Samurai Code (8 page)

“That’s no coincidence,” said Laura.

“You’ve got that right,” replied Jack. “I’m betting the torture of the dealer was to get info on something. Either money or dope. The owner of that antique store was not an innocent victim. They wouldn’t have had to torture someone for that. Angelo and Dominic were after him for a lot more than the day’s income from the store.”

“We need to find Angelo and Dominic,” said Laura, turning to Sarah. “Where does their father live?”

“He died six years ago, drunk behind the wheel,” replied Sarah. “They didn’t have any other kids except Angelo and Dominic. The mom still lives in town.”

“So Dad died and the kids got the gun to carry on the family business,” said Jack.

Laura nodded in agreement.

Jack pointed to a file in front of him and said, “The mother, Giorgetta, her record includes convictions for prostitution in Hamilton, Ontario.”

“Hamilton … practically next door to Niagara Falls,” replied Laura.

“Angelo and Dominic’s criminal history is all in B.C., but the parents’ criminal history is largely out of southern Ontario,” noted Jack.

“When did the family move to Trail?” asked Laura.

“Our first record was a noise complaint ten years ago,” replied Sarah.

“Do you still have a picture of the father?” asked Jack.

Sarah nodded, then dug through a file and handed Jack a picture. Jack smiled and handed it to Laura. A mole was clearly visible under the father’s left eye. “We’ve solved who robbed the coffee shop in Regina,” he said.

“So that was when the family was moving west and picking up money for their travelling expenses,” replied Laura. “So, where to now?”

“Took us all day to get here and tomorrow will be wasted getting home. Let’s make it two for one and knock on another door. With Giorgetta’s background and desire to protect her sons, she’ll be paranoid, but we have nothing to lose.”

***

Jack and Laura both smiled at Giorgetta as she peered out a side window of her house before opening the door.

“Hi,” said Jack. “We’re friends of Angelo and Dominic. Are they around?”

“My boys don’t live here no more,” replied Giorgetta, suspiciously. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We’re friends of theirs. Met them in Vancouver a couple of years ago before I moved to Cranbrook. I owe them some money for some stuff they gave me to fence … I mean, sell, in Cranbrook. They gave me your address and said I could always contact them through you.”

“Yeah? Is that a fact? When did you last talk to them?”

“Sometime last fall when they called me. They didn’t say much on the phone, but are anxious to get the money I owe them. I’ve got it now.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar!” replied Giorgetta, spitting out the words.

“What?” replied Jack in surprise, while wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“You’re a fuckin’ liar! My sons have been dead for over two years!” She looked at Jack in disgust and said, “You fuckin’ cops … they may have been troubled boys, but they always called on Mother’s Day, even when they were in jail. They haven’t called in over two years. I know they’re dead. So, fuck off, cops!”

11

It was mid-morning on Thursday when Kang Lee spoke briefly with The Shaman as they walked toward the Avitat Lounge at the South Terminal of the Vancouver International Airport. Da Khlot and Sayomi trailed behind, out of earshot.

“I wish you a pleasant flight,” said Lee. “I look forward to the day when I shall accompany you home.”

“The day will arrive soon enough.”

“With Mister Goldie’s eagerness to fill my position, perhaps it could be sooner than six months? He is intelligent. I am sure he will learn fast.”

“And Mister Wang? Any indication that he was unhappy because he wasn’t chosen?”

“Not at all. He is happy in his own pond and agrees that Mister Goldie is better suited. In fact, when I met with them both, Mister Goldie displayed dismay at being slow in developing the market back east. Mister Wang volunteered that a couple of his associates would be moving to Montreal and might later be in a position to assist Mister Goldie. Their spirit of co-operation with each other and our organization appears to be good.”

“And what about Mister Goldie’s replacement? Do you think Mister Wang is capable of handling both functions?”

“No, Mister Wang indicates that he is busy enough. However, Mister Goldie says he has several reliable people in mind to choose from who would be suitable.”

“People he says are reliable depend upon his own reliability,” said The Shaman.

“He did not hesitate when I told him he would be required to take a lie detector test.”

“And, I presume, with the knowledge he will have acquired about our corporation, he knows what would happen should he fail such a test?”

“He does.”

