Live Bait (2 page)

"And what did he tell you?" It was getting interesting, a big city crime instead of the petty thefts and traffic offences I had to deal with most of the time in my own work.

"He said it was two guys. One was short, had a two-by-four. The other was big. They cracked him over the head with the two-by-four and put the boots to him while he was down."

He picked up his beer bottle and measured the level with his eye as if he were a pharmacist, took a swallow and set it down again. He hadn't come all this way north to drink beer. "I feel bad about this one, Reid. It's never happened to an employee of mine before. I've had guys hurt, of course, but never worked over. I want to catch these bastards. That's why I came to you."

"You want to go trolling for trouble, using me as live bait?" The idea was intriguing. I wasn't scared of a couple of headbeaters. They were probably amateurs. They'd have a few drinks in them to toughen them up. They would be slow. With Sam's help I could corner them before they could harm me.

Fullwell gave me time to think it through before he went on. "The new guy asked me if I knew anybody who could handle it. He wants to keep it to one man, for the sake of security. He doesn't want anybody else to know. So, anyway, I told him about you, that you could probably do it standing on your head."

"Thanks a lot." I said. "I'm not into group encounters." I watched him, seeing the tension grow in his face until I said, "But what the hell. How much are you going to pay me?"

He relaxed, grinning first, then slapping his knee with his hand. He raised his beer bottle to me. "Cheers. I knew you wouldn't let me down. I can't pay a fortune but we can spare five hundred bucks, for a night or two's work."

I didn't tell him that was exactly what my job in Murphy's Harbour paid me, per week. He probably knew anyway, they had good records at his company. "Well, that won't jeopardize my amateur standing, will it?" I said and he laughed.

"We're a lean, mean machine when it comes to paying out. Most of the guys get minimum wage. Five hundred is big money to us."

I shrugged and grinned again. It was big to me as well. This job doesn't pay well, but it's the best I could get after leaving the Toronto department when they didn't back me in the follow up to a fight I was in. My wife couldn't take it either, and with her gone my expenses were light. All I had to buy was a few groceries, chow for Sam, and fishing lures and the occasional case of beer or bottle of rye for me. With five hundred found dollars I could replace the worn-out chair and stock up on books for the coming winter.

I set down my beer bottle. "You're in luck. My sister lives in Toronto. She's been wanting me to come down and spend time with her and the kids. This gives me an excuse to play happy families."

He beamed. "I didn't think you'd let me down."

"I'll need a uniform," I said.

"Forty-two tall was my guess. It's in the trunk," he winked at me and stood up. "I figured you'd bail us out."

"Yeah, well it's on one condition," I warned him and he stopped.

"What's that?"

"Stick a box of those tomatoes in the trunk when you leave. Otherwise the fruit flies will carry me away."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

I
sat and read the Toronto Sun and drank coffee and waited for Fullwell to turn up. Somebody once said of the Sun that it saves you from a whole lot of bad news. He was right. Except for the pinup on page three there was nothing in it. But I wasn't reading for news anyway. It was just a trick to isolate my prisoners so that neither one got the chance to do any talking before the interrogation began. It's standard procedure. It often pays off with a flood of talk when you finally turn on the tap.

The little guy spoke once but I hissed at Sam and he growled until the man got the message and sat back against the wall, legs drawn up to cover his testicles. The movement added to my suspicion he was an ex-con. He had the right mix of arrogance and fear.

After twenty minutes or so a car stopped outside the gate and a door slammed. Then footsteps and the door of the trailer opened.

It wasn't Fullwell. I assumed this must be the VP he'd told me about. He was stocky and held himself erect, the way short cops do, or guys with tall girlfriends. He was around five-nine and two hundred pounds, with a round face that looked friendly until you checked how close together the eyes were. He was wearing an expensive haspel suit and a light straw hat with a wide green band that clashed with his suit. He flashed me a formal smile, his eyes receding deeper into the crinkles of fat, the teeth baring themselves a neat quarter inch in his mail-slot mouth. I decided I didn't like him. He had a little leather holder in his hand and he flapped it open and shut, giving me a half-second glimpse of the Bonded Security shield. "Inspector Willis," he said.

