The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery (19 page)

He wanted to pull away but felt too heavy. She was on him now and it felt too good to stop her. He opened his eyes in the darkness. In a room lit only by distant city lights, too dim for the perception of colour, a pixelated black-and-white image of her appeared unbuttoning her shirt. She smiled down at him. “Nothing else exists, Steve. Now close your eyes and let me look after you.”

24

Flickering streetlights buzzed as they sent an offset cast of bluish light on Morrison's porch. He chased his shadow as it raced in front of him, up the rickety steps with the worn and slanted boards to the mailbox, where he scooped out the bills that had been delivered. Having the hydro, the gas bill and MasterCard arrive on the same day was something he had meant to change, to spread them over the two paycheques rather than taking the hit all at once. Now that he was nearly a first class constable it wouldn't have mattered because the extra few hundred dollars a month would be enough to push him in the black. But just like every other time in his life, once things were starting to get better they took a drastic turn for the worse. Sooner or later his mother was going to look at her bank statement and wonder why she was thousands of dollars in overdraft. Unless Nastos and Carscadden could save him. Now they were his only hope.

“Is that you, Dave?”

“It's me, Ma.” He had hoped that she might have been dozing on the couch but no. He peeked into the room saw her on the La-Z-Boy. A mere moment of lucidity between cycles of morphine. She wore a dark bathrobe draped over her pale blue gown. Her white medical socks and fuzzy slippers were meant to keep her diabetic feet warm. The two-litre
IV
bag that hung over her head was nearly empty and due for a change. It had to flush constantly to keep her kidneys going between the dialysis appointments she had three times weekly. He checked his watch. It was nearly four. He was later than he had thought.

“I'll get the bag, Ma. You want a tea or anything?”

“A fresh pot would be great. There's a John Travolta movie starting in ten minutes. It'll get me to the news.”

He drew close to her and kissed her forehead. “Terry's doing okay.”

“Good.” She said it slow, producing a weary smile and thousand-yard stare.

Morrison went to the kitchen and turned the stove on. He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the element.

“Oh, Dave, I almost forgot. Your friend from work called. He said it was important.”

Morrison checked his cell but there were no messages. Radix would have called the mobile. “Who was it, Ma?” He joined her in the room with a handful of oatmeal cookies from the cupboard.

From the side table she picked up a handwritten note and adjusted her bifocals. He felt his BlackBerry vibrate but ignored it when he read the name on the paper. She had written Charles Hitchens. Hitchens was the platoon staff sergeant. A call from him was bad news. Morrison gently took the note from her. “Oh, yeah, Charles. Yeah, I was expecting his call.”

A check of his cell revealed that Radix had called, on a day off.
He must have gotten a call from Hitchens too.
Then a text came.
Answer the
PHONE
.

The cellphone rang again and he answered it. “Hey, Radix, what's up?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

The last thing he was going to do was tell Radix about his brother the convict. “Out. What do you want?”

“I was officially suspended today. The inspector heard about the off-duty arrest in Fourteen and told Hitchens to deal with it.”

“You're kidding?”

“No. And the only reason you didn't get suspended was because you didn't answer the phone.”

“So how long are we out?” There was a pause like Radix was flipping the phone to his other ear.

“It's administrative. We'll probably be in next Monday shuffling papers. The rubber gun squad. Monday to Friday, eight to four. A living hell.”

Morrison felt some relief that they wouldn't be able to get into any more trouble. It might be the excuse they needed to have the bikers back off for a while and buy them some more time.

“I guess I should go in and face the music. Which union guy did you have with you?”

“I wouldn't bother going in at all of I was you. Screw 'em. Hitch is an asshole anyways. He can't go through a week without Hitch-slapping someone.”

“Is that what the association guy said?”

Radix scoffed. “I didn't bother with one. I got all I needed when we were first hired and they gave us the big speech.” In a mocking tone he said, “
If you ever find yourself under investigation, show concern, act surprised, deny deny deny.
The morons.”

“One sec.” Morrison scurried out the front door and took a seat on the cool porch. He tried to think back to when it all went wrong. It was definitely after police college, but not long after first hitting the streets with Radix and getting pulled in by the complex thrill of the hunt and the lure of a decorated future. From there it went from bad to worse as he followed Radix from one high-risk play to the next, drug deals, rips-offs, off-duty stakeouts only to buy drugs from the most jittery addict of them all.

Then the shooting. The image of Walker. Unable to move, unable to breathe, with terror frozen on his face as he reached out to Morrison. The face turned from red to purple to blue in what felt like two hours but was only seconds. He couldn't remember Radix getting him out of there at all.

He couldn't believe that Radix could shrug off getting suspended. It had no effect on Radix, who merely turned it all around into the world's fault, as it committed yet another injustice against him.

