The Guilty (29 page)

Striker grinned. ‘Bingo.’

When Felicia still looked uncertain, Striker prodded her. ‘Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet. If I win, you have to give me a full body massage tonight; if you win, I’ll give
you one.’

‘Sounds like you win either way.’

Striker laughed. ‘And you say I have an ego.’

Felicia just smiled at him.

Then the wait began.

It didn’t take long. Lucky Eddie was an easy man to spot, mainly because he suffered from Marfan syndrome. Because of this, he was almost 200 centimetres tall and had unusually long arms
and legs. When Striker saw the outline of a tall stickman lumbering up to a much smaller individual behind the convenience store, he knew they had found their man.

‘Beautiful,’ Striker said.

Felicia saw it too. ‘He’s making a deal right now.’

‘
Hold on
.’

Before Felicia could respond, Striker hit the gas. They cut across the main drive of Lakewood and came to a screeching halt behind the convenience store. The swerve of the car and the cry of the
brakes caused Lucky Eddie to jump back in surprise, and he dropped his collection of baggies in the process.

Striker jumped out of the car, grabbed Eddie by the arm, and slammed him over the hood of the cruiser. As he handcuffed him, Eddie’s customer ran frantically across the park towards Wall
Street.

Striker smiled at Felicia. ‘Where’s the loyalty?’

She looked down at Eddie. ‘This will definitely affect your customer approval rating.’

Lucky Eddie said nothing, he just stared back at them through dark eyes that communicated nothing. Striker gave the prisoner a cursory search, clearing the man of knives and guns, and then
pulled him off the hood. In behind them, Felicia picked up four dropped baggies, each one containing roughly twenty pills. She held them up and looked at their contents.

‘It’s jib. Maybe some E too.’

Striker nodded:
Crystal meth and ecstasy.
He turned to Lucky Eddie and smiled. ‘Well, this certainly is a dilemma we find ourselves in.’

Eddie’s posture sagged. ‘You gonna book me or not, Striker?’

‘Striker? Wow, you remember me. How thoughtful. And here I thought you’d forgotten.’

‘You almost ran me over last time too.’

‘
Almost
– that’s the key word.’ Striker took one of the bags from Felicia. ‘Let’s see, what charges have we got here? Possession. Trafficking.
Evading Arrest. And the last time I checked, you were also out on bail, were you not? So there’ll be a breach here somewhere too.’

‘It’s like a
smorgasbord
of charges,’ Felicia said.

Striker nodded. ‘And I’m still hungry.’

Eddie scowled at their banter, then looked away. ‘So what? Charge me. I’ll be out in two months – max.’

‘Oh, you’ll be out today,’ Striker replied. When the drug trafficker looked at him sideways, Striker added, ‘It’s your lucky day, Lucky Eddie – I don’t
want to arrest you.’

There was a long pause, then Eddie asked, ‘What’s the catch?’

‘I need some information – an answer to a very important question. One which I know you have . . . Where is Sleeves hiding?’

Recognition and surprise filled Eddie’s eyes. But there was also something else there.
Fear.

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Actually, you have heard of him. In fact, you’re dealing for him right now.’

‘Then book me.’

Striker raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure, I could do that – or I could take a different approach here. You see, my partner and I just had a conversation with Vicenza Montalba.’

Eddie flinched at the name, and Striker continued.

‘Vicenza Montalba is none-too-happy with Sleeves right now. Now if you want, we could always pay Montalba another visit, let him know who’s got the balls to sell for the very guy
Montalba excommunicated from his criminal enterprise.’

Eddie said nothing but his face hardened.

The reaction made Striker smile. ‘Yeah, I think Montalba would deliver a slightly different sentence than the courts, don’t you, Feleesh?’

She grinned. ‘I’d say Life . . . in some form or another.’

Eddie licked his lips. ‘This is bullshit, man, this is fucking
bullshit
!’

Striker lost the smile. He gripped Eddie’s collar and got right in his face.

‘I’ll tell you what’s bullshit, Eddie. I got two innocent women murdered and a personal friend of mine who’s been targeted by some fuckin’ whack-job bomber. You get
it?
That
is fuckin’ bullshit. All the cards are off the table on this one.’

Felicia nodded in agreement. ‘The moment you target a cop, there are no rules.’

