A Delicate Matter. Don Easton
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also be an opportunity for you to throw it in Neal’s face that the two of you aren’t equals. An oppor-tunity I know your club would use.”
Cockerill looked edgy, then made an obvious effort to look nonchalant. “Yeah, what you said is right, but it’s no big deal. One of our prospects once told me that Neal wanted to take me out to do a little salmon fishin’ and drink some beer. I took him up on the offer and the four of us went out. That’s when I met Larry, ’cause it was his boat we used. Larry ain’t all that bright and pointed out where his grow-op was when we trolled past.”
Telling me that shouldn’t have freaked you out — so what is it? “Okay, that makes sense,” Jack said. “Can you point out the location on a map?”
“Yeah, it’s on an island. Get me a map and I’ll show you.”
Jack looked at Sophie and raised an eyebrow.
“Be right back.” She returned a moment later and unfolded a map. Cockerill pointed to a remote region on an island near the coastline.
“West side of Bowen Island,” Jack noted.
“Satisfied?” Cockerill asked. “You’ll let me go now?”
“A couple more questions,” Jack replied. “What does Larry’s boat look like?”
“It’s an aluminum job with a red canvas cover over the wheelhouse, but it’s small enough that you could pull it up on shore. It won’t be hard to spot because the bow is painted like it’s on fire. Same kinda thing you see on hotrods. He keeps it at the Hidden Bay Marina. If it’s not there, then he’s probably at the grow-op, which is about an hour away. Maybe a little less — we were fishin’ and not going all that fast.”
Jack eyed Cockerill curiously. “Which of your prospects was with you on the boat?”
Cockerill’s eyebrows pinched as if he was trying hard to recall. “I can’t remember. It was a coupla months ago.”
“You remember Larry’s name but can’t remember one of your own guys?” Jack said sarcastically. “There were four of you drinking beer and crowded into a small boat. Why are you lying?”
Cockerill locked eyes with Jack but didn’t respond.
Jack knew why. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and smiled.
Chapter Four
Cockerill’s shoulders slumped and his head hung like a cowering dog’s. Jack saw Sophie looking at the situation in bewilderment. “Prospects usually aren’t important to the club,” he explained. “There’s no reason to hide his name. That is, except for one.” He looked at Cockerill. “It was Buck Zabat, wasn’t it? He’s detailed to check the shipment.”
Cockerill slowly looked up. “Yeah,” he mumbled. His sombre look said he’d crossed a line that he never intended to cross.
Jack looked at Sophie. “Buck is the son of the national president of Satans Wrath.”
“Oh.” Sophie looked unsure of what it meant or how to respond.
Jack refocused on Cockerill. “So if I don’t bust Neal and Bob when they’re loading the truck, I’ll probably catch Buck checking out the dope later. Maybe even nail them all with a conspiracy charge.”
Cockerill swallowed.
“Mind you, that’s only one option,” Jack continued. “What if I don’t bust anyone when it’s being loaded, but wait’ll the truck’s unloaded? There’d be less heat on you and I could catch whoever is buying it.”
Optimism flashed across Cockerill’s face. “Better yet, they’re takin’ it to the States. You could get ’em at the border! They’d get big time for importing into the States.”
“They?” Jack questioned. “Does Neal go with Bob?”
“No, not Neal. Bob has an ol’ lady. Her name’s Roxie. She drives the rig, as well.”
“Down to the States,” Jack confirmed.
“Yup. They make regular runs hauling freight and cross the border in Alberta at the Aden crossing. Roxie’s sister works at U.S Customs there. She trusts them and never checks the cargo. Even if she did, she wouldn’t find it.”
“Because it’s hidden in a secret compartment in the sleeper cab,” Jack said.
“Yeah. Two-fifty of weed is the most the cab will hold, but with the regular runs they make, supplyin’ orders larger than that works out fine.”
“So that’s why you guys are courting the GDs,” Jack said. “You need their Customs connection to deliver to the States.”
“It ain’t like they got anything else going for them,” Cockerill sneered.
“What does Roxie look like?”
“Tall, good-lookin’ … blonde hair with a long braid that hangs down to her tits.”
“Do Bob and Roxie hang out with the GDs at the Steinhouse Pub in Port Coquitlam?” Jack asked.
“Probably … if they’re not out on the road,” Cockerill replied. “The GDs hold their monthly ‘church meetings’ in a barn beside where they live — so Bob and Roxie are pretty tight with the club.”
“I’ve seen Roxie,” Jack said. “She’s got a real wicked sense of humour.”
“Maybe.” Cockerill looked dubious. “I’ve never spoken with her.”
“Too bad,” Jack said sardonically.
Cockerill looked quizzically at Jack, then shrugged. “Anyway, it’d be easy to nail them at the border. They’d get big time in Montana.”
“Where exactly do they deliver it in the States?” Jack asked.
“Texas.”
“In exchange for cocaine?”
“Usually,” Cockerill admitted, “but lately things have changed and the truck doesn’t bring anything back. If you wait until the return trip, you won’t get anything.”
“Why not bring the coke back in the truck?” Jack asked. “Don’t you trust the GDs with your blow?”
A fleeting instance of fear crossed Cockerill’s face, then he sat back and stretched his arms in a pretence of looking calm. “Nah, it’s not that. Too many eggs in one basket. We worry about you guys provin’ conspiracies.”
That I know, but why did the question scare you? Jack had heard rumours that Satans Wrath was on the verge of opening up a cocaine distribution network in Europe. Is the cocaine being allocated for there? He eyed Cockerill. “Who do you deal with in Texas? If we don’t pop the semi at the border, it might be better to do it when they’re unloading. It’d put the heat on the buyers instead of up here.”
Cockerill grimaced. No doubt he’d already given more information than he wanted to give.
“Come on,” Jack demanded. “You might think you’re safe with us taking them down at the border, but I don’t take chances. With Roxie’s sister working at Customs, we can’t make it look like some random search. She’d know and I couldn’t count on her to keep her mouth shut with Roxie. If we’re going to do this, it’d be better for you if we made it look like the heat came from Texas. It’s not like your club would have a hard time finding new customers.”
Cockerill scratched his nose. “Yeah … okay. It goes to Dallas. We deal with a group called the West 12th Street gang. The truck’s leaving Friday morning. They got some legitimate freight they haul, as well, but should unload the weed in Dallas on Sunday.”
“Good.” Jack nodded. “And what’s your role?”
“I handle the money on this end.