Birds of a Feather (3 page)

Early Saturday morning found Jack Taggart slowly cruising through an upscale neighbourhood in Vancouver. He had obtained Earl Porter's address, which was a penthouse condo on Beach Avenue, overlooking the False Creek marina. Besides his Mustang, the Motor Vehicle Branch also listed Porter as owning a silver pickup truck.

The apartment building was monitored with closed-circuit television cameras and had a secure underground parking lot, but Jack simply bided his time and gained entry by quickly walking through the garage door after a car had entered. A quick look for Porter's vehicles resulted in locating his convertible Mustang, but the pickup truck was gone. From the layer of pockmarked dust on the Mustang, Jack knew Porter hadn't driven it for over a week since the last rainfall.

On Sunday night, Jack returned to the condo and saw that the lights to the penthouse were not on. He pushed the intercom regardless, ready to pretend it was a mistake, but there was no response.

On Monday morning at ten o'clock, Jack was scheduled to testify at the trial of several Satans Wrath motorcycle gang members who had been charged with conspiracy to traffic in cocaine. Jack, as an undercover operative with the RCMP Intelligence Unit, normally avoided going to court. He was, however, considered an expert when it came to organized crime and Satans Wrath in particular. He had well-documented evidence Satans Wrath was a criminal empire that had successfully clawed and murdered its way to become an international organized-crime syndicate.

The club had chapters in dozens of countries and was involved in almost every criminal venture a person could think of, including murder, extortion, drug trafficking, prostitution, bribery, theft, and loan-sharking. The crown was hoping to prove gangsterism charges under some relatively new sections of the Criminal Code.

It was only nine o'clock and Jack decided he had time before court to make another quick visit to Porter's condo. His timing was perfect. As he drove up to the condo, he saw Porter's silver pickup truck entering the garage.

Jack called Connie Crane, who was a veteran homicide investigator with the RCMP and assigned to the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team. Jack had worked with her on past investigations and although Connie had often voiced her objections to Jack's style of policing, he still highly respected her.

Jack quickly filled Connie in on what Marcie had told him about Lily Rae and what he had discovered about Porter from Drug Section.

“He's home now, CC. How long will it take you to interview him? Half an hour is all I'm asking.”

“I do homicides, not missing persons.”

“Yeah, like all the missing persons who showed up at the pig farm.”

“That's a low blow, Jack, even for you. You know how awful I feel about that case.”

“Sorry … I know you're dedicated … and overworked. We all are.”

“Why me?”

“Next to a polygraph operator, you're the best person I know at sniffing out a liar.”

“Thanks, I think I smell one now over the phone. Why don't you do it?” Connie asked.

“If you do it and think he's done something to her, then I'll try a UC approach. I don't want him knowing who I really am.”

“Christ … yeah, okay. I'll do it.”

“Thanks, CC. I owe you one,” said Jack.

“Hey, with you involved, I should be happy I'm not coming over to look at a body. Are you going to wait until I get there?”

“Can't. I have to be in Supreme Court at ten.”

“What? You really do go to court sometimes?” said Connie sarcastically. “I never knew you to actually arrest someone. I thought when you were done with the bad guys you handed them over to the coroner.”

Jack chuckled. “Don't give me too much credit. This isn't for anyone I busted. I have to give expert testimony and tell a judge that Satans Wrath really are a criminal group operating in concert with each other.”

“Everyone knows about Satans Wrath. Tell the judge to read a newspaper.”

“The prosecutor thinks I'll be done by eleven.”

“You never know how long an interview will take. I'll call you or leave a message as soon as I've talked to him.”

Jack gave his evidence and was off the stand by eleven. He had not heard back from CC yet and as he was the last witness, he decided to sit in the courtroom and listen to the summations by the Crown and the defence lawyers. The courtroom was almost empty, with the exception of a couple of wives and girlfriends. The defence lawyers knew it wouldn't help their cause to show their solidarity by having it packed full of bikers.

The only club member who did show up to watch was dressed in a suit and tie and looked like the wealthy businessman he was. Damien was the national president of the club and he and Jack knew each other well. Too well, in both their opinions.

The judge was about to render a decision when Connie stuck her head inside the courtroom and motioned for Jack to come out into the hallway.

“You got time to talk?” she asked.

“Yes, we're about done here. I think the judge has to get back to Disneyland.”

“Where's your sidekick?”