Eddie’s eyes took on a distant look. ‘I never targeted no—’

‘We’re not messing around here,’ Striker said. ‘Time is critical. And every minute that goes by endangers a cop’s life more. So here’s the deal, Eddie: we
know
you have an address for Sleeves. You give it to us, and we let you go and never say a word about this again. You don’t cough it up, and we’ll charge you with everything I
can think of – and then I’ll call Montalba myself.’

Eddie looked back, deadpan. ‘I call bluff.’

Striker fished the business card Montalba had given him out from his wallet. He held it up for Eddie to see.

‘We’re talking a cop’s life here, Eddie. Your scumbag rights don’t count for shit.’ He took out his cell and began dialling. ‘The moment this call is
answered, the deal is off.’

He put it on speakerphone, and the line began to ring.

One, two—

‘Okay, okay,
o-fucking-kay
!’ Eddie snapped. ‘For God’s sake, man, Montalba will kill me!’

‘That’s the general idea.’ Striker put the cell away. ‘Now where can we find him?’

Eddie let out a long breath, then relented. ‘House up on Lakewood. Right behind the 7-Eleven. White, with boarded-up windows.’

‘He lives there?’

‘He
stays
there with some girl. When he’s doing business. Calls it the
bunker
.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I dunno, man. Serious. He never tells no one ’bout it. He’s paranoid.’

‘Who’s the girl?’

‘I dunno. Some chick. She’s a freak. Never comes out, never talks to no one.’ Eddie shrugged. ‘Creepy, if you ask me.’

Striker changed the subject. ‘I want his cell number too.’

‘Sleeves ain’t got no cell.’

‘All dealers have a cell.’

‘Well he never gave the number to me. He got a pager instead. Like I told you, he’s friggin’ paranoid, man.’

‘Because he’s got too many enemies,’ Felicia said.

Eddie just shrugged like he didn’t much care. ‘Look, I don’t make no rules. This is just how it is. I call that number, punch in three 8s, and Sleeves brings more product. Same
amount every time – twenty dime-bags . . . We got a thing going on here, him and me.’

‘Where do you meet?’ Striker demanded.

‘Men’s room,’ he grumbled. ‘Pandora Park.’

It was not surprising. Pandora Park was a shithole.

Striker took out his notebook, got Eddie talking, and wrote down Sleeves’ address. Once done, he called for a jail pick-up. The wagon arrived five minutes later and Striker shoved Eddie
inside the compartment. The drug dealer immediately began whining.

‘We had a deal, Striker – a deal!’

Striker turned to face him. ‘I said no charges, Eddie, and there’ll be none. You’ll be released in an hour or so –
after
we catch Sleeves.’

‘Just let me go. I won’t tell him! I won’t say shit! Honest—’

Striker slammed closed the wagon door. Gave the driver the thumbs up. And the diesel engine chugged loudly as the driver headed west.

Striker returned to the undercover police cruiser. Moments later, they were driving south on Lakewood, heading towards East Pender Street. Destination: Sleeves’ hideout.

It was only a kilometre away.

‘This Sleeves is a real sicko,’ Felicia said.

Striker drove as Felicia read through the paperwork. A few blocks later, she looked up from the copies of the confidential files Ibarra had given them back in the Gang Crime Unit. The one she
was currently reading was an Intel file from back east, on the death of a seven-year-old child; the boy had been a casualty of the biker wars in Toronto.

The suspect in the bombing was Sleeves.

Seven years old.

It gave Striker a dark feeling.

‘Insufficient grounds to charge or even detain,’ Felicia continued. ‘In fact,
all
these files are only Intel.’ She read on. ‘They never found any empirical
evidence linking Sleeves to any of the bombings. It was all circumstantial.’

‘Is it the same MO as the Toy Hut?’

Felicia frowned. ‘There’s no forensic detail. Just source material. We’d need to get the actual report.’

‘Great. Add it to the list.’

Striker had never dealt with the Toronto Police Department before. Didn’t even know if they were on the PRIME system. It was yet another task they’d need to perform. He slowed down
as East Hastings Street came into view. They were getting closer to Sleeves’ basement suite now.

Felicia leaned back from the laptop.

