After Dan left, Connie turned to Jack and said, “Any suggestions? It’s obvious that OCTF have their hands full already. I think we’re basically on our own.”

“One of the lab rats busted a year and a half ago has his trial in three weeks,” said Laura. “A fellow by the name of Kent Rodine. I talked to the narcs and they think the evidence is solid. Rodine was found inside the lab and his fingerprints are on the glassware. It’s a jury trial so you never know. If he does go free we could follow him to find out where he hangs his hat. See if he meets with Cocktail. If he doesn’t get off, maybe some of his friends will show up to see him off and we could follow them.”

“Three weeks!” said Connie. “On a case where they expect a conviction? I don’t want to rely on something that flimsy.”

Jack looked at Laura and said, “Let’s get more info on these gangs and watch how they deal. It might lead us to some of the labs.”

“I investigate murders, not dope dealers,” said Connie. “How do you go about it?”

“Through surveillance, arrests, informants —”

“I don’t have the time or the manpower for all that,” said Connie. “Even if I did, it would take a long time. Innocent people could be breathing in the fumes from these labs. There must be something we can do. Rodine and his buddies might not even be connected with Cocktail.”

“I don’t want to wait, either,” said Jack. “We need an informant on the inside.”

“Yeah, but how?” asked Connie. “You can’t exactly run an ad in the Vancouver Sun.”

“We need a clearer picture of what the meth situation is about,” replied Jack. “Meth is a massive problem. Did you know that B.C. currently supplies the majority of our planet in meth? Australia, Asia … you name it.”

“Heck of a thing for Canada to be known around the world for,” muttered Connie.

“We can thank our provincial judiciary for their leniency and lack of foresight for that,” replied Laura. “They aren’t known for seeing the big picture, are they, Jack?” She gave a wry smile at employing a phrase often used by Jack.

Jack shook his head and said, “We’re globally famous for both peacekeeping and supplying the world with methamphetamines. Hell of a combination. Men and women giving their lives for peace around the world while fellow Canadians destroy lives.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” said Connie. “Too depressing.”

“We do need to see the big picture,” said Jack, glancing at Laura. “We have to find out everything we can. I’ll check with Drug Section, VPD, and Toxicology to get info on anything to do with meth. This is the Easter long weekend. By Tuesday morning we should have enough reports to give us an idea of what is going on. Then we will target someone specifically. Maybe do a quick UC, buy some drugs and see if we can turn an informant. If we find one biker lab, surveillance may lead to more. Eventually we’ll find Cocktail.”

“Yeah … unless the bikers look at him as a loose end,” said Connie.

“If they did, VPD would have found his body in the alley alongside Varrick and Zack.”

“Too bad they didn’t,” replied Connie. “It would save us all a lot of time.”

“Starting to think like me?” said Jack with a smile.

“I hope not,” replied Connie, frowning.

“Even if he was dead, Satans Wrath would still have others running the labs,” said Laura.

The dismal tone of her voice brought a moment of silence as the investigators thought about the situation. The meeting came to an end with Connie agreeing to see what they could learn over the next few days.

On Friday night Jack and Natasha sat on the balcony of their condo overlooking the city lights while sipping on a glass of Glayva. Jack snuggled closer to Natasha on the love seat while swilling a taste of the Scotch-based liqueur around in his mouth. My life is great, he thought.

He glanced at his watch. It was nine o’clock. It was a moment in time that he would remember.

Ai-li Cheung walked over to lock the front door of their corner grocery store. Her husband, Frank, had already plodded upstairs to the second storey that was their home for the last thirty-seven years. The sound of the toilet flushing announced where he was.

Ai-li, at sixty-four years of age, was two months younger than her husband. They both planned to retire next year. Up until a few months ago, they always kept the store open until midnight, but the neighbourhood was not what it once was.

Port Coquitlam, less than an hour drive from Vancouver, was no longer a quiet neighbourhood where people knew each other. Shoplifters had become bolder. Empty beer and liquor bottles were often smashed in their small parking lot. Frank often threatened to call the police, but in reality, he was afraid that if he did, the store windows would be smashed in retaliation.

Times had changed from when they used to give free candy to neighbourhood children or run small grocery orders to some of the elderly who lived nearby. The elderly had moved on. Ai-li understood. She did not mind that they closed three hours earlier now. She was looking forward to the day they would close for the last time.

Ai-li was reaching for the door when it was yanked open in front of her. A tall, skinny man with droopy eyes stepped in, waving a syringe containing a bloodly liquid in her face.

“The money,” the addict said. He did not yell, but there was the sound of determination in his voice. “Or I’ll stick ya with this … and believe me, AIDS ain’t somethin’ ya want to have.”

Ai-li nodded her willingness to comply. She was too afraid to talk as she hurried to open the till. The addict followed, but remained on the opposite side of the counter.

“The money,” he repeated. “Hurry up.” He stared intently at Ai-li’s face as his body rocked back and forth.

Ai-li quickly took the money from the till and put it in a bag and pushed it toward him.

He remained rocking back and forth, staring at her.

“That’s all of it,” she whimpered.

He stared back at her in a stupor before his face contorted in rage. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist and plunged the needle into her arm, injecting the bloody liquid. “I told you to hurry!” he yelled, before letting go and stepping back, still holding the syringe.

Ai-li stood paralyzed in shock as the addict stepped back and waved the empty syringe in the air. The rage left his face and he said, “The money … or I’ll stick ya with this. AIDS ain’t somethin’ ya want …” He stared at the empty syringe and blinked his eyes in confusion.

Ai-li’s mouth hung open as she looked at her arm. “I did!” she cried, gesturing to the plastic bag.

Chapter Ten

On Tuesday morning, Jack listened to the details over the phone as the uniformed Mountie from Port Coquitlam told him about the robbery. As he listened, Jack thought about his own life and his time with Natasha on Friday night. Life can change in a heartbeat … value every second.

“Canine Unit tracked him down,” the Mountie said. “The guy does have AIDS, so I guess it’s a good thing the dog didn’t bite him.”

“AIDS cannot be transferred from an infected person to an animal,” replied Jack.

“Yeah? Good to know. Too bad it isn’t that way with people. Personally I cringe every time I have to arrest someone who is combative.”

“Don’t you pack a Taser?”

“Are you kidding? With the crap we get for using Tasers these days I’d be better off shooting them. Anyway, the guy wasn’t a problem. The asshole was so stoned he was lying in some bushes. Said he couldn’t remember if he dreamed he did it, or actually did. He had a small amount of meth in his pocket. CPIC says you are interested in him so —”