Goddess of Justice by Dwayne Clayden (mobi ebook reader TXT) 📕

Not that it was Genereau and Harker’s fault, Griffin just didn’t like the IA detectives. But now he was sitting waiting for an ass-chewing from Archer.

Archer had barely acknowledged them as his secretary escorted them into Archer’s office to the conference table. Head down, Archer had continued to read a report on something. Finally, Archer shoved the paper to the side of his desk and pushed his chair back. He stood by the table, staring at them. Like Griffin, his jaw was clenched, but there was a pulse in his jaw as he clenched and unclenched.

Archer leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table. His eyes, dark-black holes, bored into each man. “Forty-eight hours and nothing to show. Oh, except for another murder and our prime suspect is still at large.” His hands slammed on the table.

Griffin winced. Harker might have pissed his pants. Genereau stared at a pen on the table.

Harker dared to glance up. “No one knows it was a murder.”

Archer’s eyes rolled as his head swung back. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve lost count of how many are dead. Add one, subtract one, who gives a shit. The point is, we have arrested no one for any of them.”

“Well, we know it’s Coulter—”

Archer’s finger was up and pointing at Harker, daring him to say another word. “You believe it’s Coulter. Fine. Then arrest the fucker. End of the day at the latest. I want someone charged. I want someone in our cells. I want to tell the mayor and the press and the citizens we did our job. You know, the one where we arrest dangerous guys. Where the killing stops.”

Genereau found his voice. “Some people, including the press, think drug dealers and pimps dying is okay.”

Archer’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think? Vigilante justice is okay? A seventeen-year-old murdered and put on display for raping a girl is okay? He deserves jail for a couple of decades, but not this type of justice. Not a death sentence. Find Coulter or clean out your desks, polish your boots and iron your uniforms. The three of you will be assigned to search prisoners in the arrest processing unit. Dismissed.”

Griffin bolted from the room. He was pushing open the door to the stairs when Genereau called to him. Griffin took the stairs three at a time and shouldered his way out the back door into the alley. He didn’t need those two slowing him down.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Brad parked on Fourteenth Avenue and headed to the 7-Eleven. He bought a large coffee, then headed around the corner, facing the tattoo parlor. The windows were boarded, and no vehicles were parked nearby. If the Russians had taken over the business from the Hells Angels, it was unlikely anyone would come there for several weeks, if ever. The Russians would know the cops have eyes on the place. Brad scanned the surrounding buildings and cars. Across Sixteenth Avenue, he spotted an older sedan parked in the parking lot of a strip mall. Same make and model as the two sedans parked near the entrance to Bowness Park, forcing the cancelation of his meeting with Steele and Zerr.

In the darkness, he spotted two people in the front seats. He twisted slightly and faced south. Down the block, he spotted another black sedan. They were too close to the streetlight and Brad could see their faces, not enough to identify them, but enough to know they were Narcotics undercover—beards, long hair and shabby clothes, not unlike what Brad was wearing.

Brad sipped his coffee and watched for half an hour. In that time, no one went near the house. One cop from the car down the street exited the car and headed Brad’s way. Time to move on.

It was too early for the inhabitants of the night to come out of the darkness and seek food or drink at the store, so Brad continued west. If they weren’t on the street, then they’d likely be at the Beacon Hotel Bar. Years ago, it was the meeting place for the Gypsy Jokers outlaw motorcycle club. Brad and his TSU team had been locked in their battle for control of the city with another gang, the Satan’s Soldiers. When the war was over, most of the leadership of both clubs were dead or in jail. That left a void the Hells Angels were ready to fill. Nowadays most crime in the city was controlled by the Angels, including the hotels and prostitution. If the girls were back working, it was likely they were at the Beacon.

The Beacon was a popular bar with the working class. Known as “Peekin’ at the Beacon,” it featured the city’s largest strip show, bringing talent from across Canada and the United States.

As Brad crossed Centre Street, he pulled his beanie low, hunched his shoulders, and tucked his hands in his pockets. The bouncer didn’t give him a second glance as he entered the bar. He stood for a minute, allowing his eyes to adjust. Even coming in from the darkness, the bar was still dimmer. The odors of beer, popcorn, and sweat greeted him. The walls were cheap laminate paneling, peeling in spots. Wooden chairs without armrests encircled tables meant to hold four patrons, but the closest ones to the stage held six or seven guys with their eyes glued to the stage and their jaws dropped onto their chests. Their jaws closed momentarily to wolf whistle.

The bar was about three quarters full, with most of the clients close to the stage. Brad took a seat near the back with an excellent view of the two main doors, the stage and the bar.

The waitresses were rushing from the tables to the bar where two male bartenders poured beer and mixed hard liquor, mostly rye and ginger or rum and Coke. Then the waitresses headed back to the table with