Samurai Code (13 page)

“No, I agree,” said Jack. “The time it would take, including using all available personnel over that time frame, even if successful, would likely see the rise of several other crime families in the meantime. We would end up one step ahead and three back.”

“Then what is your solution?”

“They’re talking about a man by the name of Woo maybe moving to Montreal and looking for someone to move product. They’re hoping to expand operations.”

“Are you thinking about working a joint project with our unit in Montreal?”

“No. We don’t know for sure that Woo is even going. Even if he does, I don’t see that being overly productive to help us out here. I’m not thinking of using them to help. I was thinking of someone else.”

Rose caught the sideways glance that Laura gave Jack.
She has her doubts about something … Connie warned me …

“Are you familiar with the Irish Mafia in Montreal?” asked Jack.

“A little. The Irish Mafia is one of the oldest and makes the top three list for being the most influential organized crime families in North America. In Montreal, they are known as the West End Gang.”

“That’s the boys,” said Jack.

“Some boys,” replied Rose. “They also have a reputation for being extremely violent — including dismemberment. Victims have been found minus body parts.”

Laura pursed her lips in a small grin.
Dismemberment … like cutting a guy’s testicles off with a jackknife.

“Are you familiar with one of the captains in the West End Gang, a fellow by the name of Happy Jack O’Donnell?” asked Jack.

“I’m not sure,” replied Rose. “I haven’t heard that name for years. Is he the one the press used to call ‘Happy’ because he was never convicted of anything?”

“The press called him that. His name came up a lot during a trial years ago when a police agent testified against the gang. There was never enough evidence to even charge O’Donnell, but it was clear he was one of the bosses. A journalist who tried to follow up on the story had his car blown up in his driveway as a warning.”

“So, what about him? Or the Irish? What’s that got to do with this case?”

“I’ve got a plan to use him and the Irish Mafia to help us,” said Jack.

“You what?” exclaimed Rose, lurching forward and knocking some reports off her desk.

16

Later Monday afternoon, Jack hung up the telephone as Laura entered their office. He waited until she sat at her own desk and said, “Remember our two Russians in May — the ones we tricked into going to Vietnam where they were arrested?”

“They’re not getting out, are they?”

Jack smiled and shook his head. “No. Remember the posh penthouse suite they rented that backs onto Stanley Park? Two bedrooms, mini-bar, plasma television, underground parking —”

“Yeah, yeah. What about it?”

“I spoke with Derek. The ex- policeman in charge of security for the apartment.”

“Uh, huh.”

“It turns out the two Russians paid for the suite one year in advance. The year isn’t up until the fall. Derek agreed to us using it, providing we guarantee the Russians don’t come back. I assured him they would definitely not be back for at least the next eighteen years.”

“How sweet. Our own little love nest.”

“Exactly. We can pick the key up from Derek this afternoon. I’ve also got two friends, Paul and Katie, who own a forty-five-foot powerboat parked down at the Bayshore West Marina. It’s called the
Blue Gator
. I’ve been in it. It’s one hell of a beautiful boat. Very lavish. They are willing to let us borrow it. Paul also happens to be Irish and has the brogue.”

“Nice friends to lend us that.”

“I met Katie years ago. She used to be a social worker up in Kelowna. Our paths crossed and we have been friends since. Really nice people. I think Katie has seen her share of the bad side of life as a social worker.”

“So we have the penthouse, a yacht … this is sounding better all the time.”

“The things you have to do when you have champagne tastes and a beer budget.”

“So, when do we do this?”

“Tomorrow. Pack a bikini and your winter coat into a suitcase. We’ll be off to the airport.”

***

On Wednesday night, Jack and Laura strolled down the street and entered Goldie Locks. Hidden in a van across the street, Staff Sergeant Rosemary Wood took several surveillance photographs of them entering the club. Her portfolio of surveillance photos on Jack and Laura had grown considerably since the day before.

***

It was dusk on Friday night when Goldie arrived in the alley behind his club and parked his Aston Martin. He stepped out of his car as a four-door, tan-coloured, unmarked police car pulled up behind him.

The plainclothes officer gestured for him to approach.

“Good evening, Mister Arthur Goldie,” she said, somewhat contemptuously. “My name is Staff Sergeant Wood. I am with the RCMP Organized Crime Task Force. You and I need to talk.”

“What? What about?” demanded Goldie.

“Hop in the car beside me. We’ll take a little drive and I’ll tell you what it’s about,” replied Rose.

“I’m not going with you without consulting a lawyer,” replied Goldie, taking out his cellphone.

“Why are you acting so paranoid?” asked Rose. “This isn’t about you, particularly. I want to talk to you about two of your customers. I prefer not to be seen by them or have anyone know I talked to you.”

“What customers?”

“Get in. I’ll only drive a couple of blocks away and show you their pictures. These two aren’t who they pretend to be.”

Moments later, Rose drove Goldie a few blocks away and drove into an above-ground parkade.

***

“So what do you think” asked Jack, turning in his chair to look at Laura. “Figure we can get away with it?”

“Think we can rely on Rose?”

“I think so.”

