Dead Ends (12 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Kent Rodine's next batch of methamphetamine was on the drying racks Tuesday night. At seven o'clock Wednesday morning he returned to his lab and used the privacy of the garage to load the kilos of meth into the trunk of his car. As he raised the garage door to leave, a man with a gun shoved him violently against his chest, knocking him back onto the trunk of the car. At the same time, another car pulled in and parked in the driveway.

Seconds later, Rodine was handcuffed and sprawled over the hood of his car. He watched sullenly as Jack opened the trunk and retrieved one of the kilos. Laura, standing with her pistol pointed at the base of Rodine's neck, quietly stepped back as Jack approached.

“Got some good news and some bad news for you, Kent,” said Jack. “Bad news is we're seizing all the dope from your car. Good news is we're not going to arrest you. You might want to start thinking of an excuse to your friends to explain how you lost the dope.”

“What? You can't do that! You have to arrest me!”

“Why? It isn't like you would get any real time and it means a bunch of paperwork for us. Kind of a nuisance, really.”

“No, you don't understand,” said Rodine. “These people … they're not my … they wouldn't understand or believe … they … last week … Christ, man, you gotta bust me.”

“We are not going to arrest you, that I can promise,” said Jack.

“They'll kill me,” he pleaded.

“I know. I simply don't care.”

“Why? Why me? This ain't right!” he cried.

“Jack, it really isn't right that we don't give him a chance first,” said Laura. “He doesn't seem like that bad or stupid of a person. Maybe he would want to co-operate with us. Tell us stuff so we could catch enough people to make it worthwhile.”

“I, I can't do that either,” whined Rodine. “Without the dope they would kill me, anyway. You don't understand. Last week something went wrong. Someone must've cut the shit after I delivered it. The bi— … these guys I work for, they think I tried to rip them off. They came over and kicked the shit out of me. Then tied me to a chair and made me watch as they took turns fuckin' my girlfriend every which way —”

“I don't care and I don't feel like listening to all this bullshit,” said Jack.

“It's not bullshit!” Rodine stopped talking and his mouth hung open for a moment as he looked back and forth at Jack and Laura. His eyes settled on Jack and his voice turned pleading. “I'd help ya. Believe me, I'd help ya … but I can't. You gotta bust me. Please.”

“Maybe he would be a suitable candidate for Witness Protection,” suggested Laura.

“No,” cried Rodine. “If you put me in Witness Protection, they know where my folks live and my brother's and sister's families. They'd whack them if they couldn't find me. And if they did find me, last week would be a picnic compared to what they would do next time. No, you gotta bust me. It's the only way I'll stay alive. I've been working my ass off these last few days. Started the second batch going before this one was done. It was dangerous as shit in there.”

“What if you help us and we let you keep the dope and keep making it?” said Jack.

“You would do that?” replied Rodine with a glimmer of hope.

“Only if you're absolutely honest with us about everything … do exactly what we tell you and keep us in the loop. When I figure you've paid your debt, you'll be cut loose.”

“But if you bust these guys they'll know it was me. I can't take a chance that —”

“I will make you a promise that we will never do anything to burn you,” replied Jack.

Rodine paused and said, “It ain't exactly like I got a choice, is it?”

“You could be a hero and kill yourself,” said Jack, indifferently. “It might spare your girlfriend.”

“I ain't no hero. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start from the beginning since your last bust. Who do you sell to and who do you get your chemicals and glassware from?”

“Will you take the cuffs off me?”

Seconds later, Rodine sat on the hood of the car with one hand holding his rib cage.

“Did these guys break your ribs?” asked Jack.

Rodine nodded and said, “Broken or cracked. Either way they hurt like hell every time I take a breath.”

“Tell us who attacked you last week.”

Rodine paused, grimaced and looked at Jack and said, “There were three of 'em. Bikers with Satans Wrath. Well, either with them or workin' for them. I only know them as Croaker, Hamburger, and Chugger.”

“How long have you been hanging out with Satans Wrath?”

“I don't really hang out with them. I just work for them. I got connected with them about three years ago. Then two years ago I got busted in a lab … but I beat the case.” Rodine looked at Jack and said, “Guess you already know that?”

Jack nodded.

“Yeah, well shortly after that bust, I was approached by a guy by the name of Herm. He's in tight with Satans Wrath. Has been for years. He got busted on the same day in a different lab.”

“What's Herm's last name?” asked Jack.

“I'm not sure. Something like Warwick.”

“How about Varrick?”

“Varrick?… Yeah, that's it. He taught me how to set up a proper lab. It was like taking a course. Meth 101. Varrick followed written instructions. A step-by-step document.”

“So Varrick is the brains behind everything?” asked Laura.

“Naw. He isn't that smart,” replied Rodine. “He was trained by someone he calls the Grandmaster Cocktail.”

“The Grandmaster Cocktail?” asked Jack, trying to sound only slightly interested. He also realized Rodine was still taking about Varrick in the present tense and did not know he was dead.

“Yeah, or just Cocktail, as he usually refers to him. Cocktail knows how to make the purest form of meth going and do it real professional-like.”

“Interesting,” said Jack, trying not to let his excitement show. “Tell us everything you know about Cocktail and then work down from there.”

“I'm told Cocktail is an expert at making other stuff, too, like ecstasy and GHB, but I only make meth. Other labs make the other stuff.”

“GHB,” said Jack in disgust. “Gamma-hydroxybutyrate. Better known as the date rape drug. So who is this guy?”

“I've never met him. Varrick said Cocktail originally approached him after the last bust because he read his name in the paper and happened to know where he lived. Cocktail had some smart ideas and a business plan. He knew all about how to make dope and also had access to all the right chemicals. He wanted Varrick to introduce him to someone from Satans Wrath.”

