A Delicate Matter Page 2

  The bartender timidly approached. “Please, guys, can you take it outside? We’ll lose our licence again if you keep doing this in here.”

  Thor hesitated, then nodded to the others. Two bikers dragged Thor’s bloody victim toward the exit. As they did, one biker backhanded the victim on the side of his face to gain his attention and said, “We’re gonna scoop your licence. If you’re stupid enough to say anything, remember that we know you and where you live.”

  Seconds later they opened the door and flung the hapless victim outside, along with his looted wallet. In the meantime three other bikers took turns kicking the other man as he crawled toward the exit. Eventually they let him get to his feet and stumble outside.

  The two women, who were both laughing, joined the Gypsy Devils while the overturned chairs and tables were righted.

  Jack noted that the ripple effect of displaced beer and furniture had stopped next to where he sat. Hey, that’s pretty good. I predicted that one right on.

  “Jack, what did you do to those two guys?” Laura radioed. “I know you don’t like sex offenders but … oh, man.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Jack whispered. “Just the good ol’ boys and a couple of their women having some fun.”

  “One guy’s face is covered in blood. His buddy’s trying to help him across the parking lot to their wheels … but he looks pretty messed up, too. I’m getting some close-ups but, hey, what happened?”

  “Karma,” Jack replied. “Hang on, someone’s calling me on my cell.” He took the vibrating phone from his pocket and held it close to his ear.

  “Jack, it’s Sophie White. I got your number from your boss and she said to call you direct.”

  “Sophie White?” Jack asked. “Do I know you?”

  “Now my feelings are really hurt,” she replied, sounding miffed. “We met seven years ago. You shoved me into the back seat of a car and climbed in on top of me. Guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

  Jack snorted. “Now I know who you are,” he said. “How’s your nose?”

  “You mean the one you broke?”

  “How many do you have?” Jack asked.

  Sophie snickered, then her voice became serious. “You saved my life that night. I’ll never forget it.”

  “We both got lucky that night,” Jack replied sombrely. “What can I do for you?”

  “Maybe it’s what I can do for you. I’m still working uniform in Surrey, but I know you’re the guy to talk to about Satans Wrath. I caught one and he wants to talk.”

  “Give me a sec,” Jack said. “I’m in a bar — let me step outside where I can talk.” Seconds later he continued his conversation while walking across the parking lot to where Laura waited in the SUV. “Who’d you catch?”

  “His name’s Mack Cockerill. What I caught him on is nothing. Maybe probation if we’re lucky, but he says he’s willing to talk if I’ll drop the matter.”

  “What’s he offering? A pipe bomb or a gun?”

  “You got it,” Sophie said. “Also some bullshit about someone planning to shoot up an abortion clinic.”

  “All of which he’ll arrange if you drop his charge.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured, but I thought I should call you. He seems really stressed. Mind you, he might be in pain. He leaped off the third storey of a parkade when I tried to arrest him and broke his ankle.”

  “You didn’t tell me what you’re charging him with,” Jack said, stifling a yawn as he watched the man in the bomber jacket stumble and leave a bloody hand-streak down the side of a white Toyota Camry. His buddy was holding him by the other arm and trying to steer him while grasping his own rib cage.

  “He’s a weenie wagger,” Sophie replied.

  Jack immediately forgot about the victims in the parking lot. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “You got him for exposing himself?”

  “Yeah. We’ve had three complaints in the last two weeks from women saying some guy has been jumping out at them in a parkade and waving his dick. We set up a sting and today he did the same thing with me. We’ve got it all on video. Enough that Defence won’t be able to say he had a bladder infection and was simply relieving himself.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Jack said. “I mean it.”

  “Why? It’s no big deal as far as the courts go. The judge will probably think it’s funny and give him thirty hours of community service. Maybe less if his lawyer can convince the court that his client suffered enough by having broken his ankle.”

