Evil in Hockley (3 page)

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want
to think of you overseas. Some soldiers need something to drive
them, I didn’t. I didn’t want to associate you with…”

“I got it the first time, Harry. You
didn’t want me there in any way shape or form.”

“Yah.”

“Do you love me?”

“More than any other human being
alive.”

“What does that mean,
exactly?”

“Hah, don’t get analytic on me. You
can’t analyse every statement I make. Otherwise I may not make
anymore. I’ll become one of those pussy whipped guys who never
expresses an opinion and only agree.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll never be pussy
whipped. I don’t think you’ll be around long enough for
that.”

“Go to sleep.”

Days pass quickly when you’re with
someone you love. It was the day of Jarrod’s service and both Harry
and Sandy were in a sombre mood. They drove north on Highway 10 to
Shelburne, to Dave and Iris’s home. Their house was located on a
farm that hadn’t been worked in years. Dave was a mechanic running
his business out of a garage in Shelburne.

Harry was three years older than his
brother Jarrod so both had a different sets of friends when growing
up. He recognized faces but couldn’t put a name to them. No matter,
as they were here to pay last respects to Jarrod before
surrendering his ashes to the wind. The service lasted for an hour
then everyone began to idolize Jarrod. Some admitted not seeing him
in years yet had comments to make. Harry only nodded wanting it all
to end. Sandy was a natural at small talk cutting in on delicate
issues and rescuing him. Then one by one they all had to leave.
Thank God.

Dave and Iris accepted a quick good
bye: they probably felt as uncomfortable as he did. The old saying,
“Life is for the living, not the dead,” ran through Harry’s
mind.

The drive home was as sombre as the
drive to the farm. Sandy tried in vain to lighten the mood then
gave up. Harry had a lot on his mind now that his brother was taken
care of. He could feel that Sandy knew what he was
thinking.

Someone killed Jarrod and that someone
had to pay.

“You’re taking me home, aren’t
you?”

Harry was silent for a
moment.

“Yes, I am.”

“Is there anything I can say to talk
you into taking me to your house? Can we love and make love for the
rest of our days?”

He was silent again then
said,

“I wouldn’t feel right. Unfinished
business.”

“Men and their fighting. What good will
it do?”

“You can’t let the Joe Sharkys of the
world make the rules.”

“You know it’s him?”

“It’s a place to start.”

“Oh Harry, no good will come of this. I
can feel it. You think Sharky’s going to let you walk all over him?
If nothing else he has an image to uphold. He can’t look weak in
front of his crew.”

Harry nodded.

“I have a self image that will haunt me
if I walk away from this.”

Sandy threw her hands in the
air.

“Oh, it’s no use.”

They were silent until Harry dropped
her off at her front door. He bent to kiss her but she pulled
away.

He said,

“I’ll call.”

She didn’t answer, went inside, and
slammed the door.

Chapter 5

The following morning Harry drove north
to Shelburne again, to Dave’s garage. He stopped on the way and
picked up a couple of donuts and two large double, double coffees.
Dave was busy changing an oil filter, swearing when he burned his
hands on a hot exhaust pipe.

“Hey, watch the language.”

“Morning Harry, didn’t see you come in.
They design these things so that the oil filter sits right over the
exhaust pipe. I get a burn and oil drips down onto the pipe. The
customer thinks I don’t know what I’m doing cause it smokes for a
day.”

“Maybe the design engineers think you
have the time to let it cool for an hour.”

“What’s up buddy? You didn’t drive here
to buy me breakfast.”

“I need the Cuda on the hoist for an
hour or so. I need a couple of metal boxes welded to the
frame.”

“For?”

“It would be better if you didn’t
know.”

Dave stopped working and stared at
Harry.

“I got a wife and a kid. If I didn’t
I’d be with you on what you’re about ‘not’ to do.”

“I know Dave. I’m just going to have a
look around. See what runs from cover.”

“I’ll put yours on the hoist after I
finish this one.”

“Drink your coffee before it gets
cold.”

They both ate their donuts and sipped
coffee then Dave started to lube the car, his grease gun
hissing.

Dave said,

“I talked to Jim Albright. He came home
after being wounded. Actually came to look up Jarrod. He told us
what you did in the service… Or should I say out of the
service.”

That shocked Harry to some extent. He
hopped Albright hadn’t said too much. All the soldiers in his group
were under a gag order and shooting your mouth off could get you
discharged, even jail time.

“Oh, yah. What did he say?”

“Told us you were an assassin. Kind of
looked up to you. I guess there’s more to that than it
sounds.”

Harry knew his friend wanted some sort
of comforting explanation.

“Let’s just say that there are times
when you have to kill one man to save hundreds, maybe
thousands.”

“Like the trade towers?”

“Something like that but not on that
grand a scale.”

“Well, I can’t see you plugging some
guy for no reason. You never were one to take shit from either
direction, up or down. If you didn’t believe in something you’d
call in sick,” said Dave then laughed.

Harry could tell that his
acknowledgement of being an assassin put a damper on their
friendship. Killing changes everything.

Dave put the Cuda on the hoist and
welded two empty war surplus ammo boxes behind the frame on the
driver’s side, out of sight. When he finished he tapped Dave on the
shoulder then made an excuse to leave.

