Birds of a Feather (7 page)

It was Thursday afternoon when Corporal Connie Crane called Jack to say she had met with a Crown prosecutor.

“Here it is in a nutshell,” said Connie. “If a judge thinks you have used too much intimidation, then whatever Slater may tell you would be inadmissible against him at any criminal proceedings. However, if what you are told assists us in investigating other players, then you might be able to go after them. Of course, if that happened, we still couldn't enter any of Slater's admissions.”

“What about calling him as a witness if he knows something? Threaten him with perjury if he doesn't tell the truth.”

“You wouldn't be able to enter evidence to prove he was lying. If you tried, a judge might say it puts justice into disrepute and toss the whole case.”

“So we can use Slater as a stepping stone, but even if he incriminates himself we still have to send him on his way with a get out of jail free card.”

“I think you got it.”

“Want me to go for it?”

“Yeah, we've got nothing else. Wilson's in agree-ment. Both of us think he knows something about her disappearance, but we don't think he is a hands-on kind of guy. If you think you can pull off some tough-guy scenario to get him to talk, go for it.”

“I'll let you know how it goes. It may take a couple of days.”

“That's good to hear.”

“Why?”

“Because if you were using pliers it wouldn't take that long.”

An hour after talking with Connie, Jack visited The Racquet Club. After a quick tour, he accepted an offer of a free pass used as a promotion to entice people to buy a membership. He was glad to see the customers used padlocks to secure their storage lockers. His ability to pick locks would make that step of his undercover plan easy.

The hardest job would be finding a remote spot and digging a grave that wouldn't be discovered. For that, he found a construction site where the workers got weekends off.

On Friday afternoon, Jack called Sammy in Drug Section. “Hey, are you still hiding that ugly face of yours with a beard?” asked Jack.

“I only have a goatee now. What's up, Jack?”

“A goatee is good. Need a small favour for a quick UC.”

“Yeah? How quick? Last time I agreed to do something for you, I ended up sitting in a bar so you could burn me to get the bad guys to trust you.”

“That worked well.”

“For you, yeah. Me, I could have been shot.”

“Never took you for a whiner.”

“A whiner? Up yours!” Sammy chuckled. “What do you need?”

“I need you to stand on a sidewalk and phone me when some guy arrives and asks for me. I'll know when he's arriving so you'll only have to be there for a few minutes.”

“Sounds easy enough. Beats being in a doper bar like last time. When do you want to do it?”

“Tomorrow around supper time.”

“Tomorrow's Saturday … yeah, okay. Where at?”

“Do you know where the west-side chapter clubhouse for Satans Wrath is?”

“Oh, fuck …”

On Saturday morning, Jack awoke to the sound of Natasha singing to Mikey. She was lying on her back in bed beside him, but holding the baby up above her chest with her hands around his waist. Her voice was soft and sweet.

“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!” With this last comment she stretched her arms high and pretended to let Mikey drop.

Mikey's bright eyes, coupled with his smile and bubbly giggle, begged for more.

Jack smiled to himself as he lay there.
Life can be so good.

It was a special moment locked in time. One that would later come back to haunt Jack at the most dire moment of his life.

“He's a very happy kid,” said Jack, as Natasha lay Mikey on her chest.

“Do you think so?” asked Natasha, turning to stare at Jack.

“Are you kidding? Look at him. He's always giggling. Look at his eyes. So full of life.”

“I am looking. I think he just fell asleep.”

Natasha made a pretext of looking at Mikey and said, “Probably because he's bored.”

“Bored? He's not even seven months old.”

Natasha smiled at Jack and said, “He needs a baby sister or baby brother to play with.”

“It has only been a couple of weeks since we started trying. All in good time.”

“Boy, are you slow this morning. Don't you know when I'm giving you a nudge?” she said, before kissing Jack on the side of his neck.

Jack scrambled out of bed, gently picked up Mikey and raced down the hall to place him in his crib.

“I take it that was enough of a nudge,” Natasha said, laughing as Jack ran back into their bedroom.

“You want to see a nudge? I'll show you a nudge,” he replied, leaping back into bed.

