Hitmen Triumph

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “So,” I finished, “it turns out you didn’t have to worry about telling me something I wouldn’t want to hear.”

  She shook her head sadly.

  “Nolan,” she said, “how do you think I found your car at the high school?”

  “I had wondered about that,” I said.

  “It’s because I saw you park down the street the night that Nate went to the video store to deliver the flash drive with the pirated movie. Nate saw you too.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to her purse. “You already know I videotaped him in the video store for my documentary. What you don’t know is that the first thing he did was make a call on his cell phone.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I said.

  “Maybe not. But when he came back out, I told him that two bikers had dragged you away from your car.”

  “What?” Nate had known but hadn’t stepped in to help?

  “He told me not to worry,” she said. “He told me that whatever happened was going to help you and not hurt you.” She paused. “That’s when I knew he’d been the one to tell those bikers where you were.”

  chapter nineteen

  I stood along the boards in my skates and full equipment and practice jersey. I leaned on my knees, panting. Sweat poured down my face and neck.

  Coach Jon had worked us hard in the first hour of practice, mainly with skating drills.

  Now it was time for scrimmage.

  Coach Jon skated toward me. He carried a yellow practice jersey.

  He stopped in front of me. He spoke slowly so that I could read his lips. In practice he wasn’t so worried that I would misunderstand him. He saved the whiteboard for games.

  “Time to switch teams,” I saw him say.

  “Switch teams?” I repeated. Maybe I had read his lips wrong. “Am I being traded from the Hitmen?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Switch scrimmage teams.”

  I wore black in practice. We always played against the yellow.

  I looked over to see if Nate was wearing a yellow jersey.

  Coach Jon caught me looking. He knew why.

  “Radar,” he said, “you’re not on Nate’s line anymore.”

  “Sir?” I said.

  “I want to keep you both on the Hitmen. Since it’s not working for you on the same line, I want to see how you play with others.”

  I nodded. I felt sick about this. But what could I do?

  “And Radar,” Coach Jon said, “you’re playing center in this scrimmage.”

  “Center?” Had he just said center? Why was I suddenly playing center? It had been years since I’d played anything but left wing.

  “Center.” He smiled a tight smile. “Against Nate.”

  I lined up at center ice in my yellow jersey. Except for a few games when the Hitmen had faced the Warriors the previous season, Nate and I had never played against each other. Even during those Hitmen-Warriors games last season, our lines had not been on the ice at the same time.

  Strange as it felt to be playing center, it felt even stranger to look up from where I was digging in to take the face-off and see my own face on the player opposite me.

  Nate’s eyes were intense. Angry.

  I’m sure mine were the same.

  Coach Jon dropped the puck to start the scrimmage. Nate lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into mine, knocking me off the puck. He kicked it forward with the tip of his skate blade, and his left winger—his new left winger—swooped in and raced toward the yellow jerseys’ blue line.

  I spun and followed, with Nate on my heels.

  At our blue line, his winger dumped the puck into the boards and chased. After years as a winger, I nearly made the mistake of drifting to the top of the face-off circle on the left side to guard the point. I reminded myself that I was a center.

  I headed toward our net.

  So did Nate.

  In the corner, his new winger fought a yellow-jerseyed defenseman for the puck. I stayed close to Nate, about half a stride back.

  I’ve noticed some centers like tangling with the player they cover in the defensive end. Others pick their times, going in to bodycheck as a pass arrives.

  That’s what I decided to do. I was angry enough with Nate that if I covered him too closely, we might end up in a fight.

  Sure enough, seconds later the puck squirted to Nate. He thought he was clear, and he began to stickhandle before shooting. He should have fired it right away.

  His head was down, and I crashed into him hard, knocking him on his butt. I stood over him, glaring.

  He slowly got to his feet. A small drop of blood fell from his nose.

  “That was brave,” he said, his lips clearly moving. “Hitting me from behind like that. Want to try it again? Right now? While I’m ready?”

  I knew he wanted to fight.

  So did I. It had been over a month of frustration, of not trusting him. Then to find out that he was working with a gang of bikers. And that he’d sent the bikers after me to scare me away.

  Yeah, I was angry. Real angry. And so, so ready to throw a punch at him. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how frustrated I was.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I tapped my ear. “I’m your deaf brother. Remember? I can’t hear you.”

  I skated away without looking back.

  chapter twenty

  “I get why you’re angry with Nate,” Mercedes said.

  “I doubt it,” I answered.

  We were at the Calgary Zoo, off Memorial Drive. The sun was low and deep shadows stretched from the buildings in front of us. In the background was the screeching of monkeys. And the screeching of kids. Hard to tell them apart, I thought.

  When I’d called Mercedes an hour after early afternoon practice finished, she had suggested we meet at the zoo to talk. I’d been fine with it. I’d have been fine with meeting her anywhere, even if it meant crawling across broken glass.

  “You’re angry,” she said, “because he betrayed you. When he knew you were following, he sent those bikers after you.”

  I let a silence hang over us, not sure if I should tell her the truth.

