An Element of Risk

by Don Easton

  Jack frowned. “Laura and I are the only trained undercover operators in the office. It’s nice to have her close to bounce ideas off of and vice versa.” Not to mention, she’s my friend.

  “Maybe the two new constables will be operators, as well. If not, then Laura could check to see if they’d be suitable candidates when she’s working with them.”

  “Laura?” Jack questioned. “What about me?”

  Rose leaned back in her chair and appeared to study his face. “You’d still be involved to some extent.”

  “To some extent?”

  “You’ve been through a hell of a lot in the last few years and have more than paid your dues. With your third stripe I’d expect you to start playing more of a supervisory role and a little less hands-on.”

  I like being hands-on.

  “It would give you more time to spend with your family, too. How are they, by the way?”

  Ouch. That’s hitting below the belt. She’s right, though, I couldn’t even have breakfast this morning without working.

  He saw Rose studying his face for a reaction. “My family’s good … thank you.” He made a face. “You’re right, though. A little less hands-on would be okay.”

  “Good,” Rose replied, then reached for his report to indicate that the meeting was over.

  * * *

  That afternoon Rose approached Jack in his office. “Assistant Commissioner Lexton wishes to speak to you about the informant report you submitted this morning.”

  Jack glanced at Laura, then at Rose. “When?”

  “Right now.”

  “You coming, too?” Jack asked as he pushed his chair back. “Or Laura? She’s his secondary handler.”

  Rose shook her head. “She said she wants to see you alone because it would give her a chance to get to know you better.”

  I don’t want her to know me better.…

  Chapter Five

  Jack entered Lexton’s office and she gestured for him to take a seat across from her.

  “I read your report with some interest,” she said, tapping the file on her desk with a finger as he sat down. “I’m curious as to whether or not you know the actual names of the two perpetrators who kicked in the door?”

  “I don’t, and neither does my source,” Jack replied. “There are about fifty in the gang. Any one of them would do it if ordered to. Satans Wrath’s objective was to convince the leader of the gang to amend his ways and pass the word to the rest. Who actually kicked in the door wasn’t of interest.”

  “The leader being Harold Borman.”

  “Yes. The only concern is he doesn’t have the respect and total control of his people. My source thinks the prosecutor will be okay, but suggested she be cautious until the heat from the trial dies down.”

  “So you stated in your report,” Lexton said absentmindedly. Then her eyes focused on Jack. “I’m pleased that the matter appears to have been rectified in the ­manner it was.”

  “Hopefully it has.”

  “I’m curious that you were involved, considering that the matter fell under the jurisdiction of VPD and perhaps CFSEU.”

  “I was asked by Sergeant Roger Morris in CFSEU to lend a hand due to my knowledge of Satans Wrath in the hope that I could get them to use their influence. Which I did.”

  “Were you overt in your approach to Satans Wrath?”

  “No, I have a high-level informant in the club. He’s a chapter president and is the informant noted in the report.”

  “Chapter president?” Lexton exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  “An exceptionally valuable asset,” Lexton noted emphatically.

  “That’s for sure. I had him order some of his men to pay Borman a visit and tell him to desist from any further such activity.”

  “Didn’t that draw some suspicion on your informant from other club members? In reality, why should Satans Wrath care? It’d probably help deflect attention from them.”

  “There’s always an element of risk for informants, but I discussed that exact possibility with him. He noted that approaching the Death Heads now would draw less heat than if the prosecutor was killed, and I then asked him to stick his nose into it.”

  “Good point,” Lexton replied. “I take it that what you had him do didn’t raise any suspicions with his peers?”

  “He said he received a suspicious glance from another chapter president, but overall felt comfortable doing it. He noted that Borman’s behaviour would bring heat down on everyone, including Satans Wrath.”

  “Dare I ask how you cultivated this informant? Turning a chapter president seems quite remarkable.”

  “I found out where he is keeping his retirement fund — several million in laundered money. It was incentive enough and he knows I recorded him providing me with information. If he screws me around or tries to move his money, I could burn him.”

  “In other words, have him killed,” Lexton said dryly.

  “That’d be a certainty … which he knows better than anyone.”

  Lexton stared at him momentarily, then changed the subject. “So, if I understand you correctly, you’re actually in a position to give orders to Satans Wrath, albeit indirectly.”

  “I’d say I’m in a position to nudge or influence them on occasion. My informant has control of his chapter, but there are other chapters, and sooner or later another national president will be elected. That person would have overriding authority when it comes to what the chapter presidents deem to be serious decisions.”

  “Things such as murder.”

  Jack shrugged. “Perhaps, but only if it involved someone’s murder that could affect the club as a whole, such as a member of another gang, a member of the judiciary, or perhaps someone in law enforcement. For everyday drug dealers, prostitutes, and the like, killing them wouldn’t require his permission. In fact, more likely than not, he’d be protected from knowing.”

  “I see.” She appeared to ponder the situation, “Still, a nudge, orders, influence, or whatever you wish to call it … if instigated by you, could potentially have serious ramifications down the road.”

