It occurred to Danny why Jack had left his gun in the car. That son of a bitch!
chapter six
Jack discreetly studied the patrons in the bar. A short, squat-looking man sat at a table with a hooker. A steady stream of people came and went. The money exchanging hands under the table made it pretty clear that he was a low-level dealer. Jack heard one of the customers refer to him as “Spider.”
Jack knew that trying to order an ounce of speed right away would generate some interest — and suspicion. But the higher he could start up the ladder, the sooner he could reach the bigger dealers. The type who preferred remote locations. He approached Spider’s table.
“I’m lookin’ to score,” he whispered in Spider’s ear.
“Who sent you to me?”
“Nobody, man. I’m in the business too. Not hard to spot,” said Jack, taking a seat.
“How do I know you’re not a narc?”
“If I was a fuckin’ narc, I’d have already busted ya for the flaps you got on ya.”
Spider stared at him for a moment, then said, “What do ya want? I got everything.”
“Speed.”
Spider held his hand under the table to show Jack a small piece of paper folded in a flap.
Danny threw his tie in the trunk and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, then slid his holster off his belt and strapped on Jack’s ankle holster. Minutes later, the door banged shut behind him as he entered the Black Water.
The smell of smoke and stale beer turned his stomach. It was noisy and crowded. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There were no windows in the long room, and the cardboard-tiled ceiling, like the walls, had been painted a flat black. A stage in the centre was brightly lit.
In the dim glow at the back of the bar, he saw some pool tables and the silhouettes of several men with cues stalking the tables before executing their shots. At a right angle to the entrance another door opened and he caught a glimpse of the lobby. The rest of the illumination consisted of a few lights recessed in the ceiling, which filtered a yellowish glow through grime.
He saw Jack slouched at a table, talking with a hooker and a short man who was built like a fire hydrant. Beer bottles and cigarette burns decorated the green elastic tablecloth in front of them. Danny strode over to an empty table where he could watch. What scum.
A waitress came by and Danny ordered a bottle of beer.
She stepped back and looked at his shoes, and then slowly worked her eyes up the rest of his body until she stared into his eyes. “You a cop?”
Danny felt the lump in his throat. “No,” he said, flashing open his sports jacket to show it wasn’t concealing a gun.
“This doesn’t look like your kind of place.”
“Yeah? Got nowhere else to go. Just lost my job. An hour ago I could’ve got you a good deal on a ’94 Buick. But not now.”
“I can’t afford a car.”
He felt more comfortable when the waitress returned with his drink and gave him a friendly smile. He opened his wallet and gave her a generous tip. More generous, he thought, than someone like her deserved.
He didn’t see the waitress eyeball the money in his wallet — or the subtle nod she gave to some junkies at the next table.
Jack looked at the dope in Spider’s hand and shook his head. “Not worth my while. As I said, I’m in the business too. I’m lookin’ for an ounce. If it’s good, I’ll be lookin’ for a lot more.”
“You want a fuckin’ ounce just like that! I said I got everything man, but I’m not a fuckin’ warehouse!” Spider gave Jack a hard look and said, “I smell a cop!”
“What do ya mean, ya smell a cop?” asked Jack.
Spider looked past Jack and said, “Sittin’ by himself over there.”
Jack turned slightly in his chair and saw Danny sitting at a nearby table. Damn it! If he blows this… He looked at Spider and said, “That guy looks too straight to be a cop.”
“Maybe.”
“Listen, I’m here to do business.” As Jack spoke, he slowly pulled a wad of cash partway out of his front pocket and then shoved it back in.
Spider sat back in his chair. Jack could see him trying to make a decision. Having seen the money, greed would take over. The waitress came and Jack held up one finger.
Danny toyed with his drink and checked his watch. About time to call Wigmore. He saw Jack order another beer and knew that he had time to slip into the lobby and make a call.
Spider saw Danny walk to the lobby, then asked Jack, “So, you want an ounce?”
“Yeah, for now.”
“What makes you think I want the competition?”
“Relax. I’m puttin’ out far away from here.”
Spider mulled it over, then said, “Okay. Wait here.”
Jack watched Spider slink over to the next table and talk with a woman. She was big and solid-looking but had no fat. She wore a man’s singlet white under-shirt that looked grey. It was stretched tightly over her bare chest. Her black jeans and knee-high leather boots gave her a certain air of hostility. She had long red hair, but judging by the black roots, Jack knew it had been a long time since she had last bothered to dye it. She had “HD” tattooed on one arm and “Live to Ride” tattooed on the other. A tattoo of a rose was visible on the top of her breast.
She gave Jack a long cold stare, then whispered to Spider.
“Fuck, Red, I talked to ’im. He’s all right, I tell ya!” Jack heard Spider reply.
Moments later, Spider returned. “Go to the can and wait!”
Jack entered the men’s room and stood by the sink. He glanced at the graffiti covering the wall. Much of it was obliterated with grime. Seconds later, Spider and two junkies entered, and Jack barely had time to look up before the junkies grabbed him by the arms, smashing him back against the wall.
“Hey! What the fuck are —”
Spider clamped his hand over Jack’s mouth and said, “Shut your fuckin’ trap! This ain’t a rip. We’re goin’ to have a little look-see is all.”
His hand tasted and smelled of smoke and stale beer. He took his hand away and ripped Jack’s shirtsleeve back as one of the junkies pinned his wrist to the wall. Spider took a syringe out of his jacket pocket. The syringe was filled to capacity, and Spider hovered the silver tip of the needle over a vein in Jack’s elbow. A drop of murky liquid dangled from the tip.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, man!” hissed Spider. “Don’t even try an’ breathe! ’Cause if you do, we’ll spike you right now. And there’s enough in this rig to kill an elephant, let alone a pig!”
Danny checked to make sure the lobby was empty, then he called Wigmore.
“You think he’s trying to buy dope where?” Wigmore asked.
Danny repeated the name. “The Black Water Hotel. On a street called East Hastings.”
“Bingo! I spoke with GIS today. They said that some drug found in an alley off East Hastings matched the same drug found at the murder scene. I knew Taggart would get involved. I might recommend he be charged with obstruction!”
“Sir? What should I do?”
“Continue to play along. Give him some more time, or I should say rope, to hang himself. Make sure you make notes that he went in there alone and left his gun in the car.”
“Already done, sir.” Danny hung up the phone and let out a deep breath. He realized that he had a headache. He made another call.
“Hi, honey! You on your way home?” Susan held the telephone with the crook of her neck as she placed some family pictures on the dresser in her bedroom. A portrait of Danny in his red tunic looked particularly handsome.
“Sorry, babe, not yet. I’m stuck in some fleabag of a bar watching my new partner drink beer and chat with some hooker.”