“I'm flying solo these days. Laura's on holidays. Gone for three weeks. So how did it go with Porter?”

“I talked to him. To start with, he is paranoid as hell. Something has him scared. I had to hold my badge up to the camera at the front door before he let me in. He even locked the door once I was inside.”

“What about Lily Rae?”

“No sign of her. I asked when he had last seen her and he wouldn't give me a straight answer. It was more like he wanted to know whatever I knew. Things like, ‘What makes you think I would know where she is?' or, ‘If something happened to her, I had nothing to do with it.'”

“The bastard.”

“He's really insolent … kind of got my goat. I tell ya, he's one guy I'd feel almost justified in smacking around. In the end, he said he dumped her over a week ago and didn't know where she was.”

“Maybe he did and she got embarrassed or something and ran away. Marcie said she had run away before.”

“Not a chance. That son of a bitch has done something to her.”

“You absolutely certain?” asked Jack.

“One hundred percent. You should have seen his face. A kid in kindergarten could have seen he was lying. I think we should get our ducks in a row. Maybe check his phone records and talk to his neighbours. Find out if anyone heard any fights or anything and then bring him in and really question him. If he doesn't lawyer up, I bet I could get him to crack within an hour.”

“How did you leave it with him?”

“I remained noncommittal because I wanted to talk to you first. I didn't want to freak him out any worse than he is and get him to thinking he should call a lawyer. I gave him my card and told him to give me a call if he heard from her or remembered something.”

“I doubt you'll get much in the way of phone records. If he and his buddy Clive Slater are dealing coke, they'll be changing cellphones faster than you change your panties. I think you —”

Jack stopped talking as Damien exited the courtroom and walked over to them.

“Good day, Corporal Taggart,” said Damien with a smile. “Hope you have a pleasant afternoon. I know I will,” he added, before walking away.

“What was that all about?” asked Connie.

“He was letting me know the judge didn't accept my evidence.”

“What? You're kidding! Everyone knows Satans Wrath's history of murder and dope dealing. How could a judge even consider the idea that they're not in it as a criminal venture?”

Jack shrugged and said, “Your guess is probably about as good as mine. Maybe the new law wasn't worded to the judge's liking. Or it could be one of a number of other things. The judge could be scared, obtuse, bought off, or has a utopian belief that any potential violation of civil rights outweighs the need to protect society as a whole. Take your pick.”

“You don't seem all that upset,” noted Connie.

Jack shrugged and said, “I've lost all faith in the justice system. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Connie studied Jack for a moment.
Of course you don't believe in the justice system. Explains why you completely ignore it a lot of the time. You prefer to send people directly to the morgue …

“Now, back to Porter,” continued Jack. “Do your thing first. Get your ducks in a row and bring him in for proper questioning.”

“Sounds good. Hopefully he doesn't lawyer up.”

Jack's face remained impassive, hiding what he was thinking.
For his sake, he better hope he talks to you. Otherwise I'll get him to talk my way …

In El Paso, the sun had barely cracked the eastern horizon Monday morning when Adams went to the hospital. Becky was at her husband's bedside when he arrived, but when she saw Adams, she quickly got up and met him at the door.

“Becky, I'm so sorry,” said Adams. “How's he doing?”

“Awful, but he wants to talk to you. He spent most of yesterday under sedation, but when he was awake, he kept asking for you.”

“The doctors said to let him get some rest and give him time to settle down before debriefing him.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what to say. I'm just glad we got him back.”

“What is there to say?” she replied bitterly. “Except that it's over. We're done with this shit,” she added defiantly. “I can't take it anymore. As soon as he's out of here he's putting in his papers to resign … and don't you try to talk him out of it,” she added, vehemently.

“I won't,” replied Adams softly. “I don't blame him. I expected he would quit. Anybody would.”

Becky studied his face, wondering if he was telling the truth and said, “I'll wait out here, but keep it short. He can barely hold it together enough to say more than a sentence or two without breaking down.”

Adams nodded and walked into the room. Patton propped himself up on the bed. His eyes were watery and one was bruised and swollen, leaving only a slit to peer out of.

“How ya doin', partner?” asked Adams. “Hanging in there? I'd have brought you a bottle of Jack Daniel's, but the stores aren't open yet. Figured it would be better than whatever prescription shit they're feedin' ya in here.”

“I'm not good, John,” admitted Patton. “I'm … I'm finished. I'm quitting. It's my idea as much as Becky's.”

