Rain beat down in the morning. Cinq-Mars sat on the motel porch eating an egg-and-bacon sandwich on an English muffin that he’d picked up at a breakfast joint down the road. The joint’s coffee was muddy and bitter but doing the trick. He was feeling remarkably spry although by his judgment he looked hungover when he woke up and caught a glimpse in the mirror. He waited. Not for the rains to end but for Paul Lagarde to rouse himself. The man’s bike faced his door as biting sheets of rain pelted down.
When Lagarde finally emerged and readied himself for the day, he lumbered down the porch to where Cinq-Mars was sitting and stopped there. Stared out at the torrent and at the puddles surrounding his Softail Harley. ‘A man needs a boat,’ he said.
‘Take a seat,’ Cinq-Mars directed him.
‘Naw. Starving. I’ll catch you later.’
‘Sorry. My fault if I made that sound like an invitation.’
Lagarde gave him a look, chose to shrug, then slumped into the Adirondack next to Cinq-Mars. The porch overhang kept them dry.
They gazed out at the day and dark sky.
‘Last night, in town,’ Cinq-Mars told him, ‘a corrections officer was murdered. Tell me what you know about it.’
The gang member accepted the news as serious. Ramifications would have an effect.
‘Less than nothing,’ he said. ‘Why? What should I know?’
‘On the radio this morning, she’s described as SQ,’ Cinq-Mars explained. ‘Temporary leave of absence or something like that. That could be heavy news.’
With his massive hands on his thighs the man looked over at the policeman. ‘I hope you don’t think of pinning this on me.’
‘I’ll give it some thought, Mr Lagarde.’
‘I’m Mr Lagarde now?’
‘Sorry. Paul. Look, I spend time thinking things through. It’s what I do. I don’t admit this too often, but sometimes, it’s like I forget I exist. I just sit, and I think. Or lie down and think. It’s my worst trait, some say. I’m not convinced, but I get that it bugs people. Paul, hear me out. The dead woman fought back. She fought back hard. She was fierce. I need to speak to your four pals who were in here the other day.’
‘Why?’ The biker pounded a fist against his own chest. ‘Take my word. No way they were involved.’
‘Maybe so. I can account for where you were last night at the relevant hour. Also, your face is unmarked. I don’t know where the other four were or what their faces look like this morning. Whoever killed the guard had to be big, and I think it took more than one person. Whoever did it last night is marked up this morning, that’s my take. Bruises, cuts. I want to see your friends today, before they heal up if they need time for that.’
‘Like I said if you weren’t listening, it was never them.’
‘Now, Paul, can you honestly say that you’ve never lied to an officer of the law before? In declaring innocence for yourself or your friends, you have to admit, you lack credibility.’ He smiled, and the biker did, too. Lagarde gave a little tuck of his head that emulated a tip of the cap. ‘Easy to prove, anyway,’ Cinq-Mars advised him. ‘No point arguing. Show me their pretty faces. Not an invitation. I have their names from the motel register. You don’t want me tracking them down. I’ll arrive in a mood.’
Lagarde nodded solemnly this time. He seemed relieved. He leaned onto the armrest to bring himself closer to Cinq-Mars. ‘They don’t live so far away. I’ll send them around. Unless they cut themselves shaving this morning – fat chance, they got beards – they’ll pass your inspection.’
‘Good. Let’s say two o’clock. Right here. Constable Dubroc of the SQ will be on hand if I’m not. All we want to do is look at their faces and hands. Check that they’re not hobbled. Confirm their IDs. Process of elimination is all.’
‘I follow.’ Lagarde pushed himself forward to prepare to disembark from the chair. ‘Cinq-Mars, get this. I’m not spilling any lima beans here. If anybody in the outer clubs—’
‘The satellites, you mean.’
‘That’s who I mean. If a cop or a prison guard goes down, that’s a bigger deal than somebody’s got a skin rash. You know? It ain’t no settling of accounts. Something like that? A cop? A guard? If it happened? Not saying it did. That ain’t no minor scratch. Takes expertise. Experience. Somebody has to sit and think about it first. To put that on the back of a local chapter – I don’t see how that happens. No, for that, somebody shows up from someplace else. Always it’s an outside job. Otherwise, the local chapter gets shook down to the ground and how can that be fair? That can’t be justified in the long run. Makes it too easy for you guys.’
Every word made sense.
Still. ‘Bring your boys in,’ Cinq-Mars insisted. ‘We’ll check for war wounds then send them on their way.’
‘That’s fair. I don’t mind fair.’
Cinq-Mars stood before the other man did. He gathered up his paper coffee cup and breakfast waste. He made it to the top of the stairs. Before stepping out into the rain, he turned and said, ‘One more thing.’
Paul Lagarde pushed himself to his feet in his black leather jacket and gang insignia and waited for whatever came next. He may have been chewing a lip but that was impossible to know for sure under his overgrown beard, although his jaw appeared to be moving.
‘That killing last night?’ Cinq-Mars pointed out. ‘Total lack of expertise.’ He touched his famously massive nose. Lagarde had remarked previously on the value of his own sniffer. ‘Keep yours to the ground,’ Cinq-Mars forewarned. ‘Nobody made it look like an outside pro rode in. Makes a thinking man wonder: Does somebody want you shaken down?’
Lagarde took a couple of heavy steps forward, his boots loud on the wood porch, his various chains tinkling. ‘Say this, Cinq-Mars. You got a wilder kind of imagination in your head.’
‘Do I? Ask yourself, how is it you showed up at a pen the same day a mini riot breaks out? A day later a prison guard is murdered. Coincidence? Or was it your call? Or were you sent? You know, sent by somebody who maybe wanted to implicate your Harley ass.’
‘Maybe you do think too much,’ Lagarde brought up. ‘I can see why it pisses people off. It might do you harm one day.’
‘Or you.’ Cinq-Mars wanted that last word. Sometimes it felt necessary.