Lethal Rage (7 page)

Jack slowly looked at Phil and very carefully, very clearly, asked, “Kicked
at
him or
kicked
him?”

“Kicked him,” Phil clarified. “When that shitter hit me, Bear went for his leg, but his teeth ain't what they used t'be. That's when that shitter kicked him.”

Without looking at each other, Jack and Sy stood up. Sy tucked away his memo book and Jack pulled on his leather gloves, then flexed his fingers eagerly against the Kevlar lining. They headed for the hall. Over his shoulder, Sy said, “Wait here, Phil. We'll be back in a minute.”

They flanked Carlsberg's door and Jack put his ear close to the wood. Faint sounds came through the door, footsteps and muffled words, but Jack heard only a single voice. He held up one finger and Sy nodded, then gestured for Jack to check the doorknob. It was locked.

Jack unholstered his collapsed baton and slammed the butt against the wood several times in rapid succession. “Police! Open the door!” There was sudden silence from the apartment and Jack raised his stick to knock again.

“What do you want?” a voice asked from the other side of the door.

Sneaky little bastard.
“Police. Open the door. Now.”

“Open the door, Carlsberg, or we'll fucking kick it in.” Sy looked pissed enough to chew through the door.

Locks clacked and the door cracked open, stopped by a security chain. Through the hand-width gap, a suspicious face peered out at them. “What do you want?”

“You,” Jack snarled and slammed his shoulder into the door. It flew open, striking Carlsberg in the face, and Jack kept going into the apartment with Sy right behind him. Carlsberg backpedalled, his hands clasped to his face. Sy and Jack each grabbed a wrist and wrenched Carlsberg's arms down, then flung him to the floor.

“What did I do? What did I do?” Carlsberg bleated as Jack snapped on the handcuffs.

“Punched the old man and kicked his dog. Now shut the fuck up.” Jack hauled Carlsberg roughly to his feet and, while Sy held him, searched him quickly. He was a beefy enough guy to be intimidating, but there wasn't much more than flab under his dirty T-shirt and jeans.

“That dog attacked me! It's vicious!” Carlsberg may have been a big man physically, but his voice squeaked like a coward's. “The old nigger sicced it on me.”

Sy's open hand smacked off the back of Carlsberg's head. “Use that word again, asshole, and I'll put you in the fucking hospital.”

Carlsberg stared at Sy, wide-eyed, probably imagining numerous injuries that could require a trip to the emergency. “You wouldn't,” he whispered.

Sy smiled.

“No, he wouldn't,” Jack said and Carlsberg looked relieved until Jack added, “we both would. Welcome to 51, fuckhead.”

“So you just broke down his door?” Karen asked incredulously.

She had waited up for him — an advantage of having a wife who had summers off. They were sitting on the deck again, but his old police shirt was in the wash and there were no cold beer bottles for her to play with. She still looked fantastic to him, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt — amazingly, the night air had a slight chill to it — with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

They were enjoying the coolness — no need to sleep with the ac on that night, thankfully — and a cup of tea before calling it a night. Karen was on a lounge chair with her legs stretched out; Jack sat on the stairs leading to the lawn. His free hand was casually rubbing her bare feet. He thought she would be happy, maybe even proud, about them arresting Carlsberg, but she wasn't.

“It's not like we broke the door, Kare, just the chain.”
Trust her not to see the positive side of the job.

“I realize that.” He heard a hint of irritation in her voice. “But don't you need a warrant or something before breaking into someone's home? Even if it is just the chain?”

“Technically, yes. But if we left to get a warrant, there's no telling what he would have done while we were gone. And there's no way a sergeant would have authorized us to guard the door until a warrant was obtained.”

“It still seems wrong to me.” Karen drew her knees up to her chest, sliding her feet away from his touch.

Great. Now she's really pissed.
He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. How to make her understand? “You should have seen this guy, Kare. Eighty-three years old, built like a toothpick, not bothering anyone, and this . . .” He searched for the right words to express his utter contempt for Carlsberg and decided blunt was best. “This fucking gutless coward comes out and sucker-punches him for no reason. Just because he knows Phil can't fight back.”

“I understand, but —”

Jack held up a hand. He needed her to
really
understand. “After he knocks Phil down, and we're lucky he didn't break a hip or something, Carlsberg draws his foot back to lay the boots to him, and Bear defends his owner. Kare, you should have seen this dog. Fourteen years old, twenty pounds tops, so arthritic he can barely walk, and he goes after this guy to protect his owner.” Jack felt himself tearing up. Bear had made quite the impression on him. “If not for that dog, Carlsberg could have stomped Phil to death.”

“Why did he stop?” Her voice was softer. Maybe she was beginning to understand.