“I know, she told me,” replied Adams, sitting down. “Don't blame you a bit. Yesterday Yolanda and I talked about it, too … and we don't have any kids.”

Talk between Adams and Yolanda of quitting was a lie, but it was a lie Adams felt his partner needed to hear. The truth was that Adams was too enraged to quit. He wanted to get even. He wanted justice.

“There's something else. I, I really screwed up,” Patton said, covering his face with his hands to try and stifle a sob.

“You didn't screw up. We're always working alone over there. They set you up and wanted you to follow the Mercedes. It was a proper ambush. It could have happened to me as easily as it did to you.”

“It's not that,” cried Patton. “I really screwed up. I told them.”

“Told them what? What are you talking about?”

“They wanted the names of everyone I worked with. I told them. I didn't want to, but I did.”

“Fuck 'em. Let them come after us. I hope they do.”

“No … it's not that. They wanted home addresses. The names of our wives and kids. Some of it I tried to make up. Giving fake names, but I had lost it. There was a lot of yelling and screaming. I was scared. I might have given them some real names, too. Or maybe I only think I did.… Every time I go to sleep it's like I'm there again. I can't tell my nightmares apart from what I really did say.”

“Hell, I bet hardly any of them spoke English. They won't remember or know what —”

“No, the captain spoke good English. He was writing down what I was saying in a notebook. Then he would smile at me as he flipped the pages back and ask some of the same questions over again. They caught me lying a couple of times.”

“Those fucking bastards,” fumed Adams.

“I tried to invent new names, but now I'm not sure what I told them. I know I gave them some of the guys' real names because I figured they probably knew the names of guys who had been here for years. I even gave them yours. Not your real address, but your name. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. We're flesh and blood. There is only so much any of us can take.”

“But our families, John. My God, our families …”

“You were gutsy to be throwing out whatever phony names you did. I can only imagine what the pain would have been like. Most men would have spilled their guts immediately. Did they ask about our office? Do they know where it is?”

“No, they never asked. I don't think it occurred to them that we wouldn't be working out of the downtown office. Which reminds me. What about the four guys who rescued me? Who were they?”

“FBI agents from the downtown office. I had never met them before, either. Pretty stand-up guys … for FBI agents. Acted almost like real cops.”

Adams's attempt to get Patton to smile failed.

“I never even thanked them,” he said sombrely.

“I think they would have understood. Under the circumstances, I suspect you had other stuff on your mind.”

“I think I had lost my mind at that point.”

“I'll get ahold of them. I know they'll want to come and see how you're doing.”

“Thanks.”

“The green Mercedes that set you up … I'm sure they've already switched plates. There aren't too many green Mercedes around, but was there anything besides the colour to identify it?”

“It did have a small white scrape in the fender behind the right rear tire. Why? You don't plan on going back to that house, do you? They'll have cleared out —”

“I think I already know who owns it. I talked to my friend and he said a guy in the Guajardo cartel by the name of Chico drives a green Mercedes. Chico is an under-boss to the Carrillo Fuentes brothers. He said Chico comes to El Paso regularly to collect money from the pimps who work for him and that he meets them at the Red Poker.”

“So they might have used him to bait the trap at the house we were working on.”

“Yeah … and maybe to check out the addresses you threw at them.” Adams stood up and added, “Get some rest, Greg. I'll be by to see you later.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think?”

“Don't, John. It ain't worth it.”

“Yeah, you're probably right. Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid.”

Adams felt more sickened and more enraged as he drove back to his office. He didn't feel any better after telling his boss, Weber, along with the other three bosses in the office what Patton went through and the questions that were asked.

Adams felt the four bosses shared the same attitude that was summed up by Davidson, who was the senior officer of the FBI contingent in their office.

Davidson shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, not much we can do about it. I'm sure Washington will protest.”

“Protest!” stammered Adams. “If we don't have the backbone to retaliate after this, none of our families will be safe.”

“There will be no retaliation,” said Weber, sharply. “We are not like them. It is what separates the good guys from the bad.”

Adams glared at Weber. “You didn't see Greg's face. What they've done to him … they broke him. He'll never be the same.”

Weber sighed. “I know he's been through a lot. So have you. You're angry. We all are. I want you to take a week off. Go home to your wife.”

An hour later, Adams left the office … but he didn't go home. He opted instead to go to the Red Poker Saloon.