Later that afternoon Natasha saw a hard look come over Jack's face moments before he slipped on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and left for work. She knew he was psychologically preparing himself for a role of some sort, but she didn't like it. He didn't look like the man she married and it scared her.

It was five o'clock when Slater walked out of The Racquet Club and got in his car. Ten minutes later, he received a call on his cellphone.

“Yeah, is this Clive Slater?” asked Jack.

“Who wants to know?” replied Slater.

“The guy who found his wallet.”

“What? … Jesus! I didn't even know it was missing.”

“I found it in the dressing room at The Racquet Club. They gave me your number. Looks like you got about eight hundred bucks in it, along with your credit cards.”

“I'm not far away. I'll be right there.”

“Oh, I didn't realize you had just left. I'm already in my car and am late for a meeting. Guess I could have left it at the club, but I'm not the trusting type so they gave me your number. My name's Jack. I'll give ya the address of where I'll be if ya want to slide by and pick it up. Otherwise, maybe in a couple of days we can get together.”

“No, no. God, no. I need it. I'll come right away. Thanks a million.”

Forty minutes later, Slater's sense of relief at being able to retrieve his wallet was replaced by a feeling of dread as he arrived at the address he was given. A high chain-link fence protected a yard full of Harley Davidsons. Keep Out signs, security cameras, coupled with a well-known logo and an emblazoned sign reading SATANS WRATH told him he was in dangerous territory.

Slater slowed his car to a crawl as he drove by. A menacing-looking man with a goatee was strolling toward him up the sidewalk, but stopped when he saw Slater and stood with his arms folded across his chest glaring at him. Slater lowered his window and said, “Excuse me, uh, sir. Do you know if there is a guy by the name of Jack around?”

“Yeah,” replied Sammy. “He said someone was coming by. Hang on. I'll put a call in.”

Slater stopped his car on the street and listened as Sammy used his cellphone.

“This is the guard at the north side,” said Sammy. “Tell Jack there is some guy here to see him.” Sammy paused a moment and said, “Yeah, I'll tell him,” he added, before hanging up. Sammy looked at Slater. “Go down the block, take your first left and find a place to park and wait in your car. He'll be out in a minute.”

Slater breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was go inside the compound, or worse yet, inside the clubhouse.

Sammy waited until Slater had turned the corner before hustling off in the opposite direction, all too aware that the hum of moving security cameras told him it was time to leave.

Moments later, Slater saw Jack approach and tap on his passenger window while holding his wallet up for him to see. Slater lowered the window.

“Unlock the door,” said Jack. “There is something we need to discuss.”

“Of course.”
He wants a reward
, thought Slater, unlocking the door.

Jack got in and handed him his wallet. Slater quickly flipped it open and smiled when he saw that his money and credit cards were all there.

“Thanks a bunch,” Slater said. “You're a great guy to be returning it, especially with all this money. Most guys wouldn't. Let me give you a reward for all your trouble,” he added, fishing a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.

“Fuck that,” said Jack gruffly. “I don't need your money. Besides, I'm not really that great. I actually stole your wallet.”

“What? Why? Oh, you're joking,” replied Slater, giving a nervous smile.

“Does this look like a fuckin' joke?” replied Jack, flipping open his jacket to reveal a pistol stuck in the front of his pants. “I did it to get you down here. Easier than taking you away from The Racquet Club.”

“But why?” stammered Slater as Jack put his hand on the pistol's handgrip. “I haven't done anything to you guys. I'm not even in any gangs or anything. Whoever you're after … you've got the wrong guy!”

“No, we know we got the right guy, so shut up and listen. I know you're a businessman, so let me try to put it into words you'll understand. We distribute a product. You're competition. You must have heard of a hostile takeover. Consider this it.”

“What product? I don't understand!” cried Slater.

“A very white product,” said Jack, putting his thumbnail up to his nose and pretending to snort.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said Slater.

Jack sighed and said, “Okay, I can see you're not stupid. That's good. Now I want you to take me for a little drive. I've got something to show you. It could actually save your life. You don't want to end up like your buddy Earl.”

“That was you guys!” exclaimed Slater.