“Phil's good luck. After Carlsberg kicked Bear across the deck, a couple more tenants came out, and I guess he didn't want an audience. He beats up a defenceless old man and his dog and then hides behind his door when we arrive. I'm learning there's a huge difference between what's illegal and what's wrong. So, please, don't tell me what we did was wrong.”

She sat quietly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He knew she was thinking it over, trying to overcome the logical, straightforward, black-and-white world she had been raised in. He admired her, sitting quietly, sipping his tea while she reached a decision.

Finally, she got up and sat beside him on the steps. She wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sorry. Guess I've still got a lot to learn about being a policeman's wife.”

He laughed. “Not as much as I have to learn about being a cop.” He slipped an arm around her. “Want to hear some more news?”

She straightened, a comically horrified look on her face. “It doesn't involve you breaking down a door, does it?”

“No.” Jack laughed. “Well, maybe. Remember the drug dealer I chased back on day shift?”

It was her turn to laugh. “You mean the one who got away from you twice?” For some reason, she still found that story amusing.

“Yes,” he replied dryly. “And, technically, he only got away from me once. Anyway, he was dealing that new crack, the black stuff, and when the Major Crime boys talked to him, he gave up some information. So, Saturday they're doing a search warrant, and Sy and I are going with them.”

“It isn't dangerous, is it?”

Jack shrugged. “Guess we won't know till we get there. But don't worry. There'll be plenty of us and these guys know what they're doing. Sy says they're bringing us along as a thank-you for the arrest and to have a uniform presence there. That's all. I bet we won't even be allowed in the house or whatever it is we're going to.”

“So you're not the one breaking down the door?” she persisted, really concerned.

“I wish, but there's no way they'll let that happen.”

“Good. Not that I don't think you could do it.” She felt up his chest. “The way you've been working out with Simon, you could probably push it open with one hand.” The caressing hand started poking his chest. “You're not going to get all big and bulky like a bodybuilder, are you?”

“Again, I wish.”

“I'm serious, Jack. I don't want you getting too big. I like the size you are now. You're more of a Stallone than a Schwarzenegger.”

“Wow, you didn't sleep through those movies when we were dating after all. I'm shocked. Next you'll be telling me you enjoyed them.”

“Let's not go that far.” She stood up, stretching. “Come on, Rocky, let's call it a night.”

“Right behind you, babe.” Following her across the deck, he added, “You know, I've always seen myself as more of a Terminator than a Rocky.”

“Terminator, huh? Did you tell her ‘Ah'll be back' when you left for work today?”

“Nah. I don't think Karen would have gotten the reference.”

Sy snorted. “Typical woman. No taste in movies.”

They were sitting in the station's basement parade room, down the hall from the change rooms. The room held five rows of metal tables and chairs facing the sergeants' wood lectern, but Jack and Sy were the only ones there. The lights were off, but sharp summer light slanted in from the windows near the ceiling, fighting the air conditioning for control of the room.

“I hope we don't end up standing outside somewhere while the Major Crime guys search the building. It's too damn hot out there.”

“I wouldn't worry about that if I were you,” Sy commented. He had his feet up on a table and was reclining comfortably in one of the few decent chairs in the room.

“Oh? What do you know that I don't?”

Sy snorted again. “That list would take years to read, grasshopper. But if you're referring to the warrant —”

“Hey, sexy! No one said I was going to get to work with you today.” Jenny strolled into the room and Jack forgot about the warrant. Even in the unflattering uniform shorts, her legs looked good. Long, tanned and nicely curved with feminine muscle, they had him thinking about what she would look like out of uniform. Completely out of uniform.

Jenny was tall for a woman. Jack figured she would look him straight in the eye were she ever to hug him. Slender but not skinny, she carried herself well as she crossed the room. Hopping up on the table next to Sy's feet, she flashed Jack a smile that was even better than her legs. The first time they had met, down at Queen and Sherbourne, she had been wearing sunglasses and a bike helmet and he hadn't gotten a good look at her face. Now he soaked it in from only two tables away. Her eyes were a sharp, crystal blue and her hair, done up in a French braid, was raven black, a vibrant contrast to her eyes.

Damn. If I wasn't married. . . .
Then he noticed the gold band on her ring finger.
Lucky bastard.

“You should know I'm pissed at you,” Sy announced, glaring at Jenny but not bothering to sit up.

“Me? What did I do?” She looked completely innocent and shocked.

“Don't give me that look. I taught it to you, remember? You were supposed to come out for beers on day shift, but you never showed. I was even going to buy you one.”

“Actually, I think you said Jack was going to buy me one for you.”

“That's right. So we're both mad at you.”

“I'm sorry, honey. I went home to look after the kids —”
Damn! Kids too!
“— and was planning to head down, but I was just too tired.” Jenny slid off the table provocatively — Jack never knew anyone could move provocatively in a police uniform — and swayed her way behind Sy's chair. She traced her fingers up his arms, then began to knead his shoulders. “What can I do to make it up to you?” she purred.