  “The judge might find it amusing, but Satans Wrath wouldn’t,” Jack said. “It’d be a huge embarrassment to the club. The jokes would be flying around the country saying they should change their top rocker from Satans Wrath to the Weenie Waggers.”

  “That’d make for a good laugh.”

  “They’d kill him if they found out — or put him in the intensive-care unit for a year and kick him out of the club. Personally I think it’d be the first option.”

  “Think maybe he’ll give us more than he’s pretending to offer?”

  “Damn right. Once he realizes you won’t go along with the bullshit he offered, he’ll offer you something genuine. Likely stolen property or dope to start with, but handle him right and he could be a gold mine for you.”

  “For me?” Sophie sounded doubtful. “You should be the guy to talk to him. I’m smart enough to know that I don’t have the experience to handle a guy like him. The asshole would probably end up running me instead of me running him.”

  “That wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” Jack said. “I’d be glad to take a run at him. I’m in Port Coquitlam at the moment, so I could be there in less than half an hour. Maybe we could work him together if you like.”

  “I’ve got all the work I can handle,” Sophie responded. “Besides, I’m still in uniform. This guy’s more your department. If he doesn’t cooperate, I’ll charge him afterwards.”

  “Oh, he’ll cooperate,” Jack said. “I’m sure about that.”

  “Then he’s all yours if you want him.”

  Jack smiled. Oh, yeah, I want him all right. Goodbye Gypsy Devils. You’ve been outtrumped by one weenie-wagger.

  Chapter Three

  Jack and Laura sat in an office with Sophie White at the Surrey RCMP detachment and listened as she recounted the circumstances leading to Mack Cockerill’s arrest. “After that, we took him to the hospital where he received a walking cast. Now he’s in an interview room,” Sophie said, gesturing with her thumb behind her. “Hope he can really do a number on the club for you.”

  “I wish,” Jack replied, “but even if he wants to spill his guts, it won’t affect the club as a whole that much.”

  Sophie looked puzzled. “Why not?”

  “They tend to operate in cells independent from one another to prevent someone from ever doing that. Even if he was willing to wear a wire and testify, all I’d expect to get would be some high-level dealers who score from the club, maybe a couple of prospects, and one or two colour-wearing members. For the moment we need to aim our sights lower. If all goes well perhaps down the road we can convince him to stick his neck out further.”

  Sophie nodded. “Would you mind if I sat in and listened? I don’t have much experience with guys like him and I’d like to see how you do it.”

  “I don’t mind, but let me clue you in about a few things before we see him,” Jack replied. “First of all, these guys are usually extremely loyal. If I push him too hard he may decide to clam up and face the consequences, dire as they would be. I’ll tread slowly at first, then lead him into deeper water, which may or may not be today. If things go the way I want, eventually he’ll realize there’s no turning back.”

  “I see,” Sophie said.

  “First, though, we’ll shake him up a bit. Is he wearing his colours?”

  “Yes. He was wearing a hoodie
over the colours, but I seized that as evidence. It matches what the three victims said the suspect was wearing.”

  “Perfect.” Jack rose to his feet. “Let’s talk to him. Laura will wait here.”

  Sophie looked at Laura. “You’re not coming with us?”

  Laura smiled. “Jack discussed a plan with me on the way over. It’ll be more fun for you to watch it unfold than to explain it to you.”

  A moment later Cockerill looked up as Jack and Sophie entered the interview room. He eyed Jack suspiciously.

  “Get to your feet,” Jack ordered.

  Cockerill scowled and slowly got up.

  Jack used his cellphone to take a picture of Cockerill, then ordered him to turn around. After taking another picture depicting his colours, he told Cockerill to sit down.

  The biker obeyed and Jack pulled a chair up so their faces were only an arm’s length apart.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Cockerill asked defiantly. “A narc?”

  “My name’s Jack Taggart,” Jack replied evenly. “I’m not a narc.”

  Cockerill studied Jack’s face, then muttered, “Fuck.”

  “You’ve heard of me,” Jack replied.