“Who the fuck did you think it was?”

“T-O's guys,” blurted Slater. “I mean, I don't know.”

“Who the fuck is T-O?”

“Oh, fuck …”

“I'm not asking you again,” yelled Jack. “Who the fuck is T-O?”

“Nobody I've met,” Slater hastened to say. “Just someone Earl owed money to.”

“Well, it wasn't us who whacked Earl. We were going to offer him the same deal as you.”

“A deal? What deal? I don't understand. If Earl was involved with you guys or something, I didn't know anything about it. I'm just a businessman. I don't —”

“Yeah, I know. Like I said, we're businessmen, too. So start driving. I've got something to show you to convince you we know a little more than you think.”

“Can't you just tell me? I mean —”

“It's something you need to experience and see to believe. Don't worry, if we were going to kill you, you would already be dead and this class-act set of wheels you got would already be on a freighter bound for Russia.”

The sun was going down and elongated shadows from the trees cast darkened silhouettes over mounds of dirt gouged out of a forest on the side of a mountain. For now, only the pits in the earth marked where the cement would be poured to make basements for a new residential pocket of homes.

It wasn't the cold that caused Slater to shake as he parked beside the construction trailer.

“Get out,” ordered Jack. “What I got to show you is on the other side of the trailer.”

“I don't like this,” whined Slater. “I feel really uncomfortable. Can't we talk in the car?”

“Uncomfortable? See how uncomfortable you feel after a bullet rips through your kidneys!” roared Jack, pulling out his pistol.

Slater automatically lurched back, pressing himself so hard against the driver's door it looked like he was moulded into it. His eyes closed and his face crinkled, expecting to be shot.

“Jesus, fuck! Stop acting like that,” said Jack. “If I wanted you dead, I'd shoot you now. I only want to talk to you. We've got a business proposition for you. Hand me the keys, too. I don't want you trying to fuck off and leave me here.”

Slater opened his eyes and tried to calm himself as he fumbled the keys out of the ignition. As soon as he did, Jack snatched them out of his hand and said, “Now get out! I'm not tellin' ya again!”

Slater got out of the car and tried to convince himself Jack only wanted to talk to him, but his fear increased dramatically when, a few minutes later, he found himself with Jack looking down at a dug-out basement.

“Climb down,” ordered Jack. “What I got to show you is alongside those footings on the far side.”

Slater squinted into the darkness, but all he could see were wooden frames filled with rebar left in preparation to pour cement. A nudge from the barrel of a pistol in his back convinced him not to argue. Once they had descended into the pit, Jack prodded Slater over to a waist-deep, grave-sized hole dug in the ground and said, “Get in!”

“You are going to kill me! You said you weren't!” cried Slater.

“Yeah, I know,” said Jack, shoving Slater into the hole.

Slater landed on his feet with his arms draped over the far side of the grave. He spun around and pleaded, “Please, don't. If you want money, I can get —”

“Sorry I lied about not killing you,” said Jack. “I've been known to do that sometimes. I know it's a terrible habit, but I thought it was easier than dragging you.”

“Please … don't …”

“Fuck, I knew it,” said Jack, “look at that. “Will you look at that?”

“What?” cried Slater.

“How tall are you?”

“What? I'm —”

“This hole ain't nearly deep enough. I told the guys to dig it deeper. Jesus fuck, why is it if you want something done right, you've always gotta do it yourself?”

“Please! Listen to me. I can get my hands on a lot of money. Don't kill me.”

Jack reached for a shovel stuck in the mound of dirt dug from the grave and tossed it into the hole beside Slater. “Tell ya what. You dig the hole deeper for me and then I promise to make it quick and clean. You won't feel a thing. Otherwise I'll gut shoot you and let you crawl around for half an hour while I dig. Then if ya haven't already bled out, I'll bury ya alive.”

“Oh, God, no!” cried Slater.

“Is it a deal?” asked Jack, trying to sound hopeful.

“Please, don't!”

“Start digging. I'm going to talk to you about something. Maybe how you answer might make me change my mind.”

Slater picked up the shovel and started to dig. He believed he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. All hope was gone and his brain was going numb and shutting down to protect him from the horror he faced.