“Still, Mister Goldie is not a family man. Something I consider an important asset to ensure loyalty. With him, I foresee an annual lie detector evaluation, combined with further assignments to ensure his sincerity. In the meantime, six months is not long. Haste brings mistakes. You must be absolutely certain he is the right man for the position before you vacate it. If he is not the right man, then we will find a new one. I would find no fault with you should such a decision be necessary
prior
to the six months.”

Lee nodded quietly.

“I know you are anxious to return to your family.”

“That is true,” lamented Lee.

“You know they will continue to be watched and well looked after. I recognize that you have worked hard. Your family has been rewarded accordingly. Do not spoil what you have,” added The Shaman with a subtle glance behind him, “by making a mistake.”

“I understand,” replied Lee, envisioning Da Khlot’s expressionless dark eyes watching his own family. The family he longed to be with.

***

It was late Friday afternoon when Laura dropped some documents onto Jack’s desk. “Your theory may be right,” she said. “Company checks — take a look.”

Jack looked at the documents and saw that two antique stores were owned by an Arthur Goldie, who also owned a Vancouver nightclub called Goldie Locks. It was Goldie’s employee who had been shot in the arm two years ago. Neither the employee nor Arthur Goldie had any criminal record.

“I talked to the narcs,” said Laura. “They told me they currently have an ongoing undercover operation targeting heroin at the ounce level. Last week, one of the operators bought a quarter-pound from a dealer by the name of Jojo. The narcs followed him after the order was placed and he went to the Goldie Locks nightclub for a few minutes. He then met the operator an hour later at a McDonald’s restaurant and did the deal.”

“Did they see who Jojo met in the nightclub?”

“They said he met with numerous people. The narcs couldn’t tell who was involved with the deal.”

“Could be a coincidence,” said Jack. “Maybe Jojo went to see who was around to party with him after his sale.”

“You won’t think it’s a coincidence after you read these next reports,” said Laura, handing Jack some more papers.

Jack scanned the reports and saw that Goldie Locks nightclub had come up in numerous wiretaps and drug investigations over the years as a common meeting spot for several high-level heroin dealers,
including the heroin dealer tortured and murdered by Angelo and Dominic
.

“Love it!” said Jack, with a smile. “Too big of a coincidence for Angelo and Dominic to torture a drug dealer and rob an antique store later the same day. Especially when both places are owned by the same person. In my books, Arthur Goldie is dirty.”

“Proving it will be another story,” said Laura.

“Angelo and Dominic tried to rob some people connected to the big league,” mused Jack. “My guess is the antique store employee is, or was, a money bagman for the organization. In fact, with him making the store’s deposits, you can bet that his real job is to transport drug money. Our two Italian brothers found out that the dealer they tortured had just done a deal. Maybe they were hired for protection by whoever was doing the buying. Bet they grabbed the dealer later and when he didn’t have the money, they tortured him to find out who did. The dealer then gave them the name of the bagman from the antique store.”

“You could be right on that account,” said Laura. “I agree we could be on to something big as far as drugs go, but how did the gun used by Angelo and Dominic end up being used to kill Melvin? And why?”

Jack paused as he scanned the reports again, hoping an answer would jump out at him. It didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said. “If the brothers are dead … and after talking with dear old mom, I tend to think they are, then —”

“Maybe she lied and said they were dead so we would stop looking.”

“Didn’t get that sense, did you?” asked Jack.

“No,” admitted Laura. “She seemed genuine. Plus the brothers aren’t all that bright. If they were alive, I think they would have been located.”

“I agree. Following that logic, I think they’re dead because of who they tried to rob. Their bodies haven’t been found, which means whoever killed them may have inherited the gun. If their bodies were dumped in an alley, then anyone could have come along and picked over the remains like vultures. We need to find out who killed them.”

“Any ideas how?” asked Laura.

“Find the employee from the antique store and put a bullet through his other arm. See who comes after us.”

Jack saw Laura’s concerned look and quickly added, “Don’t take me seriously! I’m joking.”

“Oh, man. Good … I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to tell with you.”

Jack chuckled and said, “Of course I was joking.” Then his face became serious and he said, “You know, it would probably work.”

“Jack!”

Jack grinned and said, “Okay, okay. Plan B. How about we look at Arthur Goldie and his businesses and see if we can confirm our suspicions?”

“Shake the tree and see who falls out. Get an informant or something. Maybe the narcs will help out.”

“Exactly. Even if we are off base on who killed Melvin, either way, these guys could be good targets. I’ll talk with Rose and let —” Jack stopped to answer his cellphone. It was a nurse from the hospice.

