Live Bait Page 5

  The mechanic moved from foot to foot, uncertainly, then turned back to Tony and laid the money back on the table. The bodyguard started to bluster but he just pointed at me and said nothing. Then he gave them a quick shrug of apology and went out. I could hear him taking the stairs, two at a time. I sat down again. I was in the middle of the floor, not the best spot for security but my hearing was trained in a tougher school than this. I figured I'd hear anybody sneaking up on me.

  Another man borrowed money and I went through the same routine. This guy was younger and more sure of himself. "You ain't scaring me," he said. I shrugged and sipped my beer. "Suit yourself. I can just tell you there's two guys in hospital right now over them. One of them had his throat cut with a piece of window glass."

  That convinced him. He swore, short and ugly, then turned around. "There's other places to get money," he said. He replaced the money on the table and left. Tony snapped his fingers for the waiter, the same one who had earned the fin the previous night. He bent over to listen, then went back to the bar and put his tray down. He came up to me as tough as he could manage. He didn't like this work one bit. "You gotta leave, you're drunk."

  "I'm cold sober and I'm staying. Call a cop if you've got a problem. Or maybe your fink friends don't want any cops in here."

  He licked his dry lips. "Look, I don't want trouble any more'n you. But I gotta tell you there's a sawed off pool cue behind the bar."

  I nodded to the bodyguard who was sitting hunched, to ease the tension on his sore stomach. "Ask your buddy what happened to the last couple of guys who tried that." I don't like playing Clint Eastwood but there wasn't any other way of getting at Tony.

  The waiter hesitated. I could see he was pricing out the chance of a beating. Would it be worth the big tips? Would they stop anyway? He decided against doing anything rash. Instead he called over his shoulder to the man on the taps. This was the typical beerhall bouncer, six-foot two maybe, but thirty-five pounds heavier than me, most of it under his apron. I guessed he'd made himself a name for sorting out fights. But I also guessed he did it carefully, waiting until a few swings had been taken and the battlers had decided it was all a mistake before he moved in. He was no menace.

  "You. Out." He hooked with his thumb, like a baseball umpire. I ignored him, except for bringing my feet up in front of me, ready to dig in and move on him if he tried anything. I didn't have to worry. He made the predictable move, digging a stiff forefinger into my breastbone. I caught it in my left hand and rolled the heel of my hand down on the knuckle joint, bringing him crashing to his knees.

  He swore but knelt still as I spoke quietly. "I'm just sitting here having a beer. If I choose to talk to the other customers, there's no law says I can't. Tell that to your complainant."

  I let go of his finger and he stood up, backing off a pace. The word "complainant" had triggered him.

  "You a p'lice off'cer?"

  "Yes." No need telling him my patch was two hundred miles north, he didn't need to know.

  "Why'nt you say so, off'cer. That's different. Can I send you over a beer."

  "No thanks. But I'd like to buy you one."

  Give him credit, he was quick-witted enough to be the gracious loser. "That'd be good," he said and shook his sore finger. "That's quite a trick. Where'd you learn that?"

  I could have told him Parris Island, from a crop-headed veteran of Iwo Jima. Instead I just laughed and said, "Yeah, it works, eh. Remember it in case some smartass tries prodding you."

  He walked back to the bar, giving the waiter a minute head signal to follow him. That left me alone with my beer. Tony watched in pure hatred. After another minute he got up, making a point of spilling his drink so it ran over a couple of chairs. He and his bodyguard marched out, and I fell in behind them, close enough to annoy, far enough away to be out of reach of a kick.

  Tony stopped at the head of the stairs inside the main door. His bodyguard stopped beside him and turned to me, holding his coat far enough open that I could see he was carrying. I clomped up beside them, angled so they couldn't kick, ready to sweep George across the collarbone if he went for his equalizer. "I hope your date has a license for that thing or he could end up inside," I told him.

  "All the license he needs, workin' for me," Tony said. "Now are you gonna take a hike or are we gonna hurt you?"

  "Tell you what…" I slapped my hands together explosively and the muscleman flinched. "I'll be happy to leave you to take care of business in the usual way, if you'll spare me one minute of your time."

