Читать книгу Subverting Justice - Don Easton - Страница 6

Lance Morgan parked his blue Honda Odyssey minivan and sat for a moment to take in his surroundings. Stanley Park was situated in the heart of Vancouver, but at this time of year it was largely deserted. Being early October, the tourist rush was over. And the usual lunch crowd had gone back to work.

He reached for the glovebox and grabbed a bottle of antacids. As he munched on the tablets he reflected on the morning’s activities — and his own life. As president of the Westside chapter of the Satans Wrath outlaw motorcycle gang, he’d seen more than his share of action. He glanced in the rear-view mirror at his reflection. Christ, I look old. Mid-forties? Hell … I look mid-sixties.

He rubbed the half moon scar on his forehead. When he was stressed, as he was now, it tended to redden. The scar was obtained in his early days with the club — someone had caught his attention with the broken end of a wine bottle. He’d viewed the scar as a badge of honour.

In those days he’d also had a beard and long hair. Coupled with the scar and his height — he stood half a head taller than most men — he was someone most people instinctively feared. And when he was younger, he took delight in intimidating others. But with age came maturity and that line of thinking was gone. These days he was clean-shaven and kept his thinning hair closely cropped.

He looked at the empty car seat in the back of his van. His first and only grandchild was a year old. When I held him the other day he touched my scar with his little finger. What do I tell him when he learns to talk and asks about it? He ran his tongue over his teeth to dislodge any remnants of antacid as he thought about it. Think I’ll tell him it’s a badge of stupidity.

He got out of his van and despite the presence of a few homeless people, didn’t bother to lock the doors. Two prospects for the club were sitting in a nearby car, which indicated that some of the club’s hit team must be around, too.

So why’re they meeting twice in one day? Did the team bungle their assignment and allow Damien to escape? Or is the team being given another job?

The prospects’ presence was to ensure that whatever vehicles the hit team drove would remain free of any electronic tracking devices. The hit team had been code-named the three-three team, but the code wasn’t kept secret from the police for long.

The prospects cast their eyes on him, but their stature in the club meant they hadn’t yet earned so much as a nod of recognition from someone in his position. He turned and took the path leading to the meeting spot.

His mind still felt numb. Four hours earlier he’d gone to the park for a meeting at the request of Pure E. That was when he learned that Damien had been the one who tipped off the police about a boatload of cocaine. The boat was on its maiden voyage and the shipment had been seized in France the day before. The club’s new pipeline to Europe was severed before it started.

At first Lance refused to believe it. Damien had been a close friend for years. Then he learned what Damien had been presented with … and did believe it. It was a culmination of factors. Damien’s son, Buck, was a new member of the club who belonged to Lance’s Westside chapter. Twelve days previously that cop Jack Taggart had videoed Buck beating a rival drug dealer to death. The death was not intended, but it happened. Rather than try to coerce Buck into becoming an informant, Taggart set his sights on Damien — offering to destroy the video in exchange for Damien supplying information. At that time Damien had refused to co-operate and alerted the club about what Taggart had done.

A week ago Taggart took part in executing a search warrant on Damien’s house. He seized all of Damien’s assets, including a secret bank account that Damien had in the British Virgin Islands. This morning the club heard that Damien’s wife, Vicki, had overreacted to the search and tried to kill Taggart — something Damien hadn’t told the club. Lance was told that Taggart had given Damien the choice of either informing or seeing both Vicki and Buck go to jail.

Lance frowned. Obviously Damien made the wrong decision — except I’d have done the same thing if it was my family on the chopping block. Christ, I already have.

Years earlier Lance had received a similar visit from Taggart. The cop had had evidence to put him and two other club members in jail for attempted murder. Taggart said he wouldn’t if Lance became his informant.

Initially Lance had refused to co-operate, but Taggart threatened to put him in protective custody and provide the prosecutor with a report that would ensure a reduced sentence to make it look like he’d co-operated. Lance knew that if the club couldn’t get to him, they might take it out on his wife or children. In his mind he had no choice but to co-operate. A year later Taggart set him free of his obligation, apparently feeling Lance had fulfilled his end of the bargain.

Lance’s thoughts came back to the meeting he’d attended four hours earlier with Pure E. Whiskey Jake, who was the president of the Eastside chapter, had attended, along with Buck and all four of the three-three team who lived in British Columbia.

Buck had taken the news hard when Pure E told him what his father had done. Tears of disbelief stained his cheeks, followed by sorrow and then outrage.

At the time Lance wondered if Pure E was going to have Buck killed in front of Damien as added punishment. A similar thing had taken place the night before to punish another drug dealer by the name of Neal Barlow, who they believed was an informant. This time, however, Pure E had another idea. Buck agreed to wear a wire and confront Damien while the three-three team listened nearby. Buck also agreed to be the one to execute his father.

Lance grimaced. Pure E isn’t wasting any time living up to his nickname. The guy is pure evil. Getting Buck to kill his own father … fuck. Guess that’s one way to prove which family his loyalty is with. Dumb kid barely got his colours and Pure E told him that if he did what he was ordered to, Pure E might assign him to the three-three. Lance thought at the time it was a bad idea, that it would raise some eyebrows — including Taggart’s. Lance’s thoughts didn’t matter. Pure E was not a man who accepted criticism.

