Messenger of Death (35 page)

A sudden
thought tossed him from his dreamland: What if she didn’t wait for
him? What if she found another love?

Leila was the
only human in his life who had ever cared about him. She was not
only his lover but also his friend. His parents were dead, and he
had no relatives or genuine friends. Without her, loneliness would
be his destiny to the grave. This thought terrified him more than
death. He jumped up from the bed and pounded the door.

“I wanna talk
to Serge. Now. It’s important,” he said, when a policeman came to
the door.

When such a
witness says that he has something important to say, guards don’t
wait long. Serge came at once, this time without a smile. With the
instincts of a wild animal, Claude sensed that something serious
had happened. But there had been thousands of serious things
happening since he’d gotten involved with the Devil’s Knights. He
couldn’t care less for anyone else’s trouble in his current
situation.

“I wanna meet
Leila,” he said.

“We can’t do
that anymore,” was the response. Serge stared at him with a blank
face.

“Listen. This
is very important. I’ll help you a lot. I know that it’s against
the rules to let her in, but let me have just one last
exception.”

“It’s not my
decision. I never minded . . .” Serge cleared his throat.

“Leila is
dead.”

“What?” Claude
stood still. “You said ‘dead’?” he screamed. “Is that what you
said? What are you talking about?”

Serge bent his
head, as if studying the cracks in the wooden table. Claude stood,
dumbfounded. A professional killer, who had seen many deaths from
his own hands, he was unable to comprehend that Leila could be
dead.

“Sit down.”
Serge cleared his throat, again. His invitation was timely because
Claude’s legs could not have supported him much longer. He
collapsed on a stool and placed his elbows on the table, grasping
his face with his large hands.

“When did it
happen?” he croaked, coming to grips with reality.

“Two days ago.
Three men were there, allegedly from the Iron Ghosts. They spent a
few hours with her.”

A minute of
thoughtful silence made Claude look twenty years older. His face
grew pale, almost green.

“How could you
let that happen?” Claude asked. Serge said nothing. A trace of
compassion, unusual for a crime crusader, flickered in his
eyes.

“Take me back
to my cell,” Claude said, hardly moving his lips. “I need to rest.”
He was afraid of asking more questions. He didn’t have to have much
imagination to guess what had happened during Leila’s final hours.
He walked, blind, to his cell, and threw himself on the bed. In a
fit of depression, Claude pulled the blanket over his head,
covering himself from head to toe, seeking refuge from the terrible
reality, and then lay motionless, as if in a coma.

He longed to be
magically taken to a desolate, distant land where no human existed
to watch his misery, where he could die hopeless and defeated.
Instead, memories took him back to his childhood, which was devoid
of anything even remotely resembling love. His mother, an alcoholic
prostitute, performed her sex trade in broad daylight, just across
from his bed. Everyone abused, kicked, and humiliated him,
including his mother. She’d died when he was ten. By that time, he
had already reached the point of no return. As far back as he could
remember, there had only been one source of light, warmth, and
tenderness: Leila. Now, that light had been put out. Disoriented,
he could see neither present nor future. A message from heaven had
been brought to him, to the Messenger of Death: “You have nothing
to do on Earth anymore. You have no place among normal people, no
place even among outcasts.”

Epilogue

This meeting of
the Ministry of Justice was to be devoted to summing up the
government’s efforts to curb the activities of organized crime. All
members of the task force who had worked on the anti-gang
legislation had been invited. As had become her habit, Monica
arrived fifteen minutes early to have a cup of coffee and chat with
colleagues and acquaintances. The first person she saw was
Bertrand, who was consuming a Danish with the determination of a
hungry soldier.

“Nice to see
you, Monica,” he said while she settled in across the table.

“We’re having
dinner after the session,” she reminded him.

“True. That’s
why I’m eating a Danish. It whets my appetite.”

“I’ve heard
that you locked Marcel in jail for life,” she said.
“Congratulations on the huge success in fighting organized crime,
Bertrand. I hope that the anti-gang law that was adopted by the
government helped to achieve this goal.”