  Depends what you call serious.…

  “What if Borman had not gone along with what he was told?” Lexton noted. “Satans Wrath may have killed him — all as a result of what you started.”

  Sure, but do you call that serious? I’d call that time to have a martini.

  Jack opted to keep his thoughts to himself and cleared his throat. “I admit that approaching him to have his men warn Borman was a delicate matter, but I felt, as did CFSEU, that Borman would heed Satans Wrath’s advice.”

  “Judging by your report, it appears he did — but, for a police officer to influence a criminal organization, an action that could potentially result in serious crimes being committed, makes me uncomfortable. These street gangs are obviously dangerous, even amongst themselves. Trying to control them with another gang could’ve had disastrous consequences.”

  “The street gangs are dangerous, but they don’t fall in the category that Satans Wrath does when it comes to the more sophisticated crimes, such as corrupting government officials, the judiciary, or other assorted criminal acts which they commit on an international level.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “To me, that is the bigger picture, and my being able to exercise some influence on Satans Wrath might help us control or prevent more serious ventures from taking place down the road.” He waited a beat, then added, “As far as what you label as a possible disastrous consequence goes, in this instance I think I made the right decision. The Crown prosecutor certainly thinks it was.”

  Lexton raised an eyebrow, perhaps as a gesture that he was being insolent, but then appeared to think about it. “Point taken,” she said, then paused and looked deep in thought.

  “Is there a dead dog lying on the living room floor that you don’t wish to talk about?” Jack prodded.

  “The dead dog being?” Lexton questioned.

/>   “Are you concerned that my influencing Satans Wrath is not wise due to potential criticism from Ottawa?”

  “Ottawa?” Lexton appeared irritated by the suggestion that her decisions were based on what Ottawa would think.

  “Yes, Headquarters may not understand that any control we have is flimsy at best; they would blame us for something that could happen, despite the fact that we had no control over it. There is also the question of certain delicate matters … such as what took place with the prosecutor. You have a fuller picture of that event because I’ve disclosed to you who my informant is. If Ottawa knew it was me who instigated Satans Wrath to do what they did, it could bring about criticism for the same reason which caused you concern.”

  “Are you suggesting I purposely hide what you did from Ottawa?”

  “I respect the chain of command, but you are in a position of more understanding because I trust you and can speak to you in person.” Well, trust you about what I’ve told you so far at least.

  “Are you telling me you don’t trust Ottawa?” Lexton asked.

  “I’d hesitate to disclose any information in a report that could compromise any of my informants. Verbally confiding in you is far different than putting the information in a report which could pass through many hands. We’ve had leaks before by those who allowed themselves to become corrupted by Satans Wrath. Not only that, but there have been instances of judicial orders granted by judges to gain access to certain information. Usually we’ve been allowed to vet that information, but it’s not guaranteed and sometimes the person doing the vetting doesn’t have a clear picture of what they think is a minor detail — a minor detail that could actually be the difference between life and death.”

  “Yes, I understand your concerns. Back in the days when I worked in I-HIT, I had my own headaches with such matters.”

  Good. So you do remember your days with the ­Integrated Homicide Investigation Unit and what it was like to be a real cop.

  Lexton paused, then continued. “You’ve also won me over with your argument that using your informant to control certain events is appropriate.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That decision could easily be revoked. I’ll handle Ottawa, but be forewarned that you’ve placed yourself on a slippery slope. I’m putting my trust in you to be vigilant and use sound judgment.”

  Jack paused. “The trouble is what I consider sound judgment might not be considered sound by others. It certainly wasn’t by your predecessor, Assistant Commissioner Mortimer.” That son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t let me do anything out of fear he’d be forced to make a decision that he could be criticized over.

  “I’m not him,” Lexton replied coldly. She stared at Jack long enough to make him feel uncomfortable, then added, “If you’re in doubt about a certain action … and time permits, discuss the situation with Staff Sergeant Wood. If there are still doubts, then the three of us could meet to discuss it.” She paused as she looked at Jack, “I trust that would be satisfactory for you?”

  “Completely. Thank you.”

  “Good.” She appeared to study his face closely, “I wouldn’t appreciate a biker hit team showing up at my house like what happened to Assistant Commissioner Mortimer.”

  Crap. She’s definitely suspicious. She said that to see if I’d look guilty. Jack’s face portrayed innocence. “I’d certainly use my influence if I was able to stop that from ever happening,” he exclaimed.

  Lexton looked slightly taken back.

  I know you were implying I had a hand in it. I’m implying what you think happened would never occur to me. He then faked a frown. “My informant said it was the Russians who influenced the bikers to do that.”

  “Yes, the mysterious Russians. Strange that they appeared to arrive, be blamed for the disappearance of Purvis Evans, who was the national president of Satans Wrath, then disappear themselves without a trace.”

  “My informant believes they were connected to the Russian consulate,” Jack noted. “No doubt they were professionals.”

  “So your report at the time said.”

  “Yes.”

  “Considering I raised the incident about what happened back then, I’m surprised you didn’t mention that shortly before Purvis Evans disappeared he allegedly ordered his men to take photos of you and your family and leave them in your mailbox.”

