Chapter 46

Det. Sgt. Smith and Cst. Charlie Dawe walked casually up to the front desk of the Star Hotel, after Dee Lee and Glen Frederick were gone.
There was a woman at the front desk with dark hair in a horrible 80’s haircut and half-curled bangs.
“Yes?” She said, suspiciously.
“We’re looking for a room,” Smith said, curling his arm around Dawe’s shoulder, seductively.
Dawe couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Single or double. You pay by the hour, $20, $49 for the night, or weekly, $249,” the woman said.
Cst. Dawe shook his head and set his leather badge casing down on the counter-top. “Forget what he said. We’re looking for the room that the two big dudes visited. The big black guy and the twinkie with the ballcap. What room did they visit? Quickly.”
The woman crossed her arms, looking unsure. “You guys are cops too?”
Dawe looked over at Smith. Smith nodded.
“That’s right,” he said. “We’re RCMP. Those others were Halifax PD, were they not? Where did they go?”
The woman looked less suspicious, but still guarded. “How come you need to follow them for?”
“Listen, lady. That’s not your concern, is it? Just tell us what room it was before I get pissed.”
“Are they crooked cops or somethin’?” The lady was smiling now. “We get a lot of cops here, sometimes on dates, but never cops tailing other cops.”
“We’re not at liberty to divulge that information, ma’am,” Smith said. “What room?”
“Alright, alright. They went to go see Lewis White. Room 213. Sheez, I was just curious.”
Smith turned left sharply and started walking toward the office door, then stopped. “Which way is it?”
“Second level. There’s a staircase straight ahead, on your left.”
Cst. Dawe lingered in front of the counter for a minute and turned back to the clerk. “Those men told you they were police officers? Did you ask them to show you some identification?”
“Yeah,” the woman said.
“And they showed you badges?”
“One of them did. The white one.”
Dawe pretended to make a note of it in his note pad. “Goes in the file. Thank you for your help.”
He followed Smith out the door.
Smith was taking the stairs two and three at a time, almost running. Dawe had to hustle to catch up.
“Hey. Dee Lee has a police badge? That’s impersonating a peace officer. We should take a look at it.”
Smith nodded, looking grave. “She’d never testify if she knew who they were. Forget it.”
They pushed through a fire door and strode quickly down the hall. Room 213 was a few doors down, on the right.
When they reached the door, Smith pounded on it with his fist. “PO-LICE!”
After another round of pounding, the door wrenched open aggressively from the inside, revealing a tall, muscular man with a bald head and hoop earrings. He had long arms and wore a black Black Sabbath T-Shirt, jeans and Doc Martin’s. He appeared to be wearing a flesh-coloured swimmer’s nose plug.
A potent reek of sour-smelling shit wafted out of the apartment.
Dee Lee’s colostomy bag, Smith thought. Half of Dee Lee’s colon had been removed after a bout with cancer, years ago. He had been known to douse people in the horrific smelling feces stored in his colostomy bag on occasion. Since half the colon was removed, the feces was less digested or something and smelled horrific.
The doorman smiled. Smith could see he had several front teeth missing. “How can I help you, officers?”
“Where’s Lewis White?”
“Lewis? He’s inside, resting,” the man answered. “He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Who are you?”
“I live upstairs. I’m Lewis’s doorman.”
“Tell him it’s Bob Smith, and tell him to get his ass out here, front and centre, before I decide to hold it against him. LEWIS!” he yelled into the room.
The tall skinhead grinned again, not the least bit worried. He ‘d obviously dealt with cops many times before.
“I’m sorry. He really is indisposed. And no, you can’t come in, not unless you show me a signed warrant.”
“What did they do, sir?” Cst. Dawe said, speaking calmly, in an effort to offset Smith’s aggressiveness.
“What did who do?”
“Dee Lee and Glen Frederick. We need to know why they came here just now. What were they doing? They won’t ever know we talked to you.”
The skinhead looked wistfully at the white seam of the door frame. His arm was braced across it, symbolically and physically blocking the police officer’s access to the apartment. “It’s possible that some men came to ask Lewis some questions. But no crime was committed and Lewis is simply resting. If you like, I can give him your business card and he can call you back when it’s more convenient.”
Smith turned around on the spot, angrily, and walked away. “C’mon, Charlie.”
Dawe looked over his shoulder, surprised. He took out a card and handed it to the skinhead. “Make sure he calls us.” Then trotted after Smith down the grungy red carpet hallway.
They left the Star Hotel and crossed the parking lot. Dawe waited until they were both back inside the Jimmy and the doors were shut.
“What was that? Why did we leave?”
Det. Sgt. Smith put his shades on and started the engine. “That was Lewis White’s bodyguard. He’s a martial arts expert and he would have literally fought us to keep us out of the room. And we had no right to go in. It would have been a mess, and in the end, Lewis won’t talk anyway.”
Dawe put his shades on too. The sun was shining brightly through the windshield. Smith turned out onto Windmill Road.
“How do we know he’s not in there dying, right now?” Dawe pressed him.
But Smith shook his head. “Trust me. There’s a chance Lewis’ll talk to me later. We have a relationship.”
Cst. Dawe pulled his shades down onto his nose. “Lewis’s an informer?”
Smith didn’t answer right away. “He’s a source. But, he won’t flat-out rat. Not unless he thinks they’re about to kill him. They may have beat his ass today, but they didn’t kill him. If they were going to kill him, he’d be dead. He’s still in the game and he knows it.”