A Delicate Matter. Don Easton

stuff,” Cockerill noted. “He runs a limousine service.”

      “I didn’t know that,” Jack admitted.

      “He’s only got one car. A six-passenger stretch limo. Buck said it’s pretty cool, though.”

      Buck being in Mouse’s limousine was an important piece of information. Jack would apply for a wiretap that’d include the limo, but he didn’t want Cockerill to realize the significance of what he’d let slip. “I don’t care about some car,” he replied. “Tell me about the money. How and when are the growers paid?”

      “A day after the weed is pressed and the bricks counted, Buck pays Neal, who hands it off to their prospects to pay the growers. The GDs get their cut after the weed is delivered to Dallas, then Bob and Roxie get paid by Neal when they return.”

      “I would’ve thought Bob and Roxie received the money from the West 12th Street boys and brought it back themselves for disbursement.”

      “Nope, it don’t come back with them. I got no idea how that works other than it takes a coupla weeks before I get it. I think only the exec in our club know those details. All I know is that eventually I get my cut, along with the payment for the GDs.”

      Jack nodded. Damien is too smart to ever let those details be known to someone like Cockerill. He decided on a different approach. “Who passes the money to you?”

      “Sometimes the chapter treasurer, sometimes different guys. I never know who until it happens.”

      Something about the tone of Cockerill’s voice said he was protecting his own financial interests. Jack knew that to push it any further might cause him to clam up. “Which is when you hand some money over to Buck to pay the GDs,” Jack said.

      “Yeah. Then the GDs divvy it up amongst themselves. It won’t be Buck I hand it to next time. He’ll be getting his full patch soon. We’re supposed to vote on it, but everyone knows it’s a done deal.”

      “How soon?”

      “September twenty-seventh. That’s when Pure E takes over as national prez.”

      “Current president of the Winnipeg chapter,” Jack said.

      “Was. He’s moving here this weekend. Guess he’s sick of the mosquitos and the snow in Winterpeg.”

      Jack glanced at Sophie. “The man’s real name is Purvis Evans. He was nicknamed Pure E — short for pure evil. A name, I’m told, that’s well earned.”

      “Sounds like a nice guy,” Sophie said.

      “It’ll be a big party with Damien stepping down on the same day Buck gets his patch,” Cockerill added. “Another prospect will then be picked to deal with the GDs.”

      A big party for Damien to celebrate his success. Jack sighed. “Damien must’ve made a fortune over the years. Has he ever told you what he’s done with it or where he plans to retire?”

      Cockerill smirked. “Nope. I’m too low on the ladder for Damien to even acknowledge, let alone talk about shit like that. He surpassed my league long ago.”

      Jack realized he’d clenched his own fist in anger. Cool it. This asshole is already smirking because Damien got away with it. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how pissed off it makes me feel.

      “Same goes for the other guys at the executive level,” Cockerill continued. “I don’t know how they get their cut or what they do with it. For the rest of us guys doin’ the work, we take the cash.”

      “Which guys?”

      “It varies. Depends on who happens to be around when we need something done or to oversee a shipment of cocaine or something coming in.”

      “Speaking of cocaine, I’ve heard a rumour that you guys are opening up a new connection in Europe,” Jack said.

      Cockerill looked startled. “I’ve never heard anything about that,” he lied. “Who told you that?”

      Jack gave Cockerill a hard cold stare in response. A new plan formed. His primary target would not be the Gypsy Devils or Bob and Roxie. Neither would it be the West 12th Street gang.

      Damien, I missed my chance with you, but nailing Buck and your top execs would sure lessen the bitter taste of defeat.

      Chapter Five

      It was eleven o’clock the following morning when Jack eased the throttle back on the small boat he and Laura had rented. Earlier they’d checked the marina but didn’t see Larry’s boat.

      As they slowly cruised past the location where Cockerill had told them the grow-op was located, Laura used binoculars to scan the shoreline. “I see it,” she said. “Red flames painted on the bow.”

      “Good. At least it confirms some of what Weenie Wagger told us,” Jack replied. “I’ll feel a little better passing on our intel to Drug Section.”

      Laura nodded. The mandate of the Intelligence unit was to gather information to the point that they could point the appropriate investigative unit in the right direction, but not become so involved themselves that it’d necessitate testifying in court. Not being required to testify would help protect their own undercover identities and prevent gruelling questioning by defence lawyers attempting to identify informants.

      “We’ll continue on past for about twenty minutes,” Jack said, “then head back to the marina.”

      Movement on shore caught Laura’s attention. She toyed with the adjustment on the binoculars. “There’s someone at the front of the boat now. He’s untying a rope.”

      Moments later Larry’s boat headed out behind them and went in the opposite direction.

      “What do you think?” Laura asked. “If he’s going to the marina, it’ll take him close to two hours for a round trip. Would be nice to verify the crop is there and how big it really is.”

      Jack nodded. “If I moor about a ten-minute walk farther down the shore we can walk in. If he comes back sooner we’ll walk along the shoreline like a couple of beachcombers. I doubt it’d heat him up that much.”

      Twenty minutes later Jack and Laura made their way along the rocky shoreline until they came to a length of blue nylon rope tied to several concrete blocks. It was where Larry had moored his boat. A small path led away from the shore up a slope into a forest. Jack glanced back at the ocean once more. It was calm, and the sound of an approaching boat would be easily heard. He gave Laura a reassuring nod and they silently made their way up the path.

      Soon they came to a No Trespassing sign and Jack smiled. “Pretty good indication we’re on the right path, considering we’re on Crown land.”

      A minute later the blast from a shotgun sent pellets ripping into the trees and bushes around them. Instinctively they dived for cover behind trees on each side of the path.

      “Son of a bitch!” Jack exclaimed. He glanced at Laura. “You okay?”

      “Yes.” Like Jack, she already had her pistol in her hand. “You?”

      He gave her a thumbs-up.

      “You-you guys get away from here!” yelled a man from a ridge above them.

      Jack peered out from behind the tree and glimpsed a man wearing camouflage clothing and holding a shotgun. He spotted Jack and raised the gun again, but Jack ducked and the man held his fire.

      “Saw one man,” he whispered to Laura. “He’s too far away to be effective with what he’s using. The spray pattern will be too large.”

      “You might think so,” Laura replied, “but it only takes one slug and a few of them already whizzed past me.”

      “Go away!” the man hollered again. He sounded like he was about to cry. “You-you guys are stupid. Can’t you read? You can’t come