Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport)

by John Mackie

  Nothing too complicated. Four stations along one wall, two occupied. Three tables in the middle, and a counter on the opposite side. Standard coffee shop. I went straight to one of the stations and pulled up the browser. Google Maps.

  I was just drilling down into satellite maps of Toronto when a man’s voice interrupted.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  I did not need an interruption right now.

  “Yup?”

  “The stations are $4 per hour.”

  Oh. Right.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the man. Smallish, East Indian. “Sorry about that.” Dug in my pockets, and managed to find nothing smaller than a twenty dollar bill. Goddamned ATMs.

  “Uh.” I glanced at the counter. “Can you grab me a bottle of Coke and a muffin, if you’ve got it?”

  “We have Cranberry Pineapple, Blueberry Raisin, Banana Cinnamon, Chocolate Caramel and Oatmeal.”

  WTF? Was that five muffins, nine muffins or one? “Uh – Oatmeal. Thanks.” As he moved away, I cringed. Oatmeal always made me think of construction paste.

  So what was I...?

  Map.

  I turned back to the map, and the last remaining neurons still firing with memories of what I had seen on the boardroom windows managed to give me a final snapshot. Six or seven buildings, lower east side, all of them hashmarked.

  I drilled down in the satellite images, until I began to spot familiar intersections and street grids. Shuter. Sumach. South Regent Park.

  OK. I sagged back in my chair.

  Why the hell would they have any interest in Regent Park?

  To say that Regent Park was an unsuccessful social housing experiment was an understatement. Built in the 1940s, the Regent Park projects rose from the ashes of Cabbagetown, then one of the worst slums in Canada. Apparently, once a slum, always a slum, as the area was still home to a very low income population. Some say as many as 75% are below the poverty line, many recent immigrants. For years, it was known as a violent, crime ridden community where drugs and prostitution reigned.

  In recent years, there had been signs of improvement, but Regent Park was still not high on my list of places to visit after dark. Keep in mind, I’m a big guy who can protect himself, all recent evidence to the contrary. On the other hand, I’m a Canadian. So it’s a rough place, but it ain’t Beirut. Or Detroit. But it was still not a nice place to walk at night.

  Which begs the question. Why on earth would Ruscan Industries be interested in that area?

  The first thing that came to mind was revitalization. Torontonians loved revitalization projects. You’d think there had been a city in this area for thousands of years, based on the number of times that neighborhoods were designated for “revitalization”. Current favorites were the Distillery District and the Waterfront Lands, both just to the South. And Regent Park was perpetually on the list. Was Ruscan looking to get in on the game?

  I spent twenty minutes scanning the web and looking at satellite maps while mawing down a dry oatmeal brick. Finally, with a handful of printed maps in my hand, all marked with my scrawled notes, I headed back out to the van.

  Then I made a few phone calls.

  Started with my mother. Ted was continuing to improve, and Clay was awake and reading. Then to Amy.

  “Your guys had any luck in checking out Niki’s tracks?”

  “Not yet, but the guy moves all over town. Ten minutes here, ten minutes there. Thousands in tickets. We’d impound the thing, but we want to see if we can catch him on something worthwhile first.”

  “Any chance he’s been visiting Cabbagetown, or say Regent Park?”

  Amy’s silence told me two things – yes, and I was pushing it.

  “See, I think I might be able to dig up something on our boy if it turns out he has.”

  “Donnie, you’re going to get yourself in deep shit here.”

  “No kidding. Problem is, I think I’m already in deep shit. I’m trying to dig my way out.”

  More silence. I had a way of rendering women speechless.

  “C’mon, babe. I swear I’ll be careful.”

  And for once, the sweet-talking worked.

  Niki had been sighted entering two buildings in the area I had in mind, and it turned out both were marked with Xs on my printed maps. Ruscan buildings.

  Was he doing some sort of security walk around, or something more than that?

  I decided I would check in on Ted in person, then maybe spend the night fending off crack whores in Regent Park.