  Tony swore and I shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you won't make much money unless you do. I can tag along wherever you go."

  The bodyguard pulled his coat open again but I ignored the movement, he wasn't going to use a gun in public. Private, probably, but not here, where witnesses could come in any time. "Get rid of him," I told Tony. "This isn't going to take long."

  He dismissed the bodyguard in a low hiss. "Go warm up the car, George. I'll be out in a minute."

  George looked at him, then me, then lowered his head like a schoolboy caught cheating on his exam and went through the door.

  A couple of new customers came in, middle-aged men in tweed jackets with cloth caps and mufflers. Limeys, I thought, keeping my eye on Tony who had his hands in his pockets and was acting bored. The men went down the steps talking about the Blizzards, the local soccer team, in accents that reminded me of my father. But my mind stayed on business.

  "Right. I want one answer to one question and I'm through bugging." Tony just stared at me and I went on. "Who got you to send those guys to beat up the Bonded Security guards, Kennie and Hudson?"

  He responded as I had expected. "I dunno what you're talkin' about."

  "Think hard," I told him easily. "Kennie is the little waster who came after me last night. Night before that, him and some other gorilla went for me on a Bonded Security construction site on Shuter Street. The night before that they beat up another guard. It doesn't matter why, I just want to know who asked you to send them."

  He didn't answer but he didn't move away. I put some more pressure on. "I don't care about your part in it. I don't care how many six for fives you kite out. I don't care how many thumbs you break collecting. But I want that name and I'll stick to you like snot to an army blanket until you give it to me."

  Like a lot of smalltime hoods he was not a smart man. I could almost hear the wheels cranking over in his head as he considered the alternatives. He already knew I wouldn't scare off. He was probably under pressure to keep his loan volume up. On the other hand, you don't give free information to a cop, not about men who pay to have other men smashed up. At last he spoke. "Now, I don't know what in hell you're smokin', thinkin' I got anything to do with some guy's head gettin' kicked in, but if I happened to hear somethin' and let you know, that would be it, right?"

  "That would be it, dearheart."

  "Yeah, well, I did hear some talk." He leant forward as if to whisper but I didn't bite. He was looking to headlock me and knee me somewhere sensitive.

  "We're all alone, you can speak right up," I said.

  He sighed and his shoulders dropped. It looked studied, as if he had picked it up watching those interchangeable heroes on TV. Finally he said, "Okay, asshole. The guy you're lookin' for is a lawyer, name of Cy Straight."

  "Is he in the phone book?"

  "Should be. He's got an office on Bay near King, one o' them bank buildings."

  "Did he give you any reason?"

  Tony drew himself back and held up his hands, the way Pontius Pilate must have done, palms outwards. "Our deal was a name. You got your name, right?"

  "Right," I told him. "See you around."

  He stood for perhaps a minute, waiting for me to walk away back downstairs but I'd seen enough of him to be careful in his company and I stayed put until he sighed and did his shoulder-drop again and left.

  Chapter 8

  I didn't follow him. George could have been waiting outside with his ti
re iron and I was sick of getting swung at. Instead I went the other way, into the cocktail lounge on the main floor. I ordered a bottle of Labatt's Classic and asked if I could use the phone. The barman nodded to the end of the bar. "Help yourself."

  Fullwell's wife answered and I introduced myself. She told me "Simon's asleep, he's going in at midnight, is there a message?"

  "Tell him, please, that I have a name for him. And I'll see him at his office a little before twelve, thank you."

  I finished my beer before leaving. I was still up from my small victory, it took us another step closer to finding out what was going on. I knew it would be harder to get this lawyer to open up but we could play that as we found it. Maybe Fullwell's boss had connections he could use. In the meantime, my work was done until the night shift started.

  It was dark when I left the bar, going out of the side door, carefully. Tony's car was nowhere around and I walked to mine and got in. Sam was in the back seat and I spent a moment patting him and telling him he was a good boy. He's all the family I've got up at the Harbour, but tonight I was heading home to my sister's place and I felt cheered by the prospect of a family evening.

