Loose Ends (23 page)

“We'll be very selective on who knows,” said Jack.

“If you're not, I'm dead.” He nodded toward the desk and asked, “Can I get up now and sit down?”

“Got a piece in your desk?” asked Jack.

Lance smiled briefly. “No, it's not in my desk. It's fastened in a holster under the drawer. I wasn't gonna do you guys. I bet someone knows you're here?”

Jack ignored the question as he retrieved the pistol from underneath the desk drawer. “Not a bad piece of hardware: 9 mm,” he said casually, before returning the pistol to where he had found it.

“You're not takin' it from me?” asked Lance.

“No, it would only inconvenience you until you got another one. We don't want to change how you operate. We just want to be informed. So have a seat. We have a few questions.”

Lance got up off the floor, and after a few nervous glances at Jack and Danny, he pulled out the chair from the desk. He was careful to place his hands flat on top of
the desk as he sat down. Jack sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at him, while holding the shotgun in one hand with the barrel pointing toward the ceiling. Danny stood to the side and held his weapon with both hands.

“So why, Lance? Why'd they try to kill me?”

“It wasn't you! We thought you were a rat!”

“Who told you?”

“Wizard an' Rolly. They have someone on the inside who lets them know what's goin' on. They call 'im The Suit. I don't know his real name and have never seen him. He likes young broads. I heard Wizard and Rolly laughing about him one day. Does sort of a power trip on 'em. I think he uses a dog, too. Rolly used to handle the whores. I think that's how they met the guy.”

Jack thought about Marcie. He became conscious that the bullet wound in his upper arm hurt and realized that his fist was clenched. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Lance continued, “This guy has been talkin' for years, but except for maybe Damien, the rest of us don't know who he is, just in case.”

“In case what?” asked Danny.

“In case you guys infiltrate the club somehow. Only a select few know what's goin' on.”

“Last week in the alley, how did Wizard and Rolly know what I looked like?” asked Jack.

“Wiz knew some bitch who knew you. Red's her name. You must know her; she said you'd been buying from her.”

“I knew her.”

“She met us in a room at the BW about half an hour before we tried to do ya. She told us what you were wearing. Don't think she could help ya now. Wiz had her pegged as a loose end. Said he was gonna take care of her.”

“She died of an overdose,” said Danny.

“I'm pretty sure Wizard gave it to her,” replied Lance.

“That's what we figured,” said Jack. “How about Lenny? What happened with him?”

“It was the same way as you, except with Lenny, we didn't have any problems. I drove. Wiz shot 'im with a .22. It was the middle of the day and people were around, so he used a potato for a silencer. Rolly carved him up after. If somehow he got past them and ran, then I was supposed to drive over him.” Lance looked at Jack. “Just like with you, except I didn't expect ya to run toward me. I couldn't drive over ya because that dumb, fat Rolly was right on your ass.”

“Does Wizard still have the gun?” asked Danny.

“Naw, he probably threw it in the ocean. He never keeps it once he's done a job.”

“So tell me, Lance, who was it that blew up Crystal?” asked Jack.

“Crystal? Was that the whore on the freeway who tried to skip out?”

“Yes, that one,” said Jack, glancing at Danny. The knuckles on Danny's hands turned white as he gripped the shotgun.

Lance took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Oh man, I just don't know,” he mumbled, putting his elbows on the table and holding his head with his hands.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” yelled Danny.

“That's not what I mean,” muttered Lance, shaking his head. “I just don't know if I'm doin' the right thing by talkin'. I didn't mind about Lenny, 'cause I knew you had that one figured out, but…” His voice trailed off and there was silence as Lance grappled with his uncertainty.

Jack picked up the family picture. Lance eyed him nervously as he laid the picture down on the desk between Lance's elbows. Lance looked down at his family. They
disintegrated before his eyes as Jack smashed the butt of his shotgun into the glass. Splinters of glass sprayed out while other pieces tore into the faces on the portrait. Lance fell back in his chair. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed. Fear and anger made him speechless.

Jack reached for the telephone and said to Danny, “I'm calling the office. We'll have Wizard and Rolly arrested tonight.”

