A Delicate Matter. Don Easton
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darted nervously between Jack and Sophie. “Come on, busting bikers with dope has gotta be better than catching me with my fly undone.”
“Want me to ask Damien if it’s better?” Jack asked.
Cockerill briefly locked eyes with Jack, then his head dropped. “No,” he whispered.
“Not to mention, busting someone in the bush at night could be a problem.”
“You can only get to it by boat,” Cockerill offered.
“That doesn’t help. Makes it more difficult. Give me some details. How many growers are looking after it and which of the GDs will be involved?”
Cockerill pointed at the phone in Jack’s hand. “You gonna hang up?”
Jack stared blankly at Cockerill, stalling long enough to cause him further stress, then said, “One weed deal won’t cut it. I’ll probably end up with some farmer and a Gypsy Devil, who in my opinion is only a wannabe biker.”
Cockerill swallowed nervously.
Jack leaned forward so that their faces were a hand-width apart. “If I suspect anything you tell me is bullshit, I’ll be calling her back.”
“It won’t be bullshit,” Cockerill promised.
Jack spoke into his phone. “Hi, I’m back.”
“What’s it all about?” Laura asked.
“The biker we were doing surveillance on tried to play hopscotch with some little kids on a sidewalk. He fell off the curb and broke his ankle. Later he was brought in for unpaid tickets and we photographed him.”
“That’s not all that funny,” Laura replied. “My boss wouldn’t be impressed. I thought you were going to give me something juicy.”
“For a tough guy it seemed funny to me,” he said. “Maybe next time.” He hung up.
“I broke it playing fucking hopscotch?” Cockerill looked displeased. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then said, “Okay, as far as I know, there’s only one guy looking after the crop. His name’s Larry. I don’t know his last name. There should be a couple of GDs picking it up.”
“Which ones?” Jack asked. “I need to know everything. It’ll help me come up with a plan to protect you from anyone ever finding out how we knew.”
Cockerill snorted. “Nobody’d suspect me. The blame would be laid on either Larry getting careless or on the GDs because they’re a bunch of stupid fucks anyway. I’m full-patch Satans Wrath. Ain’t nobody gonna point a finger at me over this.”
Over this, no … but what will you tell me in the future? I don’t want anyone to connect the dots, you dumbass. Jack cleared his throat. “Who from the GDs are picking it up?”
“I dunno. Could be one of three guys or maybe all three.”
“You’re talking about their prospects,” Jack replied.
“Yeah,” Cockerill admitted.
“I expect to nail full-patch members at a minimum. The GDs should have I-D-I-O-T-S for their top rocker.” He leaned closer and spoke harshly. “Come on, you can do better than this! I can’t believe you’re trying to stand up for those goofs. I’ve a hard time thinking of them as real bikers.”
Cockerill brooded. “Okay, I’ll give you the full package.” He paused to adjust his pant leg where his jeans had been cut to make room for his cast, then looked at Jack. “Their prospects will be picking up from four different grow-ops next week. Two on Wednesday night and the other two on Thursday. I don’t know where the other three grow-ops are, but I know where it’ll end up.”
“How much?”
“Total of about five hundred keys.” He paused to see Jack’s reaction.
Jack shrugged indifferently. “Keep going.”
“The prospects take the weed to a stash house where they press it into kilo bricks and wrap it. Out of that, two-hundred-and-fifty keys are picked up by a full-patch GD by the name of Neal. He passes it on to his brother, Bob, who’s an independent trucker.”
“They hide it in the trailer with a load of something legit?” Jack asked.
Cockerill shook his head. “We had the sleeper cab in his truck custom built in Mexico. It’s got double walls and roof to hide dope.” He paused. “Neal and Bob … I don’t know their last name.”
“Is Neal a big fat greasy guy with a long braided goatee?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Neal Barlow,” Jack said.
Cockerill nodded. “The other half of the weed is sold off piecemeal to local players.”
“Where’s the stash house the GDs use to press and brick it up?”
“I dunno. That sort of shit is beneath me.”
“Why don’t the prospects deliver it straight to Bob? Neal is full-patch. I would’ve thought, as you put it, that doing that sort of shit is beneath him.”
“Neal lives with Bob in an old farmhouse out in Delta, so any raid on Bob would be on Neal, too.”
“I see.”
“Neal brags that he’s good at spottin’ heat and would never lead the cops to the semi.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
“So this works out better for you, don’t it?” Cockerill said. “All you gotta do is watch Bob’s semi and wait for Neal to arrive. That’ll probably be about four o’clock Friday morning once it’s all packaged up. Then you’ll get to arrest him and Bob, along with scoopin’ up two-hundred-and-fifty keys. Not only that, if you watch their prospects and find out where the stash house is, you’d get the rest.” Cockerill leaned back in his chair and smiled, wiping the palms of his hands together like he was washing them. “That oughtta make us even.”
Jack ignored Cockerill’s last comment. “Regarding the two-fifty keys in the semi … sounds like it’s going to one customer.”
Cockerill nodded.
“Doesn’t anyone from your club swing by to confirm the dope is there or at least crack a brick open to check the quality?” His question caused Cockerill to tense. The idea of ratting on one of your own not to your liking?
“Ah … not much anymore,” Cockerill replied. “It used to be that we’d have one of our prospects drop by to inspect it, but we trust the GDs now. Even if that did happen, Neal might not be around. He’s the only full-patch who touches the stuff — so that’s who you really want. You’d be better off to bust Neal and Bob when they’re loadin’.”
No, who I really want are full-patch Satans Wrath members. He saw Cockerill waiting for a response. “You’re right. Neal and Bob it is.”
Cockerill looked relieved.
Why do I have the feeling that you’re holding something back from me?
Cockerill grinned and cast a sideways glance at Sophie.
“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.
Cockerill chuckled. “Ah, it’s nothin’. We joke by saying, hey, Neal and Bob, are those your names or is that what you do?” He gave a wry smile. “Guess they’ll be kneelin’ and bobbin’ in jail after this.”
Jack faked a smile. “Good one.” He saw Cockerill relax further. “How is it that you know where the grow-op is?” he asked casually. “You’re not some flunky prospect. It seems odd that you’d be involved at that low of a level.”
“Fuck, what’s the deal on how I know where it is?” Cockerill said in annoyance. “What’s important is