Chapter 145

They slept on the rooftop of a pizza restaurant on Granville Street, that night. One of Kurtis Missions’ few good ideas. Camping, in a sense, in the heart of Downtown Vancouver, above the streets of the downtown eastside, where they didn’t have to worry once about getting robbed, or hassled by the Pork.
The next morning was sunny and warm. Rawle had yet to experience the famous B.C. rain.
Rawle woke up first, feeling like a hot grub under his thermal blanket. The sun was hammering down on the black roofing shingles. He scanned the back alley, behind the pizza restaurant. The coast was clear so he snuck down, climbing down onto a Dumpster. Once he was in the alley, he hung a left onto nearby Robson Street and then stopped at the first coffee shop he found. Trees Cafe.
At the counter, he ordered a long espresso with cream.
He also picked up a copy of the Vancouver Sun.
There was a prominant item in the bottom right corner of page one, with a Montreal placeline.
‘Cops seek fugitive in murders, child rape.’
He flipped to A2 to read the bulk of the story and look at the photos. As soon as he turned the page, there was a mugshot of Kurtis Missions, with long hair and a beard, staringhim in the face. His name was listed in the cutline as Kurtis Missions, a.k.a. John Dee.
Rawle felt weak in the arms. The thin newspaper started to tremble in his hands.
There was also another photo. A pretty, but plain-looking brown-haired girl, with lots of freckles and hound-dog eyes. It was a high school graduation photo.
Heather Dominie.
Adrenaline rocketed up Rawle’s head and made his mind swim. “…the body of Heather Dominie was found by a group of teenagers…
…
... also seeking Missions for allegedly killing Nova Scotia reporter Jack lee and his wife Tamara, and allegedly molesting a unnamed four-year-old Montreal girl in Mount Royal… ”
Rawle read the story over and over, in disbelief.
Molesting a four-year-old…?
He drained his coffee and left the cafe, taking the page of the newspaper with him, folded neatly into his pocket.
He walked down Granville a ways andended up at the Liquor Store on Hastings. He used his last twenty bucks to buy a 12 pack of Kokane. His brain was seething and he needed cold beers to calm down with. He could barely think. It was all there, in black and white. Kurtis Missions was a killer. And worse, he’d sexually assaulted a little child.
Kurtis was walking toward him, on the sunny sidewalk.
He was right out in the open, right on the street, with his mugshot in the morning newspaper, for three murders.
He stopped right in front of Rawle.
“What’s up?” Kurtis said.
Rawle was at a loss for words. He didn’t answer, but turned his face away. He felt a surging defiance and anger building up inside.
“Let’s go to the park, man,” Kurtis said, diplomatically. “Stanley Park, for a couple hours. Have a few beers. We need to unwind.”
Rawle shrugged. “Fine.”
They walked to the park, in silence.
It took about twenty minutes to get there. Stanley Park was a lot like Point Pleasant Park in Halifax, except more open, and with fatter trees.
They found a place with lots of sunlight, in a section of quiet forest near the aquarium, and drank their beers, watching the little red squirrels nitter around for nuts.
Rawle just wanted to get wide and forget his troubles for a minute. He wanted to drown the anger and loathing he was feeling, just a little.
They both put down three beers each in a matter of ten minutes.
Rawle wasn’t talking, so Kurtis started to talk and talk and talk, to fill up the dead air.
He told Rawle about how all his food and money had been stolen while he was napping on a park bench in Kelowna, the night before they met up.
“It happened on purpose. I know that. My handler is trying to push me. He’s trying to remind me that only my Brothers will look after me, in this world. See, after my money got stolen, I was just about to go over the edge, then he sent me the squaw, with dope and spending money and some leather, to cheer me up. Then you came along, right after her, to help me. To buy booze and food, and travel with me to Vancouver. You’re like a guide. It’s spiritual training. Push me to the breaking point, then just when I’m about to go over the edge, send me someone else, to pull me back on the good side again.”
Rawle shook his head. Kurtis’ words were so bizarre-sounding, he couldn’t help but smile.
“You still think I’m working for the Gypsies, or something. I told you, I don’t know how many fucking times. I don’t work for anybody. I’m just an ordinary dude. Look at me! Do I look like a biker?”
“Looks don’t mean shit, but whatever. You don’t have to tell me, man. I know.” Kurtis put his hands on his knees. He was sitting under the tree, like a Buddist with his bald head.
Kurtis also believed that a Gypsy operative of some kind had paid for the pizza and beer after they dashed on the bill at Boston Pizza in Penticton.
“I saw someone there I recognized. That’s how it is. I probably met them before, somewhere’s. You meet a lot of people. I probably met you somewhere’s before too, Michael. I’m meant to fend for myself, but you can still set up a quick operation, to pay a bar tab or whatever, to prevent me from getting arrested. Cause if I get arrested, maybe the Pork will put two and two together and make me name names. Am I right?”