“It was Axle and Nails! Don't call, man! I'm tellin' ya, it was them!”

Jack was silent for a moment, then said, “There's no going back now.”

Lance looked at the picture and sighed, then said, “Yeah, I know.”

Jack replaced the telephone receiver and asked, “What role did you play?”

“I had nothin' to do with that one! Nails was in some special branch of the army. He knows all about makin' bombs an' booby traps.”

“Who besides Axle and Nails were involved?” asked Jack.

“The hit would have been sanctioned by Wizard or Damien, but I don't think anyone else was involved. It's not the sort of thing you normally talk about, but a few of the boys were called out to watch hospitals and clinics the night we tried to whack you. Axle was paired up with me. He's still striking and he told me all about how Nails planted a bomb on her car. He wanted to know if I thought he would get his patch for what happened.”

“What role did Axle play?” asked Jack.

“He stood six while Nails planted the bomb.”

“That's all? He was just a lookout?” asked Jack.

“He also drove and followed the whore until Nails detonated the bomb. Axle supplies us with hot cars
when we need 'em. Whatever he was drivin' when they followed the whore would have been stolen. It was Axle who got me the car we used on Lenny. The same goes for the Volvo I used for you.”

Jack leaned over, close to Lance's face. Lance felt uncomfortable and started to roll his chair back, but Jack gripped the armrest. “What other murders do you know about?”

Lance swallowed, then said, “Well, two others for sure.”

“Start with the most recent one,” said Jack.

“They were both killed together, not too long ago.”

Jack found himself holding his breath, listening to every sound to come out of Lance's mouth.
This is it!
His grip on the chair and shotgun became intense. His muscles rippled and the knife wound on his back oozed blood. He could see every blemish and pore on Lance's face.

“It was a couple of Vietnamese guys,” continued Lance. “I don't know their names, but they were brothers. They were startin' to move a lot of speed on the west side. Real good stuff. Ice. We warned them to go someplace else, but they didn't listen.”

“When was this?” Jack relaxed his grip and struggled to keep tears from appearing.

“It would be a year ago next week. I remember it because it was the Thursday before the May long weekend. Wizard has a boat out in White Rock. A big one, for fishin' an' crabbin'. My job was to bring a couple of oil drums an' a wheelbarrow full of bricks out to his boat. We stuffed one guy in each drum, popped holes, weighed 'em down, and rolled 'em overboard.”

“You killed them on the boat?” asked Jack.

“Naw, actually I didn't see who killed 'em and I didn't ask. Wizard, Rolly, and I were already out on the
boat. Wizard didn't want to take a chance on haulin' the bodies down the pier in White Rock. It's too long and there's lots of tourists. We left the dock an' four of the guys delivered 'em to us in a speedboat. They were already dead. Shot once in the head. Wiz didn't want to make a big deal out of it. There's too many of them Asians, an' they don't give a fuck who they kill. Wizard decided it would be better if they disappeared, so we wouldn't be startin' any wars or anything.”

“Who were the four guys who delivered the bodies in the speed boat?”

“It was all guys from our chapter. Sparrow, Pan-Head, Halibut, an' Rockin' Ronnie. I think it was Rockin' Ronnie who did 'em, but he's dead now. Some old lady hung a left turn in front of 'im when he was ridin' his bike this summer. He piled right into her.”

“What makes you think it was Rockin' Ronnie who shot them?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, it's kind of convenient,” said Danny, “the guy you say did it is now dead.”

“I didn't say he fuckin' done it, I said I
think
he fuckin' done it!” replied Lance, glaring at Danny.

“Why?” asked Jack.

Lance looked back at Jack. “Well if Halibut had done it, he'd have probably gotten his patch soon after. But he's still strikin'. That leaves Sparrow, Pan-Head, and Rockin' Ronnie. I noticed that Rockin' Ronnie had a fresh lookin' DD tattoo about a week later. Sparrow and Pan-Head still don't have one.”

“What tattoo?” asked Jack.