Morrison asked, “What if we get investigated? What if they find out what's been going on? What —”

“Morrison, get a hold of yourself. You're such a pansy sometimes.”

“Listen, Radix. I think we should talk to that lawyer, Carscadden.”

Radix didn't say anything. As far as Morrison could remember, it was the first time that Radix didn't have an immediate objection to a suggestion. “He knows most of the story already. He's the guy who helped Nastos. Hell, Nastos trusts him with his life and he's a twenty-five-year guy. That has to mean something.”

Again Radix was quiet. Morrison could hear the hiss and pop of Radix cracking open a beer and the cap rattling on a table. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe.”

Thank God,
Morrison said to himself, deciding he was going to call Nastos regardless of what Radix thought was best. He heard a click on the phone and held it away to read the screen. His heart leapt when he saw it was the bikers calling. “Jesus. Radix. I have a call coming in. From them.”

“Who? Hitchens? Nastos?”

“No.
Them.
”

Radix betrayed himself by sounding nervous. “Answer it then call me right away.” Radix's line clicked dead.

Morrison pressed the phone icon and answered, “Yeah? Morrison.”

“You two take care of the
PI
s yet?”

“No. We were gonna but it was crowded.”

“What! You don't remember me telling you that the video goes live on the net if you didn't do it? You think we're bluffing?”

Morrison lied quickly. “It was crowded. People knew they had come to meet us. It didn't feel right.”

It seemed to have worked. “Okay. Tonight, then. I'm arranging a place. We're gonna be around and make sure the dirty deed is done. When we see the bodies, you get the video, everything. And like I said before, if you don't trust your friend you might want to consider taking care of him right afterwards. Like the Italians say, three men can keep a secret, as long as two of them are dead.”

“You're going to be there —?”

The man had hung up.

Morrison stared at the phone.
Tonight
.
One way or the other I don't have to live like this anymore. No more slavery, no more crimes.
It was easy to contemplate the freedom that death would offer. He glanced over his shoulder toward the house, where his mother lay slowly dying on the couch inside. Who would look after her? Terry getting released from jail for compassionate reasons would never happen. At best he'd get a brief escort to their mom's funeral and he could watch the casket drop in the ground from a Corrections Canada van. His death was not an option. And the person who could best help him wasn't Radix, it was Nastos. That was who he'd align himself with now.

Morrison scanned through the contacts on his cell to find Nastos.

“Hello?”

“Nastos, it's me, Morrison.” He could make out the sound of a woman's voice in the background. She sounded groggy.

“I'm glad you called. I was hoping I could speak with you one on one about what's going on.”

“Yeah, well, the bikers called and they want to meet up tonight. They say they are going to give us the video and send us on our way.”

“I'm assuming that you haven't taken any crack today and you know they are going to kill you.”

“Yeah, pretty much. And they want to see you and Carscadden there too. They expect us to kill you first.”

“That's good. So we'll give them what they want. Then we arrest them, you and Radix get the credit, we destroy the Walker video and everything is cool.”

Morrison took a moment to envision the bikers spilling their guts to bring down him and Radix. They knew too much. They saw what happened to Walker, they knew about all of the shakedowns, the robberies. Sooner or later it would become testimony and it would backfire. No, the only way to get clean was to make sure the bikers didn't survive.

“You still there, Morrison?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

“Yeah, well, don't. Let me and Carscadden look after everything. We've got you covered.”

“Okay.”

“So they tell you the where and when?”

“Not yet, they're gonna call.”

“Okay, keep me up to speed. Carscadden and I are working on something to explain away any story these guys might give to the cops.”

Morrison hung up the phone. Rather than phoning Radix and getting into an argument he sent a text message explaining that they would all meet up tonight. Then he stuffed the phone in his front pocket. It was warmer inside the house. He took some chicken and vegetables from the fridge and started cooking dinner. It might be the last time he saw his mom and he planned to stay by her side until the call came to go.

It became difficult to concentrate. The scenarios rolled around in his head. And as he brought out some hot water to top up his mother's teapot he knew that ultimately he had to do whatever it took to survive, for her sake.
For her sake
, he reminded himself. Even if it included killing Nastos and Carscadden, he told himself that he would do whatever it took to survive.

25

Nastos sat in the passenger seat as Carscadden drove to Viktor's home. Well past the after-work rush hour, the traffic moving to and from the entertainment district was busy. There were people and cars everywhere, everyone trying to get away from the city core as quickly as possible. Carscadden flipped through the talk radio stations to listen to traffic but the reports were the same as they always were at this time so he turned it off. Nastos was enjoying the silence when Carscadden interrupted his thoughts.

“I think you're searching for the phrase, ‘Hey, Kevin, thanks for picking me up like my personal chauffeur.'”

Nastos answered with a grunt.

“What did you and Karen get up to in her hotel room?”

