“Everybody makes mistakes. Don’t —”
“Not like this. I’ve already been replaced. In the next couple of weeks The Toad will oversee ... will get a good opportunity to enhance his status. After that, a new election.”
“You can beat that guy! You have before.”
Damien shook his head. “Not this time. I won’t even bother to run. It’s time to retire. This is a sign. I’ve been a target too long. Up until now we’ve been lucky.”
“Oh, Papa Bear,” said Vicki, giving him a hug. “You’re tired. I know you haven’t slept in two or three days. Maybe if you rest...”
“Yeah, maybe,” replied Damien, while checking an incoming message on his BlackBerry. He expected it to be Rellik, who had also gone without sleep in the last forty-two hours. It wasn’t. He recognized the sender and knew it was urgent. He was directed to take a short walk away from his house.
Cecil Hinds knew his work well. He was a member of the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit of British Columbia. CFSEU was an independent police agency set up by the government to fight organized crime. It was composed of police officers from various agencies. In the last two days there had been a flurry of activity through coded messages being transmitted in and out of Damien’s estate.
Hinds decided to cruise through the neighbour-hood and record various licence plates parked within a few blocks of the estate. The more cautious criminals would sometimes park and walk the remainder in an effort to avoid identification. This evening, he was rewarded for his efforts when he saw Damien walking away from his house.
Hinds manoeuvred his car a block behind Damien and watched through binoculars. He knew that it wasn’t a casual after-dinner stroll. Damien walked fast and his physique implied that he was not on a fitness program. Damien was also being extra observant. Something is definitely up.
Hinds reached for his radio to call for support. He knew that Damien’s experience eliminated the chance of being able to follow him with only one car without being detected.
The response Hinds received indicated help would arrive in twenty-five minutes. Not soon enough, thought Hinds, as an SUV pulled alongside Damien and he quickly got in.
Hinds watched as the SUV drove past him. He knew he had been lucky. The driver hadn’t seen him, which was good, because Hinds recognized him. It was Jack Taggart. What the hell is he doing with Damien?
Hinds recalled reading a memo a couple of weeks earlier from the RCMP Anti-Corruption Unit requesting notification of police contact with Satans Wrath. Jack, you son of a bitch, what are you up to? Following you by myself is out of the question.
chapter fifteen
“What’s up?” growled Damien, as soon as Jack picked him up.
“Got something to show you. I’ve rented a motel room,” replied Jack.
“What is it?”
“Has to wait until we get there. You’ll see. Trust me.”
“Trust you? That’s a good one.”
The rest of the drive was made in silence, with the exception of Damien’s grumblings that Jack could have rented a room a little closer to Vancouver, rather than halfway to Chilliwack.
When they entered the motel room, Jack tossed an attaché case onto a small table near the window. Damien quickly walked through the unit to ensure they were alone and then took a seat at the table.
Jack pulled the other chair out and spun it around backwards before sitting down with his arms resting on the back of the chair as he faced Damien.
“Well? Get on with it,” said Damien. “I’m a busy guy. What’s this about?”
Jack stared briefly at Damien and then said, “It’s about how I no longer owe you a favour.”
Damien leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening. How did you reach that conclusion?”
“I’ve just saved you from going to jail. Even here in B.C., I figure you still would have received a long enough sentence that Buck, Sarah, and Kate would all have graduated before you got out.”
Damien let out a grunt, then sneered and said, “Bullshit. I haven’t done anything to go to jail for.”
“I’m not bullshitting you, so please do me a favour and don’t bullshit me. I find it insulting.”
Damien paused and the sneer disappeared from his face. “Okay. What evidence do you think you have?”
Jack stared intently at Damien. He felt his body tense, ready to fight. “I have a lot of evidence,” he said tersely. “In fact, if I was to weigh it, I would say it was about two kilos short of a metric tonne!”
Damien stared back in disbelief. “It was you?” he uttered.
Jack nodded and pointed to his attaché case and said, “Go ahead, open it. You can watch it on video — including the murder of Silent Sam.”
“So this is how you pay back a favour?” said Damien, rising to his feet and shoving the attaché case off the table like it was poisonous. “You cost me my position in the club!” he roared.
Jack remained seated. Keeping his voice even he said, “I would have done the same thing if I hadn’t owed you a favour. The difference is that someday you won’t be looking at pictures of your grandchildren from a jail cell.”
Damien stared down at Jack. His breath came in pants and it took him a moment to regain his composure. He then bent down to pick up the case and Jack quickly stood and backed away.
“I’m not going to hit you with the fucking thing,” said Damien, sitting back down in the chair.
Damien was quiet for a moment and Jack readied himself for a fight. He discovered that Damien was more cerebral. A wry smile appeared on his face and he said, “You’ve got me. Checkmate. I concede your ... point.”
Jack slid his chair a little farther back and then sat down.
Damien stared at him and said, “I never thought it would end like this. A bullet in the back from an Indo maybe, but not from your side. I underestimated you. Wish I had Bishop’s murder on film.”
“I only have one copy of Silent Sam’s,” replied Jack, gesturing to the attaché case. “After we watch it, you can destroy it. Then we’re going for a ride where you can see that something else is destroyed.”
The drive to the farm was made in silence. Jack parked on an access road and used his flashlight to navigate through a short stretch of bush and into a field that was being cleared to make pasture.
Damien looked down into the pit, where 998 kilos of cocaine had already been slashed open and mixed into a pile of brush. The smell of gas permeated the air as the last of it glubbed out of a barrel that Jack rolled along the top of the pit.
The men watched in silence as the flames crackled and roared to a great height. Then Jack handed Damien a set of keys and said, “These belong to you. An Econoline van that I’ve got parked nearby in the driveway of an abandoned farmhouse. You can drive yourself back to the city.”
Damien accepted the keys and said, “I guess one good thing came out of all this.”
“What’s that?”
“Not being top dog. I’m no longer a target. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be able to take my wife to bed without wondering who is listening.”
“Unless, of course, you continue your criminal career.”
Damien let out a snort and said, “I’m talking about other people. People with ambition. You got lucky. It won’t happen again. You mean nothing to me.”
“So you agree that I no longer owe you a favour?”
Damien didn’t answer for a moment, and Jack caught the look in his eyes as the flames flickered, casting shadows of light and darkness across his face. He really does look like the devil.
Damien glared at him and said, “Yeah, but don’t ever ask me for another one. If you do, I’m liable to kill you myself.”