said Natasha. “You going to be wearing your black turtleneck?”
Jack paused. Natasha was catching on. The black turtleneck was what he often wore at night — usually when he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing. He chose to ignore her question and said, “If all goes well, I may find out who the Brit is in the next few days. Getting tired of being a farmhand?” he added, hoping to change the conversation.
“Incorrect answer, officer. Your failure to respond would indicate a yes to the turtleneck question. As far as changing the subject goes, Liz and Ben have been great. I enjoy being around Marcie, too, but I miss you and I also need to get back to the clinic.”
“It’s just not safe. Not after what happened.” “What is going on tomorrow night? Can you talk about it?”
“Basically, the Brit knows a lawyer by the name of Leitch who works on retainer for Satans Wrath. The bikers don’t know about the Brit, but I know Damien could find out who it is if he wanted to.”
“How? You’re not planning on owing him another favour?”
“Shhh. Ben and Liz are in the next room.”
“You’re not...” whispered Liz.
“No. I’ve used up any favours with him.”
“Why would he find out, then?”
“A character nicknamed The Toad is taking over the club. I want Damien to distrust The Toad. Then I want him to think that The Toad, Leitch, and the Brit are working together. It won’t take him long to find out who the Brit is, providing I can get him back into power. When he does, my friend will know and then so will I.”
“How will you do all this?”
“I’m working on that.”
“What if you do and Leitch refuses to tell Damien?”
Jack chuckled, then said, “Damien isn’t a cop.”
“Meaning?”
“He can be more persuasive.”
Natasha looked up at Jack’s face, then replied, “Oh ... I see.”
chapter twenty-one
It was seven-thirty on Friday night before The Toad and two underlings showed up at the Spotted Owl. Jack was parked in a lot across the street and watched the motel through binoculars. He had seen The Toad last year when he interrupted an executive meeting at Damien’s house, but he glanced at a photo just to be sure.
Jack smiled as he recalled the event. He had intentionally interrupted the meeting on the pretext of returning some colours that had belonged to some bikers who had been killed. Damien was cordial and offered him a beer. The Toad was not pleased and voiced his objection in a thick French accent. An accent that Jack soon hoped to mimic.
Jack now saw that the two underlings each carried a sports bag.
Jack smiled. Very expensive sports bags.
The Toad entered one room while his two cohorts entered the room beside it. Moments later, The Toad opened his door and Jack saw one of the other two bikers behind him. It was obvious that their rooms had an inside adjoining door.
Two hours later, Jack saw an old beat-up white van with tinted rear windows slowly drive through the motel parking lot. The curtains moved slightly in The Toad’s room as someone peeked out.
The two men inside the van paid close attention to all the other parked cars. Eventually the van parked. Jack steadied the binoculars on the top of his steering wheel and watched. The two men talked with each other for a moment, then the passenger bent over out of sight. Seconds later, both men got out of the van. Their complexions told Jack that they were the Colombians. The driver then opened the rear door to the van and removed an object wrapped in a garbage bag.
Scales! Lance was right. This is going to be fast.
Both men then walked over to The Toad’s room and knocked on the door. Seconds later, they disappeared inside. Jack threw the binoculars down and grabbed a roll of duct tape and his balaclava.
Moments later, Jack was inside the van. A quick search under the dash located two handguns. Each with a silencer. Jack put them back, then squatted on the floor in front of the passenger seat and peeked past the seat to the rear. It gave him a view of the motel through the back windows of the van. He gripped his 9mm and waited as the seconds slowly ticked by. He was conscious of a strong odour of coffee in the van. As if my nerves aren’t frayed enough!
Jack hadn’t needed to hurry. Almost forty-five minutes passed before the door to The Toad’s room opened again. One Colombian carried the scales and a sports bag, while his friend carried the other sports bag. They paused at the door and the driver shook hands with The Toad.
Sweat dripping from Jack’s face made a wet spot on the vinyl cover of the seat and he wiped it off with his sleeve as the two Colombians approached the van and opened the rear door. Jack ducked down and heard the sports bags and scales slide across the van floor. He waited until the door slammed shut before quickly making his way into the back of the van and hiding behind the passenger seat.
The passenger door then opened, but the man didn’t get in. Jack heard the sound of numbers being pushed on the man’s cellphone. The driver’s door then opened and the driver stood looking across the seats at his partner.
Panic gripped Jack’s brain. He had hoped the two would quickly enter the van and drive away. His hiding spot behind the passenger’s seat was not large enough to conceal him completely. He had purposely picked the passenger’s seat believing that the driver would be focused on his keys and the ignition upon entering the van. Not standing there with the door open staring in!
Jack held his breath but was conscious of the noise his heart made. It seemed loud inside the metal walls of the van. He stared at the driver’s face, waiting for his eyes to wander to his location. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t be noticed. Outside, he heard the passenger talking in Spanish.
The passenger then yelled, “Okay, amigo! I see you!”
Jack sucked in a mouthful of air and his grip tightened on his gun before he realized that the man, in his broken English, was saying good bye to The Toad.
Seconds later, both men got inside and the driver quickly drove out of the lot. They were barely out on the street when Jack saw the passenger bend over to reach under the dash.
“Okay shit-heads! Don’t move!” screamed Jack, while leaping forward and sticking the barrel of his pistol into the passenger’s ear.
The driver panicked, hitting his brakes and causing his passenger to slam face first into the dash. The movement threw Jack off balance and he waved his pistol back and forth at both their faces while regaining his footing.
The driver started yelling at his passenger in Spanish but stopped when Jack yelled, “Shut up or die! Keep both your hands on the steering wheel!”
Jack grabbed the passenger by the back of his collar and jerked him back into his seat. “Hands behind your head! Now!”
“Señor!
