Subverting Justice. Don Easton

three volunteered to do whatever Jack wanted in regard to Pure E.

      Jack thanked them, but said that an operational plan was being prepared and he was optimistic that they would soon have a task force fully dedicated to the matter. The third call was different. It was from his informant Weenie Wagger, a.k.a. Mack Cockerill.

      “There’s somethin’ I’m gonna tell you,” Cockerill said, “then we’re done. You and I are finished.” His voice had a whine to it, revealing his stress.

      “As far as I’m concerned, you fulfilled your end of the deal,” Jack replied. “A deal is a deal. We’re done.”

      Cockerill’s sigh of relief was audible. “Good. Glad you agree.”

      “You still popping pills and drinking heavy?” Jack asked.

      “I did after Thursday — but who wouldn’t after seein’ people get lit up like that?”

      “I warned you before about poppin’ pills. It’ll attract suspicion from the club, let alone the obvious health risk.”

      “Health risk? Fuck, that’s a good one. The health risk was workin’ for you.” He paused. “Don’t worry, I won’t be messin’ my head up with that shit now that you and I are done.”

      “What were you going to tell me?” Jack asked. “Although now that we’re done, don’t feel obligated to tell me anything.”

      “I’ll tell you. It ain’t nothin’ you won’t find out about soon enough. Damien’s split the country. Gonzo. Don’t know where, but word is you guys’ll never find him.”

      “Who told you?” Jack asked.

      “Got it from the prez.”

      “Lance Morgan.”

      “Yeah, my prez. Westside. He popped in to see me unannounced yesterday. Think he wanted to see how I was doin’ after … you know, the farmhouse.”

      “How were you doing?”

      “I was sober. Too hungover from drinking all night Thursday.”

      “Drinking doesn’t make it go away. You have to start thinking outside the bottle. Alcohol is a depressant.”

      “I’ll be a lot happier now that you and I are done.”

      “Did you know someone dropped Damien’s phone in my mailbox Friday? Had pictures of me and my wife and kids on it.”

      “What? Fuck, I didn’t know. You shittin’ me?”

      “No.”

      “Well, I got nothin’ to do with it.”

      “I’m surprised Lance didn’t mention it,” Jack said.

      Cockerill paused a moment, then said, “Yeah, me, too. Guess he forgot.”

      Or knew it was a mistake and was embarrassed. “You and I need to meet face to face.”

      “What the fuck for? You said we’re done!”

      “Yes, but there’s something I need to tell you. It won’t take long. All you have to do is listen, then you can go on your merry way and never call me again.”

      “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

      “No. Never trust phones.”

      Cockerill snickered. “Fuck … you sound like one of us. Yeah, okay. Where and when?”

      Jack parked in an underground parkade and soon saw Cockerill plodding toward his car. Their eyes met and Cockerill got in beside him.

      “Glad you’re not waving your pecker around,” Jack said glibly.

      “You better destroy that video,” Cockerill snarled, glaring at Jack.

      “No worries,” Jack replied.

      “So what do you wanna say to me?”

      “Two things. The first has to do with your future well-being.”

      “My future well-being? What the fuck? I thought you and I was finished!”

      “We are,” Jack assured him, “but there’s something you need to know.”

      “Okay, what?”

      “You’re having trouble handling the stress. Mixing drugs and alcohol. I’m not trying to be your mother, but I’ve dealt with a lot of people in your position. You need to be careful.”

      “You had me come here for this?” Cockerill glowered. “Fuck, you already told me that.”

      “You’re thinking because you and I are done the stress will go away.”

      “Yeah, it already has. Finally feel like I can breathe again.”

      “Only because you haven’t had time to think.”

      “About what?”

      “It was your info that pointed me to the grow-ops and to busting the weed shipment the Gypsy Devils delivered to Dallas.”

      “I know. So?”

      “And it was your info that led me to video Buck beating that dealer to death.”

      “Yeah, yeah. What’s your point?”

      “My point is that you’re not going to be looking at Satans Wrath the same anymore. You turned on them and it’s going to eat away at you. I think you’re going to continue drinking and popping pills.”

      Cockerill brooded for a moment as he stared out the windshield, then turned back to Jack. “So what the fuck do you care?”

      “Yeah, I know. I’m a cop and you’re some guy who gets his jollies by jumping out from between parked cars and waving his dick at people.” Jack yawned as if Cockerill’s indecent acts bored him and meant nothing, then said, “I probably shouldn’t give a shit about what happens to you.”

      “Exactly. So why’re you talkin’ like this?”

      Jack made a face. “The thing is, I don’t think you’re that bad a guy. You don’t have any record for assault or violent crimes. By how you reacted after seeing the people murdered in the farmhouse, I knew you were upset.”

      “Upset? Fuck … it made me puke,” Cockerill admitted.