Jack's cellphone rang. The call display told him it was Natasha. He could have ignored the call, but decided Slater needed more convincing and knew every minute the scenario dragged on would seem like an eternity to Slater.

“I'm going to take this call, don't move,” ordered Jack.

Slater's foot was poised in the air over the shovel and he literally did not move.

“Hi, what's up?” asked Jack, stepping back to ensure Slater could not overhear his wife's voice.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” asked Natasha.

“No, it's not a bad time. I'm just standing around waiting for a guy.”

“I was just phoning to talk. I think Mikey is getting a cold. I might put the vaporizer in his room for tonight.”

“Did you say you want me to vaporize him or not?” asked Jack, knowing Slater could hear. “The phone keeps cutting out. If I lose your call I guess I'll just do it.”

“No, I said I would do it,” said Natasha.

“Hello? Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes, I'm here, Jack. I can hear you fine.”

“Oh … I can hear you now.”

“Your voice sounds funny … is somebody there listening?”

“You got it.”

“I see. Can you give me any idea when you're coming home?”

“I've still got a big pile of work to shovel through, but it shouldn't take long.”

“With you, I don't know if you mean that figuratively or literally,” replied Natasha.

Jack smiled to himself. He and Natasha had been through a lot together. More than a husband should ever ask of his wife.

As Jack talked, he stared at the man in the hole in front of him. He knew Slater did not need further convincing. He had gone into a catonic state. His foot was still poised in the air over the shovel.

Paralyzed by fear was something Jack thought was only an expression. It wasn't. Slater stood as rigid as a mannequin.
I wonder how he can do that without falling over?
He spoke a moment longer to Natasha and then hung up.

“Okay,” said Jack, turning his attention to Slater. “Where were we? Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you whether or not you live is entirely up to you. Like I said, we have a proposition for you. If you want to go into business with us, everything will work out great. If you don't, well, I think you get the picture. Where you're standing is the experience I said you needed to have. Talking about it isn't the same. Don't you agree?”

Slater gawked up at him, but didn't reply.

“You listening to me?” yelled Jack.

Slater nodded and slowly put his foot down.

“You can start by telling me all about your organization,” said Jack.

“It's not really mine,” Slater heard himself say. “It's the Mexicans. I only work for them.” He thought his voice sounded far away and wondered if he was having an out-of-body experience.
Am I already dead?
“T-O is the real boss,” he heard his voice say. It was as if his words were coming out independently of his brain. “Earl and I run the money back,” his voice continued.

“Back where?”

“To El Paso. T-O's guys come across the border from Juarez and take it from there.”

“And the coke?” asked Jack.

“Earl and I never had anything to do with that. We were to stay clear of the coke and strictly handle the money. T-O likes to keep it separate.”

“And who is T-O?”

Slater worked up the courage and nervously looked down at his feet, then gave a sigh of relief and started to cry.

“Why the fuck are you looking in the bottom of the hole? Don't even think about trying to whack me with that shovel!”

“I wasn't … I was afraid … I thought I might see my body laying there.”

“What the fuck? How could your body be laying there? You're standing! Are you stoned?”

“No, I just —”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me who T-O is!”

“I've never met him!” he cried.

“Quit your fuckin' bawlin'! It pisses me off!” Jack waited a moment for Slater to regain his composure. “Tell me how you know T-O.”

Slater wiped his face with his sleeve. “I met the guys who work for him. I've heard one of them mention his name whenever he calls him. I can tell T-O's the boss by how respectful the guy sounds when he talks to him.”

“And how did you meet his guys?”

“Some of T-O's other guys approached Earl and me at a nightclub in Vancouver. At first we thought they were bullshitting about paying us to make trips, but then they offered us half the cash up front for the first delivery.”

“And you think T-O whacked Earl?”

“Yes, well, his guys did.”

“His guys from Canada?”

“No, I know they were sending a couple guys up from Mexico. Professionals.”

Professionals?
thought Jack.
Professionals don't sneer into the cameras. More likely they were expendables …

“They didn't want to risk drawing any attention to the guys who are already settled in Canada,” continued Slater.