“The Dirty Dog. It first started about four or five years ago. You can earn it by doin' a hit that's sanctioned by the executive. It's got to be verified, too.”

“The Dirty Dog,” Jack repeated. The words replayed through his brain.

“Yeah,” Lance replied. “I know he didn't have it before, so I'm presumin' that's how he earned it.”

“How big is this tattoo?” asked Jack abruptly. “What does it look like? Could you see it, say, from across a room?”

“You could, if the lighting was good. I don't have one, or I would show ya. It's just the words
Dirty Dog
tattooed over the head of a pitbull. Most guys get it on their biceps, but if they already got a tattoo there, then they usually put it on their forearm.”

“Names!” Jack demanded harshly. “I want the names of everyone who has them!”

“I don't know everyone for sure,” said Lance, nervously. “It's not somethin' most guys run around showin' off right away, either. At least, not if they're smart. Just off the top of my head, I'd say I know about six or seven guys who got it.”

“Write down their names!”

Lance slowly pulled open the desk drawer and retrieved a pen and a sheet of paper. A minute later, he pushed the list toward Jack. “There may be others, but these ones I know.”

Jack looked at the list: Wizard, Nails, Rockin' Ronnie, Thumper, Whisky Jake, and Two-Forty Gordy.

“Who are Two-Forty Gordy, Whiskey Jake, and Thumper?”

“Just guys in the club. Different chapter than me. They're from the east side. Two-Forty probably weighs three-forty now.”

“This is all of them?”

“All I can remember.”

“If you remember any more names, call me on my cell!” said Jack, ripping off a piece of paper and writing his number down. He stared intently at Lance's face and asked, “The two Vietnamese brothers are the only other
murders you know about?”

“Yeah. Them and Lenny and the whore on the freeway. I guess Red, too, if she was hit.”

“I don't suppose the club, or the executive, keeps any list of who gets a Dirty Dog tattoo and when they get it?”

“Naw, are you kiddin'? Would be too risky in case it fell into the wrong hands.”

“Who does the tattooing?”

“A friend of the club owns a parlour down near the waterfront in Vancouver. He does all the club tattoos. It's called Popeye's. He's had the place for years.”

Jack nodded, then asked nonchalantly, “By the way, who handles the speed coming in from Montreal?”

“Hey! I'm impressed! You know about that already? We only got that started a couple of months ago!”

“Tell us what you know about it. When's the next shipment due?”

“Not much to tell. We either pay cash or swap blow for speed with our brothers in Montreal. Someday we'll get our own labs out here, but for the moment, the French shit is excellent. Wizard went to Montreal and set up the original connection. I think we've only done one deal so far. Fifty keys is what Rolly told me.”

“Rolly is handling it?”

“He picked up the first shipment to make sure everything went smooth. It came by train. I think another shipment is due this Friday. They'll probably get one of the strikers to handle it now. Likely either Halibut or Dragon.”

“No problems with the first shipment?” Jack studied Lance's face carefully.

“Not as far as I know. That's some of the same stuff you were buying from Red.”

“You guys got any heavy connections an hour or so drive out in the Valley? Someone that Rolly may have dealt with on that first shipment?”

“Nobody that I know of. I don't think he would make a big delivery out there. Maybe some of the strikers got some people. I don't know everyone.”

“Would it draw any heat on you if this next shipment gets taken down?” asked Jack.

“Don't think so. Especially if it's a striker. They might think the heat came from Montreal.”

Jack stood up and said, “Stay in touch. We'll talk again in a couple of days.”

“I won't be around if it's this coming weekend.”

“Why not?”

“We're taking our hawgs out for one last run before winter. Headin' up to the interior for a big bash. Leavin' Friday afternoon and comin' back Sunday. Pretty well the whole club is going. Taking our ol' ladies along too.”

“Then go. But if we find out you're holding anything back on us, you're dead meat.”

Lance didn't respond, so Jack said, “Did you hear me?”

“I've got ears,” he replied sullenly.

When Jack and Danny were at the door, Lance asked, “So tell me, man, how close did we come to doin' ya? I thought Wiz plugged ya.”