Jack Taggart Mysteries 8-Book Bundle. Don Easton
Читать онлайн книгу.
tell ya that it’s impossible to nail him, but I said that before and was wrong.”
“What did Damien have to say about it later?” asked Danny.
“He’s hot. I’ve never seen his face that red. The pulse in his temple was just a-jumpin’. I only got about three blocks away from the locker when he told me to pull over so we could go for a walk and talk. He was really pissed at me for havin’ a striker that screwed us.”
“How pissed?” asked Jack.
“Well ... not bad, cuz it wasn’t me who sponsored him into the club. It was Petro. As far as the stash being ripped, Damien is more pissed off at himself. It was his idea to have things go the way they did.” Lance looked at Jack and added, “Well, not the way they did, but the way they were supposed to. You know, with puttin’ the stash in a locker and then splittin’ it an’ sendin’ it out the next day.”
“So now what?” asked Jack. “What about the next ship?”
“That’s already left Colombia and should arrive in about ten days. I expect things will be done a little different then.”
“Damien won’t be stashing it all in the same spot,” suggested Danny.
“I’m not so sure Damien will even be involved. He’s worried. He knows he fucked up bad.”
“How so?” asked Jack.
“This was the biggest single deal the club has ever done. Usually we try and keep stuff like this separated, you know, so not everyone can be connected. But this was so fuckin’ big that every chapter in Canada had to chip in. There are gonna be a lot of pissed off people. Damien figures he might lose his position over this. Maybe even get the boot altogether.”
“Who do you think would replace him?” asked Jack.
“A guy from Quebec we call The Toad. He’s been here often in the last few weeks meeting with Damien.”
“Ugly?” asked Danny.
Lance chuckled, then said, “That too, but the name came from his younger days, before he joined the club. From his not-so-secret ingredient in makin’ the special brand of acid that he was selling.”
“You figure he could replace Damien?” asked Jack.
“He was runner-up last year.”
“I think I saw him that day,” said Jack. “Ugly, with a heavy French accent. Short and scrawny. Not what you expect for a biker.”
“That’s him. But he has other assets. He’s intellectual, sneaky, vicious, not much of a conscience. Sometimes makes for a wicked combination.”
When the meeting was over, Danny waited until Lance had left before turning to Jack and saying, “Looks like you just replaced Damien with a sociopath to run the biggest organized crime family in Canada. Is this what you call progress?”
Jack sighed and said, “Consequences are not always so easy to predict.” It was what Natasha had said to him. At the time he’d thought it had made him feel better. Now it just feels lame.
“Yeah, I guess,” replied Danny. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like I was upset. I’m just really tired.”
Me too. Tired of screwing up.
Damien sat at his kitchen table and closed his eyes as Vicki massaged the back of his neck and shoulders.
“What is it, Papa Bear?” she asked.
Damien gently reached for her hand and guided her around to sit on his lap. He glanced at the kitchen clock.
“You want to go out for dinner? Just the two of us?” suggested Vicki.
Damien shook his head. It had been forty-two hours since he had walked into the storage locker and discovered they had a traitor. A lot had happened. A lot that Vicki did not know about. He heard the muffled sound of the entertainment centre coming from another room. Briefly, he wondered what Buck, Sarah, and Kate would think of their dad when they found out. Would it change their image of him?
He whispered in Vicki’s ear, “I’m finished. Out. Maybe a couple of months ... but then I’ll be gone.”
“What are you talking about?”
Damien put his finger to his lips to tell Vicki to lower her voice, and then whispered, “I screwed up. Cost the club millions. We’re going to have to sell off some of our assets to pay back what I lost.”
Vicki’s eyes revealed her concern. “How? What happened?” she whispered back.
“Business. We had a traitor. Got ripped. My fault.”
“Everybody makes mistakes. Don’t —”
“Not like this. I’ve already been replaced. In the next couple of weeks The Toad will oversee ... will get a good opportunity to enhance his status. After that, a new election.”
“You can beat that guy! You have before.”
Damien shook his head. “Not this time. I won’t even bother to run. It’s time to retire. This is a sign. I’ve been a target too long. Up until now we’ve been lucky.”
“Oh, Papa Bear,” said Vicki, giving him a hug. “You’re tired. I know you haven’t slept in two or three days. Maybe if you rest...”
“Yeah, maybe,” replied Damien, while checking an incoming message on his BlackBerry. He expected it to be Rellik, who had also gone without sleep in the last forty-two hours. It wasn’t. He recognized the sender and knew it was urgent. He was directed to take a short walk away from his house.
Cecil Hinds knew his work well. He was a member of the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit of British Columbia. CFSEU was an independent police agency set up by the government to fight organized crime. It was composed of police officers from various agencies. In the last two days there had been a flurry of activity through coded messages being transmitted in and out of Damien’s estate.
Hinds decided to cruise through the neighbour-hood and record various licence plates parked within a few blocks of the estate. The more cautious criminals would sometimes park and walk the remainder in an effort to avoid identification. This evening, he was rewarded for his efforts when he saw Damien walking away from his house.
Hinds manoeuvred his car a block behind Damien and watched through binoculars. He knew that it wasn’t a casual after-dinner stroll. Damien walked fast and his physique implied that he was not on a fitness program. Damien was also being extra observant. Something is definitely up.
Hinds reached for his radio to call for support. He knew that Damien’s experience eliminated the chance of being able to follow him with only one car without being detected.
The response Hinds received indicated help would arrive in twenty-five minutes. Not soon enough, thought Hinds, as an SUV pulled alongside Damien and he quickly got in.
Hinds watched as the SUV drove past him. He knew he had been lucky. The driver hadn’t seen him, which was good, because Hinds recognized him. It was Jack Taggart. What the hell is he doing with Damien?
Hinds recalled reading a memo a couple of weeks earlier from the RCMP Anti-Corruption Unit requesting notification of police contact with Satans Wrath. Jack, you son of a bitch, what are you up to? Following you by myself is out of the question.
chapter fifteen
“What’s up?” growled Damien, as soon as Jack picked him up.
“Got something to show you. I’ve rented a motel room,” replied Jack.
“What is it?”
“Has to wait