When the Killing Starts Read Online Free Page A

place there's a wealthy clientele. At least not until he's found a pigeon. Then he usually wines and dines the guy, taking him to better places than he's used to, you know how it goes."
    "I see the picture. Yeah. So if I wanted to contact him, I should start making a circuit of the rough spots, down around Queen and Sherbourne, and out Queen West."
    "That's it." Lenchak laughed. "I figure you'd better start at the redneck places. Anywhere they play country music is a good bet."
    "Don't be hard on us rednecks; I like country. Anyway, what's this guy look like?"
    "Not big, around five nine, one seventy, but it's all muscle. He moves like a soldier. And he usually wears a leather coat. He's thirty-eight this year, short fair hair, blue eyes, little brush of a mustache. Like when he calls himself Colonel, guys believe him."
    "Should stand out in a redneck bar, among all the ponytails," I said. "But his recruiting sounds a bit hit-and-miss. Don't these outfits usually advertise in Soldier of Fortune?"
    "No, those ads were outlawed some time back. But what Dunphy does is hit the help-wanted ads in the Toronto papers. "Wanted: strong, capable young men who want to earn big money. Strictly legal."
    "And there's a box number, what?"  
    "No, a phone number. It's different every time. We've checked it; it's always a pay phone in a bar. He has different guys answering it; he calls them and picks up names and arranges the contacts."
    "Have you shaken any of these guys down?"  
    "Losers, all of them. One's a guy in a wheelchair, another is a veteran of the big war, around sixty-five, heavy boozer. He's always half-corked, doesn't know anything. Says the colonel comes in early in the evening and buys his beer all night to take the phone."
    He didn't have any more to add, so I thanked him and hung up. A scam, he'd said. The name of the outfit suggested that. It was the kind of thing you'd expect a TV series to be called, something to appeal to the average misfit sitting in front of the set with his cigarettes and his dreams. He would need to be pretty unsophisticated to bite, but that isn't a requirement that will exclude many young men. No, it looked to me as if Lenchak was right; young Michaels had gotten himself into deep trouble.
    I wondered what their training would consist of. Not much, probably. A few lectures on field stripping weapons, firing, learning how to use captured weapons. Some nod in the direction of fitness, just enough to make the guy feel he was being subjected to discipline, not enough to do him any good.
    That was what reminded me that it had been two days since my last run. Living with a woman after years spent mostly on my own had cut into the workout ritual I've built for myself. I dug out my running gear and headed out with Sam at my heels.
    It was hot on the street, the slow, soaked-in heat of late afternoon when the sidewalks smolder with stored warmth. Beautiful weather to be on vacation with your girl. Ah, well. Fall for an actress, plan to spend a lot of time on your own.
    I didn't push too hard but kept it down to three miles in twenty-five minutes. Sam enjoyed it. City life didn't suit him. He was happy to be moving, clicking along behind me as if we were tied together.
    I got back and showered and then fed Sam and made myself some supper. Fred had been doing most of the catering, running a lot to salads and things in woks. I was relieved to find she had a can of Fray Bentos bully beef in the cupboard, and I parboiled some potatoes and fried up a solid meal of corned-beef hash, heavy on the onions. Why not?
    Broadhurst hadn't returned my call when I finished eating, so I went out to start searching, taking Sam with me. Toronto's a law-abiding city, but I was on an ugly hunt, and I might need some backup. If Sam was within whistling distance, he'd provide it.
    He settled comfortably on the front seat, and I opened all the windows and left the car outside one bar after another on my circuit. In every