The Blade Man

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “He’s freakin’ lucky nobody came at him with a knife.”

  Casey continued reviewing her videos until she reached the final one she took as they were leaving the area.

  “Oh.” In the top right corner of her screen, she saw the man fall. For one second, she glimpsed a figure in dark clothing right behind him. She remembered losing sight of the fallen man when Wes made the turn onto Pacific. Had she recorded a murder?

  “What is it?” Lou asked.

  “Take a look at this.” Casey handed him the phone. “Keep your eye on the top right corner.”

  Lou squinted at the tiny image. “Can’t see much except for a guy falling. It could be him, or not.” As Lou got to his feet, he grunted.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just need a shower and some sleep.”

  “If you start peeing blood, we’re going to the hospital.”

  Lou shuffled toward the bedroom and shut the door, something he rarely did. Did he not want her to see the extent of his injuries? Sooner or later, she’d find out. For the moment, backing off seemed smarter. Lou was a patient man, but even he had his limits.

  Sighing, Casey rose and turned out the lights. She entered their bedroom, her body aching from the long night. She climbed into bed and reached over to switch on the red lava lamp on Lou’s night table. It didn’t provide much illumination, but he loved his lava lamp collection that was sprinkled throughout their apartment. Casey turned off her own light and closed her eyes. By the time Lou emerged from the bathroom, she was drowsy.

  He grunted as he slid into bed.

  “All right?” she mumbled.

  “Yeah. Have you seen Summer tonight?”

  “She’s staying over at Stacy’s. Why?”

  “Thought I saw her at the rally late this afternoon.” He paused. “She was too far away to be sure, though.”

  Union rallies wouldn’t hold much appeal for her teenaged ward. After quitting the swim team a while back, Summer was more interested in cooking, fashion, and friends.

  “Doubt she knows anyone from Coquitlam,” Casey mumbled.

  “We’ve hardly seen her lately.”

  True. It was easy to miss someone in a house with three floors and a basement, especially when Summer’s room was one floor below theirs. Casey didn’t often see the two university students who rented bedrooms at the back of the house either. Although she passed by Summer’s door every day, their schedules often didn’t mesh. She’d make a point of catching up with her tomorrow.

  Lou shifted his weight and again grunted.

  “I’m worried about you,” she said.

  “It’s just a few bruises,” he murmured. “I’ll be in good shape for our wedding next month. Don’t worry.”

  Easier said than done. Their late June wedding was six weeks away. She hadn’t forgotten that it was supposed to have taken place last August, but she’d been hospitalized after a maniac attacked her. Their subsequent October date hadn’t panned out either when Lou came down with the worst flu of his life. As far as Casey was concerned, this third attempt would happen no matter what.

  THREE

  Monday morning meetings with Stan were usually relaxed. This one would be an exception.

  Casey stepped out of her Tercel and gazed at MPT’s two-story, white-plastered administration building. Stan’s office was on the upper floor in the right corner, his window overlooking the parking lot and yard. Taking a calming breath, she strode toward the entrance.

  It had taken six hours to write and revise her report about events at the riot. Less than an hour after she emailed it to Stan late yesterday afternoon, he had called for clarification on a couple of points, then told her he wanted to meet a half hour earlier than usual.

  Casey was about to enter the building when driver Dimitri Klitou, sporting a wide bandage on his forehead, barged outside. Black wavy hair draped over the bandage. His olive skin looked pale.

  “Dimitri? What happened to you?”

  “Some shithead tried to slice my face with a busted beer bottle Saturday night.” His dark eyes flashed. “Freak threw up on the platform, splashing my shoes and pants.” He muttered something in Greek.

  “Were you working near the riot?”

  “Heading out to Maple Ridge, but he boarded in Port Coquitlam.”

  The municipality was just east of Coquitlam and not far from Town Center Park.

  “Was the guy wearing a bandana, by any chance?”

  “Yeah, he wiped his face with it.” Dimitri squinted in the sunlight. “How’d you know?”

  “We had trouble at the riot with some guys sporting bandanas. What color was his?”

