“Lazhites’ syooda,” she replied.

“What did you say?”

“Lay down over here.”

“That sounds real good to me!”

The next afternoon Jack and Laura watched as the Russians left their apartment and got into a waiting limousine-styled taxi. They followed them to a location on the west end of Vancouver where the Russians had the limo wait as they went into a store. Laura stayed in the car while Jack took a portable police radio and went on foot.

Jack returned a few minutes later just as the Russians were returning to the limo.

Jack grinned at Laura and said, “They popped into a store called West Marine. They were asking for marine charts for around Seattle. The clerk said they didn’t carry any for Puget Sound. They only carried charts for places north of the forty-ninth.”

“They’re looking for a place to bring a boat in,” said Laura.

“Definitely. Our friend wouldn’t help them with the Vancouver Port so now they’re checking other possibilities.”

“Seattle!” said Laura. “Are they nuts? With what’s going on in the world these days I wouldn’t want to get caught smuggling something into that area. The Americans are liable to shoot first without ever asking any questions.”

Jack’s call to the DEA came up empty. He looked at Laura and said, “They’ve never heard of them. If something crops up, they said they’d call.”

“You two!” said Quaile. “Are they not paying you enough?”

Jack looked up to see Quaile standing in the open doorway. He had his hands on his hips and was staring at the both of them.

“My salary is adequate,” replied Jack.

“Then tell me why you’ve worn the same tie for three days in a row? Not to mention your shirt looks like you’ve slept in it! Laura, you’re not much better. With Jack, somehow I’m not surprised, but with you, I am very disappointed.”

Quaile stared briefly at Laura. If he was expecting to see a look of embarrassment he didn’t. Her look was that of utter contempt.

“I can only imagine that you are being unduly influenced,” he added. “From now on, and until I say otherwise, I want to see the both of you in my office at o-eight-hundred every morning. If you’re not suitably attired, or look shoddy in any way, I’ll send you home to change. You got that?”

“Come on, Staff,” said Jack. “We’ve been doing a lot of surveillance. Bound to get a few wrinkles. Sorry about the tie. I’ll increase my wardrobe, but ...”

“But nothing! Looking sharp is critical to success.”

“I was going to say,” continued Jack, “that the criminals we work on don’t work eight to four shifts—let alone wear suits and ties.”

“That is another thing! I’ve seen your reports. You’re working on a pair of Russians that have no criminal history and who aren’t doing anything.”

“They’re also connected to a Vietnamese gang,” said Jack, “who have a criminal history of ...”

“Half of which are children! My God! It’s me that has to sign off on the bottom of your reports. I’m embarrassed to be sending them forward.”

“Children are being used,” said Jack, assertively. “All the more reason to nail these guys for turning these kids in the first place.”

Quaile stared blankly at him.

“You must admit,” continued Jack, “you’re relatively new to this section. Give us a chance. We’ll get results and then you’ll see the bigger picture. You’ll understand how the tentacles of organized crime work.”

Quaile acted like he didn’t hear. “Eight o’clock tomorrow morning!”

“Staff, you’re being obtuse,” said Jack, louder than he had intended. “Laura and I are working our asses off here. We don’t need ...”

“Obtuse!” sputtered Quaile, before turning on his heel and retreating back to his office.

“Well, I think that went well, don’t you?” said Laura quietly after he left.

“I’m not sure,” replied Jack, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps it’s that sixth sense I’ve developed as an operator, but I have a feeling that he wasn’t entirely happy with us.”

“I sort of detected that, too. Any suggestions? Box of chocolates or something?”

“I was thinking more of throwing a shovel in the trunk and looking for a cemetery.”

“Shoot, shovel, and shut up,” commented Laura.

Jack sighed and said, “I’ve seen his type before. All he wants is to climb the corporate ladder. He won’t be here long. Try and humour him. With his background in Commercial Crime, it may take a while to educate him.”

“I think you’re giving him too much credit.”

“We’ll get results soon. That should open his eyes and give him perspective.”

Laura made a fist and said, “I think I’d rather shut his eyes.”

Hang watched fearfully as Pops entered the room. He smiled when he saw her eyes dart from the cardboard box back to him.

“That’s right,” he said. “This is your first red-circle day—but every red-circle day will be different.” Pops lit the propane heater for the first time. Within seconds, Hang could feel the heat start to engulf the room.

Pops peered in the cardboard box. He glanced at Hang and smiled. She heard the sound of metal objects as his hand moved around inside the box. He took out five candles and placed them around the room while lighting them.

Hang stared at him when he flicked off the lights. His eyes glimmered as shadows danced across his face from the glow of the candles and the heater.

Without a word, he disappeared back out into the passageway, only to return a few seconds later carrying a circular cardboard carton. Hang did not need to ask what was inside it. The smell of fried chicken permeated every corner of the room and she immediately began to salivate.

Pops handed her the carton. On top were paper napkins and she tossed them aside and tore the lid off, grabbing the chicken with her hands and eating as fast as she could.

Pops sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and said, “It is all yours. Eat as much as you like. Take your time, there are fries in there as well.”

Hang continued to eat, but soon found that she was full. Her stomach had shrunk and the food soon gave her cramps.

“Wipe your hands on the napkin.”

Hang did as instructed.

“It is too hot in here now,” said Pops as he got up and shut the heater off. “Much too hot,” he said, taking off his shirt to expose his bare chest as he strut back across the room.

He smiled down at Hang while slowly flexing one bicep at a time before sitting down beside her. She felt his hand on the back of her head and tensed as he drew her toward him.

“You will kiss me now,” he said. “On my stomach ... just below my belly button.”

Hang nodded obediently and put her head down, grabbing a fold of skin around his navel with her hand, before sinking her teeth into it.

Pops roared, punching her on the side of the head and knocking her over as he leapt to his feet.

“You filthy little bitch!” he screamed, kicking her in the stomach. “You do not appreciate my generosity!” he yelled.

Hang was too frightened to notice the blood dripping from her ear as she curled up in a ball on the mattress before vomiting.

Pops turned on the light and then extinguished the candles before throwing them back in the box. He left the room, only to return with a pair of pliers.

chapter eight

Early one afternoon Jack and Laura followed the Russians as they left their apartment building and walked a few blocks to a pay phone. Moustache Pete gestured to the phone and reached into his pocket and looked at his change. Fat Man did likewise and pointed at a nearby confectionary.

“This could be good,” said Jack. “Pay phone call instead of using their cell. They’re up to something.”

“It’s too deserted there to stand nearby and listen,” noted Laura. “They’d make us.”