  She lives in the north end of the city, one of those cross streets that run off Yonge, where bankers and insurance brokers used to live thirty years ago. Since then the district has been taken over twice, first by upwardly mobile Greeks and Italians, then by a new generation of WASPs who bought up the old houses and painted them pastel colors and planted magnolias in the front yards.

  Louise was watching TV when I got to her place. She looked tired. Her ex was a TV producer for the advertising agency where she used to work as a copywriter. After eight years of marriage he had taken a tumble for some model he'd met while filming a brassiere commercial. After a year of wrangling that ended when I had a nice brotherly talk to him about responsibilities, he had given Louise the house and moved in permanently with his girlfriend. Louise had gone back to copywriting, and with long hours at the agency and playing single parent she had her hands full.

  She got up when I came in and clicked off the set. "Hi, Reid, can I get you a beer?" I guess I can say it, even though she's my sister, she's a looker. She has Mother's black hair and Dad's blue eyes and she's two years younger than me. I didn't figure she would be alone for too long but she tells me straight guys willing to take on a couple of kids are a rarity in Toronto, she's not having any more luck with relationships than I am.

  "Cup of coffee would do me more good. I have to go out again later."

  "Okay, I'll put the kettle on." I followed her out and sat at the counter while she brewed up, enjoying the domesticity. She nagged me gently as the kettle boiled. "You don't get enough sleep," she said. "You ought to take a whole night off sometimes."

  "Maybe I will. I made some real progress today. I just have to fill some people in and then I'll come home, unless they want me to prowl around their sites for them again."

  She put the coffee in front of me. "Yeah. Well take care. Nobody can live forever on nerves and work. Okay?"

  I winked at her and after a while we watched TV and then she went to bed and I drove down to the Bonded office.

  Fullwell was there with a coffee and a map of the city with flags on it at the points that Bonded Security was covering. He waved and blew smoke. "Hey, Reid, Barbara told me you got a name."

  I sat and put my size elevens on his desk which was war-surplus oak veneer, like the one in my police station. He winced and pushed a coaster at me. I stuck it under my heel. "Tony opened up like an oyster. Tells me the word came from a high-priced lawyer down on Bay Street, man by the name of Cy Straight."

  Fullwell frowned. "Just like that? Or did you have to play rough."

  "Just handed it to me, on a plate, just for being underfoot while he was trying to do business." And as I said it I realized what had been in the back of my mind the whole time. "It was a touch too easy," I added.

  We sat and looked at one another without focussing, wondering why a slippery character like Tony would break Rule One of the jungle he lived in and talk to the law, in any form. "You thinking what I'm starting to think?" I asked.

  Fullwell said, "Well, I hate to rap on a free melon, but you wouldn't expect anything for nothing from a loan shark, would you?"

  I yawned. "No, I wouldn't. He must have something of his own in mind—he's sure not doing it because he likes me. Anyway, do you have any idea who Straight is?"

  "Never heard of him." Fullwell coughed and beat his butt to death in an ashtray that already held too many of them. "He could be a partner in some big outfit downtown. I'll get on the phone in the morning."

  "It wouldn't hurt to go and see him, feel the vibrations," I suggested.

  "No, it wouldn't. But I'll brief the boss first. We're skating close to the edge on this one. If this guy's a wheel he can shout harassment and cause trouble. The boss has to know."

  "Why not, he draws the big dollar." I was wondering what else Fullwell had in mind for me. I was enjoying the investigation after a leisurely summer at the Harbour. It was good to be part of a team again, even an unofficial team like this one. He filled me in.

  "I'm worried they're going to keep the pressure on," he said. "And there's too many security companies in town for us to be able to keep on taking falls. It'll put us out of business if we can't do our job properly."

  "So you want to run some surveillance?" It wouldn't be hard, I figured: a night spent driving from one site to another, finishing around four a.m. Punks like the two I'd caught don't work really late.

  He stood up and indicated his map. Toronto is split neatly in two by Yonge Street, which is pronounced "young" and is in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's longest street. It happened that the Bonded sites were divided almost equally, east and west. Fullwell indicated the colored flags. "We've got forty-seven fulltime sites, plus a couple of casuals that we hit once or twice a night. If we divide the sites we might just get around them by morning. Are you up to it?"

