Jack leaned forward in his chair, peering through the one-way glass in the back of the van. “Looks like Rose is really giving it to him,” he said to Laura, without turning around. “She’s wagging her finger in his face. Maybe she would make a good operator.”

“Yes, playing herself,” replied Laura.

“Go ahead,” said Goldie defiantly, glaring at Rose. “Call the tax man. I’ll give you my accountant’s name. And as far as cleanliness goes, my place is tops. We cater to a sophisticated crowd. If you would ever step inside, you would know that.”

Rose returned Goldie’s stare briefly before lowering her eyes submissively. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you. Maybe the son of a bitch has decided to retire.” Rose’s face brightened and she said, “Makes it easy for us. We can conclude our file. I’m sorry to have bothered you with this. We had to make sure. I’ll give you a ride back now.”

“Do you mind telling me who they are?”

“Well, I can tell you they’re not really from Edmonton. They’re from Montreal.”

“Montreal?”

“Yup. I don’t know how much you know about the Irish Mafia, but Happy Jack O’Donnell is, or I guess was, one of the captains in that mob. One of the oldest and most established crime families in North America. A long history of extreme violence. People who have crossed them have been found dead and missing various body parts.”

Goldie’s thoughts briefly returned to a mugger outside a convenience store.

“We heard that he might be retiring,” continued Rose, “but we didn’t know if it was true. We were afraid he might be coming to build connections. Telling people he is from Edmonton makes it seem more like he is hiding his past. It fits the retirement mode.”

Jack turned around in his chair again from where he was watching Rose from out of the back of a van and smiled. “Rose glanced our way and made a fist and scratched the bottom of her chin with her thumb nail.”

“The old thumbs up,” replied Laura. “Must be going well.”

“We’ll see if he says anything to us tomorrow night when we go in. If he does, I’ll thank him and show some appreciation for him telling us.”

“What if he doesn’t say anything?”

“I’ll tell him we know about it and thank him anyway.”

“You’ll tell him we know about it?”

“If I have to, I’ll get my old partner, Danny O’Reilly, to seem like he’s dirty and deliver me a fake report. Give the appearance that Irish blood is thicker than justice routine. If Goldie doesn’t say anything tomorrow night, we’ll still show our appreciation because he didn’t tell Rose anything.”

“He didn’t have anything to say to Rose, even if he wanted to.”

“I know. But either way, I’ll show him our gratitude. The hook will be baited. I bet we get action soon.”

Jack was right on his guess that they would be getting action soon. Later that same night, Goldie met with Wang again in the alley behind Wang’s restaurant and told him about his visit from the RCMP.

“How long before Woo moves to Montreal?” asked Goldie.

“Today is Friday,” noted Wang. “He told me he moves into a new apartment on the first of August. That’s next week so I expect he’ll be leaving in the next couple of days.”

“Good. I’m not taking anything at face value. Let’s check him out pronto. Tell Woo to find an Irish pub and ask around about Happy Jack O’Donnell.”

17

It was midnight Saturday night and Jack pretended to look at Laura over the top of his martini glass as he took a sip. In reality, he was looking at Goldie who had wandered out from the rear of the club and was talking to the bartender while aimlessly looking at customers. There he is. A man who laughs at the brutal slaughter of an innocent person. Can I pretend to befriend him and make it look genuine?

Laura caught a subtle change in Jack’s demeanor and said, “Is he back?”

“Behind you talking to Purvis at the bar,” said Jack, wryly. “Laughing about something. He’s definitely seen us but is keeping his distance. I’m going to order another martini at the bar and then invite him over.”

“Want me to play the bimbo role?”

“Not after your karate demonstration the other night. Pretend you’re smart and in the know.”

“Pretend? Hey, I take offence to that remark.”

Jack would have smiled, but the sight of Goldie laughing in the background made him think of a terrified man trying to escape through some darkened woods. Running and staggering with your hands tied behind your back. Barely able to see through a plastic bag. Unable to scream. Your breath cut short by tape. The sound of gunshots. Your body feeling the pain. Twisting and turning. More gunshots … falling. Goldie laughing … his diamond-studded tooth glimmering in the light …

“Jack? Did you hear me,” asked Laura.

“Yeah. Wait here. I’m going to tell him I want to talk to him at our table.”

A moment later, Goldie joined them and introduced himself as Arthur. Jack and Laura each introduced themselves by their first names.

“Is there a problem?” asked Goldie. “Something you wish to discuss with me?”

“No problem at all,” replied Jack, reaching for the gift bag beside his feet. “Quite the opposite, really. I wanted to apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you last night.”

Goldie accepted the gift bag with surprise. He reached inside and pulled out a bottle of Tyrconnell single-malt Irish whiskey. “What inconvenience?” he exclaimed, casting a curious glance at Jack and Laura.

Jack smiled warmly at him and said, “You know, there are those who think the Irish blood is too watered down with Guinness. Let me tell you that is not so.” Jack winked and leaned back in his chair and finished the last of his martini.

“I don’t understand,” replied Goldie.

Jack smacked his lips, savouring the last swallow, before looking directly at Goldie and saying, “Many of the Irish have become police officers, but the Irish blood is thick and they are Irish first.” Jack paused as Goldie reflected upon what he said, before continuing, “Shall we just say that I have friends who keep me well informed on such matters. The intrusion in your life by Officer Wood last night did not go unnoticed and I wish to apologize to you for any inconvenience it may have caused.”

“I … I don’t know what to say,” said Goldie. “I mean, it’s not any of my business who the customers are or —”

Jack let out a hearty laugh and said, “Whatever you did say, I owe you a debt of gratitude. They actually think I have retired.” Jack turned to Laura and said, “Really, honey, do I look that old to you?”

“Certainly not,” replied Laura, frowning. “You don’t have a wrinkle on your body. At least, not one that stays a wrinkle for long,” she added with a wink.

“But this really isn’t necessary,” said Goldie, attempting to hand the bottle back.

“It is nothing, really,” replied Jack. “I would feel insulted if you did not accept. Besides, I was born in Canada. No Irish brogue and Irish whiskey for me. My taste is for gin and vermouth … and fresh olives. I’m a great disappointment to my dear old father, I am sure.”

“Well … thank you,” replied Goldie, setting the bottle down.

“You wouldn’t believe the scurrilous and absolute scandalous accusations the police have made about me and my comrades over the years,” said Jack. “Absolute nonsense, I can assure you. I am a businessman. That is all.”