keys.” He paused to see Jack’s reaction.
Jack shrugged indifferently. “Keep going.”
“The prospects take the weed to a stash house where they press it into kilo bricks and wrap it. Out of that, two-hundred-and-fifty keys are picked up by a full-patch GD by the name of Neal. He passes it on to his brother, Bob, who’s an independent trucker.”
“They hide it in the trailer with a load of something legit?” Jack asked.
Cockerill shook his head. “We had the sleeper cab in his truck custom built in Mexico. It’s got double walls and roof to hide dope.” He paused. “Neal and Bob … I don’t know their last name.”
“Is Neal a big fat greasy guy with a long braided goatee?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Neal Barlow,” Jack said.
Cockerill nodded. “The other half of the weed is sold off piecemeal to local players.”
“Where’s the stash house the GDs use to press and brick it up?”
“I dunno. That sort of shit is beneath me.”
“Why don’t the prospects deliver it straight to Bob? Neal is full-patch. I would’ve thought, as you put it, that doing that sort of shit is beneath him.”
“Neal lives with Bob in an old farmhouse out in Delta, so any raid on Bob would be on Neal, too.”
“I see.”
“Neal brags that he’s good at spottin’ heat and would never lead the cops to the semi.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
“So this works out better for you, don’t it?” Cockerill said. “All you gotta do is watch Bob’s semi and wait for Neal to arrive. That’ll probably be about four o’clock Friday morning once it’s all packaged up. Then you’ll get to arrest him and Bob, along with scoopin’ up two-hundred-and-fifty keys. Not only that, if you watch their prospects and find out where the stash house is, you’d get the rest.” Cockerill leaned back in his chair and smiled, wiping the palms of his hands together like he was washing them. “That oughtta make us even.”
Jack ignored Cockerill’s last comment. “Regarding the two-fifty keys in the semi … sounds like it’s going to one customer.”
Cockerill nodded.
“Doesn’t anyone from your club swing by to confirm the dope is there or at least crack a brick open to check the quality?” His question caused Cockerill to tense. The idea of ratting on one of your own not to your liking?
“Ah … not much anymore,” Cockerill replied. “It used to be that we’d have one of our prospects drop by to inspect it, but we trust the GDs now. Even if that did happen, Neal might not be around. He’s the only full-patch who touches the stuff — so that’s who you really want. You’d be better off to bust Neal and Bob when they’re loadin’.”
No, who I really want are full-patch Satans Wrath members. He saw Cockerill waiting for a response. “You’re right. Neal and Bob it is.”
Cockerill looked relieved.
Why do I have the feeling that you’re holding something back from me?
Cockerill grinned and cast a sideways glance at Sophie.
“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.
Cockerill chuckled. “Ah, it’s nothin’. We joke by saying, hey, Neal and Bob, are those your names or is that what you do?” He gave a wry smile. “Guess they’ll be kneelin’ and bobbin’ in jail after this.”
Jack faked a smile. “Good one.” He saw Cockerill relax further. “How is it that you know where the grow-op is?” he asked casually. “You’re not some flunky prospect. It seems odd that you’d be involved at that low of a level.”
“Fuck, what’s the deal on how I know where it is?” Cockerill said in annoyance. “What’s important is that I know.”
What’re you hiding? Jack’s face hardened. “Because I’m not going to call people out to say we’re going after a ton of weed only to find out that it’s a ton of bullshit! If I’m suspicious about something, I ask questions. Right now I’m suspicious. Generally you’d use one of your flunky prospects to deal with Neal on something risky like going to a grow-op. It’d also be an opportunity for you to throw it in Neal’s face that the two of you aren’t equals. An oppor-tunity I know your club would use.”
Cockerill looked edgy, then made an obvious effort to look nonchalant. “Yeah, what you said is right, but it’s no big deal. One of our prospects once told me that Neal wanted to take me out to do a little salmon fishin’ and drink some beer. I took him up on the offer and the four of us went out. That’s when I met Larry, ’cause it was his boat we used. Larry ain’t all that bright and pointed out where his grow-op was when we trolled past.”
Telling me that shouldn’t have freaked you out — so what is it? “Okay, that makes sense,” Jack said. “Can you point out the location on a map?”
“Yeah, it’s on an island. Get me a map and I’ll show you.”
Jack looked at Sophie and raised an eyebrow.
“Be right back.” She returned a moment later and unfolded a map. Cockerill pointed to a remote region on an island near the coastline.
“West side of Bowen Island,” Jack noted.
“Satisfied?” Cockerill asked. “You’ll let me go now?”
“A couple more questions,” Jack replied. “What does Larry’s boat look like?”
“It’s an aluminum job with a red canvas cover over the wheelhouse, but it’s small enough that you could pull it up on shore. It won’t be hard to spot because the bow is painted like it’s on fire. Same kinda thing you see on hotrods. He keeps it at the Hidden Bay Marina. If it’s not there, then he’s probably at the grow-op, which is about an hour away. Maybe a little less — we were fishin’ and not going all that fast.”
Jack eyed Cockerill curiously. “Which of your prospects was with you on the boat?”
Cockerill’s eyebrows pinched as if he was trying hard to recall. “I can’t remember. It was a coupla months ago.”
“You remember Larry’s name but can’t remember one of your own guys?” Jack said sarcastically. “There were four of you drinking beer and crowded into a small boat. Why are you lying?”
Cockerill locked eyes with Jack but didn’t respond.
Jack knew why. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and smiled.
Chapter Four
Cockerill’s shoulders slumped and his head hung like a cowering dog’s. Jack saw Sophie looking at the situation in bewilderment. “Prospects usually aren’t important