Lance neared the meeting and saw Whiskey Jake ambling away from a concession stand while munching on a hot dog. His hair, a mix of black and grey, was pulled back in a ponytail and his beer belly hung over his belt. He usually had a beard, but following his latest divorce, he’d shaved it off. He’d told Lance he thought being clean-shaven would make him more appealing to younger women.

What they find appealing about you, Lance thought, is when you leave.

Behind Whiskey Jake at the concession stand were two long-time members of the three-three team — Floyd Hackman and Vic Trapp. Hackman was assigned to Lance’s Westside chapter while Trapp belonged to the Eastside.

Lance looked around. The two other members of the hit team, Pasquale Bazzoli and Nick Crowe, were not present. They also belonged to Whiskey Jake’s Eastside chapter, although Bazzoli was currently living in Kelowna. His current assignment was to discreetly check and see if it would suit their interests to open a chapter there.

Whiskey Jake spotted him and they met at a nearby picnic table. Once seated, Lance raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s done,” Whiskey Jake replied abruptly.

“Buck?” Lance asked.

“Yup.” Whiskey Jake used his hand to simulate shooting a pistol. “One through the head. Our lawyer called Taggart to tell ’im we knew Damien was the rat and Taggart immediately called Damien to warn him. It went down exactly like Pure E predicted.” Whiskey Jake uttered a hoarse chuckle. “I bet Taggart shit himself when Pure E answered Damien’s phone.”

“This ain’t nothin’ to laugh at,” Lance stated.

After a few moments, Whiskey Jake nodded. “You’re right. What the fuck would everyone think if they knew Damien ratted? We’d all lose respect.”

That’s not what I meant. Damien was my friend. “How’s Buck doing?”

“Fuck. When it came to poppin’ his old man, they said he was as cold as ice. Gotta give Damien credit for that. He raised the kid right.”

“Pure E took a chance being there,” Lance noted.

“Not really. All four of the team were there. If Buck even thought of tryin’ to rescue his old man, he woulda been wasted.”

“I’m not talking about Buck changing his mind or trying to save Damien. Pure E put himself at the scene and then threw shit in Taggart’s face by answering Damien’s phone. Same for the farmhouse last night when Neal was offed. It was bad enough torturin’ his brother and sister-in-law to death first, but to leave Taggart a fuckin’ message on the wall … that’s insane.”

“I was there when you tried to talk Pure E out of it. All he did was get pissed off at you and say things are gonna be different.”

“Different? Is that what you call it? He’s been national prez all of five days and we’ve taken out four people. Two who weren’t necessary. When Damien ran things, we tried to maintain the peace. We hadn’t whacked anyone for a couple years.”

Whiskey Jake shrugged. “Pure E won the vote. Nothing we can do. You saw how pissed off he got when you tried to offer some advice.”

“I know he was voted in, but we’ve done too much recruitin’ over the last few years. Lots of young blood in the club. They’re not smart enough to think of the future. We should have a rule that they can’t vote until they got ten years under their belt.”

Whiskey Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, try and bring that in and you’ll find yourself starin’ up at the grass.”

Lance scowled. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why the fuck did you send word to meet again? Where’s Bazzoli, Crowe, and Buck?”

“Bazzoli and Crowe are disposin’ of Damien. Buck’s around — he went to the shitter.” Whiskey Jake gave a nod of his head. “There he is.”

Lance glanced over his shoulder and saw Buck heading over to where Hackman and Trapp were waiting. The men knew to watch their club presidents from a respectful distance and wouldn’t approach within earshot unless invited.

Whiskey Jake cleared his throat, then turned his head and spit before answering. “Why I called the meetin’ is because of Damien’s old lady.”

“Vicki? Buck was supposed to tell her that Damien split the country to keep himself out of jail. What changed?”

“He told her all right — but she knows.”

Lance leaned across the table. “Whaddaya mean, she knows?”

“She knows. It wasn’t her lawyer’s secretary who called our lawyer askin’ about the charges being dropped against Buck because Damien ratted. It was Vicki pretendin’ to be the secretary. She set Damien up.”

Lance’s mouth flopped open and he sat back in shock.

“Buck met with her a couple hours ago. Earlier she told him she was going out, but she lied. She stayed home and was upstairs. She heard when Buck talked to Damien and watched when the guys came in and took him away.”

“She wanted us to kill him? But why?”

“She was pissed that he wouldn’t save Buck from bein’ charged when he beat that dealer to death. She also blamed him for Buck getting involved in the club.”

“But didn’t she try to kill Taggart last week when they searched the house?”

“Yup. That’s what tipped the scales for Damien. He made a deal with Taggart to let Vicki and Buck off.”

“So he saves her ass and she responds by setting him up? That evil fucking bitch!”

“Yeah, evil.” Whiskey Jake smirked. “Maybe she should marry Pure E now that she’s single.”