“So they whacked their own mule,” noted Jack. “What did he do, steal their money?”

“Not intentionally. Earl has … had a gambling problem. While he was waiting in El Paso for T-O's guys to show up, he hit some casino, lost his own money, and dipped into theirs.”

El Paso! Please don't tell me the asshole took Lily to El Paso …

“Things went from bad to worse and he ended up losing most of it,” continued Slater.

“So then what, he just came back to Canada?”

“Not right away. He switched motels and then went back to the casino hoping to make a million out of about twenty grand. He lost that and then called me from the casino in a panic. When I was on the line with him, one of T-O's guys called me, as well. I put Earl on hold and well, you know, I had to look after myself.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“I know better than to fuck with the Mexicans. I told Earl to go back to his motel and everything would be okay, that I would help him straighten it out. I then told T-O's guys where Earl was and what motel he was staying at with his girlfriend.”

His girlfriend … he did take her there.
Jack resisted the urge to jump in the hole and take out his frustration by choking Slater around the neck and shaking him the way a pit bull shakes a rat. He knew if he was to play his role properly, he would have to pretend he was not particularly interested in any girlfriend Porter would have had. “Was this motel right at the casino?” Jack asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, I don't think so. I can't remember the name of it.”

“So you ratted out your friend … you're a real stand-up kind of guy.”

“I had no choice. If they ever found out I lied to them, I'd be dead, too. I knew Earl was already a dead man … whether he knew it or not. Guess he figured it out when he drove into the motel parking lot and spotted T-O's guys waiting for him. He spun a donut and fucked off back to Canada.”

“What about his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I'm sure T-O's guys killed her, too.”

You're probably right …
“Didn't want to leave any loose ends.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

Was Lily as straight as Marcie thought she was?
“Guess nobody told her if you fly with the crows, you should expect to get shot.”

“Well … she didn't really know what was going on. Earl had given her some bullshit story they were going to Texas to party with some business associates and then stop in Vegas on the way home and get married.”

Aw crap … the poor kid.
“He was going to marry her?”

“He told me it was the only way he could get in her pants. I don't think he planned on being married long.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” said Jack, bitterly. “Wish I had gotten to know him on a personal level.”

“Well, he couldn't risk going to the cops or they might have busted him for being a runner.”

“So you sold out Earl and his girlfriend both,” said Jack, eyeballing Slater's throat while subconsciously tightening the muscles in his fingers.

“It's not my fault. I had no choice. I feel bad about it, but a guy has to look after himself.”

“Yeah, for sure. Now start digging again.”

“What! I thought we had a deal?”

“Shut the fuck up and dig.”

“Please let me talk. I could make you rich. I'm supposed to make a trip down there within the next two weeks. You can take the cash. I'll say I was robbed. Beat me up or something …”

“Oh, believe me, tearing you to pieces does appeal to me,” replied Jack. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled and said, “How much cash we talkin'?”

“I don't know, but I'm sure it's over a million.”

“What do ya mean, ya don't know? You're the one who delivers it.”

“Besides my car, I have a pickup truck they gave me. The paperwork makes it look like I bought the truck in the States, but it didn't cost me a dime. In it is a secret hiding spot. If you adjust the knobs on the dash a certain way, a hydraulic system raises a fake deck up in the back of the truck.”

“So the truck has a duplicate deck in the back … a fake one over top of the original one?”

“Yes, exactly. I haul a minimum of a million with each trip. Sometimes more. I've never had the nerve to count it all myself, but I've seen them unload it at the trailer.”

“At the trailer?”

“Before, in El Paso, we used to have to drive the money way to hell and gone out into the desert to some mobile trailer where they would unload it. I don't think they use it anymore. On this last trip they told Earl to stay at some motel outside of El Paso and call them. Then T-O's guys were to come and take him and the truck to someplace in Juarez.”

“When do they put the money into your truck?”

“The day before I go, one of T-O's guys borrows it from me for a couple of hours and then brings it back. My job is to drive it down to El Paso. I get paid forty grand a trip. I'm supposed to go in another week or two. I haven't been told an exact date yet.”