the top of his flat bum. He took out a couple of bundles of money, then crammed them back inside. He reached inside his vest pocket and took out a small plastic baggie of brownish powder. He held it out toward Wizard and said, “I brought it if you want to see it.”
The Suit yelled “You fucking idiot!” while slapping Rolly’s hand. The baggie flew out of his hand and spilled on the counter. “I told you never to bring that crap around me!”
“Relax,” said Wizard. “It’s only a sample.”
“Not this! What about the fifty kilos?”
“You think I’d be drivin’ around with that!” said Rolly indignantly. “It’s already stashed.”
Wizard picked up the baggie. Sunshine illuminated his arm and Maggie saw the tattoo. The words Dirty Dog were emblazoned over the head of a dog.
These are bad men, thought Maggie. Uncle Jack will know what to do with them! She took out her sketchpad and heard Wizard say, “Make sure the French bitch is on the train tomorrow. Don’t want any complaints from back east.”
Maggie wrote the word Dirty and heard the whine of a dog. She peeked through the crack of the door and saw a German shepherd pad into the kitchen. It sniffed the floor, slowly moving toward her. Its claws made a light clicking sound on the linoleum, zigzagging closer.
Maggie gently closed the door. It creaked slightly.
The men quit talking. Did they hear me? What if they find us? I bet they’d be mad! She looked at the broken windowpane in the bedroom and then at her brother. No way to escape.
Wizard reached into the sports bag, wrapping his hand around the shortened stock of a sawed-off shotgun.
“A hell of a hot day, isn’t it?” Maggie heard Rolly say. She could hear the dog panting.
“Yeah, you can really feel the heat,” replied Wizard.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Everything is okay.
The dog whined.
The mirror in front of Maggie’s face exploded into a multitude of broken shards that penetrated her face and neck like porcupine quills. The first blast caught her hand and the side of her ribcage, spinning her around and dumping her on the floor like a rag doll.
The deafening roar of three more blasts followed, but all missed their mark. Smoke and dust ebbed through the rays of sunshine. The sulfuric smell of gunpowder filled the air.
Ben Junior, unscathed, stood staring at his sister. He could see her eyes. Open, but without expression. She wasn’t moving. Ben Junior closed his eyes and hunched over.
“Fuck! It’s just kids!” said Wizard.
“Good thing. I thought it was the cops,” Rolly replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Not so fast, you morons!” said The Suit.
“Nobody has seen us,” said Wizard. “We’ll just fuck off and —”
“You might take chances; I don’t!”
Wizard shrugged his shoulders indifferently, then passed the shotgun to Rolly.
Rolly rested the muzzle of the shotgun on the bump at the top of the spine near the back of Ben Junior’s head. The little boy shook and squatted in a fetal position, squeezing his eyes tighter. His jeans turned a darker blue.
Rolly hesitated as the wet stain appeared around the little boy’s feet. He lowered the shotgun and looked at Wizard.
“Do it!” The Suit yelled.
“It’s time you earned your tattoo,” said Wizard.
Maggie’s body convulsed and thumped on the floor as she released a gurgling sound from her lungs. She was still alive.
chapter two
Jack Taggart’s apartment was on the eighteenth floor and it provided him with a good, if slightly distant, view of the heart of Vancouver. He gripped the railing on his balcony and stared blankly at the street below. Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro played through the open door of his balcony. He thought the music would ease his depression. It didn’t.
He had joined the Royal Canadian Mounted Police when he was a fresh-faced kid of twenty-three. Fourteen years had passed, and he had long since lost the innocence of his youth. Six years of working undercover on the Drug Section had been followed by a transfer to the Intelligence Section, where he had spent the last five years working undercover on organized crime.
He was a survivor and was good at what he did. His work had not gone unnoticed by a superior officer. Taggart wasn’t only good at his job — he was too good. Too good to be playing by the book.
Jack exercised to stay fit, but his dark wavy hair was starting to recede, and plucking the occasional grey hair was becoming a daily ritual. Vanity was not something that he admired about himself, but neither was living alone.
He decided to strike at the root of his depression and strode back inside and reached for his stereo. The Marriage of Figaro faded as he dialled his boss.
“Louie, it’s Jack.”
“How did it go last night?”
“Another shipment arrived in a Winnebago at two-thirty this morning. I watched and met my informant after he helped unload. He confirmed that it’s coming from the same guy in El Paso.”
“That’s good. Put it in the report for Interpol.”
“Forget Interpol! I’m going to El Paso myself.”
“No. You’re not,” said Louie firmly. “Wigmore won’t approve it. Child porn is low on the list these days.”
“But my source says they’re linked to snuff films, for God’s sake! That’s murder.”
“I know.”
“Does Wigmore know that the El Paso connection distributes to most of Canada?”
“We’ve been over this. I told him.”
“Damn it, Louie! The guy in El Paso has a family and is a leader in his church! I could turn him in about ten seconds. We’d get his distribution list for Canada, not to mention his connection, who is either producing it or knows who is.”
“As Wigmore pointed out, the victims aren’t Canadian. Pass it over to Interpol.”
“The victims aren’t, but the goddamned perverts are! We’re talking about children being raped and murdered! Who cares what their nationality is?”
“I hear you, but Wigmore wants this handled through channels.”
“That could take forever, plus I promised my source I wouldn’t burn him. This needs to be handled right. The hell with Wigmore. I’ve decided to take leave