Here we go. He wants the play by play.
“It was the expression on Radix's face when I asked them if they had anything to do with killing Ann. He was pretty authentic in his reaction.”

“Ann. She's becoming something of an afterthought, don't you think?” Carscadden eyed him. “Oh, I get it. You brought it up as some distractionary fodder, thinking I'd be more interested in the dead prostitute than the living journalist. Nice try.”

“She didn't grow up with the dream of one day becoming a street walker just like the glamorous girls on
TV
. She's someone's little girl.”

“Yeah, well, someone should have protected her, don't you think?”

Nastos felt like he'd been struck and reacted accordingly. “Yeah? Is that right? So what happened to my Josie two years ago with that child molester? I should have —”

“That's not what —”

“Been able to stop it? It's
my
fault?” Nastos didn't know if he was more surprised by his reaction or Carscadden's words that had caused it.

Carscadden retreated. “That's not what I meant, Steve, you know that. Listen, Ann left the country to get away from her life. She could have called her mom and dad when she landed in trouble, but she didn't. She was forced to take drugs but never went into treatment until she was in jail. Karen gave her every opportunity to get away but she never took it.”

Nastos was barely listening. “She was a person. She was either killed by Karen by accident — we know it wasn't that but I had to be sure — or the bikers.”

“You're right, but I don't see how it moves us further ahead considering what's going on now.”

Nastos felt his phone vibrate but ignored it. “So I checked in with Karen, and when I did I checked her arms for the scrapes and asked her about it.”

“Scrapes?” Carscadden mulled it over. “Right. Jacques saw scrapes on her arms.” He changed lanes to get around a city bus but was stopped cold by a line of traffic turning left. “Oh, I get it. So you just had to be one hundred percent sure. It had nothing to do with the fact that she's someone you're emotionally connected to, she wants you and she has a hotel room. Makes perfect sense.” Then he added, “If you're trying to kid yourself.”

Amid the brake lights, rushing crowd and dejected panhandlers, Nastos couldn't avoid the obvious about Karen. If she was still interested in him after so long, he had to consider that it wasn't just infatuation.
She's too smart to get infatuated. It's not like she's a tween with a crush on Justin Bieber. She's a journalist and an ex-cop, after all.

“Okay, Nastos.” Carscadden steered around the line of stopped cars as he set up one of his rhetorical lawyer questions. “You don't even have to answer this one.”

“Just say it.”

“How much do you find yourself thinking about her?”

Nastos turned his body facing the street, his back to Carscadden. Maybe he wasn't just alone but lonely too. Maybe that was all it was. Despite the failing relationship with his wife, Madeleine, they had remained friends and companions and on that level he missed her more deeply that he would have thought.

Going to Karen by himself when she was alone, the way she made him forget about all of the outside noise of society and the expectations that it forced on him — mourn, get on with your life, put Josie first, take time for yourself — all of the competing interests. She had persuaded him to forget about it all. With her it was impossible to feel alone.
And my behaviour spoke for itself, didn't it? In that moment I chose to be with her. And I have to
admit, it wasn't that bad.
He considered whether he was ready to start dating but the sound of it still felt offensive. “I'm not used to not knowing what to do. There, you happy? I opened up.”

Carscadden laughed. “Six months and a few thousand dollars' worth of therapy, it's kind of about time.”

Carscadden surprised Nastos when he didn't press him further. Instead he drove to Viktor's silently. Nastos watched Carscadden key in the entry code that opened the main gate. They parked near the main residence. He was looking forward to seeing Josie. It felt like it had been forever since he had wrapped his arms around her and picked her up.

Carscadden opened the front door and called in. “Hey, it's us. Anyone home?”

Nastos heard the clinking of cutlery on plates coming from the kitchen, followed by Hopkins saying, “Josie, your Daddy's here.”

“Dad!” A chair screeched back on the floor followed by two thumps, then she emerged from the doorway. Hopkins had put her hair back in pigtails. She had the kind of full-face smile only a child can have. She charged at him with her arms out.

“Josie!” He embraced her and picked her up, heaving her to his right side. “Ouch. What's Viktor feeding you, lead bricks?”

The literalist replied, “He made a roast chicken, Dad.”

Viktor emerged at the threshold, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “Nastos, glad you could drop by.” He pulled loose the string of his chef's apron and extended a hand to Nastos, who accepted it.

“Viktor, we have to talk when we get a chance here.”

“I think I know what about. Meet me down in the pool room after you spend some time with my little girl.” Viktor smiled at Josie. “Hey, you promised me bedtime stories tonight.”

“I know, Uncle Viktor.” Josie turned back to her dad. “Do you have to go back out to work?”

Nastos was surprised that she anticipated this. “Yeah. Me and Uncle Kevin have to go out and do some more work but I needed to come and see you or I was going to go crazy.”

