A Delicate Matter. Don Easton

action he’d soon regret. Seconds later he was on the floor being kicked and stomped on. Then he was dragged to his feet and thrust back against a pillar, where Thor pressed and twisted the jagged end of a broken beer bottle to his nose and mouth. The man’s lip drooped like a piece of liver. Another twist of the bottle around his eye gouged out a section of his eyebrow, along with the flesh on the bridge of his nose.

      The bartender timidly approached. “Please, guys, can you take it outside? We’ll lose our licence again if you keep doing this in here.”

      Thor hesitated, then nodded to the others. Two bikers dragged Thor’s bloody victim toward the exit. As they did, one biker backhanded the victim on the side of his face to gain his attention and said, “We’re gonna scoop your licence. If you’re stupid enough to say anything, remember that we know you and where you live.”

      Seconds later they opened the door and flung the hapless victim outside, along with his looted wallet. In the meantime three other bikers took turns kicking the other man as he crawled toward the exit. Eventually they let him get to his feet and stumble outside.

      The two women, who were both laughing, joined the Gypsy Devils while the overturned chairs and tables were righted.

      Jack noted that the ripple effect of displaced beer and furniture had stopped next to where he sat. Hey, that’s pretty good. I predicted that one right on.

      “Jack, what did you do to those two guys?” Laura radioed. “I know you don’t like sex offenders but … oh, man.”

      “Wasn’t me,” Jack whispered. “Just the good ol’ boys and a couple of their women having some fun.”

      “One guy’s face is covered in blood. His buddy’s trying to help him across the parking lot to their wheels … but he looks pretty messed up, too. I’m getting some close-ups but, hey, what happened?”

      “Karma,” Jack replied. “Hang on, someone’s calling me on my cell.” He took the vibrating phone from his pocket and held it close to his ear.

      “Jack, it’s Sophie White. I got your number from your boss and she said to call you direct.”

      “Sophie White?” Jack asked. “Do I know you?”

      “Now my feelings are really hurt,” she replied, sounding miffed. “We met seven years ago. You shoved me into the back seat of a car and climbed in on top of me. Guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

      Jack snorted. “Now I know who you are,” he said. “How’s your nose?”

      “You mean the one you broke?”

      “How many do you have?” Jack asked.

      Sophie snickered, then her voice became serious. “You saved my life that night. I’ll never forget it.”

      “We both got lucky that night,” Jack replied sombrely. “What can I do for you?”

      “Maybe it’s what I can do for you. I’m still working uniform in Surrey, but I know you’re the guy to talk to about Satans Wrath. I caught one and he wants to talk.”

      “Give me a sec,” Jack said. “I’m in a bar — let me step outside where I can talk.” Seconds later he continued his conversation while walking across the parking lot to where Laura waited in the SUV. “Who’d you catch?”

      “His name’s Mack Cockerill. What I caught him on is nothing. Maybe probation if we’re lucky, but he says he’s willing to talk if I’ll drop the matter.”

      “What’s he offering? A pipe bomb or a gun?”

      “You got it,” Sophie said. “Also some bullshit about someone planning to shoot up an abortion clinic.”

      “All of which he’ll arrange if you drop his charge.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I figured, but I thought I should call you. He seems really stressed. Mind you, he might be in pain. He leaped off the third storey of a parkade when I tried to arrest him and broke his ankle.”

      “You didn’t tell me what you’re charging him with,” Jack said, stifling a yawn as he watched the man in the bomber jacket stumble and leave a bloody hand-streak down the side of a white Toyota Camry. His buddy was holding him by the other arm and trying to steer him while grasping his own rib cage.

      “He’s a weenie wagger,” Sophie replied.

      Jack immediately forgot about the victims in the parking lot. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “You got him for exposing himself?”

      “Yeah. We’ve had three complaints in the last two weeks from women saying some guy has been jumping out at them in a parkade and waving his dick. We set up a sting and today he did the same thing with me. We’ve got it all on video. Enough that Defence won’t be able to say he had a bladder infection and was simply relieving himself.”

      “That’s fantastic,” Jack said. “I mean it.”

      “Why? It’s no big deal as far as the courts go. The judge will probably think it’s funny and give him thirty hours of community service. Maybe less if his lawyer can convince the court that his client suffered enough by having broken his ankle.”

      “The judge might find it amusing, but Satans Wrath wouldn’t,” Jack said. “It’d be a huge embarrassment to the club. The jokes would be flying around the country saying they should change their top rocker from Satans Wrath to the Weenie Waggers.”

      “That’d make for a good laugh.”

      “They’d kill him if they found out — or put him in the intensive-care unit for a year and kick him out of the club. Personally I think it’d be the first option.”

      “Think maybe he’ll give us more than he’s pretending to offer?”

      “Damn right. Once he realizes you won’t go along with the bullshit he offered, he’ll offer you something genuine. Likely stolen property or dope to start with, but handle him right and he could be a gold mine for you.”

      “For me?” Sophie sounded doubtful. “You should be the guy to talk to him. I’m smart enough to know that I don’t have the experience to handle a guy like him. The asshole would probably end up running me instead of me running him.”

      “That wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” Jack said. “I’d be glad to take a run at him. I’m in Port Coquitlam at the moment, so I could be there in less than half an hour. Maybe we could work him together if you like.”

      “I’ve got all the work I can handle,” Sophie responded. “Besides, I’m still in uniform. This guy’s more your department. If he doesn’t cooperate, I’ll charge him afterwards.”

      “Oh, he’ll cooperate,” Jack said. “I’m sure about that.”

      “Then he’s all yours if you want him.”

      Jack smiled. Oh, yeah, I want him all right. Goodbye Gypsy Devils. You’ve been outtrumped by one weenie-wagger.

      Chapter Three

      Jack and Laura sat in an office with Sophie White at the Surrey RCMP detachment and listened as she recounted the circumstances leading to Mack Cockerill’s arrest. “After that, we took him to the hospital where he received a walking cast. Now he’s in an interview room,” Sophie said, gesturing with her thumb behind her. “Hope he can really do a number on the club for you.”

      “I wish,” Jack replied, “but even if he wants to spill his guts, it won’t affect the club as a whole that much.”

      Sophie looked puzzled. “Why not?”

      “They tend to operate in cells independent from one another to prevent someone from ever doing that. Even if he was willing to wear a wire and testify, all I’d expect to get would be some high-level dealers who score from the club, maybe a couple of prospects, and