The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery (17 page)

21

Vince knocked on the door a second time, expecting quicker service. Considering their clubhouse would be under 24/7 police surveillance, he thought that they wouldn't want to keep business associates in the public eye.

Number
105
Beach Road, Hamilton. It wasn't like he had to double-check the address. The entire building had been painted red and white, the official colours of the club, the curb was fortified with concrete barriers and there were three point-tilt-zoom surveillance cameras staring at him. He glanced at the window searching for signs of movement inside but all he saw was an outer cage of cast-iron bars shielding painted black glass that likely had a ballistic rating. No one from the Devil Dogs who had ever seen the inside of a Hells Angels clubhouse lived longer than an hour.

There were no sounds of creaking floorboards before he heard the bolts and latches being unlocked before the door opened. Vince didn't recognize the man at the door. Shorter, thin with short black hair and a jean jacket. The only club insignia he was wearing was a small patch sewn on his upper chest that read
Big Red Machine.
He asked, “Vince Druer?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man stepped back from the door allowing Vince inside. He took the fact that he didn't get a baseball bat over the head as a good sign. He was behind enemy lines and this wasn't the kind of organization that appreciated the waving of a white flag. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The windows were stencilled with black to create various Hells Angels logos. The living room window had a reverse image of the Death Head that cast a shadow against the wall across the room.

Vince extended his hand to the man. “Nice place you have here.”

The man remained still, keeping his hands down by his sides. “Yeah, thanks.”

Tough guy routine, right.
It was clean inside. Leather couches, antique, wrought-iron tables and chairs.

Vince was beginning to wonder if they were just going to stand and stare at each other when he heard a sound from the back room. A man walked out from a back room, six two,
240
, with a shaved head and long red beard.

“Vince Druer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Red.”

“Nice to meet you, Red.”

Red swung an arm in the direction of the longer couch and Vince took a seat. Red sat close to him, leaning back to adjust his pants. Red turned to the door greeter. “Two beers, Mike.”

Yeah, Mike, and make it snappy.
Vince knew there was no going back from this. He'd come in there for the express purpose of selling out his club. He remembered back to the time he heard of an internal theft from one of the big banks in Toronto. An executive somehow stole copies of internal documents and offered to sell them to a competitor. When the guy arrived at the competitor's office he found the cops waiting. His employer got their stuff back, he went to jail and was fired. All he could do was hope that the Angels weren't burdened by ethics. If they were, he might die here.

“So Vince, I understand you have something to sell?”

Red was calm, smooth. There was no hint of the animosity between the two clubs.

“That's right, Red. I brought a laptop. Every bank account, business contact, every member's home address and cell number. The door code to our clubhouse, And Mr. Moretti's personal holdings.” He leaned down to open the bag but with a wave of his hands Red stopped him.

“Now you understand, Vince, I have to wonder why you are doing this.”

I'm beginning to wonder myself.
It began to feel warm in the dark room. “Simple. I want out. I've had enough and I want a clean break. And to do that I have to give them something other than me to worry about while I get away.”

“So you want them to worry about us?”

“No.” He clasped his hands together. “I want them to worry about their money.”

Red grabbed the laptop from the bag and turned it on.

“It's encrypted, Red, I'll have to open it for you.”

The door man returned with two beers. “Here.” Red spun the laptop around on the table. Mike handed over two beers and crouched in front of the computer.

Red passed Vince a Corona with a wedge of lime in the top. Vince took a drink and watched with dread as Mike easily bypassed the log-in password and began cracking into the files.

Mike spun the laptop back around and nodded to Red.

Red tipped his beer to the screen. “It's a touch screen. Start touching.”

Vince double-tapped his way through the icons and opened a file. “There are the bank accounts, there are the names of everyone we deal with. Chop shops, drug suppliers, the places and people we extort.” There were things he wasn't ready to show them at the start, in case the feel wasn't right and he felt it necessary to back out of the plan. Now there was no going back.

Red nodded, taking it in. He pointed to an icon. “What's that mean? Targets?”

Vince felt a surge of adrenaline. “Open it.”