“Cost is certainly a factor. Like the narcs say, we can’t afford to buy the quantity of dope needed to make the connections.”

“You’re right. But the Irish Mafia can.”

***

Rose parked the car and turned to Goldie and said, “So, off the top, what can you tell me about Jack and Laura?”

Goldie shrugged and said, “I’m not sure I even know them.”

“Bullshit! Take a look at these,” said Rose, opening her briefcase and handing Goldie a surveillance photo. “Tell me again you don’t know them.”

Goldie glanced at a photo of Jack and Laura sitting in the front of their car. Jack was talking to him out the window of the car. “This was last night,” exclaimed Goldie.

“Tell me again you don’t know them,” said Rose.

“I don’t! I just arrived at my club and they were driving by. The guy asked if we had any free parking for the club. That’s all it was about. Maybe they have been in my club before. The guy likes his martinis … not too many. I’m not saying he drinks too much to drive or anything. Otherwise we wouldn’t serve him.”

“Are these them for sure?” asked Rose, handing Goldie some more photographs.

Goldie looked at the top picture. It showed Jack and Laura bundled up in heavy coats with a glimpse of the Vancouver Airport arrivals area in the background. Their suitcases were piled at the back of a limousine and the driver was getting out.

“These were taken a few months back when they arrived,” said Rose.

Goldie looked at the next picture showing Jack and Laura leaving a fashionable apartment complex.

“This last photo is a little more recent,” said Rose, “taken from a restaurant patio overlooking the Bayshore Marina.”

Goldie looked at the photo and saw Laura sipping a glass of wine. She was wearing a bikini and sitting on the deck of a luxury powerboat. Jack, wearing a golf shirt and cargo shorts, sat beside her.

“So?” asked Rose. “Do they look familiar?”

“Yes, that is them,” admitted Goldie. “They have been in my club a few times. I think the guy told one of my waitresses that they were from Edmonton. Why?”

“From Edmonton? That’s a laugh,” said Rose. She studied Goldie’s face briefly and said, “You really don’t know who they are, do you?”

Goldie shook his head and said, “Just a couple of customers. That’s all I know.”

“Who have they been meeting with in there? Have they been coming in with any other people?”

“Not anyone that I’ve seen. They seem like a nice couple. Real friendly with everyone. My staff likes them. No complaints. They’re not troublemakers.”

“Any other customers they socialize with?”

“Not really. As I said, they’re friendly with everyone, but don’t socialize with anyone in particular.”

“If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll have the tax man all over your joint. Health inspectors, too.”

***

Jack leaned forward in his chair, peering through the one-way glass in the back of the van. “Looks like Rose is really giving it to him,” he said to Laura, without turning around. “She’s wagging her finger in his face. Maybe she would make a good operator.”

“Yes, playing herself,” replied Laura.

***

“Go ahead,” said Goldie defiantly, glaring at Rose. “Call the tax man. I’ll give you my accountant’s name. And as far as cleanliness goes, my place is tops. We cater to a sophisticated crowd. If you would ever step inside, you would know that.”

Rose returned Goldie’s stare briefly before lowering her eyes submissively. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you. Maybe the son of a bitch has decided to retire.” Rose’s face brightened and she said, “Makes it easy for us. We can conclude our file. I’m sorry to have bothered you with this. We had to make sure. I’ll give you a ride back now.”

“Do you mind telling me who they are?”

“Well, I can tell you they’re not really from Edmonton. They’re from Montreal.”

“Montreal?”

“Yup. I don’t know how much you know about the Irish Mafia, but Happy Jack O’Donnell is, or I guess was, one of the captains in that mob. One of the oldest and most established crime families in North America. A long history of extreme violence. People who have crossed them have been found dead and missing various body parts.”

Goldie’s thoughts briefly returned to a mugger outside a convenience store.

“We heard that he might be retiring,” continued Rose, “but we didn’t know if it was true. We were afraid he might be coming to build connections. Telling people he is from Edmonton makes it seem more like he is hiding his past. It fits the retirement mode.”

***

Jack turned around in his chair again from where he was watching Rose from out of the back of a van and smiled. “Rose glanced our way and made a fist and scratched the bottom of her chin with her thumb nail.”

“The old thumbs up,” replied Laura. “Must be going well.”

“We’ll see if he says anything to us tomorrow night when we go in. If he does, I’ll thank him and show some appreciation for him telling us.”

“What if he doesn’t say anything?”

“I’ll tell him we know about it and thank him anyway.”

“You’ll tell him we know about it?”

“If I have to, I’ll get my old partner, Danny O’Reilly, to seem like he’s dirty and deliver me a fake report. Give the appearance that Irish blood is thicker than justice routine. If Goldie doesn’t say anything tomorrow night, we’ll still show our appreciation because he didn’t tell Rose anything.”

“He didn’t have anything to say to Rose, even if he wanted to.”

“I know. But either way, I’ll show him our gratitude. The hook will be baited. I bet we get action soon.”

***

Jack was right on his guess that they would be getting action soon. Later that same night, Goldie met with Wang again in the alley behind Wang’s restaurant and told him about his visit from the RCMP.

“How long before Woo moves to Montreal?” asked Goldie.

