replied Damien gruffly. “Early fifties. One guy is tall, thin, short grey hair, grey moustache, and a prominent nose that sticks out like a beak. The other is short, fat, and bald with hairy arms. Looks like an orangutan. They mentioned they used to be schoolteachers in Russia.”
“Schoolteachers!” exclaimed Laura.
“They’re lying,” said Damien. “These guys are different.”
“How so?” asked Jack.
“I know authority types. The tall one for sure has government written all over him. Maybe military ... maybe police ... something. They’re sure as hell not schoolteachers.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” asked Jack.
“I’m suggesting that you should be working on them rather than bothering a bunch of working stiffs who occasionally like to get together and ride bikes.”
Jack started to laugh but Damien interrupted and said, “No, seriously. Whatever they’re up to, I’m not interested. And neither is anyone in the club. Understood?”
“I understand what you’re telling me,” said Jack.
“Damn it, Jack! I’m telling you the truth. We are not involved with them!”
“How do I find them?”
Damien glanced around and after not seeing anyone, he handed Jack a slip of paper. The names Petya and Styopa were on the paper, along with a cellphone number and an apartment address.
“There are only three guys on this planet that make me ... uncomfortable,” said Damien. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at Jack, “and these two.”
Jack studied Damien’s face as he spoke. He is nervous ... so what the hell is going on?
Damien gestured to the slip of paper in Jack’s hand and said, “They think the cell number is cool so it could prove interesting to you. They also don’t know I know their address. It’s a penthouse suite backing onto Stanley Park. Fairly lavish. Two bedrooms, mini-bar, plasma television, one desk with a laptop computer and ... a bunch of textbooks.”
“And they don’t know you know their address?” commented Laura, with a bemused look on her face.
Damien ignored the comment.
Textbooks? wondered Jack. Odd comment. “What type of textbooks?” he asked.
“They were in Russian.” Damien stared at Jack and said, “So I don’t know for sure.”
Jack sensed that there was more to this than Damien was letting on. Or is he uncomfortable admitting that he had his guys break into the Russians’ apartment?
“You might be interested in who visits them there,” Damien suggested.
“And who would that be?” asked Jack.
“How the hell should I know?” Damien pointed to the paper in Jack’s hand and said, “Don’t lose that. I didn’t make a copy and will have nothing further to do with these guys. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.”
Damien turned away and took a step, but stopped and added, “Oh, by the way, I almost forgot. The shoes didn’t arrive how you might think. But I guess if you had toxicology check them for powder you probably already know that.” He handed Laura another piece of paper and walked away.
“Customs declaration,” said Laura. “The shoes were mailed to him directly. No cargo ship involved.” She stared after Damien. “So, what was that all about? Do you think he’s trying to sidetrack us into working on someone else instead of them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he wants us to get rid of the competition for him.”
“He has his own surveillance team and hit squad for dealing with the competition.”
“Complete with locksmith,” added Laura.
“Probably the one they call Sparks, from the east-side chapter. He does bugging as well.”
“Figure he’s bugged the Russians?”
“I don’t think so. Not after telling us. He’d be afraid we’d find out. No, I think he’s telling the truth when he says he doesn’t want anything to do with them.”
“So what do you think? That these guys are with the Russian mafia and have got him rattled?”
Jack shook his head. “Satans Wrath had a problem with the Russian mafia a few years ago. Four Russian brothers were the ringleaders. It took a year or so, but when the bullets stopped, there were three dead Russians and the fourth fled back to Moscow. This is what’s so strange. Stuff like that doesn’t scare him. He said that these two guys make him uncomfortable. For him to admit that—I just never would have believed it possible.”
“Why doesn’t he just kill them?”
“That’s just it. I don’t understand.” Jack spoke his thoughts aloud. “There’s something he isn’t telling us. Some potential consequence that scares the hell out of him.”
“So what should we do?”
“I think we better do as he says. Check these guys out.”
It was late afternoon as Assistant Commissioner Isaac sat at his desk and gazed at the picture that stood upright on his desk next to his Bible. It was a picture of Sarah and Norah. His wife and daughter. Norah was only seventeen when an impaired driver raced through a red light, striking the side of the car that she was in. She died at the scene. Her friend, who was driving, was also seventeen and Isaac knew that she still blamed herself.
It was not her fault ... I pray that some day she realizes that. The impaired driver was convicted and lost his licence. Little compensation for losing our daughter.
“Staff Sergeant Quaile here to see you,” announced his secretary.
Moments later, Quaile was seated in an overstuffed leather chair facing Isaac’s desk while nervously wondering why he had been summoned.
For management purposes, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was broken down into four nationwide regions: the Atlantic, Central, NorthWest, and Pacific Regions. Isaac was the Criminal Operations Officer who oversaw all the operational investigations in the Pacific Region. It made Quaile feel like he had just been invited into the inner sanctum of power.
“You’ve been in charge of the Intelligence Unit for three months now,” observed Isaac.
“Yes, sir,” replied Quaile. “Three months today, actually.”
Isaac nodded. It was a date he had already noted in his Day-timer from when Quaile first arrived to the section. His piercing eyes examined Quaile closely and he said, “I wanted to wait until you had ... a feel ... for the office before having this conversation with you. A conversation that for now will remain between the two of us.”
“Yes,