  Cockerill nodded. “I didn’t recognize you — but now I do. I saw you years ago when you climbed over the wall behind Damien’s place.”

  The mere mention of Damien made Jack feel agitated. Damien Zabat, the national president of Satans Wrath, was Jack’s nemesis. The two men had been involved in several confrontations over the years. Despite that, Jack had never been able to put him in jail, even though Damien had ordered dozens of murders and orchestrated a wide variety of criminal activities.

  Damien, now almost sixty, was still intimidating. He was a huge bear of a man, as well as highly intelligent and perceptive at reading people. The years had, however, taken their toll. He had recently decided to retire while he still had everyone’s respect. A new national president had been elected to replace him at the end of the month. For Jack, Damien was the one who got away, and it bothered him intensely.

  To make matters worse, Jack knew that Damien’s son, Buck, had been a prospect for the past two years. Soon he, too, will be a full-patch member and the cycle will continue. Like father, like son, and it seems all I can do is sit back and watch.

  “So what’re you doing here?” Cockerill asked, breaking Jack’s train of thought. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

  Jack sneered. “I’m here because Constable White isn’t swallowing any of your bullshit about what you’re offering for us to drop the beef — and neither am I.”

  “What the fuck? You don’t think some guy shootin’ up an abortion clinic is worth me being pinched for trying to have a piss in a parkade?”

  “Cut the crap,” Jack said. “You were caught on video, as well as audio.”

  Cockerill frowned. “Okay, okay, you got me on that.” He made a palms-down gesture to drop the subject. “Still, I know this guy, and once he shoots up the clinic, I’ll be able to give him to ya. Bust him quick and he’ll still have the gun to match the bullets.”

  “Which’ll be the gun you’ll have given him after you shoot up the clinic.” Jack shook his head in disgust. “I’m done talking to you,” he said abruptly. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “But —”

  Jack gave a dismissive wave of his hand and placed a call. A female voice, audible over the phone in the small interview room, answered.

  “Hey, good lookin’! It’s Jack Taggart. Remember me?”

  “Jack! You bet I remember you. Are you still working in the Intelligence unit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hang on. I’m doing a story on the six-o’clock news tonight … I’ve got someone here. Give me a sec.”

  The look of fear on Cockerill’s face told Jack that he’d heard. Laura sounded like she was talking to someone in the background. “Yep, I’ll follow the lead story.” Then her voice became louder. “Okay, Jack. I’m back.”

  “I’m going to send you two photos,” Jack said. “Hang up and call me back. Later I might be able to get you a copy of a video and audio, as well.” He hung up and thumbed his phone.

  “You can’t do this!” Cockerill snarled, waving his hand in the air in an unsuccessful bid to gain Jack’s attention. “I’ve got my rights! You can’t do this!”

  “Already did,” Jack said, finally glancing up.

  “My lawyer’ll sue you!”

  Jack smiled. “That should take about seven years to get through the courts. Think you’ll be above ground that long?”

  Cockerill stared open-mouthed at him before turning to Sophie for support. His eyes widened when she busied herself examining her fingernails. He looked at Jack again. “You can’t —”

  Jack’s phone vibrated and he answered. Cockerill stopped in mid-sentence.

  “Hey … Satans Wrath!” Laura exclaimed. “Was it you who put him in the cast?”

  “No, he did it himself,” Jack replied, “but wait’ll you hear what he was doing.”

  “Don’t do this to me!” Cockerill pleaded.

  Jack put his hand over the receiver and looked at Cockerill. “An abortion clinic? Yeah, right.” He turned his attention back to his phone. “This’ll be a really funny story. I’m sure it’ll be picked up by networks and newspapers across the country. Figured I’d let you be the first one to break the —”

  “I’ll … I’ll give you something!” Cockerill’s face was awash in fear and panic. “Please … don’t tell her.”

  Jack paused as if contemplating the offer, then spoke to Laura. “Hang on a moment while I put you on hold. Someone wants to speak to me.” He looked at Cockerill. “Speak fast — and cut the bullshit.”