***

“Appreciate ya comin’,” said Ophelia, staring up from her hospital bed at Jack. Her normal raspy voice sounded even worse. She tried to wiggle to a better position, so he adjusted her bed to raise her upper body, but suggested she lay still while he pulled up a chair.

“I should have come here sooner,” she said. Her voice crackled as she spoke, making her words difficult to hear. “The morph’ they’re giving me isn’t bad.”

“That’s good,” replied Jack. “Have you managed to steal any so you can sell it on the street later?”

A smile flittered across her face before she became serious. She stared at Jack for a moment before saying, “Guess you know this is the last time you’ll have to come and visit.”

“I don’t have to come here,” said Jack. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Yeah, well, I appreciate it. You being a cop, too. Go figure.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ophelia,” said Jack. “You’re sick, but you’re not bad. I’m sorry that life dealt you the hand it did.”

“Win some, lose some.” Ophelia coughed several times and briefly nodded off. A minute later she awoke with a start, perhaps afraid that she wouldn’t awaken. She was relieved to see that Jack was still there. “Lucky I’m dying in here rather than out on some pig farm. Things could be worse.”

Jack nodded, but for Ophelia he knew that things were never a lot better, either.

“So, how come you do come to see me? You don’t owe me nothin’.”

Jack looked intently at Ophelia and said, “I respect you for the kind of person you are. You’re the type who worries about people. For the kind of life you’ve had, it would be easy to use it as an excuse, but you don’t.”

“There’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”

“You’re a good person.”

Ophelia blinked her eyes a couple of times and said, “Thanks for seein’ me.”

“It’s no problem seeing you. My office isn’t that far away.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean for
seein’
me.” Ophelia coughed some more, but didn’t take her eyes off of Jack’s face. She knew he didn’t understand. “Let me tell ya somethin’,” she said. “My last day on the street before you brought me in, I was feeling pretty sick. Just leaning against a doorway, too sick to turn a trick. Some lady walked past me with a boy, about five years old. The boy could tell I was sick and said, ‘Look, Mommy!’ The lady gave me a disgusted look, you know, like I was a pimple on the ass of society. Then she said, ‘Don’t stare, honey. That’s just nobody.’”

Jack stared at Ophelia, putting himself in her place.

“Guess what I’m tryin’ to say,” continued Ophelia, “is people who got it don’t give a shit about people who don’t. We’re nobodies.”

“I think you’re somebody.”

Ophelia’s face softened and she looked at Jack and said, “I’ve seen that in you. You’re different than most people. Guess what I’m asking is why?”

Jack swallowed, not sure how to respond.

“Come on,” prompted Ophelia. “I’m gonna croak before morning. It ain’t like I’m gonna tell anyone.”

Jack took the time to take a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. When he finished he said, “I had a sister who died of alcoholism — although that is like saying a bullet killed you instead of the person who pointed the gun at you and pulled the trigger.”

“So, who pulled the trigger?” asked Ophelia. “Your father?”

Jack nodded and said, “You’re pretty perceptive.”

“Perceptive!” snorted Ophelia. “Try experienced.”

Jack sighed and said, “Well, you’re right. Amongst other less than desirable traits, my father was a pedophile. When my sister escaped from home, she lived alone in a grubby trailer and was always taking in stray animals to look after. A friend of mine once saw her on the street and thought she was a homeless person. Basically, she was.” Jack stared at Ophelia for a moment, before acknowledging, “Maybe she is one of the reasons I look at some people differently. I don’t know. Some days I feel like I’ve seen too much suffering. Too much injustice.”

Ophelia reached toward Jack’s hand, so he leaned forward so she could hold it. Her grip was firm, but her flesh felt cold. Her organs were shutting down, including her heart.

“Thanks for telling me,” said Ophelia. “It was something I was always curious about. Helps explain why you let me get away with settin’ that guy up to be whacked with a tire iron that night.”

Jack shrugged and said, “That guy was going to turn a trick with a twelve-year-old kid. I don’t feel bad about letting you get away with it because of who you are inside. You’ve made a few slip-ups here and there. Who hasn’t? We’re all human. But in my books, you’re somebody. Somebody who made a positive difference in this world.”

He realized her grip on his hand had loosened. She was dead.

He never knew if she heard his last words or not.