“Today is Friday,” noted Wang. “He told me he moves into a new apartment on the first of August. That’s next week so I expect he’ll be leaving in the next couple of days.”

“Good. I’m not taking anything at face value. Let’s check him out pronto. Tell Woo to find an Irish pub and ask around about Happy Jack O’Donnell.”

17

It was midnight Saturday night and Jack pretended to look at Laura over the top of his martini glass as he took a sip. In reality, he was looking at Goldie who had wandered out from the rear of the club and was talking to the bartender while aimlessly looking at customers.
There he is. A man who laughs at the brutal slaughter of an innocent person. Can I pretend to befriend him and make it look genuine?

Laura caught a subtle change in Jack’s demeanor and said, “Is he back?”

“Behind you talking to Purvis at the bar,” said Jack, wryly. “Laughing about something. He’s definitely seen us but is keeping his distance. I’m going to order another martini at the bar and then invite him over.”

“Want me to play the bimbo role?”

“Not after your karate demonstration the other night. Pretend you’re smart and in the know.”

“Pretend? Hey, I take offence to that remark.”

Jack would have smiled, but the sight of Goldie laughing in the background made him think of a terrified man trying to escape through some darkened woods.
Running and staggering with your hands tied behind your back. Barely able to see through a plastic bag. Unable to scream. Your breath cut short by tape. The sound of gunshots. Your body feeling the pain. Twisting and turning. More gunshots … falling. Goldie laughing … his diamond-studded tooth glimmering in the light …

“Jack? Did you hear me,” asked Laura.

“Yeah. Wait here. I’m going to tell him I want to talk to him at our table.”

A moment later, Goldie joined them and introduced himself as Arthur. Jack and Laura each introduced themselves by their first names.

“Is there a problem?” asked Goldie. “Something you wish to discuss with me?”

“No problem at all,” replied Jack, reaching for the gift bag beside his feet. “Quite the opposite, really. I wanted to apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you last night.”

Goldie accepted the gift bag with surprise. He reached inside and pulled out a bottle of Tyrconnell single-malt Irish whiskey. “What inconvenience?” he exclaimed, casting a curious glance at Jack and Laura.

Jack smiled warmly at him and said, “You know, there are those who think the Irish blood is too watered down with Guinness. Let me tell you that is not so.” Jack winked and leaned back in his chair and finished the last of his martini.

“I don’t understand,” replied Goldie.

Jack smacked his lips, savouring the last swallow, before looking directly at Goldie and saying, “Many of the Irish have become police officers, but the Irish blood is thick and they are Irish first.” Jack paused as Goldie reflected upon what he said, before continuing, “Shall we just say that I have friends who keep me well informed on such matters. The intrusion in your life by Officer Wood last night did not go unnoticed and I wish to apologize to you for any inconvenience it may have caused.”

“I … I don’t know what to say,” said Goldie. “I mean, it’s not any of my business who the customers are or —”

Jack let out a hearty laugh and said, “Whatever you did say, I owe you a debt of gratitude. They actually think I have retired.” Jack turned to Laura and said, “Really, honey, do I look that old to you?”

“Certainly not,” replied Laura, frowning. “You don’t have a wrinkle on your body. At least, not one that stays a wrinkle for long,” she added with a wink.

“But this really isn’t necessary,” said Goldie, attempting to hand the bottle back.

“It is nothing, really,” replied Jack. “I would feel insulted if you did not accept. Besides, I was born in Canada. No Irish brogue and Irish whiskey for me. My taste is for gin and vermouth … and fresh olives. I’m a great disappointment to my dear old father, I am sure.”

“Well … thank you,” replied Goldie, setting the bottle down.

“You wouldn’t believe the scurrilous and absolute scandalous accusations the police have made about me and my comrades over the years,” said Jack. “Absolute nonsense, I can assure you. I am a businessman. That is all.”

“What type of business are you in?” asked Goldie. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. If it is too personal then —”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” replied Jack, leaning back from the table as Patty brought him a martini. “Here you go, Patty,” he said, tipping her another fifty-dollar bill. “Did I ever tell you I think you have a beautiful name?”

After Patty expressed her gratitude and left, Jack looked at Goldie and said, “I’m an entrepreneur. Investments here and there. Trying to eke out a living.”

Goldie smiled knowingly. “An entrepreneur,” he said. “I have several friends who are entrepreneurs.”

“Ah, alas, there is competition everywhere,” replied Jack, raising his glass for a toast. “May you live as long as you want, and never want as long as you live.”

“And,” added Laura, “as you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.”

“I love it,” said Goldie. The diamond stud in his tooth reflected the light as he threw his head back and chortled.

Goldie’s action made Jack pause.
I’d like to smash my fist into your face. See how funny you think that would be.
He took a deep breath.
Damn it, get a grip. Pretend to smile.
He clinked glasses with Goldie and thought of another old Irish toast:

Drink is the curse of the land.

It makes you fight with your neighbour.

It makes you shoot at your neighbour.

It makes you miss.

Jack took a sip of his martini and put the glass back down on the table.
Believe me, Goldie, you’re in my sights — I won’t miss.