  Thankfully, it was dark. I would have stood out like a sore thumb in the daylight. As it was, I just looked like any other mugging victim wandering the streets of Regent Park at ten to midnight.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I was seated on a birdshit-covered bench in front of the van, which was parked illegally in a visitor parking space for one of the project apartments. I had managed to avoid the scrutiny of any passers-by, so far, because I was tucked in under an overhanging maple and behind the van. But the spot gave me a good view of the warehouse across the way, despite the lack of street lights out front.

  So I sat quietly, flinching at every sound that suggested the snick of a knife.

  My mind was a twisting dervish, worries about Ted and Clay, anger at Legenko and Kuzmenko, confusion about Amy and Kara, a deep concern that I might end up destroying Clay’s business, and the list went on. There were so many permutations and combinations that I felt I couldn’t anticipate any of them. The result was that I was itching to do something, to act. To somehow deal with this feeling of helplessness that had overcome me.

  As it was, I didn’t have to wait all that long. Not more than twenty minutes after I sat down, I spotted activity. A dread-locked white dude on a mountain bike rolled up, keyed open the side door, and entered the building, bike and all. I could see faint light inside, suggesting one or more rooms in the back of the building were alight. Shortly after him, two more guys arrived in an old Nissan – boxy frame and rusted wheel wells. More lights were on now, and I could see from the faint changes in lighting that they were moving around inside. But there were no sounds that I could hear.

  I glanced around, then jogged across the street. A quick walk-around earlier had confirmed that there were windows on the north wall that had been boarded up, so I had tugged two out of position to give me a view.

  When I rounded the corner, the boards were still where I had left them, lying right below the window. I could see light shining from the window, much brighter than out the front.

  Edging to the opening, I stared at the wall opposite to see if the light changed. Nothing to suggest anyone was near the window itself.

  So I took a chance and peeked.

  Before, despite having pulled the boards down, I had not been able to see a thing. Already late at night, no lights on inside and not even a hint of moonlight, I was blind. God forbid I might have a flashlight in the van.

  Now though, I could see the space beyond. The building appeared to be divided into four large rooms, each with several lines of manufacturing equipment collecting dust. The boys were set up in the northeast corner of the room closest to me, about half of which I could see from my vantage point. That corner appeared to have been some sort of inspection space – there were four tables with stools in front of them, and in front of each stool was a magnifying glass mounted on a strange box-like device. Looked to me like each worker would take a finished product, mount it under the magnifying glass, and examine it for flaws.

  These guys seemed uninterested in the original purpose of the space. They had swept aside the equipment and replaced it with what appeared to be a chemistry lab from high school. Plastic bottles, lab flasks, glass bottles, buckets, plastic feed hoses, two funnels. It reminded me of a still I had once seen in a friend’s basement, but giant-size. One other major difference was that all of them were wearing protective respirators. This was not Bill Nye the Science Guy.

  All three were hard at work, measuring
ingredients, mixing, or in one case heating some sort of concoction over a Bunsen burner.

  Sort of strange conduct for an abandoned warehouse at one in the morning. Maybe they were making the mix for Banana Cranberry muffins.

  I fiddled with my phone, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t suddenly emit some random beep that would shatter the silence.

  So far so good. Put it in camera mode, zoomed in to the max, adjusted as best I could for lighting. One, two, three, four pictures. I ran back through them quickly. Yup – the lab and faces of two of the three men were clearly visible. Gotta love technology.

  Tucking the phone back in my pant pocket, I was just getting ready to return to the van when I heard a voice call out, way louder than the whispers these men had been using until now.

  All of them turned to the door, nodded briefly, then returned to their work. Then, from the edge of my field of vision, Niki appeared. He was wearing a toque, the edge of a bandage sticking out where I had smacked him with the bat. His face was covered with bruises, and he was limping badly.

  I hunched back further, trying to keep my big noggin out of sight while still watching what was going on.

