A Delicate Matter. Don Easton
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over and keep him talking,” Jack whispered. “I’ll slide back a bit and circle around behind.”
“Better hurry,” Laura said tersely. “Sounds like we’re about to have company.”
The sound of a boat approaching at high speed told Jack that Laura was right. He slid back down the slope and quickly circled around while Laura did her best to distract the man with conversation.
“I’m really, really sorry!” she shouted. “My boyfriend and I were looking for wild mushrooms.”
“But the sign says No Trespassing. You’re s’posed to turn around!”
“I’m sorry. We thought it was an old sign. We know better now.”
The conversation continued between Laura and the shotgun wielder while Jack circled around. Through the bushes he saw the man standing with his back to him in a small clearing beside a tent. As Jack crept closer, the sound of the boat engine stopped.
“Dwayne!” a male voice yelled from the direction of the boat.
“A man and a lady are here!” Dwayne yelled back. “I told them to leave but they’re still here.”
“Police!” Jack shouted, peering out from behind a cedar tree with his pistol pointed at Dwayne. “Drop your weapon!”
Dwayne spun around, discharging another round as he did. The shot was so far from Jack that he knew it was accidental.
“Drop it!” Jack shouted again. “Don’t make me kill you!”
Dwayne ignored the command and turned toward the shore. “Larry, he’s got a gun! Larry!”
“Put your hands up!” Laura ordered from below.
Jack knew that Larry was no longer a problem. He concentrated on Dwayne. “I said drop it!”
Dwayne turned and nervously raised the shotgun toward Jack. “You go away!”
“I’m a police officer,” Jack declared. “I’m not going away because I’m doing my job. Drop the gun!”
The next yell was from Larry. “Dwayne! Do what they say! It’s okay.”
“But nobody’s s’posed to be here,” Dwayne cried.
“Damn it, Dwayne,” Larry responded. “Drop the fuckin’ shotgun or I’ll kick your arse!”
Dwayne let go of the shotgun like it had given him an electric shock.
Guess I should’ve told him I’d kick his arse.
A few minutes later both Larry and Dwayne were sitting on the ground with their hands handcuffed behind their backs. Jack retrieved a Newfoundland driver’s licence from Larry’s wallet identifying him as Lawrence Beggs. Dwayne didn’t have identification and said he didn’t know how to drive.
Jack handed Larry’s licence and wallet to Laura to check for criminal records and warrants. He then went exploring. When he returned, he motioned for her to step away from their captives so they could talk in private.
“There’s a small stream up there they’ve been using for irrigation,” Jack said. “They have lots of plants hidden in several patches through the bush. Could be a thousand. Also saw a generator, hydroponic equipment, camouflage netting, and a pump to get water from the stream. They’ve got quite the operation going.”
“No criminal records and no warrants,” Laura said. “They’re brothers and you’re right about Dwayne being mentally challenged. The two of them talked a little while you were gone. Larry isn’t what you would call sharp, either. He’s four years older than Dwayne and is being protective. He told me all the plants are his and that Dwayne has nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with it except shooting at us with a shotgun,” Jack said sarcastically.
“So what now?” Laura asked.
“Busting these two would screw up our investigation. Satans Wrath would know that someone talked. They could end up putting the Gypsy Devils on hold for who knows how long.”
“So much for rushing to get a tracker on the semi or doing a major conspiracy.”
“A conspiracy that includes Satans Wrath and the West 12th Street gang. Not these two yahoos.”
“Hey,” Larry hollered. “As I was sayin’, the dope’s all mine. Let Dwayne go and I’ll cop to it.”
“I’ll talk with you in a minute!” Jack said.
“So what should we do?” Laura asked. “After what happened we can’t turn them loose. They’d blab.”
“Not if we turn them into informants.”
“We’re already a couple of levels above these guys. Whatever Larry and Dwayne tell us won’t matter … but you’re right. It should keep them from talking.”
“What’s the big deal?” Larry again. “Let Dwayne go!”
“This might be your lucky day,” Jack said, walking closer to the two captives. “Give me who you’re selling the weed to and we won’t bust you.”
“I’m not sayin’,” Larry replied.
“Yeah, we’re not sayin’,” Dwayne echoed.
“Dwayne, you stay out of this!” Larry reprimanded him. “You don’t know nothin’ and you ain’t got nothin’ to do with nothin’.”
Jack squatted beside Larry. “Are you forgetting that Dwayne tried to kill us?”
“I was shooting above your head,” Dwayne said. “I was only scaring you.”
“Oh, it scared us, all right,” Jack replied. “We were lucky that the spray pattern was so wide that the slugs went past us. But then you fired again when I told you to drop your weapon.”
“That was an accident. The gun went off by itself. Wasn’t me who did it.”
“I told you to never touch it,” Larry scolded him. “Why? Why’d you do it?”
Dwayne hung his head and started blubbering.
Jack cast Larry a sympathetic look. “I feel bad, but trying to kill two police officers over a grow-op … Do you realize that Dwayne may be spending the rest of his life in prison?”
“Larry!” Dwayne cried. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I wanna stay here!”
Larry swallowed as he looked at his weeping brother.
“Talk to us and tell the truth,” Jack said. “We’ll make sure nobody finds out you talked. Your brother’s awfully vulnerable. Think what they’ll do to him in prison.”
Larry’s eyes welled up, then he nodded.
Jack and Laura helped him to his feet and they led him a short distance away to talk. Larry told them that by the next Tuesday he was to have the crop harvested and put in duffle bags. He’d then get a call from someone nicknamed Banjo, who’d ask him how many crabs he caught, which was code for how many duffle bags he had. Banjo would then tell him to bring them to the party, which would be on either Wednesday or Thursday, depending upon which night the delivery was to take place. The night of the delivery he’d take the duffle bags to the marina, then wait for another call before meeting Banjo on a highway in a remote area.
Jack knew from an intelligence report that Frederick Smith, a criminal who went by the alias Banjo, had attended the Labour Day ride. At that time Smith wore the bottom rocker for the Gypsy Devils which identified him as one of their prospects. Larry was telling the truth. “Do you have Banjo’s phone number?” he asked.
“It’s on a piece of paper in my wallet.” Larry looked at Laura. “It’s the one I saw you write down a few minutes ago.”