“I'll think of something,” Sy grumbled. He wilted under her touch.

It was too much for Jack. “Hey,” he protested. “Don't forget I'm mad at you too.”

“Forget it, grasshopper. She's mine. You can work on your own today.”

“Don't get him too excited, he's liable to have a heart attack.” Detective Mason came into the room and headed for the lectern, sparing only a glance at Sy and Jenny.

“I can think of worse ways to go.”

Sy reminded Jack of an old bulldog lying in a sunbeam, luxuriating in the warmth. “Like getting shot by some crackhead 'cause you slept through the briefing?”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Sy patted Jenny's hand. “We'll have to finish up another time, love.”

She walked to a chair, shaking her head. “Typical man. Gets what he wants and leaves me hanging.”

“If I may interrupt this little lovers' tryst . . .” Mason said. “Wasn't I supposed to get four of you from the Foot?” The big detective's brow furrowed beneath his cropped hair as he gave her an accusing look, as if the missing officers were her fault.

“The guys are upstairs finishing lunch.”

Muttering to himself, Mason crossed to the wall-mounted phone and punched the code for the PA system, then spoke loudly into the receiver. “Any lazy bastards who are supposed to be in the parade room for a briefing better get their asses down here before I decide to replace them with some competent officers.” He slammed the phone down.

Seconds later Jack heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. Jenny's partner, Al, and two other bike cops casually strolled into the room, but when they saw Mason's glare they quietly took a table at the back of the room.

“I guess we can get started now.”

“You the only one from upstairs coming on this?” Sy was sitting up straight now but still looking relaxed.

“My guys are loading up the car. They'll be down in a minute. So let's get this started,” Mason said. “Last week, Jack nabbed a guy dealing Black and we squeezed him. He told us where he picks up his stash — 259 Sumach, corner apartment, ground floor — and we've spent the week doing obs on the place.”

Mason turned to the room-wide chalkboard and drew a quick outline of the building. Roughly shaped like a squared-off dog bone or a squat capital I, the six-storey building was in the northeast corner of Regent Park, a large housing project in the division. The building had four main entrances, each in a corner of the I. Mason circled the top left corner of the bottom cross- piece. “That's our target. From what we've been able to determine, the crack isn't made there, but it's a central pickup spot for the street dealers. We figure the crack is delivered whenever they're running low, day and night, and the dealers pick up at the back windows. There's usually a delivery between noon and two. We're going to catch them right after that.”

“Any idea how many people in the apartment?”

“No idea, Jenny.” Mason dropped the chalk and wiped his hands on his jeans. “The windows are all covered with heavy drapes, so we've never been able to get a look inside. But we can assume enough people and guns to protect the place.” He ran his fingers through his long goatee, then added, “I won't lie to you. We're going in blind and it could get messy. Anyone having second thoughts, let me know now.”

No one spoke up.

Mason nodded and Jack was sure he looked pleased. “Whoever's running the Black knows what he's doing. He's quickly pushing out the other suppliers or buying them up. I'm hoping we can hurt him a bit today and maybe work our way up the ladder a few more rungs.”

“Any idea who's at the top?”

Mason looked at Sy a moment before shaking his head. “No, not yet.”

Sy accepted the answer without comment, but Jack thought he caught a knowing look pass between the two old-timers.

Then the rest of the Major Crime crew clomped into the room. They were an odd assortment of officers. Some cops looked like police no matter how hard they tried not to; others could shed the image as easily as the uniform. Jack thought these three would have a hard time looking like cops even in uniform.

He hadn't formally met any of them, but in a station as small as 51 you get to know people by reputation. First through the door was Kris Kretchine: average height with a seam-straining physique. A competitive amateur bodybuilder for the past five years, Kris was aiming for a pro card in the next few years and her sergeant's stripes. Kris was short for Kristine.

Behind her came Jason “Tank” Van Dusen, the division's one-man riot squad. He was the biggest short person Jack had ever seen. Claiming to be the illegitimate love child of a Viking berserker and a female Sumo wrestler, he had enough mass on his five-foot-six frame for two men. Two big men. His massive bald head sat squarely on equally massive shoulders. Where Kris was lean with veins roping her forearms, Tank was sheer bulk. But anyone who thought there was no power in the mass was in for a world of hurt. Jack had once seen Tank in the gym doing dead lifts with four hundred pounds. For a warm-up.

John Taftmore was tall and lanky, his acne-scarred face framed by nondescript shaggy brown hair. He looked young enough to cruise the university bars. There was nothing notable or memorable about Taft until he opened his mouth.

“Sweeeeeet!” he crowed. “The party girl's here.” He headed straight for Jenny's chair, which she had turned away from him as soon as he had stepped through the door. That didn't deter Taft. He gripped her shoulders and started humping the back of her chair. “C'mon, Jenny, just a quickie for good luck.”

