Fifty-Four

‘. . . the little fuckin’ prick.’ The voice was jittery but deep, and definitely belonged to Chad Koda.

‘Well, that little prick is their Sergeant-at-Arms,’ Harry replied.

‘Used to be the Sergeant-at-Arms – they fuckin’ aced him.’

‘When?’

‘Who cares? The little shit’s using again. And now he needs money, he’s demanding money.’

There was a pause in the conversation.

‘How much?’ Harry asked.

‘Thirty thou.’

‘Call him . . . Just . . . call him.’

‘I can’t,’ Koda replied. ‘I don’t have his number – he calls me.’

Harry said nothing for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. There was a heaviness in his tone. An acceptance.

‘I will deal with this,’ he said.

Fifty-Five

Ten minutes later, Striker sat in the undercover cruiser with Felicia. They were parked in a T-lane three blocks north of Harry’s house, under the cover of someone’s garage. Striker finished debriefing Felicia on everything he had overheard Harry and Koda saying. When done, he felt emotionally drained. Like he’d just ratted out an old friend.

‘Sounds awfully cryptic,’ Felicia said.

He nodded. ‘And yet some things are pretty clear.’

‘Like?’

‘Like they’re being blackmailed. And by the sounds of it, by someone dangerous – when they’re talking about a Sergeant-at-Arms, they’re not referring to the army, Feleesh. It’s gang related. And that’s a pretty high rank.’ He scowled as he thought back. ‘You should have seen Koda. He was hyped up and raving . . . but he was scared too. You could hear it in his voice.’

‘Well, he did just get blown up.’

‘He’s unstable.’

‘And Harry?’

Striker shook his head. ‘He sounds very serious.’

Felicia thought things over. ‘The big question here is why are they being blackmailed?’

Striker looked for connections in both the men. Harry and Koda were old friends. They had both worked for the Vancouver Police Department. And they had both worked for similar units, though Koda was often seconded. Striker searched for a relevant section and found one.

‘Harry and Koda both worked in OMG.’

‘The Outlaw Motorcycle Gang section?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. It was broken up long before your time, assimilated into the Gang Crime Unit.’ When Felicia said nothing else, Striker continued. ‘Our options here are pretty straightforward – we can either confront them and be done with it, or we can do some surveillance on these guys. See where it takes us.’

Felicia thought it over. ‘Harry and Koda aren’t stupid. They’re cops. They know the system. If we confront them, they’ll just lie or clam up – especially if they’re involved in something dirty.’

Something dirty . . .

The words bothered Striker.

He thought over what Felicia had said, and he agreed. Surveillance was the right choice for now. The only negative aspect was that surveillance took time. And how much more time did they have before another bomb went off somewhere in the city?

How much time before another person was murdered?

Striker let out a long breath. ‘This is a dangerous game we’re playing.’

‘It’s not our game,’ Felicia said. ‘It’s the system’s. And besides, what choice do we have? Oh shit, heads up, they’re moving again.’

Striker looked down the road to where Felicia was gesturing. From the mouth of the laneway, Harry’s undercover Ford cruiser exited, then sped south on Gilmore. It turned west on Hastings Street and was gone from sight.

Felicia hit the gas in pursuit. Once she had the Crown Vic in sight again, she pulled into the slow lane of Hastings Street and used a transit bus as cover.

Striker touched her arm. ‘Not too close.’

‘I know how to do this, Jacob.’

‘Harry spent three years in property crime – he knows surveillance. He’ll spot us if we screw up.’

Felicia cast him a cocky look. ‘And as you so clearly pointed out, I spent three years in Strike Force. I taught surveillance.’

Striker admired her boldness. He kept his mouth shut.

Felicia sped in and out of traffic, tailing Harry all the way from Willingdon Heights to Grandview-Woodlands. Once there, Harry took a hard right on Semlin Drive.

‘He’s heading into the industrial area,’ Striker noted.

Felicia slowed down and slipped into the A&W burger stand. From past experience she knew that the burger joint had an elevated parking lot from which they could see all of Semlin Drive. They parked in one of the stalls and spied on the two men.

Across the road, Harry pulled in front of an old warehouse. He parked under the telephone wires, and the two men climbed out. They made their way up to the front door.

Striker examined the place. The exterior was made of concrete, chipped and crumbling in places, and further covered by old planks of wood whose green paint was faded and peeling. Unlike the rest of the building, the front doors looked strong. They were made of steel bars and had two separate locks, both of which were shiny and looked brand new.

‘No business sign anywhere,’ Felicia noted.

‘Or a listed address.’ Striker looked at the businesses to the immediate south and north. ‘Whatever the address for this place is, it’s between 317 and 357.’ He started running possible numbers through the PRIME database. Finally, he got a hit.

‘It’s called Hing-Woo Enterprises,’ he said. ‘There’s just two calls listed here – both for complaints on a prowler.’ He read through the report. ‘Looks like they sell Chinese food ingredients. A wholesale supply company.’

Felicia put on her best Chinese accent. ‘Fortune cookie say: you under much surveillance, bad boys.’

Striker grinned.

Out front, Harry and Koda tried the door and found it locked. They knocked, waited, and no one came. Then they took a quick look around back. When they finally returned to the car, Koda’s face was tight and pale, and he was talking a mile a minute. Harry said nothing. He just climbed into the car and closed the door. Moments later, the old Ford tore off down the lane.

‘Koda looks pretty unhappy,’ Striker said.

‘Maybe he’s allergic to MSG.’

Striker grinned at that. ‘Let’s go.’

Felicia started the engine. She pulled out of the A&W parking lot and drove down East Hastings Street. She floored it in an effort to catch up to the two men, but no matter how much she increased their speed, the Crown Victoria just kept getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

Harry and Koda were flying.

Fifty-Six

When Striker and Felicia reached Victoria Street, there was no sign of Harry and Koda whatsoever. Knowing they didn’t come south, Felicia turned north and raced down the street. Three blocks later, the Crown Victoria was still nowhere to be seen.

They had lost them.

Striker got on his cell and called up Dispatch. ‘I need you to check the GPS again, Sue. Where are they now?’

The Central Dispatcher let out a frustrated sound. ‘Oh, lame. You don’t seriously want me to use the system again, do you? You’re gonna get me fired, dude.’

‘I’ll take the heat, Sue. Just tell the brass I ordered you to do it. Told you it was a life or death situation.’