Red double-clicked the screen. Inside it was a
PDF
document in the style of a news magazine with pictures and wraparound text. Some of the images were surveillance shots, some taken from the internet. They were of bikers, specifically the Hamilton chapter of the Hells Angels, posing with their bikes, pals and women.

Red leaned in closer and skimmed through the text. “That's me.”

“Yeah.”

His voice changed from gruff to confused to worried. “That's me in my backyard?”

He turned to Vince, a mix of hatred and disbelief. “What the hell is this?”

“The boys in my organization have been planning a hostile takeover, Red. We have your home addresses, cell numbers, the places where you guys let down your guard and party.”

Red stood up, his lower jaw clenching, his hands looking for a neck to strangle. He turned Vince. “Get the fuck up, right now.”

Vince slowly rose to his feet, his hands up. “Easy, Red, remember I came here to help you guys.” His fear was beginning to wane. He saw how scared Red was. Vince was beginning to see that he could handle him despite his size. The doorman would only slow him down a little.

“I want out, Red. You promise to give me a little money to get out of town, maybe three hundred grand, and I'll hook you up with three million in cash, drugs and extortion contracts.”

Red was barely listening as he hunched forward and scrolled through pictures of his family and friends captured at defenceless moments.

“Plus, Red, when you get Moretti,” Vince tapped the screen, “You get his personal wealth as well.”

Red did take some time to appraise the figures now on the computer screen. Vince watched as the man's anger slowly turned to greed.

Vince took another drive out of his pocket. “Here's the dossier on all my guys. Their home addresses, hangouts where
they
feel safe. You can take them down before they have any idea what's coming. All I ask is time to get out of the line of fire. Do we have a deal?”

Red scrolled through the pages of information on the computer. “Make me trust you that this is all real and not some stupid set-up. If you want out so bad and want to take their money, what do you need me for?”

“Their extortion contracts aren't worth anything to me. I can't take over the club. I'm offering you three million and all I want is ten percent front loaded. The old man's cash, consider it a bonus. I can't touch it but you can because you have an organization and time behind you. I have neither.” Vince tried to read Red's body language. His eyes had not left the computer screen. “Three million, Red, do we have a deal?”

“You want out, Vince?”

“Yeah, I want out.”

Red scrolled back to the picture of him in his backyard. He had a beer in one hand and a young girl, maybe his daughter, by his side, sitting at a table with friends while his wife brought over a tray of fruit for the kids. Red was clearly baffled that someone had been able to get close enough to get the shot. Vince knew that the photographer had bribed the neighbours out of the house next door then lay flat in the bushes for ten hours in the sweltering heat to get close enough to snipe the entire Red clan. Vince felt it best that Red didn't know that the photographer was him.

Red continued, “Well, if you want out, it happens tonight.”

“Tonight?” He ran through the scenarios in his mind. “There would be no time to work out the de —”

“Fuck the details, Vince. You want out or don't you?” Red was fuming with anger. He wasn't thinking with his head, he was thinking with his heart, a rookie move. Red was determined. “You're gonna show me you're serious and burn a bridge for me.”

Vince was still distracted by the time frame and didn't understand Red's reference to bridge. “What bridge?”

Red picked up the laptop, handing it to the other man. “Tell you what, you take care of Christian and I'll get you the money the next day.”

“I can't just kill him and sit on my ass while you take your time waiting in line at a bank.”

“Fine. The same night. I'll get the money together now.”

Vince thought it over quickly. “Okay, that sounds good. And it goes down tonight, so I'd appreciate it if you call in as many of your guys as possible to wipe out as many Devil Dogs as you can after I get Christian out of the way. I recommend you get Moretti himself. That would cause the most disruption. By then both Morettis will be dead and there will be a leadership vacuum.”

Vince tried to keep track of all of the things he would have to organize to get through the night. He had to get the cops to take out Nastos and Carscadden — hopefully one would then kill the other. He had to take care of Christian, who was growing more unpredictable by the minute. Had to get his wife out of the country with as much money as possible for a clean start. It was going to be tight. And that was if he didn't get double-crossed by Red and the boys.

Red paused, considering it. “Okay, then. You send me a picture of Christian with a hole in his head before midnight, we'll take out the rest of the club, or as many as we can get before sunrise. This time tomorrow you will either be the biggest rat in the history of biker gangs, never able to sleep in the same bed twice, or you and everyone you love will be dead.”

