Birds of a Feather (21 page)

Before leaving Casa Blanca, Big Al gave explicit orders to the other men in the house. The cocaine delivery was expected soon and he told Berto to call the men who usually unloaded the drugs and tell them there was a delay and not to come.

He made it clear he did not want anyone else to know that they had captured a Canadian policeman until they were completely finished with him. He was not risking any chance of a rescue and told them to unload the truck and stash the cocaine in the tunnel themselves.

El Pero quickly suggested that Jack should be guarded continuously and volunteered for the job. Big Al agreed.

Sanchez rolled his eyes at the other men. He knew El Pero was using Jack as an excuse to get out of the physical labour involving the drug delivery.
Being Big Al's favourite nephew has its privileges …

From his perch on the tower, Adams saw a coordinated flurry of activity. “Something is going on,” he yelled down to Rubalcava. “The two tan-coloured SUVs from the farmhouse joined the crew-cab pickup at the fruit stand. In total I count six … no, eight, guys getting out and having a confab with each other. The SUV with the snipers has also moved closer and is perched on another hill facing the fruit stand.”

“What do you make of it?” asked Rubalcava.

“I don't know … hang on, some of the guys at the fruit stand are getting back in their vehicles again.”

“Maybe a shift change or something?”

“Yeah, maybe that's — fuck that! They're setting up a textbook military ambush for a crossfire situation!”

“I'm a policeman, not a soldier. What are they doing?”

“Son of a bitch, Jack!” cried Adams aloud. “Why the hell did I ever let you go in there?”

“Tell me what you see!”

“I'll tell you what I see,” said Adams glumly. “I see professionals preparing to take someone out. They've driven the crew-cab truck a short distance down from the fruit stand and parked it sideways over a hill to block the road. They've also hidden guys with weapons on each side of the road leading up to the truck. If anyone comes along, the guys in the ditch open up on both sides, as well as from behind. If the person manages to survive and steps on the gas, they'll be finished off when they reach the truck, where they'll also be shot at from the front.”

“Is the ambush designed for someone heading south to the main road?”

“No … I wish it was. It would give me hope Jack is still alive. The ambush is for someone who would be heading north off the main road.”

“You think Jack —”

“Yeah, I think he was burned. Now they're setting up an ambush in case someone tries to find him.”

“Those shots we heard …”

“I know,” replied Adams. “I don't think they were shooting at tin cans. At this point I'm thinking he's dead. Christ, we don't even know what's over those hills. Could be several houses.”

“I know these back roads a little. Maybe there is another spot we could use to try and confirm where Casa Blanca really is.”

Adams agreed and descended the tower. They both drove in silence until they returned to the main highway.

“Which way,” asked Adams harshly, angry with himself that he hadn't somehow stopped Jack.

“Go west away from the fruit stand. I think farther down there is another road that goes north toward the border.”

“I'm sure they'll have it guarded, as well.”

“Perhaps, but maybe we will find another hill in the vicinity to give us a different view.”

Adams was pulling out onto the highway when he slammed on the brakes. Off in the distance, a telltale cloud of dust told of a vehicle racing toward the area of the fruit stand.

“That looks like it is coming from the same road they took Jack down,” said Adams. “I'm going to drive past and take a look.”

Adams drove slowly and was rewarded when they passed the fruit stand and saw Big Al's SUV approaching the highway.

“Maybe he is still alive,” said Adams, excitedly. “Big Al might be returning him. What do you think?”

“I don't know,” replied Rubalcava. “Perhaps everything is okay. Maybe the ambush is only a precaution because they brought Jack to Casa Blanca.”

“You would have thought they would have had it set up to begin with,” noted Adams.

“Perhaps it was an afterthought.”

“Jack mentioned a delivery was to be made this afternoon. Maybe they do it to make sure nobody is following whoever does the delivery. It might have nothing to do with Jack.”

“Possible. That makes more sense. Let's hope you're right.”

“I'll drive slow. If Jack is in Big Al's SUV, they should be passing us on the way back to Juarez any minute.”

A short time later, both Adams and Rubalcava breathed a partial sigh of relief as Big Al's silver SUV went racing past them.

Damien and Lance Morgan sat beside each other at a picnic bench in Vancouver's Kitsilano Beach Park overlooking English Bay. Across from them sat Miguel and Ramiro, who had requested they meet again in the afternoon after their first initial encounter that morning.

Both Miguel and Ramiro were each sipping on a bottle of cola, after assuring Damien they would be receiving an important message any minute in regard to Jack Taggart.

That there were numerous members of Satans Wrath in the area providing security did little to impress Miguel and Ramiro. Where they came from, such security was common to protect the top drug lords. What they did find amusing were the counter-surveillance teams put in place to ensure they were not being followed by the police. In Mexico, they used the police as their own bodyguards.