  Niki clumped over to the last table, where several plastic bags rested. He opened the nearest one, licked a finger, stuck it in and stirred it around. Put the finger to his mouth, licked it clean then sagged onto a nearby stool.

  “Good stuff, eh?” That was dreadlock boy, speaking with a Slavic accent. Incongruous, to say the least. It was like a Yakuza gangster speaking in Spanish.

  “Dah.” Niki’s eyes were closed, and he went quiet.

  I slid the phone out of my pocket one more time, and managed to squeeze out two good shots of Niki in profile, sampling the wares.

  Time to call in the cavalry.

  I moved back ten yards, keeping the four of them in sight, then punched out a text message to Amy.

  Babe – Chk ths out. My frnd Niki wrkng a drg lb. 1710 Greylawn. Gd time fr a bst? SMEM ASAP. D

  I read it through quickly and said a prayer that my textspeak was intelligible. SMEM I knew — send me an e-mail. The rest was just English minus the vowels. Nglsh. My biggest issue was the goddamned mini keyboard on my phone. I spent half of my time trying not to press three buttons at once. I attached the six photos, and hit send.

  If I didn’t hear from her in five minutes, I would need to fall back to the van and call her. But I prayed that wouldn’t be the case. I didn’t want to take my eye off Mr. Kuzmenko.

  As it turned out, Amy must be the lightest sleeper on the planet. Either that, or she had her phone on top volume. Not more than four minutes later I got her reply.

  D: WTF? R u nuts? Units on way – shd arrve n 5 mins max. GET OUT! A

  I couldn’t decide if she was pissed at me, or worried. Figuring if it was the former I was up the creek anyways, I took the optimistic view. Glanced to make sure my four pharmaceutical friends had not gone anywhere, then texted her a quick one back.

  ABT2 go. GL D

  All the shit I was dumping on her could prove to be fantastic for her career, or it could bring a premature end to it. Figured wishing her good luck was a wise idea. She was back to me in seconds.

  D DLTM. GET OUT NOW. A

  Lie to her? I wasn’t lying to her. I was leaving! Talk about not having any faith in a guy...

  TM SYS D

  Trust me. See you soon.

  And I did leave. I debated staying until the cops arrived on site, just in case Niki decided to take a flyer, but the reality was I had already been way lucky. No point asking for it. So I headed home.

  Despite the hour, and the exhaustion that settled in as I looked back on the day, I was still awake when Amy called two hours later.

  “We’ve got him!”

  “Thank God.”

  “All four of them, busted. If anything, I think he was relieved. What happened to him, anyway?”

  “Were you there?”

  “Of course! You think I’m going to let everyone else take the glory? No way.”

  That was disturbing. Up until now, I had assumed Amy would be safe, funneling tips to the various resources in the department. But to know she was out there with the wackos...

  I felt like I should have stayed.

  “It’s my job, Donnie. I catch bad guys.”

  “I know. I just didn’t think it through.” In other words, I didn’t consider that by opening my big mouth, I was putting her in the line of fire.

  “Well don’t worry about it. I carry a gun, I’m a black belt in karate, and we go in as a team. You’re more likely to get hurt than I am.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, am I threatening your macho worldview?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes you are.” And she was. “But I’ll get over it.”

  “Good. Cause this is a great day. The whole Drug Squad’s in there right now, ripping the place apart. It’s the first Rev lab we’ve ever seen.”

  “You getting pushed on your source?”

  “Not yet. That’ll happen later. Right now they’re all happier than pigs in shit. But I’ve got to believe they’ll grill me over the next few days, might even catch IA’s interest.”

  “Listen, if you have to give me up—.”

  “I’m not saying a thing. I’m not an idiot, Donnie. I know you’re not telling me stuff. But you’re on the right side, which is what matters to me. They’ll press, but when push comes to shove they’ll back off. This is a clean bust. The lab was visible from the next lot.”

  “And Niki?”

