Straight No Chaser (27 page)

Trevor's palaver was fretting at my nerves. He was breaking new frontiers in pomposity. But I had to let him unload before he'd settle down long enough for me to get in my innings.

“Want to hear something funny, Trev?” I said. “In court upstairs, you sounded good. Convincing. Very controlled. Down here, out in the real world, you got a tendency to bluster.”

“Enough,” Trevor said and started to stand up. He had trouble with the slippery seat.

I said, “You heard the name I invoked at the beginning of this conflab? Big Bam?”

“An associate of some clients of mine,” Trevor said. He was still riding on the pomposity.

“Here's another name for you,” I said. “Darnell Gant.”

Trevor said, “If you're trying to make things seem more than they are, Crang, you can just forget it. Darnell Gant was a friend of Ray Fenk's from Los Angeles. Naturally he's grieved by his friend's murder.”

“Cutting through the bull,” I said, “Big Bam is a cocaine retailer in Toronto. Fenk, with occasional assistance from Darnell Gant, was a cocaine wholesaler in California. And you're the entrepreneur who played both sides to your own nifty profit. How much profit, I don't know. Two thousand bucks per kilo maybe?”

Trevor held a steady gaze on me. He was probably balancing a pair of conflicting inclinations. Should he carry his righteous innocence all the way? Or give in to curiosity about what I might really know?

I said, “Just like you, Trev, I've done some homework. One difference though.”

Trevor waited a bit before he asked, “What's the difference?”

I said, “I'm not running off to Stuffy Kernohan and the other cops with my parcel of information.”

“It's all preposterous,” Trevor said. His voice had tailed off in the pomposity content.

“Here's the good news, Trev, the glad tidings,” I said. “I got a handle on the missing four kilograms you're so worried about.”

Trevor kept his silence. It must have been driving him nuts.

“The four K that were supposed to be in one of the film cans for
Hell's Barrio
but weren't,” I said. “Want me to keep going?”

“As long as you're talking hypothetically,” Trevor said.

“Okay,” I said. “You made a deal to sell twenty-four kilos of cocaine to Big Bam. We'll call it hypothetical for the moment. That's on your selling side. On your buying side, you struck an arrangement with Raymond Fenk in California to take twenty-four K off his hands. Now comes the shipment part. Twenty kilos were tucked in the cans of five of the movies Fenk sent up to the Alternate Film Festival. Probably for each movie, Fenk added an extra can and stuffed it with coke instead of film. It was all done just like Fenk told you it'd be. Except the
Hell's
Barrio
film cans were empty. You know why? 'Course you don't. Because Fenk and Gant switched the four K from the film cans to Dave Goddard's saxophone case. The lining in the case.”

Trevor's face flushed medium red.

“Light starting to go on, Trev?” I said.

“You and this Goddard've got the cocaine,” Trevor said. His voice had gone raspy.

“I thought we were talking hypothetically.”

“You son of a
bitch
.”

“
I'm
a son of a bitch?” I said. “You're the guy who was talking a minute ago about having me locked up. Accessory after the fact and all.”

“How much do you want?” Trevor asked.

“Money? Now I know we've left hypothetical behind.”

Trevor's hands were making clenching movements.

I said, “What I don't get, Trev, is why you haven't made peace with Big Bam the easy way. Just give him back the money he paid you up front for the missing four K. Apologize. Tell him it was a deal that happened not to pan out. He seems to be an understanding guy. Potentially anyway. How come you're annoying him this way? Not returning Truong's calls? Avoiding the guys?”

Trevor said, still raspy, “The money had been
spent
. This is none of your business, Crang, but I apparently have to deal with you. The money I earned from the deal,
all
the money, was on the way out the instant I received it. I have very heavy financial obligations.”

“Sure, I get it, the high lifestyle,” I said. “But, jeez, how long'd you think you could steer clear of Big Bam and his minions?”

“I don't need to discuss this, Crang.”

“Just wondering.”

“As long as it took to get together enough money to repay him. Or to find that damned four kilograms.”

“And now here I am with the four K.”