  Dimitri rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “It’ll help me identify him.”

  “Don’t remember. Check the camera.”

  Dimitri was fortunate to have driven a bus equipped with cameras. MPT’s older models didn’t have them. The dramatic rise in attacks on Metro Vancouver bus drivers had prompted MPT drivers to request protective barriers. Gwyn had rejected their request, insisting that alarms, radios, and cellphones were sufficient. His stance understandably infuriated most of the drivers, including Lou. If Gwyn had to deal with the number of drunk, high, or mentally ill people that drivers and security staff did, he’d change his mind in a hurry.

  Dimitri was heading toward the buses when he stopped and spun around. “Big mistake working that shift. I shouldn’t even be here today. Feel like shit.”

  With two kids, a wife, and parents to support, Dimitri couldn’t afford to turn down extra work. MPT employees weren’t paid for sick days, which is why Casey cut him some slack for the lousy attitude.

  “Do you remember anything else about him?” she called out.

  “His eyes,” Dimitri replied. “They looked crazy, and he wore a stupid beard.”

  “Sounds like one of the guys that Wesley tangled with. Did he have a goatee?”

  “Think so,” Dimitri grumbled. “Wes should have put the freak in the hospital. I would have had less trouble, and there should have been security personnel on board. Anoop got there way too late to be of any use. What’s the point of having a guard driving around if he can’t show up fast enough to help out?”

  “You know a lot of crap happened that night. Anoop couldn’t be everywhere.”

  Although Casey supported this fairly new initiative to have guards patrol troublesome zones in the security vehicle, clearly there were limitations.

  “Sorry I wasn’t there to help,” she added. “We were spread pretty thin Saturday night.”

  Dimitri again rolled his eyes. “A woman couldn’t have handled that bastard. He was out of his mind.”

  Casey sighed. The macho attitude hadn’t earned him a lot of respect from female staff.

  “Gwyn Maddox should be forking out bucks for better protection instead of buying fancy new cars and taking a damn cruise every year,” he ranted on.

  In other words, hire big, burly guys who didn’t mind getting physical with passengers. Casey bit back a nasty retort.

  “Tell Stan that we’re tired of being spat on, threatened, and punched every damn week! Someone’s gonna get killed if he doesn’t do more!” Dimitri stormed off.

  “Doubt it’ll make a difference,” a quiet voice said behind her.

  Casey turned to find one of their newer drivers, Ethan Carruthers, sauntering up to her. An energetic twenty-four-year-old, Ethan also happened to be an incredible vocalist for a rock band. Every time she and Lou went to see him, the venues were packed. She sometimes found it hard to reconcile the quiet, long-haired bus driver with the glitzy performer who wore makeup and facial jewelry in front of screaming fans.

  “Hi, Ethan,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay.” He watched Dimitri enter a bus. “Dimitri’s right about the violence. It’s getting worse out there, so is Gwyn too cheap to do something about it, or too broke?”

  “Broke?”

  “I’ve heard rumors.”


  No surprise there. Cutbacks and frozen wages had happened before and new rumors about MPT’s financial problems had started up over recent months. She’d asked Stan about it, and he confirmed, confidentially, that the company’s debts were growing. Casey hadn’t told anyone, including Lou.

  “Stay safe,” Ethan said, and continued on.

  “You too.”

  On one level, Dimitri wasn’t wrong about the security team’s inadequacies. There were only five of them, which wasn’t nearly enough lately, but Gwyn refused to spend money on expansion. She and Marie were the only full-time employees. Part-time guard Anoop Verma was experienced, but busy with school and his young family. The other two part-timers were rookies.

  Casey jogged upstairs and entered the rectangular room that security shared with accounting and human resources. The four desks allotted to security were empty for the moment, and Stan’s secretary was on a month-long vacation. Casey glanced between the row of dracaenas and palms that separated security from HR and accounting personnel.

  “Casey!” One of the HR staff waved to her. “Everyone’s talking about the riot. Are you okay? What went down out there?”

  “Lots. I’ll tell you over coffee later.”

  “You bet.”