  She put her hand on mine. “I’d be mad too.”

  Her hand felt good. Still, I moved away from her. She was with me because she wanted to make a documentary. I was with her because of my brother. No sense fooling myself into believing that she liked me.

  “Radar?” she said quietly. “What is it?”

  Mothers pushing strollers walked toward us. In the background, elephants walked around doing what elephants do. Eating. Drinking. And...well, you know. The one I watched as I looked away from Mercedes could have filled a wheelbarrow. Things like that impress guys. Usually not girls. I kept my admiration to myself.

  “Radar?” she repeated.

  “He’s not betraying me,” I said. “He’s betraying my parents.”

  She frowned. “But he told me your parents are...”

  “Dead,” I said. “Gone. You don’t need to tiptoe around it.”

  She nodded. “How is he betraying them?”

  “We grew up outside Vancouver,” I said. “Dad was a cop. In grade five, that’s all we knew about his job. Later we found out he was an undercover cop.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “A few years after he died, we learned he was trying to work his way into a biker gang that was moving drugs throughout the Lower Mainland.”

  “Really dangerous.”

  “Yeah,” I said flatly. “It killed him. And my mother.”

  “But Nate said—”

  “That a cement truck hit their car?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It did. What he probably didn’t tell you was that the driver had a criminal record and was known to be part of the gang that Dad was trying to crack.”

  “It wasn’t an accident!”

  “No,” I said, “but no one could prove it. The driver was charged with vehicular manslaughter and sp
ent only six months in prison. Back with his friends in no time.”

  “Oh,” she said very quietly.

  “You understand now?” I said. “Nate’s working for the same kind of losers who killed our parents. That’s what hurts me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Not your fault,” I said. “His choice.”

  “I’m sorry for you.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I said.

  “I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m sorry with you.”

  She was looking straight into my eyes. I believed her.

  “I called you to tell you I’ll help you with your documentary,” I said, “but only if you leave Nate out of it.”

  “He’s part of it,” she said. “You can’t change that.”

  “Yes, I can,” I said. “That’s why I want to make you a deal.”

  “Deal?” she asked.

  “I can get you more information,” I said. “Use it to nail the people behind this. The people who are using Nate. But you can’t use it to nail Nate.”

  “But if he’s part of it, how can exposing this keep Nate out of trouble?”

  “Because I’m going to use the information to force Nate to quit before you finish your documentary.”

  “I see,” she said. “Once he knows you can prove what he’s doing, you’re going to make sure he stops.”

  “Something like that,” I answered.

  We had been walking as we talked. Now we were at the tiger cage. The tiger was sleeping. Like it had no cares in the world. Wished I could sleep like that. No worries about hockey. No worries about my brother.

  Mercedes interrupted my thoughts. “You’re going to do your best to help Nate. Even after he betrayed you. Even after he betrayed your parents.”

  “Yes,” I said. “No matter what, he’s still my brother.”

  chapter twenty-one

  The next evening, Mercedes and I sat in her Volkswagen near the back of the parking lot of a downtown pizza place where Nate had stopped to buy dinner. We heard him order a pepperoni with extra cheese.

  “Cool,” she said. “It works.”

  After practice I had hidden my fm in Nate’s Calgary Hitmen backpack. I had a pack just like it, and I knew he took his everywhere. If he found the FM, I could just tell him that I’d accidentally mixed up our backpacks.

  At Radio Shack, I’d found electronic components to rig my processor to send signals to a battery-powered speaker that was now on the dash of Mercedes’ Volkswagen. The processor had an attachment port on the bottom that made this possible. It meant that we could hear what was going on in the pizza place. Mercedes also had a digital recorder to pick up the conversation for her documentary.

  I could still hear Mercedes’ voice through the built-in microphones of my processor.

  “Cool,” I said back to her. But really, it wasn’t. I was spying on my brother. About an hour earlier, with the fm already in his backpack, I had heard him make a phone call setting up a meeting at the pizza place. From Nate’s end of the conversation, it sounded like the person he was meeting was involved in illegally copying DVD’s. That was why I’d phoned Mercedes.

  In the pizza place, Nate spoke. We both heard him. “Max, thanks for coming.”

  “Snuck through the back,” a deep male voice answered. “You know we shouldn’t be seen together.”

  “I know,” Nate said. “It’s about my brother.”

  “Radar,” Max said.

  Tiny snakes of electricity raced up and down my spine. I locked eyes with Mercedes. She didn’t say anything.

  “He’s been following me,” Nate said. “I think he suspects something. We need to do something about it.”

  “Not good,” Max said. “Not good at all.”

  In the background, we heard something metal—maybe a knife—drop on the floor. When someone puts a knife in your back, like Nate was doing to me, it isn’t nearly as loud. Except for the noise you make when you feel a sudden sharp pain.

  “Thing is,” Nate said, “I don’t want to quit.”

  “You’re good,” Max said. “And it seems to be going good.”

  “So can I tell him?” Nate asked.

  “Dangerous,” Max said.