“Here you are,” Trevor said. His voice had lost most of the rasp, and his skin colour was closer to normal. No more fist-clenching either. Trevor was a guy with a temper that's usually called hair-trigger.

He said, “Let me repeat my question, Crang. How much do you and Goddard want for the cocaine?”

“Not a sou, Trev.”

Trevor took a moment to adjust to the answer.

“What,” he said, “is your intention?”

“My game? My angle? My edge? My—”

Trevor interrupted.

“Get the
fuck
to the answer,” he said. His temper was making a return engagement.

“All you have to do,” I said, “is show up at Big Bam's place around eleven tonight, the booze can over by Western Hospital, and I'll make sure the four kilograms are on the premises.”

“Just like that.”

“I'll be there too.”

“How wonderful of you.” Trevor was displaying his talent for sarcasm. “You're telling me I should walk into the place of business of a man who has reason to be angry with me, all on your word you'll rectify the situation.
Your
word.”

“I already told Big Bam you'd be coming.”

“Lord, Crang.” Trevor wasn't showing anger or sarcasm any more. Closer to helpless resignation. “You really have invited yourself into my life, haven't you.”

“Circumstances invited me,” I said. “But, coast on this, Trev, I'm the only guy can ease your woes.”

“
If
you're telling the truth about the four kilograms.”

“Check out the reasoning,” I said. “How else would I know about the stuff being hidden in the lining of Dave's saxophone case? You didn't have that information, right? If Fenk'd told you, you wouldn't be in your current pickle. And Darnell Gant arrived up here after the fact, after the four kilos were gone from the saxophone case.”

Trevor went into a deep-think look. Maybe I'd fed him too much. The part about Gant might be skimming close to the danger zone. I couldn't be absolutely sure big Darnell hadn't told Trevor anything about the shipment arrangements for the four kilos. Was I getting too risky? Probably not. No,
definitely
not. Trevor had been genuinely surprised when I told him about the coke in the saxophone case, and Gant seemed to be giving me the straight goods when he said he didn't trust Trevor and hadn't uttered a word to him about the coke in the case.

I said, “I'm not just your best bet, Trev. I'm your only bet.”

“What do you get out of this?” Trevor's question was in the spirit of a tough cross-examiner.

“You don't believe it's the generosity of my spirit?”

“Look at my face, Crang. I'm not laughing.”

“In the long run,” I said, “what I'm doing ought to help save my client. In the short run, too, with any luck.”

“And perhaps there's more,” Trevor said. “In exchange for returning the four kilos, you expect me to keep silent about your connections with this musician.”

“Hadn't crossed my mind, Trev,” I said. “Anyway, the master of homicide you and Cam keep talking about, the Stuffer, he should be able to put me and Dave together. Eventually he should, if it matters.”

Trevor let that one lie.

I said, “What is it, Trev? In or out on the gathering at Big Bam's?”

“As you say, my range of options is limited.”

“Let's call it eleven o'clock.”

Trevor nodded in an abstract kind of way, and his teeth were clenched. Not his hands this time, his teeth.

“At the booze can,” I said.

Another of the same nods. Also the same clench of teeth. I couldn't tell whether Trevor was working toward another release of temper or just woolgathering.

I said, “You don't have other pressing engagements tonight?”

“Crang,” Trevor said, “if you're horsing around with me, if you don't deliver the four kilograms, if you put me in a worse jam with Big Bam, if
anything
goes wrong, I'm going to come down on you from a great height.”

“Incredible, Trev,” I said. “The way you said all that without unclenching your teeth.”

Trevor stood up. The slippery seat didn't hamper him this time.

“The first thing,” he said, “I'll rip out your tongue.”

Trevor started to walk away. I stopped him.

“That client of yours upstairs,” I said, “the blonde with the freckles and the Uzis, she doing it for the Sandinistas or the Contras?”

“Neither,” Trevor said. “There's a third force building down there.”

Trevor left the speedy-service place.

A third force? Did Ollie North know about this?