Lance’s face must have shown his anger, for Whiskey Jack said, “Hey, lighten up, I’m only jokin’. That’s why I called a meeting. It’s to let Pure E know and find out what he wants done.”

“Maybe he’ll want Buck to go back and do her,” Lance suggested. “Make a clean sweep of both his parents.”

“Yeah, welcome to the club Buck-o-boy.”

Lance shook his head. “This new management style — I’m gettin’ too old for this shit. It’s makin’ me think it’s time to retire.”

“Movin’ down to the Caymans?”

“Maybe for six months of the year. My kids are established here and now that we’ve got a grandson, things have changed. I’d still keep a place here.”

“Well … we both got the capital to do that. Gotta admit, I’m gettin’ a little tired of managing whores and strippers. They’re always a headache. I imagine goin’ to your amusement centre every day must be a drag.”

“It’s okay — but you’re right. I’m looking forward to enjoying the benefits of our real money.”

“Thank fuck we didn’t go in with Damien.”

“It wasn’t like he offered,” Lance noted. “He was smart to recommend we keep our money apart from his. You and I probably should’ve kept ours separate, too.”

“Ours is safe,” Whiskey Jake replied. “The only connection was through the lawyer in Mexico. He got those files out of the office long before the Federales came by.”

“I still question how the cops got on to Damien’s secret account.”

Whiskey Jake looked puzzled. “What’re you talking about? Damien’s lawyer had another client who got busted and ratted out the lawyer. Rather than go down for money launderin’, the fuckin’ lawyer then ratted out Damien.”

“So it appeared, but with Taggart involved, I’m always suspicious.”

“What makes you so leery of Taggart?”

Because I was once his rat and know how he operates. “He’s on the RCMP Intelligence Unit. I always wonder what they’re up to.”

“You’re paranoid.” Whiskey Jake nodded suddenly. “The man’s arrived.”

“Hey boys, what’s up?” Pure E asked as he approached. Lance slid over on the picnic bench to make room.

“Wait’ll you hear this,” Whiskey Jake replied. “Buck came back with some interesting shit.” He then told Pure E that Buck had discovered it was Vicki who set Damien up for them to kill.

Pure E looked taken back, then grinned. “Sounds like she doesn’t like rats, either.”

“She manipulated us,” Lance said. “What do you want done?”

Pure E glanced toward Hackman, Trapp, and Buck. He paused, then turned to Lance. “Normally I’d be pissed off, but if it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have known who ratted out our boatload of coke.”

“Still, do you want the boys to take care of her?” Whiskey Jake asked.

“No. She did us a big favour. Too bad she didn’t come to us direct, but either way, she did the right thing.”

“She told Buck that she saw the guys take him away,” Whiskey Jake said.

“So what?” Pure E scoffed. “It wasn’t like he put up a fight. It even fits in with the story that we snuck him out of the country. It’s not like the cops will ever find his body.”

“But she knows we killed him,” Lance stated.

“Fuck, who cares?” Pure E replied. “She’s part of it. She’s not gonna say anything. If word ever leaks out he was killed, we could say it’s a rumour we started to keep the cops from trying to find him.”

“Guess that’d work, too,” Whiskey Jake said.

Pure E snickered. “Wish I could’ve seen Taggart’s face today when he called to warn Damien.”

“I still think that was a big mistake,” Lance said. “Pokin’ the bear with a sharp stick is never a good idea.”

Pure E stared at Lance. “I looked in that fuckin’ minivan of yours as I walked past. You’ve got a baby seat in the back.”

“Yeah … so what? It’s for my grandson.”

“Yeah, grandpa, great fuckin’ image for a chapter president. What’s even worse is sitting here and listening to you talk like an old man.”

“An old man with a lot of experience,” Lance said evenly.

“I can’t believe you’d worry about Taggart. Sure he knows we killed Damien. I wanted him to know. But knowing and proving are two different things.”

“But what you did to him … twice in one day. First the message on the wall and then answering Damien’s phone when he called to warn Damien.”

Pure E sneered. “So what?”

“You’ve just moved from Winnipeg, so you don’t know Taggart. We’ve dealt with him before. He’ll go crazy and he isn’t beyond stepping outside the law. All you did was paint a big target on your back.”

“You want to speak to me about targets? Think about your buddy Damien. This shit wouldn’t have happened if Taggart hadn’t messed with his family. Threatening to put Buck in jail — that’s what drove Vicki to take a shot at him.”

“Yeah, and so?”

“If Taggart’s gonna make me a target, then maybe it’s time to put him in his place.” Pure E paused to flick an ant off the table. “I heard he’s married with a couple kids?”

“His wife’s a doctor,” Whiskey Jake offered. “They got two young sons.”

“Perfect.”

Oh, shit. “What’re you thinking?” Lance asked.

Pure glanced at his watch. “I’m thinking if we light a fire under Hackman and Trapp’s asses, they can be at Taggart’s house when his kids come home from school.”

Shock registered on Lance’s face. “You’re not —”

Pure E shut Lance up with a look of contempt, then said, “I’m gonna give Taggart a present he’ll never forget. That fucker cost us a tonne of coke. It’s payback time!”

Lance swallowed. Oh, fuck.