A Delicate Matter. Don Easton
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run whatever they brick up tonight over to Bob, then do the next run tomorrow — so everything’s still a go. Sounds like there’s still lots to make up for what was taken.” Cockerill hesitated a moment, then said, “You’re quiet. This doesn’t change anything, does it?”
“A murder taking place does put a different spin on things.”
“That ain’t my fault! I didn’t know that —”
“Relax,” Jack interjected. “I’m not blaming you as long as you’re straight with me.”
“I’ve been straight,” Cockerill insisted. “Tellin’ you everything.”
“I’m talking about you telling me what’s going on with your own club. You think you’re the only Satans Wrath talking?” Cockerill was the only informant Jack had in Satans Wrath, but if Cockerill believed someone else was talking, it would help ensure that he told Jack the truth and kept him up-to-date. On a psychological level, it would also ease the guy’s conscience to think someone besides him was disloyal to the club.
Cockerill appeared to mull over what Jack said. “I didn’t think talking about my own club was part of the deal.”
“And I didn’t think that a guy in the grow-op you gave me would be murdered. Makes me wonder if you were trying to prevent me from doing my job.”
“I had nothing to do with it! Fuck, I want this done and over.”
“It’ll be over when I say it’s over. Keep me in the loop about everything … and I mean everything. Which means about your club, too.”
“Yeah, but my club wasn’t part of the deal!”
“Neither was murder,” Jack said angrily. “When someone is arrested for it, then we’ll talk about whether or not we’re even. In the meantime I want to know who did the rip and what you guys are doing about it.”
“We got no suspects at the moment,” Cockerill replied. “Ain’t nothin’ for us to do.”
“If I hear of something that you should’ve told me, I’ll do more than burn you to the media.”
“Okay, okay.” Jack could hear the sudden fear in Cockerill’s voice. “I’ll keep my ears open. No need to get all pissed off. It don’t change nothin’ as far as the truck goes. We got lots of weed to make up the difference. It’ll still be packin’ two-fifty down to Dallas.”
“Good.”
“I still think you’d be better off to take ’em down at the border,” Cockerill added. “They’d never suspect me.”
“It’s not only your skin I have to worry about.” Jack didn’t want to let Cockerill know that his real plan was to get evidence on Satans Wrath. “Like I said, you’re not the only guy talking to me, so don’t even go there. How did you find out about Larry’s brother being murdered?”
“I found out ’cause Larry called the GDs. Neal then told Buck, who told me. Apparently three guys showed up to do the rip and shot his brother. Larry was in the hospital at the time with a ruptured appendix and his brother was on the phone to him when it happened. He heard everything and called the cops.”
“What did you do after Buck told you?” Jack asked.
“Passed it up the ladder to the chapter prez.”
“Lance Morgan,” Jack noted.
“Yeah. He’s really pissed. We had two grow-ops ripped last year. Word is that other grow-ops have also been ripped.”
“You think it’s the same guys?”
“We don’t know. At one rip, three guys were seen, but the other rip happened when nobody was around. At one time we wondered if it was the GDs rippin’ us off.”
“I don’t see the GDs having the balls to rip you guys off,” Jack said, “although they’re pretty stupid.”
“That’s exactly what Lance said. We think whoever did it doesn’t know it was our stuff. They’ll pay big time if we find out.”
“So it was only Lance you met with? Damien didn’t show up?”
“Nah, no way the national prez would ever talk about somethin’ like that in front of me.”
“Even over this? You’re full-patch. Doesn’t he trust you?”
“Fuck, I was surprised that Lance let me talk to him about it. I went through the sergeant-at-arms first. The only reason Lance met me face to face is because I’m the only full-patch assigned to act as a go-between with the GDs. Buck deals with ’em, too, but he’s still a prospect, and even though he’s Damien’s son, he still isn’t allowed to talk to the prez direct about anything. He’s gotta follow the rules like anyone else.”
“Any thoughts as to what’ll happen if your club finds out who the three guys are? Will it be physical retribution — or cash payback with interest?”
“Dunno, but am inclined to think they’d be joining Larry’s brother.”
I’ll keep that in mind.
Jack placed a quick call to Sammy to tell him that Neal would be picking up whatever marijuana was bricked up tonight and then meeting with Bob to stash it in the semi.
“Perfect,” Sammy said. “I’ll divide the team. Half will continue watching Banjo and the other half will sit on Neal’s and Bob’s place. If we lose one, it’ll give us a second chance.”
“Neal prides himself on his surveillance-detection ability,” Jack warned.
“The acreage they live on is down some backwater road in Delta,” Sammy replied, “but eventually these roads funnel out to a main artery where there’s more traffic. I’ll have my guys watch from there. Worse comes to worst, we’ll let him go rather than heat him up. Besides, we still have tomorrow night.”
“Sounds good. Happy hunting.” Jack hung up and climbed into bed. It was seven-thirty in the evening and he was exhausted. But as he lay there, the sound of the gunshot and Dwayne’s plea for help kept replaying in his head, along with the shot that followed.
What should I have done different? Let them keep the shotgun for protection? What if they’d then killed some innocent schmuck … maybe I should’ve arrested them both … would it have changed the course of the investigation? Dwayne, I’m sorry.
Four hours later he was still awake and frustrated that he couldn’t seem to stop rehashing the events over and over again. He knew he was in desperate need of sleep.
Tomorrow is going to be another long day.
Chapter Ten
Assistant Commissioner Isaac was the Operations Officer in charge of the RCMP Pacific Command. He was reading the report from I-HIT — the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team — concerning the murder of Dwayne Beggs. The mention of Jack Taggart’s involvement with the victim caught his attention.
Isaac sighed, then looked at his desk calendar and flipped over a page to view the following month. Sunday, October twelfth, was circled in red. That was when he’d have done thirty-five years of service. He’d submitted his retirement papers to make it his last official day. Briefly he brooded about his replacement. Ralphy Mortimer. Can’t believe they promoted that pudgy little man to Assistant Commissioner. Guess being a sycophant in Ottawa does have its rewards.
He returned his attention to the report from I-HIT. Taggart — how many investigations has he been involved in where suspected murderers died before ever going to court? Some were self-defence … but others? Written off to coincidences? He shook his head in wonder. All these years and I still don’t know … is he a saint or a sinner? One thing for certain, he’s not coming near this investigation.
Jack arrived at work and immediately called Nicole