Laura sounded like she was talking to someone in the background. “Yep, I’ll follow the lead story.” Then her voice became louder. “Okay, Jack. I’m back.”
“I’m going to send you two photos,” Jack said. “Hang up and call me back. Later I might be able to get you a copy of a video and audio, as well.” He hung up and thumbed his phone.
“You can’t do this!” Cockerill snarled, waving his hand in the air in an unsuccessful bid to gain Jack’s attention. “I’ve got my rights! You can’t do this!”
“Already did,” Jack said, finally glancing up.
“My lawyer’ll sue you!”
Jack smiled. “That should take about seven years to get through the courts. Think you’ll be above ground that long?”
Cockerill stared open-mouthed at him before turning to Sophie for support. His eyes widened when she busied herself examining her fingernails. He looked at Jack again. “You can’t —”
Jack’s phone vibrated and he answered. Cockerill stopped in mid-sentence.
“Hey … Satans Wrath!” Laura exclaimed. “Was it you who put him in the cast?”
“No, he did it himself,” Jack replied, “but wait’ll you hear what he was doing.”
“Don’t do this to me!” Cockerill pleaded.
Jack put his hand over the receiver and looked at Cockerill. “An abortion clinic? Yeah, right.” He turned his attention back to his phone. “This’ll be a really funny story. I’m sure it’ll be picked up by networks and newspapers across the country. Figured I’d let you be the first one to break the —”
“I’ll … I’ll give you something!” Cockerill’s face was awash in fear and panic. “Please … don’t tell her.”
Jack paused as if contemplating the offer, then spoke to Laura. “Hang on a moment while I put you on hold. Someone wants to speak to me.” He looked at Cockerill. “Speak fast — and cut the bullshit.”
“I can give you a grow-op,” Cockerill said rapidly. “About a thousand plants. It’s hidden in the bush. Nobody’d ever find it.”
“You think I’m interested in busting some farmer? It isn’t worth the trouble. Quit wasting my time.”
“You work bikers, right?” Cockerill asked.
“Yeah, a club called the Weenie Waggers. I heard you were president.”
“No, please, listen!” Cockerill wailed. “The ones picking up the weed are with the Gypsy Devils.” He paused, his eyes searching Jack’s face in the vain hope of seeing interest. “The crop is being harvested and the GDs are picking it up next Wednesday or Thursday.” He sounded enthusiastic. “They do it in the wee hours of the morning when nobody’s around. That way they can check for heat, make sure they’re not being followed. What do you think?”
Jack’s face remained without expression.
“I can tell you where it is,” Cockerill hastened to say. “You could watch it and either grab the GDs when they pick up, or if the grower delivers, then follow him and bust ’em when he hands it over.”
“Gypsy Devils,” Jack noted. “Could be something for you to show good faith until you give us something better.”
“Good faith?” Cockerill’s eyes darted nervously between Jack and Sophie. “Come on, busting bikers with dope has gotta be better than catching me with my fly undone.”
“Want me to ask Damien if it’s better?” Jack asked.
Cockerill briefly locked eyes with Jack, then his head dropped. “No,” he whispered.
“Not to mention, busting someone in the bush at night could be a problem.”
“You can only get to it by boat,” Cockerill offered.
“That doesn’t help. Makes it more difficult. Give me some details. How many growers are looking after it and which of the GDs will be involved?”
Cockerill pointed at the phone in Jack’s hand. “You gonna hang up?”
Jack stared blankly at Cockerill, stalling long enough to cause him further stress, then said, “One weed deal won’t cut it. I’ll probably end up with some farmer and a Gypsy Devil, who in my opinion is only a wannabe biker.”
Cockerill swallowed nervously.
Jack leaned forward so that their faces were a hand-width apart. “If I suspect anything you tell me is bullshit, I’ll be calling her back.”
“It won’t be bullshit,” Cockerill promised.
Jack spoke into his phone. “Hi, I’m back.”
“What’s it all about?” Laura asked.
“The biker we were doing surveillance on tried to play hopscotch with some little kids on a sidewalk. He fell off the curb and broke his ankle. Later he was brought in for unpaid tickets and we photographed him.”
“That’s not all that funny,” Laura replied. “My boss wouldn’t be impressed. I thought you were going to give me something juicy.”
“For a tough guy it seemed funny to me,” he said. “Maybe next time.” He hung up.
“I broke it playing fucking hopscotch?” Cockerill looked displeased. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then said, “Okay, as far as I know, there’s only one guy looking after the crop. His name’s Larry. I don’t know his last name. There should be a couple of GDs picking it up.”
“Which ones?” Jack asked. “I need to know everything. It’ll help me come up with a plan to protect you from anyone ever finding out how we knew.”
Cockerill snorted. “Nobody’d suspect me. The blame would be laid on either Larry getting careless or on the GDs because they’re a bunch of stupid fucks anyway. I’m full-patch Satans Wrath. Ain’t nobody gonna point a finger at me over this.”
Over this, no … but what will you tell me in the future? I don’t want anyone to connect the dots, you dumbass. Jack cleared his throat. “Who from the GDs are picking it up?”
“I dunno. Could be one of three guys or maybe all three.”
“You’re talking about their prospects,” Jack replied.
“Yeah,” Cockerill admitted.
“I expect to nail full-patch members at a minimum. The GDs should have I-D-I-O-T-S for their top rocker.” He leaned closer and spoke harshly. “Come on, you can do better than this! I can’t believe you’re trying to stand up for those goofs. I’ve a hard time thinking of them as real bikers.”
Cockerill brooded. “Okay, I’ll give you the full package.” He paused to adjust his pant leg where his jeans had been cut to make room for his cast, then looked at Jack. “Their prospects will be picking
