Art and Murder. Don Easton

men, not all. She quit crying instantly and listened. He promised that if she became his informant, he would protect her. Nobody else would know, with the exception of his partner, to whom he’d introduce her if she agreed. He said he wanted her to help him catch her cocaine connection.

      Her mind had felt numb. “I’m not sure what to say,” she replied.

      “You don’t have a criminal record yet,” Jack said. “Someday you’ll probably have a family. How do you tell your children that you can’t ever take them to Disneyland because you’re a convicted drug dealer?”

      Brandy slumped in her chair. When she spoke, her voice came out as a whisper. “Okay … I guess.”

      “You guess?”

      “I’ll do what you want.”

      “There is one more thing to keep in mind before you say anything,” said Jack. “If you ever lie to me … ever … I will find out and all deals are off. Understood?”

      Brandy nodded. “I won’t lie, but I only know him as Clive.”

      Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a mug shot. It was Clive.

      “You already knew,” she said, confused. “Why are you hassling me if —”

      “I need help catching him. I don’t even know where he lives.”

      “I don’t know, either,” she protested, fearing that Jack wouldn’t believe her, “but he told me he was going to Mexico for Christmas.”

      “Do you know who he went with?”

      “Nope, but he sort of joked about taking me with him.”

      “To mule-back coke?”

      Brandy stared momentarily at Jack, then said, “He hinted at that once. Said he could provide me with a fake passport so that if I had a record, customs would wave me through. I told him I don’t have a record, but I know enough about Mexican jails that I would never chance it. Did you ever see that movie where a guy went to jail in —”

      “Where does he get the passports?”

      “I don’t know,” Brandy replied indignantly. “It’s not something you ask.”

      Jack met her gaze. “Who else does he hang with?”

      Brandy sighed loudly. She disliked being questioned. When she saw Jack frown, she said, “I’ve only seen him with one other person.”

      “Who?”

      “I don’t think it’s who you’re looking for. This guy doesn’t strike me as the type to take orders from Clive, let alone mule coke.”

      “What’s his name? What’s does he look like?”

      “I only know him as Klaus. Steroid monkey with a tat on his neck. Dresses like a gangster with all the bling. He’s got a shaved head, wears a ball cap sideways — the thing’s too big.” Brandy shook her head to show her distaste. “Makes him look like a pinhead. I like guys who can protect me, but not if they look stupid.”

      “Keep going,” said Jack.

      “You know, the typical loose pants that show the crack of his ass.”

      “I get the picture, but what’s the tattoo on his neck?”

      “Oh, that. I only saw the top of it poking up above his collar. Looked like a crab claw, so maybe he’s a Cancer. You know, like in the horoscope. I’m a Virgo. What are you?”

      Jack ignored her question. “Do you have a contact number for Clive?”

      “I did, but it’s not working now. He’s always changing phones. I’ll have to wait until he comes in to get his new number.”

      Jack gave her a long, cold stare, then said, “I’ll give you my numbers. Write them on a piece of paper. I don’t want you carrying my business card. If either Clive or Klaus come in, call me immediately. I want to follow them and find out where they live.”

      “Okay.”

      “When he’s not in Mexico, how often do you see him?”

      “About once a week.”

      “How much coke do you get from him?”

      “Usually an ounce, sometimes more.”

      “And what do you pay for it?”

      “I, uh, pay about …”

      “I warned you once what will happen if you lie,” Jack said.

      Brandy felt dismayed. “You know about that, too, don’t you.”

      “That you’re hooking and trade sex for coke,” he said flatly.

      Brandy sighed. “Yes, but there’s something about Clive I don’t like. I was going to break it off with him. He gives me bad vibes.”

      “How many times have you, uh, been with him?” Jack asked.

      “Maybe a dozen, but he’s becoming nasty in the way he treats me.”

      “For my purposes, could you handle another session with him if you had to?”

      Brandy grimaced. “I guess so. He is generous. He gives me an ounce each time we, uh, spend an hour alone together.”

      “An ounce of coke for an hour … you must be good.”

      At that, Brandy had felt a little surge of optimism. “If you’d like to find out, the first one’s on me. Actually, not just the first one. I could see you being my boy —”

      “Time for you to meet my partner.” Jack had nodded in the direction of a woman sitting at the bar.

      * * *

      Brandy knew that time for reflection in the mirror was over when Klaus entered and gave her a solid smack on her backside.

      “I told you to hurry up,” he snarled.

      She gasped when he grabbed her by the back of the neck and propelled her out and onto the bed. She glimpsed the clock. One-twenty-five. Will Jack answer if I call?

      Klaus sneered down at her. “Okay, bitch, time to really earn what we paid you.”

      It has to be now … or never.

      Chapter Two

      In Paris, France, it was ten-twenty-five in the morning, nine hours ahead of Vancouver time, when Kerin Bastion ordered a coffee. It was only ten degrees Celsius, but the sun shone in a clear blue sky, giving a feeling of warmth and optimism.

      Kerin was particularly optimistic, albeit nervous, as he looked out the café window. He was on the most exciting case of his career in the seven years he had been with the Police nationale, and today would be a pivotal moment in the investigation.

      Three months earlier he had been selected to go undercover. The French judiciary had only recently approved the use of an undercover agent, or agent provocateur, as a lawful means to collect evidence.

      Unlike North America, where criminals were familiar with undercover tactics, the criminals in France were naive by comparison. The top echelon of the Police nationale hoped to take advantage of the situation.

      To impress their political watchdogs, the Police nationale picked an impressive target to illustrate the benefit of such a tool. An international crime ring had operated out of several European countries for years. Its members were known to have committed armed robberies of jewellery stores, armoured trucks, financial institutions, and various other businesses.

      The crimes were often investigated as individual cases, and many jurisdictions had not come to realize the big picture. When the police did pick up their scent, the criminals moved elsewhere and were usually forgotten when more active cases surfaced.

      Over