Race (6 page)

He nodded.

“You can’t do this,” I said.

“Take it easy, Jon,” he said.
  
“It can’t be all that bad.”

I gave him a hard look and Motley went silent again.

***

Almost a year ago, when I was in my fifth month as a PEO and new to the department, I was given the night shift.
 
I was very naïve. One night on patrol, I saw two vehicles in a supermarket’s parking lot.
 
There were three people in one vehicle with two sitting in front and one in the back.
 
The other vehicle was unoccupied.
  
I had a feeling something wasn’t right.
 
I drove up in my marked cruiser and parked right behind the occupied vehicle.
 
I got out.

My radio crackled but I turned it down.
 
It was rattling my nerves.
 
I pulled out my flashlight and approached the driver.

I flashed my light into the driver’s window and motioned him to roll it down.
 
Reluctantly, he did.
 
He was Hispanic with a heavy moustache.
 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said as I flashed the other two passengers: one white, the other black.

“May I ask what you gentlemen are doing here?” I said.
 
My radio crackled again, but I ignored it.

“Just talking, officer,” the Hispanic driver said.
 
“That’s not illegal, is it?”

I smiled.
 
“Of course not, sir.”

“Do you want to check my driver’s license?” the driver said, offering it to me.

I flashed the passengers again.

The other two were getting nervous.
 
But the Hispanic driver calmly offered me his driver’s license again, “Go ahead, officer.
 
Check it out.”

I said,
 
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
 
Just checking to make sure you guys aren’t dealing any drugs.”

As I finished the last sentence the two passengers bolted.
 

Within seconds I was surrounded by police cruisers and unmarked cars.
  
Two cruisers cut off the other car.

“What the hell are you doing?” said the Hispanic driver, turning to me.

I was confused.
 

“That was a crack bust,” he said.

“Crack…bust…?” was all I could utter.

Detective Constable Mark Lopez had been undercover.
 
He had arranged to buy a large amount of crack from a local dealer.
 
He needed to make a physical purchase in order to charge the two dealers with trafficking.
 
Prior to my arrival at the scene, he was about to gain possession of the goods, but when my cruiser pulled up behind them the one dealer became frightened.
 
Lopez assured him that he’d take care of it and was hoping that I would check his driver’s license in order to find out who he really was.

Across the parking lot, members of the drug squad were waiting for the exchange to take place.
 
Detective Ronald Garnett saw my cruiser approach the lot, and had me radioed.
 
Instead of contacting the dispatcher, I had to be the hero.
 
  

Next day the front pages of the major newspapers read:

Toronto Star
: DRUG BUST FOULED BY PARKING ENFORCEMENT OFFICER

Toronto Sun
:
 
TORONTO POLICE BLAME FAILED DRUG BUST ON PARKING ENFORCEMENT OFFICER

Toronto Globe and Mail
:
 
FAILED DRUG BUST: PARKING ENFORCEMENT OFFICER AT FAULT

I had screwed up.

It was embarrassing for the force and especially embarrassing for me.
 
My face was on all the papers with my name misspelled as John Rupert.
 
It was a tough period, and I was not prepared for it.

I was lucky that I wasn’t charged.
 
The entire drug unit hated me.
 
I had destroyed four month’s worth of investigation.
  
           

***

I stared at the piece of paper lying in front of me.
 
I closed my eyes and opened them, hoping that the words Central Field Command Drug Squad might morph into…the Prime Minister’s Office.

“Sir,” I said, my eyes pleading.
 
“Please, tell me this is a joke.”

“Come on, Jon.
 
It happened almost a year ago.
 
It’s all forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” I snapped. “These guys are professionals.
 
They never forget.”
 
I started talking to myself. “Maybe it’s a trick.
 
Yes…yes…it’s a trick to get back at me.
 
I screwed them and now they’re going to screw me.”
 
Then it occurred to me.
 
“I’m not qualified.”

Motley opened a drawer and pulled out a manila folder.
  
“According to your file, you kind of are.”

My face said: how?

“You worked in the Guelph Police Services?”

“Yes.”

“And according to this you worked in Drugs and Intelligence.”

Uh? “Sorry, what was that you said?”

“The file we received from Guelph Police Services said you worked in Drugs and Intelligence.”