22

Vince Druer earned his full patch with the Devil Dogs placing remote detonation fire bombs in a rival gang's clubhouse. He detonated them during their monthly “church” meeting then shot the survivors to death one at a time as they raced from the burning building. While most club prospects were happy to steal a police car or do a drug rip-off, Vince had wiped out all fourteen members of the only rival gang in a one-hundred-mile radius. Blood in, blood out.

And like the saying goes, it was going to take blood to get him out. That was fine. If it was going to be the boss's son, that was fine too, the sooner the better. The entire trip back to Toronto, Vince was consumed with working the plan. He had to find a secure building and get both the cops and the private detectives there at the same time, assuming one problem didn't look after the other before then. After that he was going to kill the survivors, get the money from Red's guy and hit the highway. He took the picture out of his breast pocket and held it up. He glanced from the road to the picture, taking in every detail, letting it pull him from his time and place to another time, both the past and the future.

He put the picture back in his pocket and took out his cellphone. He dialed a number and his wife answered. “Vince?”

“Book a flight right now.”

“You sure?”

“In this business, I'm as sure as I can get. For the past three years we've been planning this. Now it's time.”

“I've made all the arrangements. I just need to call the lawyer.”

“Call him right now, buy the plane tickets and leave. I might get held back another day, if something comes up, either way, I'll see you soon.”

“When will I hear from you?”

He thought about it. “The next time we talk, it will be in person.”

Vince hung up the phone. He parked out front, waving off the doorman when he came over to park the car. “I'm just picking someone up.”

Vince found it peculiar that the doorman seemed surprised to see him, for whatever reason.
Maybe he mistook me for a celebrity
, Vince thought as he shrugged it off. He dismissed it and took out his phone again. Despite the assurances from Christian over the phone that he would be ready, he doubted it.
The kid's probably still flicking through channels on the
TV
, eating pizza out of a box.
All that kid does is eat and chase girls around.
He was going call again but, in a move entirely out of character, Christian promptly appeared at the revolving glass doors, a bright expression on an otherwise not-so-bright face. He put his bag in the trunk then slid into the passenger seat.

“Where you been there, Vinnie?”

“Visiting a friend from before.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiled. “She have a name?”

“Not that kind of a friend. A guy I used to run with. He's gone straight now, an electrician.”

“There's an exciting life.”

Vince shrugged. “At least it's a life.”

Vince typed an address into the rental car's
GPS
. “It's called the Boom Boom Room. Best girls in town.”

Christian shielded the
GPS
screen from the light. “Umm, not far from
BMO
. Why haven't we been there before? You holding out on me?”

“Just saving the best for last.”

“Sounds great.”

“We just have a little business to look after before we get there.”

Christian was instantly indignant. Anything that interrupted his near-constant pursuit of women. “Are you kidding me, like what?”

“Easy, killer, we can do it on the way. We have to call the cops and arrange a meet.”

“What's the big rush? Nighttime's coming. Let's have a bit of fun, bang a couple girls and settle up tomorrow. What's wrong with you?”

Despite the seething hatred he felt for Christian, he let it slide. The kid would he dead in a few hours. There was no point getting worked up by a ghost that didn't know he was dead. With a Zen-like certainty he saw the future unfolding in front of him as it should. Both cops and the two
PI
s would soon be dead. Sadly, Christian would also die in the crossfire but among the brotherhood he'd be regarded a hero. Vince would sell or give the last of the files to Red's guys and he'd be with his wife on a beach in Australia in however long it took for the connecting flights to get them there.

“
BMO
Field, where the cops dropped the cash yesterday. We'll talk there.”

“What? You got nothing to say to me?”

“Not here, not while I'm driving. When you're driving, you just drive.”

Christian snorted. “You and your fucking driving rules, man. Lighten up a little.”

Youth can be exasperating.
“Christian, these rules are important. Occasionally you're going to come across a smart cop. Rare, yes, but they are out there.” As much as he hated Christian, Vince enjoyed sharing the secrets of the trade that he had come to learn. It was a part of himself he would never be able to talk about after tonight. He allowed himself the pleasure. “When you're in a car, cops own your ass. Name, address, date of birth, where you are at a particular time, all information that cannot be refuted even by the best lawyer. Never ever get stopped by the police.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Here we fucking go.”