Rawle laughed up at the sky, with a booming voice. “Where do you come up with this shit, man? You’re fishing on some thin ice there, brother.”
He wanted to bring up the topic of the Lee killings, but didn’t know quite how to do it. Luckily, Kurtis seemed in the mood to talk, about anything and everything, especially as he got a few beers down his throat.
“Did they find the cocaine?” he asked, right out of the blue. “You’d think I‘d get some kind of acknowledgement for that.”
Rawle felt nervous. This was it. He knew he had to say something.
“What cocaine?”
Kurtis grinned, his missing teeth prominent on his angular face. “That’s right. ‘What cocaine?’ You’re not a Gypsy, I forgot. Okay, just tell me if they know where it is. Nod yes, or shake your head for no.”
Rawle shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Seriously.”
“Haha!” Kurtis chuckled. “You shook your head. Okay, he don’t know where it is. Tell him it’s at the bus station. Wid dropped it off at the bus station, in Halifax. He got spooked at the last minute, somehow. He suspected something was gonna happen, or he sensed it, or somebody tipped him off. I don’t know what happened. He left his duffel bag at the bus station in Halifax, at the Lost Luggage counter. Darroll went to go pick it up, with Wid’s ID, but he got killed on the way. That’s why I took off into the woods. I figured the Lee’s were watching the duffel bag. That’s the God’s honest truth. If I were you, I’d tell Bob to stake out the terminal, before he goes in, to make sure it’s safe. That’s all I know. I swear. I never even seen the duffel bag.”
Rawle lit a cigarette, cautiously. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted Kurtis to keep talking. He tried to memorize, word for word, everything Kurtis had said. “You tell interesting stories, for sure, man. First you tell me you’re a drug dealer on a quest for the Gypsy Motorcycle Gang, now you’re saying you lost a bunch of cocaine. Wouldn’t that get you dead?”
Kurtis picked up Rawle’s bag of tobacco and rolled a cigarette. His fingers were shaking and the smoke was turning out very messy and flat.
“It depends on how everything works out, don’t it? If the Lee’s win, I’ll be on the run for losing cocaine, and probably wind up in prison for crimes I didn’t commit. If the Sgt. Bob wins, I’m on the prospect test, and it’s all good.”
Sgt. Bob?
Kurtis had mentioned a name. He’d said it twice: Bob. Sgt. Bob.
Lost luggage counter. Sgt. Bob. Rawle committed the quotes to memory.
Kurtis had a very scared look on his face. He put the messy cigarette up to his lips and lit the end, as if he knew he’d said too much.
Rawle felt his heart beat begin to trickle like ice water down his chest.
He was getting information, most of the information Dee Lee wanted.
Where the coke was, who Kurtis was working for. Somebody named Bob. Sgt. Bob.
Rawle grabbed the tobacco and rolled his own cigarette. “What crimes that you didn’t commit? You said you’d wind up in prison for crimes you didn’t commit? Did you kill somebody?”
Kurtis smoked for a few seconds more and tried to relax. He was sitting hunched over, cross-legged in the grass, his back leaned up against a huge white pine.
“You just better hope you can get me back in.” Kurtis looked at Rawle with a suspicious grin, squinting in the sunlight. “Are you a cop or a police agent?”
Staring at him, straight in the eyes. He had never asked that question before.
“Answer truthfully.”
Rawle grinned. “I wish. I’d make a wicked cop. I’d be dirty as fuck.”
Kurtis picked up his can of beer and drained the contents through his missing front teeth, keeping his eyes fixed hard on Rawle, as he drank.
“Are you a Gypsy or a Gypsy asset?”
“I’m not a Gypsy or a Gypsy asset. No. I wish, I’d make a wicked Gypsy.”
Kurtis shrugged. “Whatever, man. Either you know this, or you’ll find out soon enough. I’m going to tell you something now. And it’s the God’s honest truth. All I did was defend myself against hitmen coming to kill me. That’s a legal thing to do. The girl and the Lee man. And then the girl in Montreal. They were all trying to kill me, for the Lee family. What was I supposed to do? Just let them kill me?”
Rawle sat back, in shock. He couldn’t think of what to say off the top of his head. “Yeah?”
The Lee guy. Kurtis had all but flat-out admitted to killing Jack and Tee.
He said they were ‘hitmen.’
“When you become a hangaround,” Kurtis kept talking, “the Lee’s take your DNA. There’s no way around it, man. So… They collect your sperm sample from you and they freeze it or whatever. Then if you cross them later, they frame you for something really bad, like raping a kid. That’s my problem. I don’t know what to do, man. I feel like any moment, they’re going to spring something on me.”
Rawle looked at Kurtis, trying to find some logic in his words. Trying to follow what he was saying. “Raping a kid?”