“So Varrick did that?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, but there's more. Cocktail also knew names of guys connected with The Brotherhood. His idea was to get the bikers and The Brotherhood to work together and expand sales. Cocktail didn't want to deal with The Brotherhood directly.”

“How come?” asked Jack.

“From what Varrick told me, Cocktail knew who a lot of 'em were, but didn't want 'em to know he was involved. A lot of The Brotherhood members are kids … teenagers. He was afraid they would blab. He knew the bikers wouldn't.”

“Sounds like Cocktail isn't stupid,” said Jack.

“Not according to Varrick. He says the guy is a real brain. Like a scientist. At first Varrick was skeptical of the idea that the bikers would get involved with a bunch of kids or guys who were still in their twenties. Cocktail said they weren't all that young and gave him Sy's name.”

“Sy?” repeated Laura.

“Yeah. Sy is the guy I deliver to. He's boss of one of the gangs in The Brotherhood. Anyway, to get the ball rollin', Cocktail agreed to go with Varrick and run the idea past Sy, who jumped at the chance. Then Varrick took Cocktail to meet with the bikers who also liked the idea. The bikers brought Cocktail in under their wing and made inroads into The Brotherhood through Sy. After that, Cocktail developed a training course. Varrick said Cocktail taught him and the rest is history.”

“Where is Varrick's lab?” asked Jack.

“I dunno. Never been there. Lab locations are kept real secret. Varrick did mention it's in the basement of some woman's daycare, though.”

“Cocktail knew it was a daycare?” asked Jack.

“Oh, yeah. That was like Step One in Meth 101. Location. The first time, Cocktail rented a place with a fake driver's licence he got from the bikers and used a cover story of a Janitorial Supply Company. Guess he proved himself because the bikers were impressed. After that, the bikers used other guys to rent places.”

“Cocktail didn't care that it was a daycare?” asked Laura.

“Naw. The thing is, it's close to an industrial area. Cocktail told Varrick to try and put a lab in an area that would help hide the smell.” Rodine gestured with his hand and said, “It's no accident that this place is close to the brewery. Varrick said Cocktail laughed about the daycare and joked that a bunch of tots crappin' their pants would also help hide the smell.”

“I take it, Cocktail doesn't care about kids getting cancer,” said Jack coldly.

“I hadn't really thought about it. I think most of the labs are in rented spots. Nobody wants to use their own place. When I work in the lab I usually wear a mask.”

“Aren't you the smart one,” said Jack, knowing the cheap paper masks he previously saw inside would do little to stop the carcinogenic fumes from entering his lungs.

“Yeah, thanks,” replied Rodine, not realizing Jack was being sarcastic. “Anyway, Step Two is setting the lab up the proper way and learning how to make the shit. Cocktail taught that to Varrick who then taught others, including me.”

Rodine paused as Jack jotted down some notes, before continuing, “Oh, yeah, all the labs are booby trapped as per Cocktail's instructions. Wrong person enters and the whole place goes up in a big fireball. It will destroy all evidence and whoever enters, as well.”

“Like a cop,” said Laura.

“Yeah, or someone trying to rip us off. I can take ya inside and show ya, if you like?”

“Later. Is there a Step Three?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, the most important step. Marketing. We hand a percentage off to Satans Wrath, but also flood the high schools, universities, and colleges with the shit at bargain-basement prices. That's why it's nice to have an in with The Brotherhood. Most are the right age and in school.”

“Why sell so low?” asked Laura.

“So they get hooked. When they graduate and get good jobs the price will go up.”

“That's if the dope doesn't cause them to flunk out,” said Jack.

“Yeah, there's always that possibility,” agreed Rodine.

“Any other steps?” asked Jack.

“That's about it. At least how Varrick laid it out to me. Satans Wrath liked the marketing idea, as well. They distribute the chemicals they get from Cocktail and get a cut of all the action, plus a percentage of all the dope. I don't know how big of a percentage. Sy looks after that.”

“Do you deal with any of the bikers direct?” asked Jack.

“Not normally. Things have changed since the last time we were busted. Different bikers for contact with different labs. Even then, the bikers usually use a go-between and rarely have anything to do with the cooks … unless they want to beat the shit out of someone,” he added ruefully. “Sy manages an apartment complex. All of the tenants in there work for him in one way or another. That's who I deliver to.”

“But Cocktail and Sy know each other,” said Jack.

“Only sort of.”

“Sort of?” questioned Jack.

“Cocktail knew who Sy was, but, according to Sy, hadn't met the guy before then. Still doesn't know his real name. It was Varrick who first started calling him Cocktail. Sy likes to brag a lot about who he knows and his connections with Satans Wrath, but he is tight-lipped about Cocktail. He knows what the bikers will do to him if he ever spilled the beans.”

“Does Sy still meet with Cocktail?” asked Jack.

“I don't think so. The bikers act as the go-between. They taught Sy how to be really careful, like using laptops and other people's wireless signals to communicate through chat rooms. On rare occasions, he'll text a coded message on his BlackBerry, but you'll never get him talking about anything on the phone. Doesn't even talk in his apartment. If something needs saying, he takes you for a walk down the hall. Sy has lots of people he deals to. Even his half-brother, Tommy, is the main supplier for his school.”

“School!” noted Jack. “How old is Sy?”

“I think thirty-two. Tommy is seventeen.”

“What school does Tommy go to?” asked Jack.

“Queen Elizabeth Secondary in Surrey. He still lives at home with his mom and Sy's dad.”