30

I
STEERED CLEAR
of people for the rest of the daylight hours. Not just Cam Charles and Darnell Gant and Big Bam and everybody connected to the whole gruesome Fenk case, but people in general. Mankind. I went down to the waterfront and took a ferry across Toronto harbour to Centre Island.

In July and August the island is jammed with tourists, sun worshippers, and anyone else looking for a quick escape from the city. By early September the traffic slopes off, and on this day I shared the place with a small and manageable bunch of other strays. I walked all the way across the island to the Lake Ontario side, sat on a bench, and looked out at the waves.

Trevor shouldn't be let off the hook. The argument I used on Cam was mostly bull. Necessary, but bull. Get Stuffy Kernohan to lead the raid on Big Bam's place and he'd be in position to grease Trevor's way out of his jackpot. That worked as an argument to Cam. Show him why it was in his best interests to have Stuffy on the job. That was
his
best interests. I was thinking of
my
best interests. I needed the cops' help at the big confrontation that night.

But allow Trevor to take a walk? No way. I had to cook up something that'd send him down the tubes with Big Bam and company. Not nail Trevor for Fenk's murder. Just for his cocaine offenses. It must have been Big Bam who did the murder. Or ordered it done. I wasn't clear on how to prove Bam was responsible, despite all the assurances I fed Cam about his certain guilt, but there was bound to be some way of pinning the killing on Bam. Maybe getting one of the underlings to spill the beans. Cut some kind of deal. Let it all come out in the wash. Out in the wash? Darnell Gant was right. It was a feeble approach.

A hot-dog stand was open near the island's ferry docks. I bought two dogs and a soda water, and carried them back to my bench. No nutrition, but out in the air, the sun, the breeze off the lake, the lunch tasted good in a sinful sort of way.

What about Darnell Gant? He was a needed part of the charade I was staging at Bam's place. Gant would show up with the four kilos of coke, and that'd stir Bam and Trevor into a revelatory exchange of views and insults and other spicy things. That was Gant's role.

But what else about Darnell Gant? Well, he seemed a nice guy for a dope dealer. And he had other irons in the fire, he said, Beverly Hills irons. I wouldn't worry about him. A guy with his muscle and wit could take care of himself in a pinch. Even in a police raid. On my list of matters to be resolved, Gant didn't figure. My main concern was to get Fenk's murderer under wraps, thereby freeing Dave Goddard of any suspicion in the dirty deed. Gant wasn't in Toronto when Fenk took his last breath. That put him in the clear. My inclination was to leave Gant on his own. Fenk's last breath? That must have been an ugly sight.

Towards three, the sun got hotter. I took off my jacket, bunched it into a pillow, and stretched out on the bench. Two hours later, the late-afternoon chill woke me out of a drowse. I unbunched my jacket and road the ferry back to the city.

At home, the phone didn't ring. No call from Annie. On the other hand, I only stayed around long enough to change into jeans, a blue work shirt, grey wool sweater, and my Rockport Walkers. Also long enough for one vodka on the rocks. Just right to steel the resolve, but not to fuzz the brain.

I dawdled the ten or twelve blocks to the booze can's neighbourhood, picked up a container of take-out chow mein, and settled in to reconnoitre. From the outside, Big Bam's place looked like any other homely warehouse. The double steel door with the peephole was on the side of the building. To get to it, people would have to pass through the gate in the chain-link fence and walk down an alley that was about ten feet wide. That was on the east side of the building. On the west, there was another ten-foot gap between the building and a second warehouse that was the same height. The neighbouring warehouse was equally homely. And definitely empty. Unless it was another booze can with even better security than Big Bam's place.

My reconnoitring kept me in a lane next to a house across the street. The house was painted in a shade close to chartreuse. Over at Bam's, all was quiet until ten o'clock when two guys came out through the steel door and took up position at the gate in the chain-link fence. I didn't recognize the two guys, but I recognized their style in shirts, worn outside the pants, hanging loose. Yo, guys, I know what you got under there. Maybe, though, if these guys were doormen or greeters or bouncers, they were packing something else besides walkie-talkies. Weapons maybe. Something to keep interlopers at bay. That wouldn't be my worry. Might be a concern for Stuffy and his cops.