‘Something odd here,’ she said. ‘Sleeves has a record a mile long, a charge or two for every year – except for a twelve-month period where he just plain disappears off
the system. Not one report on PRIME or LEIP or PIRS. Nothing.’

‘Check the Coronet system. Maybe he was in jail.’

‘I did, he wasn’t.’

‘Something must have happened,’ Striker said. ‘Guys like him don’t take holidays. Maybe he was out of the country. Or in hiding.’

She looked over at him. ‘Maybe we should call in the Emergency Response Team on this one.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Why not?’

‘First, they’re not needed – we’re not going in, he’s coming out. And second, the moment we bring in ERT, we lose control of the file. They’ll call in a
negotiator, and the only one on right now is Acting Deputy Chief Laroche. And we’ve been over that before – Laroche is the last person we want involved with this file. If that happens,
we’ll lose all ownership of the investigation. Not to mention everyone will know – and that includes Harry and Koda.’

Felicia persisted. ‘We at least need a cover unit.’

Striker agreed. ‘I’m fine with that. Let’s get one. But don’t forget, we’re not here to arrest Sleeves – we don’t have enough evidence for that.
We’re just gonna put the heavy on the man.’

‘What about everything you overheard Harry and Koda talking about?’

Striker shrugged. ‘What about it? It’s already dubious; you even said that yourself. And it will be nothing but hearsay in court. Harry and Koda are sure as hell never gonna admit to
anything. You and I both know they’re up to something here, be it a cover-up, revenge, or even their own personal investigation. But we got no real proof of that yet. We got to play this one
smoothly
.’

Felicia relented. She finished reading Sleeves’ CNI page – the Criminal Name Index – and a bemused laugh escaped her lips. ‘Here’s something we can use against him.
He got a bench warrant for traffic tickets. We can threaten to make him pay his fines.’

A smile stretched Striker’s lips.

‘That is perfect,’ he said.

Felicia frowned at him. ‘I was only joking, Jacob. You don’t have to be sarcastic.’

But Striker kept smiling.

‘I’m not being sarcastic,’ he said. ‘Those aren’t just traffic tickets Sleeves has got – they’re
wild cards
.’

Felicia put them out on a Violent Offender Check in the two thousand block of East Pender Street. The information Lucky Eddie had given them was straightforward. Sleeves was
hiding out in the basement suite of a small house that sat just behind the 7-Eleven store.

White house. East end of Pender. North side.

The house was distinguishable because Sleeves had taped black plastic garbage bags over the bedroom window in order to block out the glare from the nearby street lamp.

Once Striker and Felicia had located the suite and the corresponding window, they went to the rear of the house in case Sleeves unexpectedly exited the premises. The position was adequate at
best. With the midday sun blasting down from above, there was little shadow for concealment.

Striker got on his cell and called up Niles Quaid, a ten-year Patrol vet who was working the dayshift plainclothes car. Striker had known Quaid for years – he was a good cop who did good
work and could keep his mouth shut. Over the phone, Striker filled him in on the situation, stressing that everything was off the record. Within five minutes, Quaid and his partner arrived on scene
to assist.

Striker obtained an Ops channel from Dispatch, then they set up.

He and Felicia moved to the rear lane. While keeping cover behind the detached garage, Striker assessed the yard. It was small and open with nowhere that could be called proper cover. Even more
problematic was the entrance to the suite. To reach it, one had to cross a long, open walkway, then descend a narrow set of stairs that were sandwiched in by two concrete walls.

‘It’s a perfect trap,’ Felicia said.

Striker agreed. There was absolutely no cover should a gun battle erupt.

With Sleeves justly paranoid and already on the lookout for gang rivals, Striker was concerned about the man shooting first and asking questions later. And judging from the various police files
they’d read in the different systems, this had been his standard MO over the years.

‘He got any vehicles?’ Striker asked.

Felicia looked inside the garage. The window was dirty and hard to see through. She rubbed the pane clean with her elbow. Inside was an old Jeep 4x4 with a cracked windshield. The angle made the
licence plate unreadable.

‘Might be his vehicle,’ she said. ‘I better take up a position here in case.’

Striker looked down Lakewood Street. ‘Fine. I’ll take the east side of the house, in case he takes off on foot.’

He gave Felicia a hard stare.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘No messing around with this guy. He’s too dangerous. Just take him down and take him down
hard
.’