  “Radar can handle it,” Nate said.

  “Think he’ll want to be part of this?” Max asked.

  “I don’t want him part of it,” Nate said. “I’m not sure he would want to be part of it either. He’s knows why our Mom and Dad died and who killed them.”

  Good thing my hands weren’t around Nate’s neck. The word SNAP came to my mind, I was so angry at him.

  “I’m cool with that,” Max said. “Tell him what you need to tell him. Just make sure you don’t get caught. We need to make sure, one way or another, that he’s completely out of this.”

  “Completely,” Nate said. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  It sounded like a chair’s legs scraping the floor. Was Max standing up?

  “That’s it then, right?” Max said.

  “Except for the money,” Nate said.

  There was a short pause before Max spoke.

  “Fifteen hundred dollars,” Max said. “A lot of guys wouldn’t do what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not a lot of guys,” Nate said.

  No kidding, I thought. Give up your brother to a biker gang after bikers were the ones who killed your parents?

  Then silence. Max was leaving.

  I tapped Mercedes’ shoulder.

  “The back door,” I said. “Max came in through the back door. He’ll probably leave through the back door. Let’s follow him!”

  She started the Volkswagen and moved it closer to the back. Sure enough, a big guy in jeans and a leather coat came out. He had long black hair and a beard. He walked straight to a green pickup truck.

  “I don’t think he saw us,” Mercedes said.

  I gave her a thumbs-up, and we began to follow.

  She did a great job. Judging by the way he drove, it seemed like he had no idea we were following.

  Five minutes later, he stopped, parked and got out of his green truck.

  At the last place I would have guessed.

  A police station.

  chapter twenty-two

  We parked down the street from the police station.

  “Now what?” I saw Mercedes say.

  I shrugged. My cell phone rang. Actually it vibrated.

  I looked at the number. It was Nate.

  I held the phone over my processor, not against my ear.

  “We need to meet!” Nate said.

  “Need to meet,” I repeated. “Where?”

  He named the pizza place we had left only five minutes earlier. But I wanted to make sure he had no idea that I knew where he was.

  “You’re cutting out,” I said into the phone. “Bad signal. Text me, okay?”

  I hung up. Thirty seconds later, another short vibration of my cell phone. His text message was simple: Meet me at Pizza Palace right away.

  I explained everything to Mercedes.

  “Not much use spying on a police station,” she said.

  “I wrote down the license plate number to the truck,” I said. “Just in case that helps.”

  She nodded and drove back toward the pizza place.

  Just as we made it to the parking lot, I saw Nate. He was standing in the doorway with the two big bikers who had put me on the train tracks, Tattoo Biker and Bent Nose Biker.

  What had Max said to Nate barely ten minutes ago? Tell him what you need to tell him. Just make sure you don’t get caught. Weneed to make sure, one way or another, that he’s completely out of this.

  And what had Nate replied? Completely. I’ll take care of it right away.

  Sure, he’d taken care of it right away. In about as much time as it took to call in the bikers and as much time as it took to call and set me up.

  Mercedes pointed. She saw the bikers too.

  “Keep driving,” I said. Had she
guessed what I had guessed?

  “I hate him,” I said to Mercedes.

  “He asked you to meet him so that the bikers could really take care of you,” she said. So she had guessed.

  “Slow down,” I said. “Don’t get out of range of my FM.”

  There were plenty of vehicles on the street. She zipped in and parked ahead of a truck that hid us from the pizza place.

  That’s when we heard one of the bikers growl at Nate. It came through very clearly, although my fm was buried in his backpack. It was the biker with the deep, deep voice.

  “Let’s go,” Tattoo Biker said. “For a ride.”

  “Where?” Nate asked. “Why?”

  “Shut up,” we heard Tattoo Biker say through the speaker on Mercedes’ dash. “Trust me. You’ll find out. And when you do, you won’t like it.”

  They pushed him into a white van.

  The one they had used to drive me away from Chinatown.

  chapter twenty-three

  We followed. From downtown, the van went east on Memorial and then turned off onto Zoo Drive. There were a few other cars on Zoo Drive, and it was dark. I doubted the bikers knew we were following them.

  We passed the lights of the Calgary Zoo. The day before, I thought I’d had plenty to worry about at the zoo. Now, as we passed by it again, I realized things were much worse.

  “You’re an idiot,” Tattoo Biker was saying to Nate. “You really thought you could fool us by pretending we needed to scare your brother away?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nate said. My fm was doing a great job, sending the conversation to my processor. At the same time, the processor sent sound to my spider and to the speaker on the dash. Where Mercedes was also recording it.

  “We’ve got a videotape that proves otherwise,” the second biker told him. “You sent your brother into Chinatown the next day to snoop around. He was in disguise, but when you run the tape, you can see him hiding something. He’s deaf, right? It was a listening device he hid in there. He left it there when some girl went in to ask questions and buy a pirated DVD. And you know who the girl is? The daughter of a guy who owns a bunch of movie theaters.”

  “You guys are crazy,” Nate said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”