I stood up. "Reid Bennett. And these two are the callers." I indicated the guys on the floor. They were watching us, dull faced. It was more proof, if anybody needed any, that they had spent time inside. The first thing a guy learns in the joint is to stay cool, show no emotion at all.

Willis turned and smiled at them like Santa Claus. "Picked the wrong guy this time, didn't you?" he said cheerfully.

The bigger man cracked first. "Waddya mean, this time? I ain't never been here before."

Willis kicked him, an almost invisibly fast flick of the foot that landed up inside the knee where the nerve runs over the bone. The man writhed away and swore. Willis laughed and I said nothing. This was not my way. It wasn't police work. I would move the next time he played dirty. For the moment, he didn't. He stood looking at the big guy, his smile slowly draining from his face like dishwater going down a sink. "I want you to talk, I'll tell you. Otherwise, keep your yap shut, got that?"

The pair of them sat and watched him, not speaking, their eyes rolled up towards him. Now he backed off a pace and looked them over. "You make me puke. Two of you. Two of you, working over a kid on his own." He took a pace to one side and then back, the way a soccer player might to throw a defender off guard. They watched him like cobras watching a mongoose. "So now you figured you'd get some more kicks, right? Tonight you'd put some other guy in hospital, right?"

His voice rose to a shout and I expected him to kick again but he didn't. He lowered his voice instead and chuckled. "Only this time, no luck. This time you came here and found two of us working and the dog. And that's how come you both got your arms broken and the dog tore the crotches right out of you."

The big one blustered, waving his hands to keep away any blows. "Waddya mean? He didn't bite us. We didn't get hurt, not bad, anyway."

Willis laughed. "Not yet," he said. He turned and picked up the two-by-four from the table. I read the anger in his face and knew he was serious. It was time to take charge.

I picked up the phone. "OK, Mr. Willis. I'll call the police to come and get these turkeys."

He whirled to face me, feet apart, the blustering bully's pose that is so vulnerable to the pre-emptive kick. He had the two-by-four in his hands and he looked as if he intended using it on me. "Forget the phone, sir," he said softly. "This isn't police business."

I dialled the police number. "Put the club down and relax," I told him calmly.

Instead he hunched himself like a bull, pushing his lower lip out, holding the board in both hands, the way you hold a rifle for bayonet work. I held the phone, listening to the ringing and watching his eyes for the flicker that would tell me which move to make. But the blow didn't come my way. Instead he spun around and brought the club back to smash down on the small man. I dropped the phone and caught the board at the moment he reached the end of his back swing, pulling down. He lost his grip and stumbled, swearing.

"Forget it," I told him, replacing the phone on the cradle. He straightened himself up, blazing with anger.

"You're fired!" he shouted and pointed at the door as if he expected me to bow my head and shuffle out.

I touched Sam on the head and pointed to the two men. "Keep," I told him, then jerked my head towards the door and told Willis, "Let's step outside, Inspector. We have to talk."

He glowered at me, the fury still white hot in his eyes. But he was pro. He had no cards left to play here so he went along with me, but first spoke to the two prisoners. "One move and he'll have your throats out."

We went out into the softness of the September night. I was in front but I moved to one side as soon as I was through the door, so Willis wouldn't feel tempted to take out his frustrations in a sucker kick. I'd seen how quick he was with his feet.

We stopped a couple of yards from the door and spoke in low voices so the men inside wouldn't overhear. He went first, the anger and the words boiling out of him. "What in hell are you playing at? These guys beat up that kid last night. Don't you care what happens to the other guys you work with?"

There would have been more but it was all on the same note so I held up one hand and took over. "Maybe Simon didn't explain to you that I'm moonlighting on this job as a favor. By profession I'm a policeman. I know the rules better than most security people."

In an instant he was ingratiating. "I know that, for crying out loud. I know about you. But these are unusual circumstances and you're out of uniform."

"Look. We have no proof these two worked the kid over. It's likely, even probable. But no judge would convict them."