Damien, along with other members of Satans Wrath, were frequently watched and photographed by the police. For Damien it did not particularly bother him much, but with the advice he had given to murder Jack Taggart, he did not want to risk that his potentially new business partners might say something that could be picked up by the police through parabolic microphones or any other listening devices.

Damien was also curious as to whether the police knew about Miguel and Ramiro. The fact they were not being followed did not necessarily indicate the police didn't know them. He had correctly theorized the police might not be conducting surveillance for fear of jeopardizing Taggart's undercover role. If the police surveillance was discovered by Miguel and Ramiro, the timing of the sudden police interest with the arrival of Taggart into their midst would be too coincidental.

Miguel excused himself to look at a message he received on his BlackBerry. When he did, he smiled and held the device out for Damien and Lance to see a picture.

“I have been told to ask you if you think this man is still dangerous,” said Miguel.

Damien and Lance looked at Jack's naked body lying on a floor and scrutinized his face.

“Is it him?” asked Lance. “With all that blood and shit, it's —”

“It's Taggart,” said Damien. “I saw him in court last month. There's no doubt.”

“Looks like they did a real number on him first,” added Lance.

“Yeah, he doesn't exactly look his best, that's for sure.” Damien looked at Miguel and smiled. “You can let Big Al know that I no longer think he is dangerous.”

“Good,” replied Miguel, looking pleased. “I am also to find out if you would like any questions asked of him?”

“What do you mean,” asked Damien, glancing at the picture again. “Isn't he dead?”

“No, not yet. We will torture him for a few days to find out everything he knows before we allow him to die.”

“How can you be sure he will tell you the truth?” asked Lance.

“We can be very persuasive.” Miguel gave a smug smile. “Besides, he is not that strong. I was told when my boss touched him with a cattle prod only once, he passed out.”

“Big Al nailed him with a cattle prod?” replied Damien, now understanding why Jack was naked in the picture.

“Actually it was my boss,” replied Miguel. “He is called El Pero and works for Big Al, who is the one who asks the questions.”

“It looks like they beat his head in,” noted Lance.

“Yes, but he will survive to tell us what we wish to know. I am told he will receive a doctor's care to keep him alive for as long as we want. Very few men die without telling us what we wish to know.”

“I know this guy,” said Damien. “He won't break easily. If he does talk, I am sure it will be a combination of lies to distort the truth. Something to disrupt our organizations and send us on wild goose chases. I think you should kill him immediately. Same for the girl you told me about. What if they are rescued? I am sure someone knows he was picked up by Big Al or El Pero or whoever.”

“We are certain nobody knows where he is. Even if they did, Taggart and the girl would be killed immediately if there was any sign of a rescue attempt. He is handcuffed to a pipe and being guarded in a house in the middle of a desert with many armed men, including trained commandos. Outside of the house are more professional soldiers hired for security. There is no chance he could be rescued. Also, Big Al and El Pero are well-protected in Mexico. They would never be arrested for killing anyone,” said Miguel.

“That's good to hear, but as far as questioning him about my club, like I said, I am sure he will simply tell a pack of lies.”

“You may be right, but it is not only questions about what he knows about us we will be asking. We wish to make an example of him to prevent other police officers from interfering,”

“By killing him I can guarantee there will be a lot of police attention,” said Damien. “Although, under the circumstances, I can see you have no choice.”

“The police will not be so eager when we kill a few people who are close to them,” said Miguel.

“People close to them?” asked Damien.

“Yes. We do it in my country all the time. Killing policemen is nothing significant, but killing their families is. Those are the type of questions we will be asking him.”

“Questions about his family?” said Lance.

“Yes. We will also be asking him the names of wives and children belonging to the people he works with. Big Al has already asked him if he has a wife or children. He has told Big Al he does not, but we will find out. Perhaps you know if —”

“Messing with a cop's family is a bad idea,” said Damien. “Asking questions in that regard is like digging your own grave.”

“What do you mean?” asked Miguel.

“Have you ever been to a bullfight?” asked Damien.

“Yes, many times,” replied Miguel. “In Mexico it —”

“Then you should know if you play with the bull, you get the horns. All it takes is one rogue cop to seek revenge … and I am not talking about legal revenge.”

“Our people are well-protected in Mexico,” interjected Ramiro. “We have done this many times. It is not a problem.”

“You do not think it will be a problem?” replied Damien, looking at Lance and raising his eyebrows.

“Not at all,” said Miguel. “So with that in mind, do you know if this man is married or if he has children?”

“I only know that he works for the RCMP Intelligence Section in Vancouver,” replied Damien.

“I see. Well, perhaps we should meet again tomorrow. Then I will tell you what we have learned so far and perhaps you will think of something you would like us to find out from him.”

