“I don’t know. I guess she’s holding it together. I think she has to for the moment. Besides still babysitting, she’s got her own kids in the house. A four-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy that she kept home from school.”
“This has gotta be tough on her.”
“At least she didn’t see the body.”
How about the pool of blood, bone, and brain matter on the lawn? She won’t forget about that. Holding it together … for how long? Still in shock — wait ’til it sinks in.
“You know any members that have a handle on the biker situation?” asked Bert.
Connie stared briefly at Bert as she collected her thoughts before lolling her head back and rolling her eyes. “Oh, crap,” she whispered aloud. “That would be Jack.”
Corporal Jack Taggart worked in and Intelligence Unit of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver. The unit specialized in organized crime. Jack knew a lot about bikers and in particular, Satans Wrath, who were world-renowned for having clawed their way to the upper echelon of organized crime families on the planet.
Connie Crane had past murder investigations where Jack, uninvited and against Connie’s objections, had interfered. The problem, in Connie’s opinion, was that Jack took certain investigations too personally. Mind you, some were personal, thought Connie, as she reflected back. Bad guys with any smarts should have known better than to mess with a cop’s family … especially Jack’s. Guess the ones who did were not smart. Not smart enough to know they would end up being corpses.
Connie could understand bending the rules when bad guys crossed certain barriers, but with Jack, there was more to it. Both Jack and his partner, Constable Laura Secord, had received special training as undercover operatives. They were considered two of the best operatives in the RCMP. Connie had never worked undercover, but she had learned a little about Jack’s personality from past investigations. She also knew Laura, and saw her personality change when she was assigned as Jack’s partner.
What the brass did not seem to understand, Connie had decided, was that the real undercover training took place on the street. A place where survival becomes much more personal and where your methods of survival become more honed and deadly the longer you do the work. Jack had been surviving for a long, long time. The same couldn’t be said for those he worked on. Many ended up in the morgue rather than court. Some said Jack’s involvement was only coincidental to the growing body count. Connie knew better.
Connie thought about some of her past cases with Jack. Some criminals became his informants … or had they become his friends? Some good guys we thought were friends had become criminals. Through it all, Jack continues to weave and twist his way in pursuit of justice. His justice … which has no resemblance to the law he was sworn to uphold.
“You okay?” asked Bert. “Who’s Jack?”
Connie slowly shook her head in response and sighed as she reached for her BlackBerry. Past investigations with Jack saw me investigating more murders than I started with. God, I hope this time will be different … I wonder if he is religious?
* * *
Corporal Jack Taggart leaned back in his office chair as he talked on his BlackBerry to a friend. His desk and Constable Laura Secord’s desk butted up to one other in an office designed for one desk and one filing cabinet. They had a dozen filing cabinets.
Jack’s friend was a woman by the name of Ngoc Bích. She was brought to Canada by a smuggling ring on the pretext of working in the hotel industry. Upon arrival she was forced into prostitution. Jack had befriended her and convinced her to give evidence. Now Ngoc Bích was a nanny to another friend of Jack’s. She was also taking music and learning to play the flute.
Many of the perpetrators associated to the smuggling ring had either been convicted or were dead. Two Vietnamese brothers, both considered ringleaders, were still free, pending trial.
Ngoc Bích explained to Jack that she had shown up for court at ten o’clock, but the two accused didn’t appear and the witnesses were excused. Warrants were issued, but Ngoc Bích later heard from the prosecutor who said that after the witnesses left, the defence lawyer appeared before the judge to say he had spoken with his clients and learned they had made a mistake and thought the court case was scheduled for the afternoon. The warrants were quashed and a new trial would be scheduled at a later date.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” lamented Ngoc Bích. “I really wanted this to be over. To see their faces when they are sent to jail for what they did to me and the others.”
“I know. Me, too,” said Jack. “I wish I could have been there with you, but I don’t want the bad guys to see me and realize who I really am.”
“I understand,” said Ngoc Bích. “It’s okay. I’m not alone. Another woman is testifying, too. She is also angry that the trial did not go ahead. I guess we’ll have to wait a little while —”
“Hang on a second,” said Jack as the phone on his desk rang. Laura took the call and as he wrapped up his conversation with Ngoc Bích, he could overhear Laura’s cheery voice.
“No, I think Jack’s an atheist,” said Laura. “Me? I’m undecided. If I say I’m an atheist I’m afraid I’ll never get any holidays … hang on, Connie … Jack, you still an atheist?” asked Laura as Jack put his BlackBerry away.
“Yes, God made me one,” replied Jack.
“Yup, a heathen through and through,” replied Laura into the phone. She paused and added, “Why is that a relief? … Oh, you’re kidding. Better speak to Jack. He knows more about them than I do.”
Jack listened quietly as Connie quickly told him what she knew about the murder.
“Offhand,” replied Jack. “I’m not aware of any full-patch members of Satans Wrath who operate a janitorial service, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It would suit their MO to have such a company. They would use associates who don’t have criminal records. Especially if they could get contracts in sensitive areas.”
“Like police stations,” suggested Connie.
“Or Motor Vehicle Branches, airports, Social Services … any place to help them gather intelligence or gain entry to secure areas.”
“You’re thinking associates without records — so people you won’t have photos of.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Jack, chuckling. “I’ve got about a thousand pictures stored in a laptop. I’ve never been shy about keeping files on people who are even remotely connected.”
“That would be you,” said Connie. “Civil liberties be damned.”
“You want photos but are accusing me of breaching civil liberties?” replied Jack, quietly.
Connie was silent for a moment, before saying, “Sorry. I didn’t really mean that. It just came out. Guess I have a bit of an attitude with how you do things.”
“With how I do things? What would ever prompt you to —”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t even start.”
“Start what?”
“Well, I could go down a list, but I’ve seen and heard your act before.”
“My act?”
“Yeah. The old show surprise, act concerned, deny, deny, deny routine.”
Jack grinned to himself, but didn’t respond.
“Don’t know how some people can be so gullible around you. You better pray I never get transferred to Internal. I’d nail your ass in a minute.”
“I don’t pray. I’m an atheist, remember?”
“Good. Means you can be objective about this one.”
“Can’t