  "Sure, you can take the extra one. And, because I'm a nice guy, I'll let you take Sam with you, he'll run interference in case anybody wants to play rough."

  Fullwell looked at me gratefully. "I'd appreciate that. I'm not handy like you are with your karate or whatever."

  I didn't correct him but I don't know karate. What I am is a well-trained scrambler, versed in the unarmed combat techniques they teach in the U.S. Marines. I can hold my own against any untrained brawler but I'm no match for a classically trained martial artist. But most people don't understand subtleties. If you hit anybody hard enough they call it either karate or kung fu. I've given up arguing.

  "I left him in my car." I stood up. "Come on down with me and I'll turn him over to you, and give you the proper words of command. He's one hell of a good dog, but he's not a machine. You need to know the rules."

  "Great," Fullwell said. "I'm not chicken but I don't like this." He picked up his hat off the top of a filing cabinet and placed it on his head as carefully as if it were a crown, then opened his desk drawer. "This is a list of the addresses, I had it typed up ready. You take the East end, I'll take the West, some of the spots out there are hard to find first time."

  We went out, past the same girl, reading a new paperback with openmouthed concentration. I ordered Sam to go with Fullwell. He wasn't happy about it, but he's perfectly trained, if I do say so, and he went without a whimper. Then I briefed Fullwell thoroughly on commands and left, driving out to the first of my sites.

  I had a hunch that any trouble that occurred would be on their in-town sites. Most of the other locations were remote enough that a lone car cruising up and stopping nearby would be conspicuous. If the guard was alert he could see it and call for support right away. The exceptions were a few warehouses, like the one that had been hit the night before. The car could arrive out of sight of the guard and an intruder could come close without being noticed. I decided to concentrate on these spots, plus in-town places where someone could w
alk up without being seen. Towards morning I would take a quick pass at the others.

  I went first to the plant where the Sikh had been hit. The guy inside was a middle-aged loser, happy to have any kind of job. He sirred me to death so I figured he'd been in the army at one time. But he was fine. So were the next couple of guards I visited. I told them all the same thing. Watch for action on the perimeter, cars driving up, lone men coming close to the fence. And keep alert! Most of them had access to weapons of some crude kind, crowbars or boards, and I advised them to have something handy. They're not much use against a trained fighter but they would deter the kind of cheap hoods I'd collected on the construction site.

  And then I went to that site. By now it was after two. I was listening to Charlie Pride on the country music station and was relaxed, but when I got to the gate and left the car the cool September air woke me up properly as I let myself in.

  The patrol hut was empty. There were two lunch-pails there so I realized that Fullwell had doubled up the coverage this night. I went and stood outside for a moment but nobody challenged me, so I took out my big flashlight but didn't turn it on and started around the circuit I'd made the first night.

  While I was in Nam I learned about night patrols, the hard way. As a result I can move like an Indian, with no sound. My eyes snap into night vision quicker than most people's so I don't need the flashlight. And that's how I came up on the two guards before anybody heard me. I heard them first, one of them anyway, he was groaning. I stopped in my tracks and checked all around, at ground level and above me, on top of the machinery and shack that stood there. I couldn't see anything or hear anything else. So I flicked on the light and saw the two men, muddy and bloodied, lying in the frozen, accidental postures of corpses or the critically wounded. Then I heard a sudden padding of feet, running. I followed the sound on tiptoe, around the end of the shack in time to see a couple of men at the fence, scrambling up it hand over hand.

  That was when I missed Sam. He would have covered the thirty yards between me and the fence in time to jump and hold on to the leg of one of those men. But I was too slow. In the four seconds it took me they had rolled over the wire and dropped cleanly to the other side. They didn't look back but I got an impression of neatness, of suits and white shirts and dark hair. Then a car, a late model Olds Toronado, pulled up and let them in without putting on the inside light. I was at the fence by that time but the light was out on the rear license plate and I swore and threw a rock after them. It landed twenty yards behind them. If they were bothering to look back they probably had a laugh over that.