Harry drove into the backyard of his
property parking near the back door. He went inside to his bedroom
and retrieved three objects wrapped in cloth. He sat near the
driver’s side of his car and unravelled his Beretta M9 service
revolver and a spare clip. He ejected the clip and checked the gun
then snapped the clip into place. He rewrapped the gun in cloth
then slid under his car and placed the weapon into one of the metal
containers. He unwrapped the second package containing two boxes:
plastic explosives and a detonator. He placed those in the other
container and slapped the lid shut. He unwrapped the third and
smallest rag containing two blades that he slid into a slender
sheath in his boots.

Harry had come into the country on a
troop carrier aircraft landing near Sudbury. It was checked but in
the service no one ratted out a buddy. If someone saw what he
brought into the country then they said nothing. If he was caught
by an overzealous soldier he’d plead ignorance. It was his first
trip home.

In was only two in the afternoon and he
didn’t plan on arriving at Joe Sharky’s place before six. He wanted
to recon the area in daylight but wouldn’t enter the bar until
after dark.

He drove into Orangeville and bought a
late lunch at a burger joint. He only ate half and drank little
coffee. You wouldn’t find a toilette handy on a recon mission and
he was at his best on an empty stomach. He filled up his tank which
set him back one hundred and twenty dollars. The Barracuda had a
big tank and the price of gas wasn’t what it used to be. Back in
the seventies a guy could gas up with twenty bucks. Nowadays it
cost that to cut the grass.

He drove home and walked around his
property which consisted of a house, garage, and shed set on an
acre of land. The backyard was overgrown and needed at least six
months work with a chain saw. His brother had kept the lawns cut
but they needed to be cut again. He had neither the time or
inclination to be a gardener so he’d hire someone. When he was a
kid he used to pump gas, cut lawns, and did odd jobs to make a few
bucks. Kids didn’t work anymore and why should they: they get money
free.

Chapter 6

It was six o’clock in the evening when
Harry pulled out of his driveway and drove north on Airport Road.
It was a hilly drive but barely taxed the five hundred horses his
Hemi poured out to turn the rear wheels.

It was a scenic half hour drive to Joe
Sharky’s Bar and Grill. The lands on either side of the road were
too hilly for farming so had not been completely cleared. Farm
animals grazed on lush grasses.

Sharky’s place was huge surrounded by
large parking lots, trucker’s were welcome. Harry sat in a farm
laneway across the road from the bar, an open map in his hands
looking every bit like a lost tourist. Maples and other hardwood
trees grew behind the main buildings on an ever steeper hill. This
would be his back entrance or emergency exit if he could find and
disable the cameras he knew would be there.

There was a house a hundred yards north
of the parking lot which he knew were the living quarters of Sharky
and a couple of his most trusted men. There were three expensive
cars parked near a fence surrounding the yard. He wondered
precisely what kind of activity went on in that house. Harry knew
Joe by sight but had never had the pleasure of meeting the
man.

The parking lot was slowly starting to
fill as the sun sank low in the western sky. When he counted over a
dozen customers entering the front door he drove to the lot, parked
his car, and joined the festivities. People entering a bar were a
distraction as they found tables and ordered drinks. Two high
priced bouncers stood at either end of the main room, just as they
did when Harry was last here three years ago. He didn’t however
recognize either one. New talent was always moving
through.

There were about twenty tables and some
cubby hole nooks along the walls. The backroom door was shut so a
poker game was already in progress. Unlicensed gambling was illegal
unless one played for chips. It was what those chips represented
that made or broke men over the period of the night. Harry had
heard of a drunken hubby that had lost the family home. When he
protested his losses both knees were broken in an auto accident.
Failure to sign over the house would have cost him his life so
rumour had it, he did.

Harry found a corner nook and eyed the
action as a waiter brought trays of drinks to three tables of
customers. He approached and Harry quickly ordered a whiskey on
ice. He didn’t recognize the waiter either, or any of the
customers. A new crowd: he wondered what happened to the old one.
Probably arrested, dead, or grown up the way he had. One could only
take drunken Saturday nights for so long.

Karma walked out of the back room
scouting the room for marks. She raised her head in recognition
then nodded, a gesture which Harry returned. She was an older
hooker, at least not a teenager which men preferred. She had
retained her looks, although a reputed cocaine user. That couldn’t
be true; the drug addicts he knew lost their shape in a few
years.

She approached his table and sat across
from him. She wore black and a symbolic dark feather hung from the
right side of her hair. Her black hair hung loose over her
shoulders, her eyes were a piercing deep brown.

“Hello Harry. How have you been?
Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I’ve been out of the country. Just got
back.”

“I know, so do yourself a favour and
get the hell out of here. Joe’s expecting you. Know what I
mean?”

“He have something to hide?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that
he thinks you suspect he’s behind your brother’s ‘accident.’ You go
after him and he’ll feel he has to return the favour.”

“What do you think, Karma?”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m still alive,
with my looks intact.”

“Shelley still work here?”

There was silence as she stared into
his eyes.

“Yes she does. Now buy me a drink
Harry.”

Harry signalled the waiter and Karma
ordered a whiskey on ice. After her drink arrived Tony Moore, his
old friend came out of a back room, dressed like a Mississippi
gambler. He smiled then joined them.

“Well Tony, I hear you’ve moved up in
the world.”

“Man’s got to eat. Sorry about Jarrod.
You going to be here long?”

Harry had the feeling Tony could care
less about Jarrod only digging for info so he could inform his
boss, Joe.

“I have some business to take care of
then I’ll be on my way.”

A Harlow gold blonde came out of the
backroom and glanced at their table then approached. Karma locked
eyes with Harry then said,