chapter thirty-four
Despite the light rain in Vancouver, Jarvis was proud of the colours he had recently earned, making him a full member of Satans Wrath. He wanted everyone to see he was now sporting the full club logo on his back. As he pulled out of the compound of the west-side chapter clubhouse, his bare muscular arms, black with tattoos, gunned the engine of his Harley Davidson as he roared out on to the street.
Minutes later, a car with two men pulled alongside him and the passenger rolled down his window and gestured for him to pull over.
Jarvis pulled to the curb, but kept his bike running as the car double-parked beside him.
“Who the fuck are you two guys? Cops?” asked Jarvis.
“No,” said the passenger. “I’m Miguel and this is Ramiro. We need to talk to Señor Damien.”
“What are ya? Fuckin’ reporters? Talk to our media guy.”
“We’re not reporters. We have a very valuable gift for Señor Damien. It’s business. We need to meet him, but were warned the police could be watching your clubhouse.”
“If you’re in business with Damien, why don’t you call him yourself?” asked Jarvis as he looked around, wondering if the club was trying to test his response.
“We’ve never met him. We don’t have his number. We want you to call him.”
Jarvis hesitated about what to do. Although he had earned his full patch, he was not senior enough to ever be allowed to talk to the National President directly. “Tell ya what,” he replied. “I’ll take you to an alley where it is safe to talk. You wait there and I’ll go talk to someone.”
Lance Morgan, president of the west-side chapter of Satan’s Wrath, went to the clubhouse and listened to what Jarvis had to say. When Jarvis was finished talking, Lance called Damien and spoke briefly.
“Damien doesn’t know either of these guys,” said Lance when he hung up. “Maybe they’re trying to set him up for a hit. Take the boys over and check them out.”
Twenty minutes later, Miguel and Ramiro had guns shoved in their faces by six members of Satans Wrath. They were both jerked out of their car and slammed up against a garbage dumpster and roughly searched. Lance was watching from a distance and waited until Jarvis gave him a wave before walking up to them.
“No weapons,” said Jarvis. “They do have a new Rolex watch in their car though. It’s still in the box.”
“Are you Señor Damien?” asked Miguel meekly. “It is for you. A gift from Big Al. There is also a picture in a brown envelope.”
Jarvis retrieved the items from the car and handed the watch to Lance.
Lance nodded appreciatively as he examined the jewel-encrusted watch. Jarvis then handed him the picture.
“That is Big Al,” said Miguel helpfully, pointing to the picture. “Many beautiful ladies, yes? I think your man is having a good time.”
Lance’s jaw gaped open as he looked at the picture. “My man?” he spluttered.
“You do not know him?” asked Miguel, looking shocked.
“Fuckin’ rights I know him,” replied Lance hotly, before turning to Jarvis and saying, “Hold these two until I get back with Damien.”
In Juarez, Jack and Adams walked down the alley to return to their car.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Jack, with a final glance at Rubalcava, who was walking away in the opposite direction.
“After I drop you off at the hotel, I’ll go to the office and feed the bosses the scenario you told me,” replied Adams.
“I’m so groggy from lack of sleep, do you mind running it past me? What did I suggest?” asked Jack.
“Fuck, I always heard you Canadians were polite. What you’re really wanting to know is if I have it right … right?”
Jack grinned in response.
“Okay,” continued Adams. “I’ll tell the bosses you met some of the bad guys last night and give them the news about what you learned, except for the part of you being taken to Casa Blanca. I’ll tell them I’m contacting my CIs to ask about a possible location for Casa Blanca and also line up a potential arrest scenario for everyone to be in place at The Old Warehouse.”
“Which, by the sounds of it, we’ll have to postpone.”
“Yeah, but hopefully by then we’ll know where Casa Blanca is. How long we postpone it may depend on what you find out. If she’s already dead …”
“I know.” Jack sighed. “That would change everything. Will your people expect to cover me at the Armadillo? They might expect me to go there to see if Slater is around.”
“I’ll tell them it’s not needed. I’ll say if he is there, that you’re only swinging by to invite him to The Old Warehouse, as well.”
“Sounds like we have our ducks in a row.”
“Then I’ll split from the office and be waiting for you with my friend on the highway.”
“They pick me up at twelve and I should be back to the Armadillo by three. I figure we should be going by you around one.”
“Yeah,” said Adams glumly. “If we are on the right highway and if you are in the right vehicle so we can spot you.”
“Don’t worry if you don’t. If it isn’t near the radio tower, I’ll figure out some way to find the place again, even if I have to crawl up on the roof and mark it with a big X.”
“It was finding you I was thinking of … before you’re X’d. C-X’d that is.”
Jack normally would have smiled. C-X was a term used in target-practising to indicate the kill zone of the heart or lung vicinity. At the moment, Adams’s comment didn’t seem all that funny. He glanced at Adams and sombrely replied, “Like you said before, there is nothing you can do, regardless.”
They drove back across the Bridge of the Americas to Jack’s hotel in El Paso in utter silence. Both men were quietly wondering what the next few hours would bring. When Adams pulled up to the front of the hotel, he leaned over and shook Jack’s hand.
“Good luck,” Adams said.
“Thanks. See you for a beer later,” replied Jack as he got out.
Adams remained parked for a moment as he watched Jack walk away.
I wonder if I will ever see him alive again …