“It does?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

It must be a clerical error
.
 
Someone had made a mistake
.

Was it that assistant who had dozens of trolls on her desk? Was she getting back at me for calling her trolls miniature freaks of nature?
 
They were tiny people who had black eyes and a permanent smile on their faces.
 

“Actually, sir…” I started.

“The information provided by them assisted greatly in your transfer over here.”

“It did?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no,” I waved my finger.
 
“That information is absolutely, positively, without a doubt…information.”

Something occurred to me. “I can’t be in the squad.
 
I’m not even a constable.”
 

“Under certain situations, exceptions can be made.
 
I received the letter from Detective Sergeant Andrew Aldrich and the Deputy Chief of Central Field Command backed it up.
 
Important people, Jon.”

“What if I wrote to the Chief,” I said.
 
“She’ll do something.”

“You don’t want to involve her, Jon.
 
I don’t think she’ll override the Deputy Chief’s authority.”
 

Motley stood and walked up beside me; with his voice low, soothing, fatherly, he said, “Jon, you can always come back if you screw up, you know that.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, “Yes, I know.”
 

After collecting myself, I said, “When do I leave?”

“Now,” he said. “You’re to be briefed at eleven at the Central Command Headquarters.”

I took a deep breath.
 
“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“I know,” he said.
 
“And Jon, you better go plain.”

Without my uniform.

I left his office and headed out.
 
Roberta saw me.

“So, what happened?” she said, a worried look over her face.
 
“I think everyone heard you scream.”

“I’m going to be in the drug unit,” I said.
           
“Oh, my…” she covered her mouth. “But…”

I held up my hand.
 
“There are always exceptions.”

“When do you—”

“Right now.”

She got up, went around her desk, and hugged me.
 
“Good luck.
 
Call me if you need me.”

***

Ms. Zee looked out onto the silent street.
 
Every so often a car would drive by.
 
She had counted three in the last ten minutes.
 
The
neighbourhood
was quiet, which was why she had chosen it as their so-called base.
  
So far they had had no trouble.
  

Kong was in the room, and Joey was still in the adjacent room.
 
They would not tell him about Armand’s death, but he was smart, and when Armand did not return…
  

Joey.
 
It had been a mistake bringing him into the operation.
 
He was supposed to watch Armand.
  
Instead, Armand had played them like fools.
 

When they met, he had promised so much, a product that would revolutionize the drug business.
 
It was only when he kept asking for more time that she became suspicious.
 
She had the previous batches tested and found that each was missing a component.
 

She sighed.
  

This was not going as planned.
  
She knew they had successfully created the drug at Bantam, and she’d been certain they’d have the prototype by now.
  
Different versions were already sent out to potential buyers.
 
But nothing could happen until she had one that was as potent and lethal as they had claimed it would be.
 

There were so many pressures.
 
She rubbed her temples.
 
So many forces were pushing her in all directions.
  
But if her plan worked, she could control the entire city.
 

Kong crossed his arms.
  
She understood.
 
He was unhappy about Joey.

No, Kong,” she said, still not looking away from the window.
 
“We cannot kill him.”

Kong snorted his disapproval.

“Not just yet.
 
We need someone else who can continue the work.”

Two men entered the room.
 
She turned.
 
One was white and the other brown.
 
The white man had limp blond hair, as if he’d just come out of the shower, and a long goatee.
 
He looked like someone who was used to taking orders. The brown man had a flat boxer’s nose and earrings in both ears.
 
He looked like someone who would rather spend time with his car then people.

“It’s done,” said the white man.

She had sent them to dispose of Armand’s body.

“Where?” she asked.

“Scarborough Bluffs,” the white man answered.
 

“Good.”
  

Another man entered.
 
He was wearing a blue striped business suit; stylish round spectacles were propped up on his nose, and his hair was gelled back.

“Ms. Zee,” said Martin, her lawyer and business advisor.
 
“You do remember your meeting today?”

Ms. Zee nodded.
 
“Yes.”
 
She turned to the white man.
 
“
Hause
, you’ll be with us and,” She turned to the brown man,
 
“
Suraj
, you’ll follow behind.”

Kong made a noise.

“Kong,” Ms. Zee turned to him.
 
“You’ll stay here and watch Joey.”