"Exactly." His voice took on the anxious whine you hear in used-car salesmen when the customer reads the price tag for the first time. "That's just the point. They'll get a slap on the wrist and sent on their way. I want them to know they can't push a Bonded guy around the way they did." I didn't answer and he bored on with the final argument, the one he thought justified all his actions. "Hell. If people can't depend on our guys to take care of themselves, how can our clients depend on our services?"

"If you work them over, you're no better than they are. And no smarter." I cut him off as he tried to interrupt. "Why not let me talk to them, try and find out who sent them. This thing is starting to look organized. This is the third night they've been here, it's not personal, it's business. Let's find who's behind it and go after him."

Willis drew in a long soothing breath that seemed to cool him down completely. When he spoke again his voice was pitched naturally. "These are the fellas who hurt the kid last night. It's them who oughta suffer. But I understand what you're saying."

"It's the only way," I assured him. "A few bruises won't mean much to these guys. But if we find out who sent them we can go after him full bore."

He sniffed again and then said, "I suppose it's the only way."

"The only way I'll go for," I promised him. "Just play along for a couple of minutes. No violence, okay?"

"All right." Like a schoolboy forced into an apology he stuck out his hand to me. I shook it, instinctively turning sideways to him first, clear of his feet. I still didn't trust him. "No hard feelings," he said.

"None. I can understand how mad you got, knowing your employee was hurt." I couldn't, honestly. If he was professional he should have been able to accept the realities of his job and do it by the book. A copper has to, no matter what his personal feelings may be. That's why so many of us end up with broken marriages or drinking problems.

We went back in, him in front. I took out my wallet before I followed him and was busy tucking imaginary bills into it as I came back in. "Okay, Inspector, I'll take the big one." I pointed at the man and crooked my finger. "All right, you, on your feet."

He squirmed and looked around, wildly, at his partner, at Willis, at me. "You said you was callin' the cops."

"There's been a change of plan." I smiled at him, trying to look like Willis. "If I call the cops, the next thing you'll be out on bail. The inspector just explained it to me." Willis snickered, right on cue. I reached down and grabbed the man by the collar. "Come on now, don't make it any harder on yourself." He came, awkwardly, trying to comply and stay out of my reach at the same time. I picked up the two-by-four and hissed at Sam to come with me. I didn't need him, except for his part in the charade but I didn't want Willis to have any unfair advantage if he tried to hurt the little man while I was outside. I still didn't trust him any farther than I trusted the prisoners.

I shoved the man down the steps and walked him ahead of me, steering him with little jabs on the shoulder until we were off in the middle of the site, out of earshot of the trailer.

The earthmover with its slashed tires stood there, a hulk of steel and shadows. I shoved the man up against it, face first, taking one wrist and holding it behind him, not applying any pressure except for the tacit pressure of fear. "What's your name?"

The question threw him. He was anticipating pain, not words. "Hudson, Charlie Hudson."

I lifted his wrist a fraction, not enough to hurt, enough to let him know that I could, if I wanted to. "Which arm you want broken?"

"Hey! No! Hey! Come on, sir! I never hurt the kid."

I kept my voice bored. "You were here." He still spluttered, trying to turn his face to me over his shoulder. "Yeah. We was here. Me an' Kennie. But it was Kennie done the kickin', not me."

"Your turn to use the two-by-four, was it?" Never acknowledge the usefulness of information as long as it's pouring out freely.

Hudson squirmed, trying to face me so he could look convincing. "Hey, no sir. You seen Kennie. He's meaner'n a snake. Like he was in the joint as a kid an' a bunch of guys gave him a hard time an' since then he's mean."

"And you're not. You're mister nice guy?" I lifted his wrist a millimeter and he responded with a short moan, fear again, not pain. I was ready to believe him. He and Kennie were the typical Mutt and Jeff pair of wasters. One big and dumb, the other small and smart. He'd been here with Kennie, no doubt of that. He might even have kicked the kid in the head a time or two, but not out of malice, just to be sociable. He wouldn't have wanted Kennie to think he was chicken.