  “I can give you a grow-op,” Cockerill said rapidly. “About a thousand plants. It’s hidden in the bush. Nobody’d ever find it.”

  “You think I’m interested in busting some farmer? It isn’t worth the trouble. Quit wasting my time.”

  “You work bikers, right?” Cockerill asked.

  “Yeah, a club called the Weenie Waggers. I heard you were president.”

  “No, please, listen!” Cockerill wailed. “The ones picking up the weed are with the Gypsy Devils.” He paused, his eyes searching Jack’s face in the vain hope of seeing interest. “The crop is being harvested and the GDs are picking it up next Wednesday or Thursday.” He sounded enthusiastic. “They do it in the wee hours of the morning when nobody’s around. That way they can check for heat, make sure they’re not being followed. What do you think?”

  Jack’s face remained without expression.

  “I can tell you where it is,” Cockerill hastened to say. “You could watch it and either grab the GDs when they pick up, or if the grower delivers, then follow him and bust ’em when he hands it over.”

  “Gypsy Devils,” Jack noted. “Could be something for you to show good faith until you give us something better.”

  “Good faith?” Cockerill’s eyes darted nervously between Jack and Sophie. “Come on, busting bikers with dope has gotta be better than catching me with my fly undone.”

  “Want me to ask Damien if it’s better?” Jack asked.

  Cockerill briefly locked eyes with Jack, then his head dropped. “No,” he whispered.

  “Not to mention, busting someone in the bush at night could be a problem.”

  “You can only get to it by boat,” Cockerill offered.

  “That doesn’t help. Makes it more difficult. Give me some details. How many growers are looking after it and which of the GDs will be involved?”

  Cockerill pointed at the phone in Jack’s hand. “You gonna hang up?”

  Jack stared blankly at Cockerill, stalling long enough to cause him further stress, then said, “One weed deal won’t cut it. I’ll probably end up with some farmer and a Gypsy
Devil, who in my opinion is only a wannabe biker.”

  Cockerill swallowed nervously.

  Jack leaned forward so that their faces were a hand-width apart. “If I suspect anything you tell me is bullshit, I’ll be calling her back.”

  “It won’t be bullshit,” Cockerill promised.

  Jack spoke into his phone. “Hi, I’m back.”

  “What’s it all about?” Laura asked.

  “The biker we were doing surveillance on tried to play hopscotch with some little kids on a sidewalk. He fell off the curb and broke his ankle. Later he was brought in for unpaid tickets and we photographed him.”

  “That’s not all that funny,” Laura replied. “My boss wouldn’t be impressed. I thought you were going to give me something juicy.”

  “For a tough guy it seemed funny to me,” he said. “Maybe next time.” He hung up.

  “I broke it playing fucking hopscotch?” Cockerill looked displeased. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then said, “Okay, as far as I know, there’s only one guy looking after the crop. His name’s Larry. I don’t know his last name. There should be a couple of GDs picking it up.”

  “Which ones?” Jack asked. “I need to know everything. It’ll help me come up with a plan to protect you from anyone ever finding out how we knew.”

  Cockerill snorted. “Nobody’d suspect me. The blame would be laid on either Larry getting careless or on the GDs because they’re a bunch of stupid fucks anyway. I’m full-patch Satans Wrath. Ain’t nobody gonna point a finger at me over this.”

  Over this, no … but what will you tell me in the future? I don’t want anyone to connect the dots, you dumbass. Jack cleared his throat. “Who from the GDs are picking it up?”

  “I dunno. Could be one of three guys or maybe all three.”

  “You’re talking about their prospects,” Jack replied.

  “Yeah,” Cockerill admitted.

  “I expect to nail full-patch members at a minimum. The GDs should have I-D-I-O-T-S for their top rocker.” He leaned closer and spoke harshly. “Come on, you can do better than this! I can’t believe you’re trying to stand up for those goofs. I’ve a hard time thinking of them as real bikers.”