“How not to get stopped by the cops.” Vince cleared his throat, straightened in his seat and opened up. “Don't drive a cool car. If you are driving a tinted-down, jacked-up, nine-thousand-dollar Honda Civic with thirty grand worth of modifications, a loud muffler and performance engine, expect to get hassled by the Man. Drive a Buick, drive a minivan. Wear a suit. Don't talk on the phone, drive the speed limit and wear your seat belt. When you are driving, be the most boring mother fucker ever to live. Have the ownership, insurance and your fake driver's licence ready so piggy has no reason to linger at the window and see something like a beer bottle cap or flakes of weed that gives him authority to rape your car. That's another thing. Never smoke in the car, nothing.”

“Not even cigarettes?”

“If a cop see flakes of tobacco, a lighter and, god help you, rolling papers he'll have the drug dog here slobbering all over the upholstery doing an impromptu roadside drug raid.”

“Holy shit, man, you're paranoid.” Christian closed his eyes.

“Laugh now but I'm telling you. Let the next guy get the cops' attention. One day you might have a corpse in the back seat and that's the wrong time to get pulled over for failing to signal. Even dumb cops learn to smell fear. It's not worth risking jail to feel cool. Feel boring, you live longer.”

They drove in silence the rest of the way to
BMO
Field, where Vince parked in the middle of the vacant parking lot. It was a darkening blue sky with wispy white clouds tinged with orange and red from a setting sun, a steady breeze coming from the lake. Vince turned north to the Toronto skyline, the
CN
Tower, the bank towers, the Gardiner Expressway and red brake lights. He pointed a thumb to the back of the car and when he opened his door and went to the back of the car, Christian followed. Vince pressed the button on the keychain and popped the trunk open. When Christian had joined him he pointed inside to the empty space. “You want to get in?”

“Fuck off.”

The implication was obvious to Christian.
Good, he's learning.
“You want to go home in the trunk so I have to look your dad in the face and tell him that I gave you an inch, let you back-talk me and you fucked it up?”

He had finally pushed Christian too far and he reacted, but Vince was faster. When Christian tossed a right haymaker Vince didn't lean back and put himself off balance, no, he charged forward and gripped one hand around Christian's throat. He hooked a leg around Christian's and forced him backward hard into the ground. Christian tried to get a gun from his waist, seizing the grip. Vince wrapped his hand around Christian's and pressed down just enough to make pulling the gun out impossible.

“Fucking asshole,” Christian shouted.

“Those
PI
s got too close. We fucked up, kid. By now they called in the car plate. They obtained the name of the rental company. As far as we know they seized the contract forms and some lab geek is lifting fingerprints from the insurance waiver forms. And that would be bad.”

“Off your meds, asshole?”

Vince remained calm, not letting go of Christian's neck or his pressure on his gun hand. “Think back, Christian. Think back to what your dad said before we came out here. I'm curious, what did he say about me?”

The tension in Christian's body disappeared. He leaned back on the ground and surrendered. “He said that you're one dangerous mother fucker and, more than dangerous, you're smart. So do whatever the fuck you say and if I keep my eyes open I might learn something.”

Vince paused. He examined the boy's face looking for deception, false flattery from a sociopath trying anything to gain advantage. He saw none. The kid was being serious.
Maybe I underrated the kid's old man after all.
“Exactly, kid. Exactly. So this is what we are going to do.”

He released Christian and helped him up to his feet. “We're going to get rid of this car, clear up the loose ends and get as far from Toronto as we can. For me, I'm thinking a cabin in northern Pennsylvania.”

Christian's face brightened, like a kid being asked if he wanted to go to Disneyland. “So we're going to kill the cops. You serious?”

“It's the only way. Your little extortion gig went too far. Now there is no other way. And there's other loose ends out there. Nastos, Carscadden, their families. I'm afraid the good city of Toronto is going to have itself a little badge-related genocide.”

“We do this, we'll become legends.”

“Speak for yourself, kid. I'm already a legend.” Vince glanced back to the Gardiner Expressway, the brake lights flowing like a river of blood.