She shrugged his hands away. “Fuck off, Taftmore.”

Taftmore would not be denied. He grabbed her shoulders again and resumed his chair humping, more vigorously this time, chanting, “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny.”

Jack was surprised no one did anything about his behaviour. He quickly learned Jenny didn't need anyone's help. She freed her shoulders, then exploded from the chair, driving it back on its rollers with her straightening legs. The top of the chair back caught Taftmore squarely in the groin. Every male in the room winced as Taftmore doubled over.

He shuffled to the closest chair and gingerly folded himself into it. Looking quite pleased with herself, Jenny reclaimed her seat and high-fived Sy.

“If you're finished being beaten up by a girl, Taftmore, maybe we can continue the briefing,” Mason said.

Taftmore, still hunched over, actually had the balls — sore, no doubt, but still there — to wave his boss to go on. “Sy, you and Jack are with us. The rest of you uniforms will be out on the perimeter.”

That caught Jack by surprise. Never had he expected to be at the initial entry. He looked at Sy, who nodded and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“Sy, you and I are first through with the shotguns. That way we have two pipes and a uniform going in the door first. Tank, you've got the key, as usual.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute, Mase.” Kris was bristling under her spiky blond hair. “You said I was first through the door at the next warrant. So that makes it me and Sy.”

Mason looked like he had expected this argument. “Yeah, but that was before you started dieting for your competition and you know how bitchy you get when you're dieting. You'd probably shoot the first person you saw just to make a point. Or worse, if you're shot and can't work out, you'll fucking shoot me. Next time.”

“That's what you said last time,” she argued.

“If you start eating like Tank,” he countered, “you can go first.”

Tank perked up. “Did you say she can go first if she eats me?”

As the room laughed, Kris rolled her chair next to Tank and cuddled in. “Any time you want, big boy.”

“Better be careful, Kris. I've seen Tank in the shower and you may have a bigger dick than him.” Taft stopped laughing when Kris and Tank glared at him. “Easy there, big fellas. Just joking.”

“You're an ass, Taftmore.”

“C'mon, Kris, I was just kidding. I'm sure you don't have a bigger dick than him.”

“That's it, you little fucker.” Kris was out of her chair and from the set of her shoulders she looked ready to go through the metal table that separated them.

“That's enough!” Mason barked. “Kris, settle down. Taft, shut the fuck up.”

Kris reluctantly sat down but not before shooting Taft a look that promised retribution. Taft blew her a kiss.

Mason calmly surveyed the room, his face expressionless, until all fidgeting stopped. Hell, when he looked at Jack, Jack was afraid to breathe.

“All right, then.” He turned his attention to the foot officers. “Did you get a car?”

The two coppers at the back of the room who had — rather wisely, Jack thought — kept quiet throughout the briefing nodded.

“I want you two to sit on Gerrard east of Sumach. The north end of the building and the townhouses along Gerrard will keep you out of their sight. Make it look like you're writing up your memo books or having a coffee or something.” The two coppers nodded, still quiet. “Jenny, Al. Head over on your bikes and wait behind 260.” 260 Sumach was the twin of the building they'd be entering and directly west of it across a small parking lot.

“The four of you stay out of sight until we take the door, then move into the parking lot to cover the windows on both sides of the apartment. And for fuck's sake, don't stand in the open. Use the cars for cover. If someone starts coming out the window, yell at him or whatever it takes to keep him inside. I don't want any needless foot pursuits.

“The rest of us will enter the building through the southeast door. We'll let you know as soon as we hit the door. Tank takes the door, Sy and myself in first, then Kris and Taft, then Tank and Jack.”

Mason sketched the apartment's layout on the chalkboard. “It's a typical Regent Park two-bedroom. The door opens onto the living room, with a little kitchen off to the left. Sy, when we go in, you cut into the kitchen, then down into the dining area. I'll go to the right to cover the hall. Kris, Taft, cover the living room. Tank, go where you're needed. Once they're all in, Jack, you join me and we'll clear the bathroom and bedrooms. Everyone got that? Good. Now remember, the plan will hopefully last at least until we take the door. After that, it's a crapshoot. Meet in the parking lot in ten.”

A few minutes later Jack and Sy were leaning against the trunk of their scout car. Sy was having one of his rare smokes and Jack swigged a Diet Coke. “I don't get it, Sy. I'm excited that we're on the entry, but why would Detective Mason have me back him up down the hall? Why not Tank?”

Sy dragged on his cigarillo and let the smoke drift lazily from the corner of his mouth. “When Rick told me about the warrant yesterday, he asked me if I felt you would be okay to come along. I told him about the guy with the knife down at Street City and how you saved my ass. How's the hand, by the way?”