  As far as Casey was concerned, MPT’s greatest asset was the staff, most of whom helped and supported one another, personally and professionally. These days, the company employed a terrific roster of administrative personnel who got along well.

  Casey entered Stan’s office to find him typing as quickly as his awkward, two-finger style could manage. Beneath the gray brush cut, three furrowed lines stretched across his brow, his usual sign of concentration while composing an email.

  “Dimitri Klitou wants you to know that MPT needs more security staff. Men only.”

  “Noted.” After a few mouse clicks, Stan swiveled his chair to face her.

  “Wow.” Casey gaped at the zebra-striped tie and salmon-and-white short-sleeved shirt. Stan’s reputation for mismatched ties and shirts was legendary. “New tie?”

  “Yeah. Grandson bought it for my birthday.”

  “Ah.”

  “Watch Dimitri’s altercation.” He turned the screen toward her. “The audio’s fairly useless. Too much yelling and background noise.”

  She figured as much. The tiny microphones embedded in the bus walls weren’t great. Dispatch could only hear what was happening after the driver pressed the alarm button. Tinny-sounding words were often missed or inaudible. Worse, the stupid things automatically shut off after thirty seconds.

  “I know it’s a long shot, but does the suspect look familiar?” Stan asked, freezing the footage.

  The bright green shoelaces and red bandana confirmed her suspicion. “He’s one of the Bandana Boys who went after Wesley.” In her report, she’d only briefly mentioned the dustups with the Boys. Didn’t write that Wes had turned him upside down and rammed the guy’s head into the floor. So, the guy had turned his anger on Dimitri. Just great.

  “Here’s his photo.” She showed Stan her image of the thug.

  Stan nodded and continued playing the footage. Casey winced as Bandana Boy slashed Dimitri’s forehead with a broken beer bottle. Dimitri recoiled and raised his arms. Bandana Boy went after him, but this time Dimitri kicked him in the knee. A second kick caught Bandana Boy’s shin. He doubled over, yanked his bandana down, and vomited. Dimitri kicked the guy in the head.

  Casey gasped. “For god’s sake!”

  Bandana Boy collapsed onto his side. Dimitri then shoved him off the platform and onto the sidewalk.

  “Nice, huh?” Stan froze the image. “Lawsuit’s probably in the works.”

  Casey didn’t know what to say. Dimitri’s actions were as appalling as Bandana Boy’s.

  “Your report says you have recordings of those punks,” Stan said. “I need to see all of it.”

  Casey pulled up the first recording and handed him the phone. Stan’s face gave nothing away as he watched the Bandana Boys high-fiving one another after the Molotov cocktail exploded. Next came Wesley’s unceremonious dispatch of the Boys trying to board the bus, followed by more clips of their behavior.

  Stan plunked the phone down. “Well, shit. Why didn’t you write about Wesley’s crazy pile-driver move?”

  “Didn’t think it was necessary,” she answered. “The report’s long enough.”

  “Since this is the same thug who tangled with Dimitri, it sure as hell is now.”

  Stan stood and began pacing the room. His office wasn’t large. Hands on hips, he stopped in front of the windows.

  “I thought about deleting everything to do with Wesley,” she added. “I mean, we’re supposed to protect employees as well as passengers, but what happens when their integrity and behavior is wrong?”

  Stan turned around. “Keeping the videos was the right call. Any of the passengers could have recorded the same incidents or your actions. If we tried to hide it and their footage became public, we’d look even worse than we do.” Stan plodded across the green linoleum floor and dropped back into his tattered Naugahyde chair. “The whole riot thing’s a bloody mess.”

  No kidding. If the police learned of Dimitri’s and Wesley’s behavior, MPT’s reputation would suffer. Stan had worked hard to build a rapport with officers from all jurisdictions. He wanted his security team to be regarded as helpful, reliable professionals who were more than capable of providing assistance when asked. Drivers were expected to uphold the same standard, and now two of them had blown it.

  “Does Gwyn know about the altercations yet?” she asked.

  “I’m meeting with him in an hour.” Stan shook his head. “Won’t be pretty. Those two could get canned.”

