took a deep breath. “Melanie just said, ‘Honey, we saw rabbits. We’re going to look for them.’ He’s buying it, the spotter thinks.”

  “Rabbits … fucking rabbits,” Swetsky said, shaking his head.