“Copy that,” replied Laura in his place. “They’re likely referring to the chemicals they need.”

“They could be leaving soon,” replied Connie. She waited a moment for a response, but there was nothing but silence. “This is it,” she lamented over the radio. “Tonight is our last chance. At midnight we have to pull the plug.” She waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. “Jack? You there?” she asked.

Laura answered and said, “Jack left. You should hear his fist pound on their door any second.”

As if on cue, Connie heard a loud thump over the recorder, followed by Zack’s nervous whisper to Varrick, “Who the fuck is that?”

Connie let out an involuntary gasp as her stomach constricted. Her lungs froze and her mouth unconsciously dropped open as she strained to listen.

Chapter Eight

Several anxious seconds ticked past and Connie stared at the silent recorder. Is it working? Moments later, the sound of footsteps told her that it was.

“Who is it?” came Varrick’s voice. “Who’s there?”

Dead silence was followed by the sound of Varrick slowly opening the door.

“There’s nobody here,” he said. “What the fuck! Look what’s hangin’ on the knob!”

“A gold fuckin’ cross?” responded Zack.

Connie heard the door knob rattle slightly before the door was closed again.

“There’s a piece of paper tied to it,” said Zack.

“A fuckin’ gold cross,” muttered Varrick, sounding bewildered.

“Someone’s yankin’ our chain over that dead priest!”

“His was real gold,” replied Varrick. “This is painted wood.”

“Who the fuck put it on the doorknob? Read the note.”

Connie heard a rustle of paper and Varrick said, “God knows what you did and is waiting …” Varrick started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Zack.

“Cocktail is fuckin’ with us.”

“You see him out there?”

“No, but who else could it be?” answered Varrick.

“I thought he wasn’t gonna show up until another couple of days,” replied Zack.

“Come on,” laughed Varrick. “There’s nobody else it could be. It’s him, fuckin’ with us.”

“Then why isn’t he comin’ in to laugh at us?”

“Probably will in a few minutes.”

“Cocktail, you fuckin’ bastard,” grumbled Zack. “Man, what a fuckin’ night that was,” he added.

“Your fault for breakin’ the glassware,” said Varrick.

“It was you who cracked the door open for fresh air,” replied Zack.

“I didn’t know a fuckin’ nosy priest would be outside listening,” answered Varrick.

“He wasn’t listening when we saw him. Too busy talking to God.”

Varrick chuckled, but his voice became serious when he added, “Good thing Cocktail came along.”

“I guess,” replied Zack. “He wasn’t laughin’ then. Fuckin’ near shit when we helped drag him in by the ankles.”

“He’s gotta be laughin’ at us. Come on, let’s go find him. We’re done here, anyway.”

Connie closed her eyes for a moment. Jack, you did it. Split this case wide open.

Jack answered his BlackBerry and listened to Connie’s excited and happy voice as she relayed what had transpired.

“Bad news,” said Jack. “I don’t know anyone with the nickname of Cocktail.”

“You don’t? Crap … well, I’m sure we will. Man … fantastic! Don’t worry. With what we got tonight I won’t have any problem getting the wire renewed. They said Cocktail is coming by in a couple of days. Jack, I’m so happy I could kiss your sweet little ass.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t think Natasha would,” said Jack, chuckling. “Also, it looks like we’ve got movement. Targets are leaving.”

“Maybe they’re going to meet with Cocktail,” suggested Connie.

“Maybe. Or someone will. The problem is what will they do when they find out it wasn’t Cocktail who hung the crucifix on their door?”

“Who cares?” replied Connie. “With what we’ve got on wire, this case is basically solved. Especially if we can lay a conspiracy charge. All we need is to identify Cocktail. Maybe tonight we’ll do that, too.”

Surveillance continued. Varrick retrieved his truck and went to Zack’s apartment building where Zack parked and got in with Varrick before driving to Headstones.

“I don’t like this,” said Jack as he and Laura parked in their usual spot to watch.

“Maybe they’re chatting with Cocktail,” suggested Laura. “If we scoop the plates, we might identify him tonight. What’s the worry?”

“The bikers kept these guys on ice a long time before deciding to set up another lab. I think they were protecting someone. Maybe Cocktail.”

“So? Your point being?”

“If Cocktail is really valuable, they wouldn’t risk having him go to Headstones. With what happened, Satans Wrath could be looking at Varrick and Zack as loose ends.”

“Oh, man.”

“Exactly.”

Numerous vehicles came and went from Headstones. Jack and Laura snuck around on foot and identified several licence plates belonging to prospective members of Satans Wrath as well as numerous other criminals. None were associated with any name or occupation that would warrant the nickname of Cocktail.

It was four o’clock in the morning when the lights went out at Headstones. Varrick’s truck remained parked.

“Maybe Zack decided to spend the night,” said Laura hopefully.

“Above ground or below, is the question,” replied Jack.

It was ten o’clock the next morning when Jack’s question was answered. He arrived at work and saw a computer message saying that a Detective Wilson with the Vancouver Police Department had checked Varrick and Zack for criminal records earlier that morning.

Previously, Jack had entered Varrick and Zack on the Canadian Police Information Centre computer. The CPIC entry was done in a manner so that whoever checked the names would not know Jack was interested, but a message would be sent to Jack advising him of who checked the names. It would be up to Jack’s discretion as to whether to inquire further. He decided to call.

“Homicide, Wilson,” answered a gruff voice.

Jack identified himself, already knowing what he was about to hear. “I got a silent hit on CPIC,” he said. “You ran two names this morning.”

“Herman Varrick and David Zacharias,” said Wilson.

“Both murdered?”

“Yup, I think it was murder,” replied Wilson. “Both found dead in an alley off of East Hastings about two hours ago. Time of death was about six hours earlier.”

“Shot?”

“Nope. Looks like heroin overdoses. A needle was still in Varrick’s hand. The thing is, neither had any tracks. Needles wasn’t their thing. You got something that can help us, one way or the other?”

Jack sighed. Do I tell them that it was me who got them killed? “Um, in my opinion it was not accidental,” replied Jack.

“Can you elaborate a little? Christ, if you’re right, we’re talking a double homicide here. Shit-rats or not, this landed on my desk. I want to solve it.”

“They were associated with Satans Wrath —”

“Shit,” said Wilson.

“And were in the process of setting up a meth lab,” continued Jack. “I think the bikers may have clued in that we were on to them.”

“So Satans Wrath severed the connection to protect themselves. Typical.”

“You got it. Varrick and Zack are … were of interest to I-HIT for another murder. I’ll get Connie Crane to call you and fill you in. She’s the lead investigator.”

Jack barely hung up the phone when it rang. It was Connie.

“Hey, Jack. Good going last night. How late did you sit on them?”

“The lights went out at Headstones at four this morning.”

“Zack stayed over too, did he?” noted Connie.

“His lights went out permanently around two. Same for Varrick.”

“This is all great,” said Connie, still filled with enthusiasm and not really listening. “I already spoke with PPSC. We’ll get an extension on our wire.”