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?”