  Still fishing for a response, are you? Jack glanced at her casually. “I don’t like to make a big deal of that. In my mind it’s like admitting that their intimidation worked.” He waited a beat. “Besides, my situation was different than that of Assistant Commissioner Mortimer. It wasn’t a hit team armed with weapons who went to my house. The photos left in my mailbox were on the cellphone of another informant of mine who was murdered.”

  “Three other people were also tortured and murdered that same day because Evans suspected one of them to be an informant.”

  You’ve done your homework.

  “It is quite a coincidence that Evans then disappeared. Presumably murdered.”

  Okay, I can see where this is going. Are you expecting me to squirm? Jack maintained strong eye contact, “I strongly believe that he was murdered, which on a personal level makes me happy. The man was a violent psychopath who tortured and murdered innocent people. I truly believe that if someone in law enforcement did go after him it would be at the cost of putting their own families in extreme jeopardy. Even if Evans had been imprisoned, the power and prestige he had in the club would mean that his orders would be carried out regardless.”

  “I see.”

  Do you? I wonder if you have any idea what it’s like seeing the fear on your family’s faces or wake up in the night to the sound of your children crying out because of a nightmare about bad guys coming into their bedroom.

  “How is your family?” Lexton asked.

  For a moment Jack felt dumbfounded that Lexton seemed to have read his thoughts. “They’re … they’re fine,” he stammered. If I say anything else she’ll probably suggest I be transferred. “For my family, it was a simple act of intimidation. Meant to scare us is all.”

  “Like what happened to the prosecutor,” Lexton mused.

  “I suppose,” Jack replied.

  Lexton appeared to relax as she sat back. She appeared to be trying to stop herself from smiling. “I suppose with the influence you have over Satans Wrath, you could’ve given them a nudge to make Borman disappear?” Her tone was teasing, as if it would’ve been okay for him to admit to considering that.

  Nice try. I’m not that stupid.

  Jack’s face hardened and his tone was harsh. “I don’t think that would be using sound judgment.”

  Lexton stiffened. “You’re right, it wouldn’t.” Her voice was cold. “You’re dismissed … for now.”

  Chapter Six

  Stan Irving worked as both a paramedic and a home renovator. The few hours he took off from work were precious to him, so he couldn’t help but smile when he returned home after dropping five-year-old Emma off at school and proudly displaying a paper cut-out to his wife.

  “She couldn’t wait until the end of today to give it to us,” he announced, holding up a white sheet of paper cut into a circle and glued to the top of a larger circle. Two more paper cut-outs glued on the smaller circle were supposed to be ears.

  Rhonda looked up from where she sat on the sofa, breastfeeding three-month-old Hannah and smiled. “The ears are hanging down. Shouldn’t they be up?”

  “Not if the poor Easter bunny is standing in a ­downpour.”

  Rhonda looked bemused. “Quite an imagination our daughter has.”

  Stan smiled. “Emma’s pretty proud of it. She told me she couldn’t bring it home last night because the glue had to dry.” He looked at it a moment. “I’m proud of it, too. I’m sure it was the best in the class.”

  Rhonda smiled. “Oh, definitely. She’s a child genius. No doubt that’s why she coloured one ear pink and the other green. She’s showing her individuality.”r />
  “Oh, for sure. Anyone could have made one with two pink ears. This is more like a Picasso.”

  “And gluing a cotton ball for the tail where the belly button should be shows a sense of style, as well.”

  Stan chuckled as he went to the kitchen and used fridge magnets to display the work, then poured himself a cup of coffee and joined Rhonda on the sofa.

  “Busy night last night?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the glamourous life of being a paramedic. Spent half my shift in back alleys saving people from overdosing on fentanyl.” He grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe how tough some people have it out there. Wish I could do more than administer Narcan. All that does is revive them for the next fix. The situation leaves me feeling so hopeless.”

  “Tomorrow’s Good Friday,” Rhonda noted in an obvious decision to change the subject. “You’re not working, are you?”

  “No — on either job.” He glanced at his watch. “I should get going. I promised the people I’d have their kitchen renovated before Easter. That only leaves today to get it done.”

  * * *

  Aron Kondrat, with Jeremy Pratt beside him, slowly drove down the residential street. They were in a less prosperous neighbourhood than many, with small, box-like houses that were popular for first homebuyers or senior citizens wishing to downsize.

  They stared at all they passed as they searched for a ­member of the United Front who they knew lived in the area.

  At the end of the street, Kondrat cranked the steering wheel to continue looking in the next block. “This car’s a piece of shit,” he complained.

  “It’s a Chevy Nova. What’s wrong with that?”

  “We shoulda got somethin’ bigger in case we gotta ram someone to get out of our way.”

  “Not like our guys always get a choice in what they can steal,” Pratt replied.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Kondrat gave Pratt a sideways glance. “You sure he lives around here?”

  “It was at night and Lorraine said she was smokin’ crack and pretty fucked up when she went with him, but she’s pretty sure. This is the area she pointed out to me on the map.”