  “Lou says there’s a driver shortage, and an argument could be made that they if they hadn’t fought back hard, they could have been badly beaten,” Casey answered. “By the way, Dimitri said that Anoop arrived too late to be of much use. What was his location when Dimitri pressed the alarm?”

  “Stuck in traffic near the riot.” Stan leaned back in the chair. “He took Dimitri to the hospital, but I need to rethink the whole vehicle patrol thing. It would’ve been better if he’d been on the bus.”

  “Despite his conflict resolution training, Anoop’s no fighter and the passenger was out of control,” Casey replied. “Anoop could have been cut with that broken beer bottle.”

  Stan gazed at the dwarf jade bonsai plant on the corner of his desk. It was a habit he’d picked up whenever he was mulling over a problem, a habit Casey had learned not to interrupt.

  “Our PR person says there’ve been online threats about hurting MPT drivers,” he murmured.

  “Really?” She didn’t bother much with social media, but thoughts of Lou out there on the road made her anxious. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Bandana Boys are behind that.”

  “Maybe, but some of the drivers are now refusing to work the Coquitlam routes.”

  “Can’t blame them. Have the cops been told about the threats?”

  “Yeah, they’re searching for the sources.” Stan leaned forward. “Gwyn wants a stronger security presence in Coquitlam. He also thinks that troublemakers will be deterred if you and the team wear your uniforms.”

  Casey’s stomach clenched. “With all the hostility lately, it’s more likely to attract trouble. Gwyn knows this has happened before, which is why we’re in street clothes in the first place.”

  “I reminded him of that. Also pointed out you’re my second-in-command because of your judgment and skill, which entitles you to wear whatever you want.”

  “Thank you. Did Gwyn back down?”

  “He’s agreed to let you wear street clothes under your uniform jacket. You decide when to lose the jacket.” Stan handed her a sheet of paper. “Here’s the new schedule. You, Marie, and Anoop will work from 7:00 PM to 1:00 AM near the riot area, and as far east as Maple Ridge.”

  Marie was a single parent and Anoop’s wife often worked evening
s, which meant they would need to hire a babysitter. This wouldn’t go over well.

  “Have you told them?” she asked.

  “I will.” He paused. “You should also know that Gwyn wants experienced drivers on those routes, which means Lou, Wesley, and Benny will be carrying the load.”

  Crap. Lou hadn’t yet told her about the extent of his injuries. He had been up and dressed before she got out of bed both yesterday and today, which was totally out of character for him. As she pondered this, her fingertip traced a deep scratch in Stan’s old mahogany desk.

  “I know you’re concerned about Lou,” Stan said, “but he can handle himself better than most employees. He’ll be okay.”

  Casey nodded, but said nothing. It was always unsettling when Stan read her thoughts like that. She didn’t have to read his mind to know that he wouldn’t let her ride with Lou. From day one, Stan feared that she’d put Lou’s safety before the passengers in dangerous situations. His stance had always bothered her, but considering the escalating violence everywhere maybe he was right.

  “I want you to ride with Adrianna Friday night,” Stan said. “She’s been assigned to Coquitlam because something came up with Wesley and he can’t work that shift.”

  Casey liked Adrianna. She’d been with MPT for a few years, but she was easily rattled when things didn’t run smoothly.

  “She’s the best they could do?”

  “Yep. Five other drivers turned down the work, even with the offer of overtime pay. She said she’d only do it if you were with her,” Stan added. “Benny’s got the M28 route.”

  “I hate to say this, but what about Lou?”

  “His supervisor wants him to take a couple of days off.”

  “Why?”

  Stan put on his new black-framed reading glasses. He already looked distinguished with the trim beard and moustache, but the glasses made him look like an executive.

  “I think he’s afraid Lou will quit if he’s pushed too hard.” Stan gathered sheets of paper together. “There’s been stories that he’s thinking about it.” He peered at her. “That true?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  After the bid for unionization failed, Lou had talked about quitting. Was he discussing it with coworkers again and, if so, how had Stan heard about it before she had?