"James! Come in. Have a seat."
"Thanks John." Turkell barely had a chance to settle in the chair when it hit the fan.
"What the fuck is going on with councillor Wilson, James? How the hell is he managing to sway so much opposition to us on St. James Town?" Corbett glared at Turkell.
"Relax John. Everything is under control."
"Really? There's nothing to worry about James? That asshole could jeopardize the entire project. I've been counting on you to get a few other councillors on our side with this thing."
Turkell smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in his $5,000 silk suit as he crossed his legs. "None of us expected Wilson to be such an obstacle John. It's turned out to be a popular position with his constituents and he's been milking it for all it's worth. He's even been using his influence on committees to buy votes. Still, we only need to pick up a few more votes and we can push this through."
"Listen James. I know how these things go. If Wilson gains enough momentum with this others will jump on the bandwagon and it will pick up steam. This could hold up the whole project for who knows how long."
"Don't worry Mr. Mayor. We're working on Councillors Howe and Deacon. As soon as we swing them over it's a tie and your vote will push it through."
Corbett got up and started pacing the room. "That's not good enough James. There are more than a few yes votes that could easily be turned to no votes if this drags on for much longer. We need to pull the rug out from under Tim Wilson and we need to do it now."
"What have you got in mind John. Wilson's not about to change his mind or let up. He's on a crusade with this one. Let's face it, it's his most popular platform right now; he's not about to give it up."
Corbett sat back down. "That's the problem right there James. The bastard's using this like it's an election campaign issue. And guess what could happen if he pulls it off? If the media gets behind him on this, he could derail the project and give us a run for our money on the next election."
Turkell could see the Mayor was really worked up about Wilson. "John, I think you're getting ahead of yourself here. The rest of the city doesn't care about St. James Town. It's a slum for crying out loud."
Corbett realized he'd shown a bit too much emotion and calmed himself. No sense tipping anyone off about how riled he was. "You're right James. Too many ducks not lining up right now and it's getting the better of me."
"That's perfectly understandable Mr. Mayor. You should relax and get away from the office for a bit. Go out and have a nice dinner with the wife."
Corbett started walking to the door. "Good idea James. That's exactly what I'll do. You keep working on Howe and Deacon. It will all fall into place soon enough."
As soon as Turkell left, Corbett picked up the phone and punched the receptionist button. "Deedee, get Serge Mogilevich on the phone would you?"
Moments later Deedee rang him back. "I've got Serge Mogilevich on line 1 Mr. Mayor."
"Serge?"
"How are you John? How's our project coming?"
"We've got a problem. Are you free for dinner?"
"Sure. I don't have any engagements I can't get out of."
"Fine. Let's discuss it over a steak. How does 7 o'clock work for you?"
"Fine. See you then."
Chapter 11
I got off the plane and went to the car rental kiosk to pick up the rental car. Exiting the parking lot, I hit the gas on the 750Li BMW. The tires chirped as the v12 booted up to blend with traffic in seconds.
I drove to Onix Corp headquarters and announced myself to the guard at the gate. I noticed a small round smoked glass protrusion in the ceiling of the guard shack; I was glad to see that Bill had implemented the tighter security measure I had recommended on my last review.
After confirming I was expected the guard raised the barrier to let me through. I parked the bimmer and announced my arrival at the reception desk.
Bill Piermont's office was on the atrium level. The entire east wall was one-way glass that looked out over the production floor. As I walked into the office Bill got up to shake my hand.
"Good to see you Nick! How was the flight?"
"Good. I see you've added new cameras in the guard shack." I smiled and shook Bill's hand.
"Yes. They feed right into the main computer and do an automatic recognition check just as you suggested."
"That's good. Might as well use up some of the excess computer capacity. How's Elaine and the kids?"
"Good. We're doing pretty good Nick."
I could see Bill wasn't his usual self. He looked stressed out - like he wasn't getting enough sleep. I had known Bill since I was a kid and he wasn't the sort of guy who let things get to him.
"You look a bit stressed Bill. Has something happened?"
"Very perceptive as usual Nick. In fact, that's why I asked you to come up here today. It's not the sort of thing we have you work on for us usually Nick, but I'm hoping you can help us."
"I'd be glad to help if I can Bill. What is it?"
"It concerns Julia. Her husband Terry was found dead two weeks ago. He'd been stabbed to death in broad daylight and left in the parking lot by his car."
"Julia must be devastated. How can I help?"
"She's not taking it too well. None of us are."
"How did it happen? Do the police have any idea why he was killed?"
"That's partly why this is so upsetting Nick. The police are calling it a robbery. He was found by his car in the parking lot at the Pacific Mall in Markham. He'd been stabbed several times in the chest. His watch and wallet were missing."
"You don't buy the idea that it was a robbery?"
"Not for one second. Terry knew how to take care of himself. There's no way some common thief could have done this to him."
"You think the cops are covering something up?"
