Chapter 37

Dee Lee and Glen Frederick were back in Halifax, still working on the missing Pussylips case.
They had lunch at the Thirsty Duck on Spring Garden Road and then crossed from Halifax back over to Dartmouth. The Darkside.
“Word’s already out pretty widely, from what I can tell,” Glenny was saying. “They were talking about it at the pumphouse on Herring Cove, and the Fake-Trip-to-Domician people and the strip club. Everyone I talk to has heard $2 million in coke got stolen.”
“$2 million,” Dee scoffed. “I got it for $500 grand, credit from Evan Bruce.”
“Oh yeah? That’s a good deal. How’s he working out then?”
“He’s working out great, that’s why I don’t want to fuck it up. If those Montreal guys get the impression I’m a fuck-up, they’ll box me in. My big quantity days will be over. Bruce brokers directly through some Florida lawyer for the Medellins. You can’t get much better than Evan Bruce.”
In order to not be in debt to Evan Bruce, a Gypsy in Montreal, Dee was going to have to mortgage his house, sell some of his cars, cancel orders to the poultry farm and max out his business line of credit, unless the coke could be recovered immediately.
“The worse part is not even the money, man.”
Glenny snorted. “Fock you. Don’t tell me its not money. It’s money that got stolen, ain’t it?”
“Okay, it’s money, but the second thing is the colossal balls of it,” Dee said. The hum of Dartmouth traffic was loud outside his window. “It’s the damage to my reputation. My mythology. How much is that gonna cost me in the long run? People think they can fuck me now. It’s hanging in the air like a thundercloud. Everyone knows I got jabbed. It’s not just me, man. It’s you. It’s everybody. We all got jabbed. Some guy with inside knowledge of our business organized this shit and got away with it.”
“We’ll catch ‘em. Don’t worry about it.”
“You should see my dad. He’s pretty upset.”
Glenny stayed silent for a while, but then had a thought. “We should encourage the gossip. We need as much heat as we can generate. You should call Jack again and get another story in the paper. Ah-ah-ah. That would be cool. We need heat, man. The jabbers have to feel like they’re drowning in fryer fat.”