The Specter (11 page)

Why would Angela ask to transfer him? Maybe the prettiest woman in law enforcement in Toronto had the hots for him. Maybe she wanted to work closer so she could get to know him better. The idea pleased him, but could it be true?

He had been single far too long. Courting Angela would be a treat, sleeping with her, a dream.

His phone rang, breaking his reverie.

“Hello?”

“Angela here.” She was all business. “You don’t have Aaron with you, do you?”

Shit!
“No.”

“Called him?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is he? Did he say he was on his way to the station?”

“No, he …”

“I know where he is,” Angela stated.

“You do?”

“Yeah. How close are you to the House of Lancaster strip club on The Queensway? Not the one on Bloor.”

“Very close. Maybe eight minutes out. Why?”

“I had one of my guys pull up everything they could on the bodies at Casa Loma. We knew that Jan and Joanne both worked at the House. So did Nancy Demeers. They all went missing on the same night, am I right?”

“No, the Demeers woman is new. I don’t have a case file on her. Jan and Joanne, I did.”

“Okay, whatever. They all worked together and we just got a call that patrol cars are being sent over to the House. Someone is breaking the place up.”

“Breaking the place up?”

“Yeah, apparently a waitress called from her cell phone and said that three guys walked in just before nine tonight and beat up the bouncers. Some high-flying gymnastic karate stuff. They’re trying to get the DJ to order everyone out of the building. The DJ had the mic open and the waitress was on with the dispatcher at 911 when someone said that they would huff and puff and blow the place down if his demands weren’t met. But you know the best part?”

Folley started his car and set his café mocha in the coffee holder, already knowing Aaron was the one
breaking
the place up. The same Aaron who owned his own karate dojo. The same Aaron who just lost his sister, who worked at the House of Lancaster and wasn’t coming in when the detective handling the case called him. “What’s the best part?”

“The waitress said she recognized one of the guys.”

Folley moved into traffic and started toward the House of Lancaster, his foot crushing the pedal. “Who is it? Aaron Stevens?”

Angela continued as if he didn’t speak. “She told the dispatcher that it was the same guy who went to the club that morning looking for his sister, Joanne Stevens. That tells me that Aaron wants revenge. How soon before you can get there? We need this guy. We need to know why he was at the airport this morning too. My gut tells me he may have something to do with all this.”

Your gut would be wrong, Angela. He’s just pissed off.

“I’m less than five minutes out,” Folley said, hitting the siren and the lights as he disconnected the phone.

No, Angela wasn’t romantically inclined toward him. No, she had no interest. Folley felt like a fool for thinking otherwise. He was her go-to guy. Her lackey.

He slammed the pedal down harder as his anger at the thought that she would even be interested in him made him ashamed at how high school he felt.

“You’re a fucking dick, Folley.”

He also wondered how she made homicide, deducing Aaron as a suspect without having met him.

Unless she brought him up in the system and saw his attempted murder charge from six weeks ago.

Chapter 13

The bouncer struggled in Aaron’s grasp, but Aaron held firm.

“How many customers are left?” Aaron asked.

The DJ looked through his rectangular window into the club. “No one left that I can see. Just the guys you came in with and three sleeping bouncers.”

“Good,” Aaron said, then leaned in close to the ear of the man he still held. “Are you going to direct me to the owner of this fine establishment or do I have to start breaking bones?”

“The owner …” the bouncer managed and then choked. Aaron let up on his bicep. The man breathed in deep and then continued. “The owner isn’t here. He’s rarely here at this hour.”

“Then you can tell me what I want to know.” Aaron lifted his head up and to the side. “Everything okay out there?” he shouted.

“Yeah. We’re all good,” Daniel called back.

Aaron reasoned that Daniel probably brought his bouncer into the main area to stay close to the rest of them after all the customers had filed out and he had locked the back door to the club.

“Tell me,” Aaron said to the bouncer. “What happened three nights ago?”

“I have no idea—”

Aaron cut him off with a violent pull of his arm, the man’s air tube all but shut down. He didn’t gag or choke as air couldn’t move in or out. The man’s face reminded Aaron of a fish gasping on the dock. Both of the bouncer’s meaty arms clung to Aaron’s forearm, but in his current lock on the guy’s neck, no amount of force could budge it.

“Wrong answer,” Aaron said.

The DJ moved away from his music panel.

Aaron turned fast and addressed the wiry man. “Don’t!”

The DJ stopped.

“Sit!” Aaron ordered through clenched teeth as he released the airway of the man in his arms. The DJ dropped and sat in the corner of his little booth. The man in Aaron’s arms coughed and gagged until he got his breathing back under control.

Something loud banged in the bar area.

“What was that?” Aaron yelled. He couldn’t have this fall apart. He needed to stay anonymous because he knew this wouldn’t go over well if his attempted murder trial jury heard about him attacking a strip club and using his obvious talents, yet again, to subdue and hurt members of the public. It would frighten the jury to have him on the street.

“Nothing,” Daniel answered. “We found a waitress in the bathroom. She’s cool now.”

“Okay.”

Aaron forced down a gag at the smell coming off the large bouncer.

Of all the customers they ordered out of the building, one of them would have called the cops by now. He figured he probably had five minutes or less. He needed answers before time ran out. “Tell me what you know. Speak now, or down you go.”

“Okay, okay,” the bouncer said.