Josie lunged toward Carscadden over Nastos' shoulder so strongly he had to struggle to stay on his feet. Carscadden pried her from Nastos. “Here, it's my turn.” He squeezed as hard as he could until she slapped at his back.

When he put her on the ground she was laughing. “One more time!”

“Are you crazy? I do that any harder I'll snap you in half.”

“I can take it.”

Hopkins peeked out from the kitchen, stuffing a cupcake in her mouth. “You two hungry?”

Carscadden pointed at her. “Oh look, the human trash can is hard at it.”

“Be nice or you don't get any.” She walked over and hugged Carscadden. “I'd kiss you but I don't want to dilute the glory of this cupcake.”

Carscadden kissed her anyways. “There, screw you.”

Hopkins blushed but she glanced at Josie and decided not to reply.

Nastos said, “Okay, we have to talk to Viktor real quick. Josie, finish your dinner and I'll come say goodbye before we go.”

“Okay, Dad.” She turned back. “Hey, what are we doing tomorrow? Are we coming here again?”

He didn't want to answer. It was a question he should have anticipated. Would he even be alive tomorrow? As he had discussed with Carscadden on the way over, the will was clear. If anything happened to him, Josie went to Carscadden and Hopkins. After them she would go to Viktor. It only took a moment but he found himself pondering the last time he had changed her diaper, the last time he brushed her teeth, helped her tie her shoes, all things that could have been better appreciated if he had known that they were to be the last times. He gazed into her eyes wondering if this would be the last day she would see him alive. If these would be the last words that would resonate with her for the rest of her life.

“Josie, tomorrow you and I, we are taking the day off. We are going where ever you want to go, and doing anything you want.”

Her jaw dropped. “Anything?”

“Well, not like going to Disneyland but anything you want to do around here. The
CN
Tower, the Zoo, Imax, Wonderland. You name it.”

“Okay, I want to have another big dinner where Monika plays the piano and everyone is there.”

It wasn't exactly what he was thinking she would say. “Really? Monika?”

“Dad, she was awesome. I really like her. Can we?”

Nastos shrugged. “Sure, we — I just have to call her first.”

“Call right now.”

“I'll get her number tomorrow, okay?”

“You're the best dad.” She turned and joined Hopkins in the kitchen.

Carscadden shrugged and started for the pool room. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Nastos followed him down the hallway. When he was sure Josie and Hopkins were out of earshot he said, “Kevin, wait up.”

Carscadden stopped.

Nastos asked, “What is it?”

Carscadden used the heels of his hands to dry his eyes. “Nothing. Just you and Josie. Kind of puts it all in perspective.”

“Puts what in perspective?”

“How stupid it is to go on kidding ourselves about what we're up against here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Nastos hated conceding not having all of the answers, even to Carscadden. “What do you think?”

“I think our only chance in hell of getting out of this alive, so you can raise your little girl, is to make sure someone else does not get out of this alive.”

Nastos found himself nodding. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Why?”

“Because that's what I think too, and that makes it unanimous.”

Nastos led the way down the stairs, past the home gym to the pool room. Viktor had a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label out with three shot glasses. He lifted the bottle. “Should I pour?”

Nastos said, “No thanks, Viktor. I need to keep my wits about me.”

Carscadden said, “I'll take just one.”

Viktor poured and Carscadden gulped it down. Nastos sat on a barstool and Viktor walked around to the other side. He put Nastos' glass away and took a sip from his own. “Okay, let's talk business.”

Nastos began, “We need two more guns, Viktor, and a good amount of ammo.”

Viktor finished off his glass and put a lid on the bottle. “I'm coming with you.”

“If I don't come back I need you to help Hopkins raise my little girl.”

“If I don't come with you that is exactly what may have to happen.”

Nastos tried lying. “It's okay, we have cops coming.”

Viktor took a silver briefcase from the bar and set it on the ground next to him. “Fine. I guess you don't need any guns then.” He straightened up with an air of reluctant confidence.

Nastos tilted his head up to the ceiling above, finding no answers. “Screw it.”

Viktor picked up the briefcase, spun it around to face Nastos and popped it open. Inside there were four handguns, all Glocks, and a dozen magazines, already loaded. He said, “They're nine mil. Less recoil than the forties you're used to. And I have a few other surprises. I just have to swing by the restaurant to pick them up.”

Carscadden asked, “Like what?”

“I have a silencer on a twenty-two calibre rifle. With a good scope I can make head shots. No one will hear a thing. I also have some body armour.”

Nastos took out one of the pistols. He dry-fired and racked the slide a few times to check the action. “So that's it? You cover the outside and we go in?” Viktor nodded. “And what about bedtime stories for Josie?”

“I'm sure in later years, she might look back and agree that maybe on this night she would prefer I go and keep the monsters away from you rather than her.”