Damien nodded in agreement and said, “Stay here and somebody will explain what steps you need to take to set up tomorrow's meeting.”

As Lance and Damien walked away, Lance said, “I take it you had a reason for not telling them Taggart's wife's name is Natasha and she's a doctor?”

“Hell, yes, I have a reason. There is no way I want any of that to come back on us. I meant it when I said they would be digging their own graves.”

“I agree with you there. These guys have a lot to learn about the cops in this country.”

“No shit. They don't seem to appreciate how much they're crossing the line. How many other cops out there have Taggart's mentality? I'm not afraid to face our court system or some cop who follows the rules, but I sure as hell wouldn't want someone like Taggart coming after me if I fucked with his family.”

“Still thinking about going into business with them?” asked Lance, with a jerk of his thumb back toward Miguel and Ramiro.

“That's the dilemma. We have a great opportunity to make a lot of cash, but at the same time, killing Taggart could generate a lot of heat.”

“A hell of a lot if they start knocking off wives and kids.”

“If they do, we'll immediately sever all ties. I need to think about this. Maybe convince them to wait a while after they kill Taggart and see what comes of it. I was thinking if they killed him down there, it might not cause too much heat up here. There is huge potential for financial growth with these guys, but they need to be educated.”

“Sounds to me like you just tried. I don't think they were listening. If they do start killing cops' families … what do you think will come of it?”

“Something those two clowns could probably never imagine.”

Jack stirred as a blinding pain in his skull brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes and saw El Pero sitting on a kitchen chair facing him from the hallway outside the laundry room. The long-barrelled revolver was shoved in his belt and he was skimming the pages of a
Playboy
magazine before pausing to hold up the centrefold.

El Pero saw Jack watching him and turned the picture around for Jack to see. “No more of this, for you, gringo!”

Jack did not respond, but El Pero laughed and shouted down the hallway in Spanish. Jack's brain was too numb to follow the conversation, but a couple of men in the kitchen also laughed and yelled back.

El Pero went back to looking at more pictures and Jack tried to focus. If he turned his head slowly, images no longer appeared like multiple overlaps of themselves. He stared at El Pero while carefully cupping the pipe with his hands. His muscles strained, but he was unable to turn the pipe from where it was attached to the laundry tub.

A rubber drain plug dangling over the side of the tub gave him an idea. He could use the small spring steel loop attaching the chain to the drain plug to pick the handcuffs … given enough time and privacy.

Jack brooded about how to get El Pero to close the door. The room already reeked and he toyed with the idea that if he defecated, it might cause El Pero to close the door.
But then what? Open the door and try to grab his gun? Even if I succeeded, the guys in the kitchen would gun me down … not to mention the snipers outside.

He looked at the other items in the room. The containers of bleach and ammonia sitting next to a mop, broom, and dustpan in the corner gave him another idea.

A combination of bleach and ammonia together produce a deadly chlorine gas. If I do get El Pero to close the door and get free, I could use the dust pan to pour them slowly out under the crack of the door. Maybe El Pero will die. I could sneak out and take his gun and … what the hell am I thinking? Great idea for a movie or a book. Not so good in real life … there has to be another way …

Big Al's conversation about what they would learn from his torture came back to haunt him. He thought of Natasha and Mikey. For a moment, a small, half-smile formed on his lips as he recalled the moment.

Michael Edward Taggart … you're our little boy. Michael Edward Taggart, you're our pride and joy. Michael Edward Taggart, you're such a little clown. Michael Edward Taggart, you're fun to have around!

Jack's smile disappeared as he reached a decision. The fear that had been overwhelming him was replaced with sadness. He truly understood how Lily felt when she believed there was no hope.

I can't risk being taken alive. If I can get El Pero to close the door, I need to dump the bleach and ammonia in the tub and kill myself before Big Al comes back …

The sound of a truck arriving outside told Jack the expected delivery was being made. Someone in the kitchen hollered to El Pero to come and help. He hollered back that Big Al had told him to guard the gringo. The others would have to unload the truck themselves.

The sound of the men going outside caused Jack to hastily go over his plan again. He did not know how much time he had before the men outside returned, but for the moment, it was only El Pero he had to contend with. He eyed the bottles of bleach and ammonia once more, but was distracted when he noticed El Pero giving a few furtive glances down the hall toward the kitchen … and then back at Jack.

What is he up to?
Jack let his head slump to his chest and closed his eyes. He heard the grate of the kitchen chair as El Pero stood up and dropped the magazine on the chair. Next he heard El Pero shuffling down the hall and opening the padlock to Lily's room.