  “He’s facing long time for sure. Not sure whether he’ll be out on the street – they may give him bail again. He’s got one of the best lawyers in town. But eventually, he’s going away.”

  “Great. Listen, one other thing.”

  “OK.”

  “You should look into who owns the building. I suspect you may find the owner is linked into Legenko, or Ruscan.”

  “We’re already on it. I don’t think we’ll get all the way to Ruscan, but it sounds like we may have something on Legenko there.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to get some sleep. Call me if anything weird comes up.”

  “Will do. Sweet dreams. And thanks, Donnie.”

  “My pleasure, babe.”

  Two days later, the headline of the Daily Times was a beauty.

  POLICE BUST REV LAB IN MOSS PARK

  Late Tuesday night, Toronto police uncovered an illicit drug operation in a Moss Park warehouse on Greylawn Street, sealing off the area bounded by Shuter Street, Queen Street East, Sackville Street and River Street. Responding to an anonymous tip, officers swarmed a former publishing house on Greylawn just after two o’clock AM, and discovered a sophisticated drug operation.

  Similar to methamphetamine labs uncovered in the Metro area, a potentially toxic and explosive combination of chemicals led police to immediately vacate the premises. A hazardous materials team called in to assist with the initial site assessment were still removing drums of chemicals, refrigerators, chemical laboratory instruments and huge quantities of Rev and ecstasy from the site by mid-afternoon. Neighboring buildings were cleared of their occupants, and local residents have been evacuated pending completion of the clean up.

  “This lab posed a substantial risk to local residents” said Staff Inspector Earl Chamberlain, head of the Toronto drug squad. “We have called in the provincial police crime lab, firefighters, RCMP and Health Canada experts to assist with the investigation and clean up of the site, and ask that area residents remain patient as we sort this mess out.” Sources indicate that the police have also contracted with Greencor Environmental Rehabilitation, a subsidiary of Toronto-based Sun Consulting, to assist with the recovery of the site.

  Four men present in the building faces multiple charges including possession with intent of trafficking, and conspiracy to commit an indictable offence. Oleg Sidorov, 35, of Toronto, Arkady Sidorov, 32, of Windsor, Nikolay Kuzmenko, 41, of Toronto, and Gabriel Brunet, 57, of Mon
treal, Que., are to appear in court today.

  “We haven’t seen any evidence of Rev distribution outside of Metro Toronto,” said Staff Insp. Chamberlain. “However, if this entire cache was intended for our streets, we would have seen an epidemic.”

  He said detectives are looking into links with organized crime, including the Russian mafia. “This was a sophisticated criminal endeavor.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Remarkably, the next few days were quiet. We had finally managed to clear the backlog at the office, and Jim, Harold, Jamar and I had settled into a daily routine. Clay was back home again, under Harper’s watchful eye. Unfortunately Ted was home too, though he was taking some time to recuperate. Couldn’t hurt that the first night he was home three girls from Hidden Pleasures came by to check on him.

  With everything seeming under control, I decided to deal with some unfinished business.

  I arrived at Bindings before they opened. Knocked on the glass and gave my best smile for the blond receptionist.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hi.” A lackluster, pre-coffee, first thing in the morning greeting. I knew how she felt.

  “I’ll get that, Mary. Please finish up the dusting.” The good doctor was unaffected by the glare she directed at him, even turning to admire her curvy butt as she walked away.

  “Remarkable about that coat the other day.” He took the clipboard from me and signed next to my finger. “Hadn’t thought of it for years.”

  He finished signing but held onto the clipboard.

  “You ever find out who sent it?”

  I stared at him. Ballsy son of a bitch. I had a feeling he knew exactly who sent it. Knew from the moment his new girlfriend turned it away. Never said a word to us.

  “We looked into it. Nothing to worry yourself about.”

  He waited for me to say something more. I placed the package on the reception desk, letting the silence stretch.

  “How’s business?”

  “Oh,” now he handed me the clipboard. “It’s okay. Always has been a tough business, from the very start.”