“Molesting a kid. Yeah. ‘Cause they know that’s the worst thing a biker wannabe could ever be guilty of. A diddler is the lowest piece of shit on earth, man. So they frame you for that, then they have you intheir power. They have insurance that you’ll never be a rat. That’s why I feel so fucked. They killed Darroll, so they must know I’m involved now. See what I mean? I’m fucked. You got to help me.”
Rawle felt a dark patch falling over him, slowly, as if a cloud was blocking out the sun.
It was a feeling he’d been feeling a lot lately in Kurtis’ prescence. He was really started to believe Kurtis was mentally unwell. Delusional.
“They probably set me up for a crime like that, just like that, man. They prepared for it in advance, so far in advance, so’s if I ever turned informer, they’d have something over my head. See what I’m so worried about? That’s a fate worse than death. They eat you alive for that, man. You’d get beat every hour, every day. Haha! Man, in jail, they put the diddlers in segregation, but first they throw them in with the serious offenders to make sure they get beat. For real. Every jail does that. And if the Crown thinks I’m a diddler, they won’t ever go through with a deal. Would they? No fuckin’ way. They’d never go through with a deal with a diddler. That’s why… See, the Lee’s know the Crown will make a deal with a murderer, no problem, but not a diddler. The public would have a huge outcry, man. So, if the Pork wants to bring down somebody, like Alan Lee, they’re gonna have to make a deal with someone who’s been set-up as a child molester…”
Kurtis trailed off.
Rawle was zoning out, staring off into the Georgia Strait. His mind was racing. He couldn’t get past the newspaper story. It was true. Kurtis had molested a four-year old Montreal girl… All he could think about was Athan, somebody hurting him like that.
“You molested a little girl?”
“No! Aren’t you listening to me? Jesus! Why would I do that?”
“How old was she?”
“Fuck!” Kurtis said. “You’re not listening. I thinkthey willframe me for that. You never heard of them doing that? You think they just keep letting their people turn informer on them? You keep acting like I’m speaking Greek to you, dude? Enough of the game. I know who you are. I know those girls that drove us here were with you. Is that coincidence? Of course they would come for us, in Osoyoos. The smallest fucking place in the world. And I know you met a Gypsy associate in Osoyoos. And of course those girls were from Nova Scotia, just like you. What another great coincidence. That’s why I knew we’d be coming to Van, instead of the States. So what do we now? Now that I figured it out? Are you going to bring me back in, or not? What’s the plan? Because I’m sketching out.”
Rawle felt his cheeks and forehead blush. Kurtis was confusing him. “I’m not even following you anymore,” he said, honestly. “Now you’re saying the Gypsies Motorcycle Club has set you up for a molesting a little girl? That is fucked….. Is that even possible?” Rawle’s tone was revolted and impatient. He was getting frustrated by Kurtis and his rambling answers.
Kurtis puffed his cigarette. “How do you think they do it? Yes, they set me up. Of course. We partied for days and days, day and night, non-stop when I first got with them. I was so high I was off my head. I met all kinds of people, took all kinds of dope. Smoking crack in the back of a Cadillac. I don’t even know what I was doing. That’s how they did it. They made all these women want to come fuck me. Then they kept all the dirty condoms. I know they did. I figured it out. Then when I passed out, they took me and put me in a van somewhere, and made a video with a little girl, a sex video. Then they freezed my jizz. They sent me a copy of the video, man, as a way to tell me what’s what. I never told nobody this. Only Bob. Because I need help. No one talks about it. But is it only me? I don’t think so.”
Rawle didn’t say anything. He was struck dumb. Kurtis’ eyes were wide and glassy.
Rawle couldn’t believe the story he was being told. It was so insane, and yet Kurtis truly believed what he was saying, as if the delusion had overtaken reality completely.
Rawle realized he had never actually spoken to a truly delusional person before today, just ordinary liars. It was frightening. Kurtis lived in an altered reality.
He molested a little girl. Holy fuck.
“How they could do that? How could the Gypsies have your jism? Sitting in a freezer somewhere?”
“-Then they kept coming in the room, while I’m sleeping and reciting things in my ear about how I molest kids. They plant memories in my head. You really going to pretend you think they don’t do this? Of course they do. And maybe it’s different for everybody. Maybe there’s a tape of you somewhere’s too, man. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Puttin’ up with me? Hahaha! You’re pathetic, dude. Your act is getting really weak.”
“Jesus!” Rawle put both hand sup into the air, appealing to the trees and squirrels. “I’m not who you think I am!”
“Yeah, you keep pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Kurtis pressed. “But I know you do. I know who you are. I know the Gypsies sent you to help me. The Spalding side. You just can’t talk about it. You got to pretend you’re just some guy, hitchhiking.”
Rawle couldn’t help but smile. Kurtis was actually half-right about things, half of the time. But everytime he said something, it was so interwoven with delusions, it was very confusing to listen to.
“I give up, man. You figured it out,” Rawle joked. “You’re right, I’m a secret agent. Shit! My cover’s blown!”