For Jack, it gave him hope. Thoughts of suicide were replaced with hope of survival. He knew he only had a matter of minutes to get free and turned to the drain plug, using his teeth to bite the plug and pull it free from the chain. When he did, he was able put the plug in his hands and extract the wire ring.

Normally he could have picked the lock in a few seconds. Today was not normal. The circulation had been cut from his hands because the cuffs were on too tight. His fingers were like sausages and the exertion caused his scalp to start bleeding again, causing a mixture of sweat and blood to seep into his eyes as he frantically picked at the lock.

A couple of minutes ticked past and from the painful moans emitted by Lily from down the hall, he knew he had little time left. Finally one cuff opened and he slipped it past the pipe, not bothering to take the time to try and pick the other cuff.

He crept to the doorway and looked down the hall. There was nobody in sight so he hurried to Lily's room, leaving a trail of blood droplets along the way. The door was partially open and he looked in.

Lily was on her hands and knees on the mattress facing away from him. So was El Pero, who was mounting her anally from behind, supporting part of his weight with one hand on the mattress while clenching Lily's hair with the other hand. Between grunts he cussed at her and his fat buttocks shook as his strokes increased in tempo. His shirt was still on, but his pants and the .32-calibre long barrelled revolver were beside the door.

It was what Jack had hoped to find. He picked up the revolver and glanced at the cylinder to see the lead ends of the bullets sticking out. There was only one.
The bastard didn't reload … one will have to do.

Jack knew the use of deadly force was restricted to imminent life-threatening situations to either the public or himself. Despite what El Pero was doing, he was unarmed. To shoot him would qualify as murder.

In theory, as Jack did not have the authority to work in Mexico, he should make a citizen's arrest and perhaps attempt to take El Pero hostage until he could turn him over to the proper authorities.

Yeah, to murder him would be wrong … but somehow, it feels so right …

Outside, the sounds of the men unpacking the truck could clearly be heard, but he knew they would not hear the shot.
I wonder if El Pero has even heard of an Italian silencer …

El Pero's body went rigid and he belched in pain, letting go of Lily's hair and looking back over his shoulder. Jack had rammed the pistol so hard, that his own knuckles were between El Pero's fat buttocks.

“You like things up the ass, fatso?” asked Jack.

El Pero's eyes went wide with fright, his buttocks automatically clenching tighter as he gasped and his lips floundered as his brain searched for what to say.

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Jack, as he pulled the trigger.

The muffled explosion that followed caused El Pero's body to immediately go limp when the bullet travelled from his rectum, up through his intestines, stomach, and heart before stopping at his shoulder blade.

“Come on, we've got to get out of here,” said Jack, grabbing El Pero by the arm and rolling his body off of Lily, who lay collapsed under his weight. “Are you able to walk?”

Lily half-rolled on her side and stared up at Jack in shock, but didn't respond.

“Did you hear me?” asked Jack. “We don't have much time. Are you able to walk?”

“Why aren't you wearing any clothes?” Lily asked tearfully.

“Christ, I'm not here to —” Jack paused, shocked that Lily would even think what she was thinking. He sighed and said, “I'm not wearing any clothes because they took them from me. They were torturing me, too. Come on, I came to take you back to Canada.”

“Oh,” replied Lily in shock. She blinked her eyes a couple of times and looked at Jack as he grabbed her arm and said, “Your head … you're bleeding really bad! You'll never be able to save —”

“Keep your voice down. Head wounds tend to look worse than they are. I've cut myself shaving worse than this. We don't have time to talk. There are men outside unloading a truck. We only have a couple of minutes. Come on, let's see if you can stand.”

Lily slowly pushed herself back up on one knee as Jack held her arm and helped her to her feet. She stood wobbling for a moment.

“You're doing good,” said Jack, trying to sound encouraging. “Can you walk on your own?”

“I think I can,” she replied and Jack cautiously let go. She took one step and stumbled, but Jack caught her before she collapsed and lowered her back to a sitting position on the mattress.

“I can't,” she said, her voice becoming louder as panic overcame her shock.

“Shhh! Don't worry. I thought you might not be able to walk so I have a plan. Wait here and try to catch your breath. I'll be back in a minute.”

Jack didn't wait for a reply. Still holding the empty revolver, he grabbed El Pero's pants and ran back to the laundry room, checking the pants pockets on the way. They were empty.
What? You leave your cellphone in the SUV … probably along with your spare bullets … You fat bastard … wish you hadn't died so fast …

Jack knew El Pero's pants were far too big for him, so he grabbed his own pants and shirt from the laundry room, but did not take the time to put them on as he padded barefoot out to the kitchen and peeked out the window.

The men had unloaded boxes from a cube van that had a tomato logo on the side of it. A few boxes had been piled to one side and the men were putting the other boxes back in the truck. Jack knew he only had a minute or two left before they would be back in the house.