“Good boy. Start talking.”

The bouncer cleared his throat. “Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.”

Aaron increased the pressure of his grip. The bouncer fought hard, his hands clawing at Aaron’s forearm, but Aaron held firm. In less than a minute, the bouncer was out, as if sleeping off a drunk. He released him and stood.

“Your turn,” he said.

The DJ put up both hands in protest. “No, please don’t.”

“How old are you?” Aaron asked standing over the DJ.

“Nineteen.”

Aaron saw a small puddle forming under the kid.

He just pissed himself.

“Were you working three nights ago?”

The kid nodded hard and fast.

“Who was here? What happened? Did you know my sister, Joanne Stevens?”

He nodded again.

“Speak.”

“A rich man with an accent came in here looking for the Weeks brothers. He said he was their friend and said he was told by Frank Weeks to enjoy the pleasures of the dancers that the Weeks brothers used routinely. Your sister,” he leaned away, as if expecting a smack, “and Jan Elliot were always with the Weeks brothers. Both girls were bought for the week by the rich guy. As I understand it, they agreed to a price with the owner here and both dancers left with him. I heard they were taking them on a cruise or some shit.”

“What was the rich guy’s accent?”

“I think it was British.”

Somewhere at the back of the club, Aaron heard another loud crash.

“What was that?” Aaron shouted, frustration in his voice. He felt like he was all nerves. The pressure of incoming police versus the need to find out what happened to his sister made him feel heady with the rush.

“Don’t know,” Daniel shouted back. “I’ll go check it out.”

Aaron stepped away from the spreading urine. “Anything else?” he asked the DJ.

The DJ shook his head.

“Think. What else can you tell me about the rich guy?”

“Nothing. He was loaded. Dropped a lot of cash and left with the two dancers. He had, like, an entourage with him. Two mean-looking guys watching everything. That’s it.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Like I fucking know. You think I memorize everybody in and out of here?”

The kid has a point.

“Joanne’s dead now.”

The kid’s eyes widened. Then they filled with tears. “You serious, man? No way. No
fucking
way.”

“Very serious. And I think that British asshole did it. Be ready. The police are going to come asking questions because it’s a murder investigation now and not just a missing persons case—”

The DJ’s eyes moved to something behind Aaron in the doorway.

Aaron spun and dropped, his hands up, ready for anything.

He wasn’t ready for the gun in the man’s hand, or the bullets that came out of it.

Jackson followed Hugh inside the back door of the House of Lancaster, gave Hugh his weapon and stopped to set the first explosive to go off five minutes later. He figured that was enough time to deal with whoever was left inside and for him and Hugh to get out.

Then he ran to the front doors, secured them with the legs of a metal chair slid into the bars of the handle and set his second explosive, also for five minutes.

MP5 in hand, ready to fire on whoever challenged him, he turned down the short corridor that led to the main part of the club.

Hugh had been quiet and fast. He already had three guys, and a waitress on their knees, hands on their heads, lined up in front of the bar. Three large men, Jackson assumed were the bouncers, lie knocked out in different positions on the floor around the foursome. Jackson wasn’t sure if they were already knocked out or if Hugh had handled it.

Hugh motioned across the room to the DJ booth and told Jackson that he was going there and to watch the four on their knees. Jackson brought his MP5 around and aimed it at the four people who would be dead shortly. But he had to wait as Hugh wanted to surprise the men in the DJ booth. As far as he could tell, not another soul was in the strip club except for, what he could discern, at least two muffled voices coming front he DJ booth. No music played.

Hugh silently traversed the floor, scattered with chairs and tables littered with half-empty, lonely beer bottles.

Jackson watched as Hugh walked up to the door of the DJ booth and raised his gun. Hugh’s weapon began firing, but Jackson didn’t see anything more. Something smashed into the side of his head so hard, he lost his balance and lifted off the ground.

When he landed, the MP5 had fallen from his grip, his back ached and he coughed like the wind had been knocked out of him. His mind raced, trying to figure out what hit him.

The smallest of the three men who had been on the ground stood over him, smiling.

How did I not see him? I had my weapon trained on him. Who the fuck is this guy?

The little man launched off the ground and landed on Jackson hard.

All the lights of the strip club blinked out for Jackson.

Aaron moved on instinct and years of hard training. His mind had already taken in the whole DJ booth. He dove under the DJ desk, the only place to hide from an assault coming through the door. He slid into the wall under the desk, banging his shoulder hard. He didn’t care, as long as the bullets weren’t hitting him.

The young DJ wasn’t so lucky. Bullet after bullet cut into him, his body dancing on the floor. With the shooter preoccupied with the DJ, Aaron wondered for a brief second why the shooter just didn’t bend over and shoot at him. But he dismissed the idea as self preservation kicked in.

He did all that he could think of in the moment. He reached into the open and grabbed the leg of the DJ’s office chair on wheels, which sat two feet away. He maneuvered it to aim at the door and shoved it at the man with the gun. He crawled out from under the desk and dove across the floor toward the sleeping bouncer. Every second he waited for the bullets to hit him, but none came.

When he landed on the bouncer, he grabbed the large man’s arms in the strongest vice grip he could and twisted, rolling onto his back with the bouncer’s heavy body rolling on top of him for protection.

He knew his next move would only be successful if he continued with his forward momentum. He thrust his foot toward the man in the door, using the bouncer’s body as shelter.