“It sure did,”
Bertrand nodded. A mocking smile appeared on his face.

“You’re one of
the speakers tonight,” Monica said. “Your speeches are always
interesting and informative.”

Bertrand gave
her an appreciative nod.

“Thanks.”

“As I
understand, the judge did accept the testimony of the informer,
Claude Pichette,” Monica said. “Otherwise, it would not have been
possible to convict him, I guess?”

“It’s not quite
that simple. There was another witness against Marcel by the name
of Norman Vincent. You must have read about him in the
newspapers.”

“Yes, I did,”
Monica confirmed.

“The informer
admitted to killing Norman’s wife. After Norman’s testimony
corroborated that part of the informer’s story, all allegations
from the informer were accepted at face value. But there were
numerous pieces of other evidence, of course, that also supported
the fact that he was telling the truth. Many crimes and many
mysteries have been solved with his help, and each of those
resolutions gave even more credibility to his testimony against
Marcel.”

“Very
interesting. Who’s the leader of this gang now?”

“A very
remarkable personality, I’ll admit. Techie is his nickname. He’s—”
Bertrand didn’t get to finish his sentence because an announcement
was being made directing them to enter the hall. They moved inside,
and Monica took a seat at one of the tables in front of the
podium.

The first
speaker was a representative of the Ministry of Justice. In a
monotonous, dull speech, he drowned the audience in countless facts
and statistics, supporting the view that the government had
achieved great success in fighting organized crime. “Gangs are not
fighting on our streets anymore,” he concluded. “We broke their
spines. Seeing as life in our city has returned to normal, we’re
reducing police funding to the level that existed before the war
between the two gangs erupted. I believe that we taught a good
lesson to the whole underworld. It won’t be very soon, if ever,
that they return to their former capacity.”

The next
speaker was Bertrand. As usual, he had no notes with him and did
not resort to a computer that showed exhibits and charts, but his
speech impressed everyone in the audience. He told them that more
than ten high-ranking Devil’s Knights had been arrested and were
being kept in prison until their trial dates. And a much, much
greater number of their associates were in jail with an abundance
of proven evidence against them. Almost half of the top echelon of
the Iron Ghosts was in prison, too, he announced. There had been
massive arrests of bikers and their cronies all over Quebec, and
beyond. He agreed that the campaign had been a smashing
success.

“To say that we
achieved our goals is understatement at its best,” he concluded.
“We closely monitor organized crime. Our staff is well versed in
coping with different aspects of the biker problem. Our ongoing
alliance with RCMP has proven very effective. However, with the
police budget going into a shallow dive, we might be tempted to
forget about the biker’s threat. It may not be long before we
discover, to our great surprise, how serious the problem has grown
again. Still, I’d like to take the time to thank each and every one
of you for your contributions over the past few years.”

After Bertrand
finished his speech, questions followed.

“How soon
should you be able to eliminate the remnants of the biker’s gangs?”
someone in the audience asked.

“Instead of
giving you a direct answer, I’d rather mention some statistics,
which may help you understand better the new reality that I
mentioned.

“In the past
few months, the number of Devil’s Knights has doubled. The number
of their sympathizers and associates has grown proportionally.
Their rival gang, the Iron Ghosts, has grown even more.

“They have
opened additional chapters in Ontario, Manitoba, and Nova Scotia.
Both gangs have more money than ever. In addition, law enforcement
agencies have come across some very puzzling information: Many new
members of these gangs have no criminal record, have never been in
jail. Some of them have a formal education, and even respectable
professions. We know for sure that no one could become a member of
an outlaw biker gang if he had not committed numerous crimes.

“That’s
something to think about.”

Bertrand looked
around for more questions. Silence in the auditorium was the only
response.

“Thank you for
your attention, ladies and gentlemen,” he bowed, and left the
stage.

The End

Other works by
Alex Markman

Contra-ODESSA

The Dark Days
of Love

Payback for
Revenge