"I don't know Nick. They're saying there's no evidence or motive for murder. They don't want to have an unsolved murder of a public figure on the books during an election year. Pretty lame excuses I think."
I felt for Bill, but this kind of mess was the last thing I wanted to get drawn into. Cops usually take murder pretty seriously. Maybe Bill was reading more into this because he was so close to it.
"Look Nick. I know this isn't the sort of thing you get involved in, but something stinks and I don't know who else I can ask for help. I'll make it worth your while; double your usual fee and all expenses paid. I don't care what it costs. I want Terry's memory and my daughter to be treated with the respect they deserve."
"I'm not sure what I can do to help with this Bill, but I can see this really has you upset. I'll ask around and see what I can come up with. I'll be honest with you though, this isn't going to be easy. Is there anyone on the police force who might be of some help to us?"
"Detective Stan Novak was Terry's close friend and he seems to be of the same opinion we are. He's sympathetic but says he isn't able to do anything about how the case is being handled."
"Alright. I'll start by talking to Stan Novak. I'll keep in touch and let you know what I find out. This may take a while Bill, cops usually keep to their own and it's not likely they're going to want to talk to me about this."
"Thanks Nick. I won't forget this. And remember what I said about money; I don't care how much this costs - I want whoever did this to pay for it. Terry deserves better than this and I aim to see that his wife has a better memory of her husband."
I got up and shook Bill's hand. "Give my regards to Elaine. I'll be in touch."
I headed back to my hotel room to think about how I should handle this. My gut told me this wasn't going to be a fun ride.
Chapter 12
Stan Novak opened the door to #407 and looked around the small room that was now his home. They called it a Junior one-bedroom apartment. In Toronto, a junior one bedroom normally means a small one bedroom apartment that fits at best a twin-size bed and nothing else. If you're on a tighter budget, it would be an extra-large studio or bachelor t
hat is large enough to section off a separate sleeping area.
Thankfully, Stan's was the kind that actually had a small bedroom. He wouldn't need to find some sort of screen that could be used to block off a section where he could put a bed. Stan had survived worse, he would survive this.
The small bedroom contained a four inch thick slab of foam that served as a bed for now. An old sleeping bag stood in for sheets and a blanket. He would have to find a few pieces of furniture to make it look a bit more acceptable for the times when his daughter Jordan might stay over. He really hoped she would continue to be a part of his life.
A distorted buzzing sound suddenly came out of the intercom system that was located next to the door to his apartment. He wondered if it was just someone who was trying to be let into the building. He pressed the talk button "Yes."
"Buzz me in, it's John."
John Gallagher took in the small one bedroom apartment. As he walked he noticed the foam slab at the far side of the bedroom before his eyes settled on Stan Novak. "Jesus." Gallagher looked around the apartment again. "Sorry Stan. I didn't know."
Stan didn't respond.
"I called your place to talk to you. Sarah told me where I could find you. Thought I'd come by, see how you're doing."
"How am I doing?"
The two stood awkwardly for a moment. "I've been there Stan."
Stan shifted his weight.
"Separated. Divorced. Crappy apartment with nothing in it."
"I didn't know."
"Well. It was a long time ago Stan." Gallagher seemed to be lost in old memories. "You don't forget these things." Stan could see that Gallagher genuinely felt for him. "It's not a memory that fades with time."
Stan nodded. He somehow knew the memory of this would haunt him long after he got over it.
"Been through the lawyer crap yet? Those bastards make everything worse. Tear families apart for a few bucks." Gallagher pulled out a cigarette. "You mind?"
Stan shook his head.
Gallagher walked over to the kitchen window and slid it open. He flicked a lighter and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs. He savored the effect for a moment and exhaled in the direction of the window. A smoking habit made you feel like an outcast these days; it was banned almost everywhere.
"Fifteen years ago. That's when my life blew up. Christ, I just remembered it all like it was yesterday after talking to Sarah earlier."
Stan nodded.
"It's not as easy as it used to be keeping a marriage together. Both people working." Gallagher shrugged. "I don't know how some people manage to keep it together through the years. And for a cop, it's a heck of a lot harder than it is for most people."
Stan just let Gallagher get it out.
"At least twenty percent of the force has a drinking problem. Marriage breakup rate is twenty percent higher than the rest of the population. Christ, some studies say it's twice as high for cops as it is in most other occupations."
Stan knew Gallagher was trying to make him feel better. Knowing so many others had been there and made it through didn't make it any easier right now though, Stan thought.
Gallagher flicked his cigarette out the kitchen window. "So where do you eat here, standing by the counter?"
Novak smiled, glad Gallagher was changing the subject. "Haven't been doing a lot of cooking yet."
"I've got an old kitchen set stored in the basement. You're welcome to use it till you get set up. Hell, you can keep it for that matter."
"I could use a bit of furniture." Stan smiled. "Thanks."
"Actually, we've got a lot of stuff clogging up the basement. You can have it all. It'd sure make Sylvia happy. Come to think of it, you'd be doing me a big favor. She's been on my case to clean that stuff out for years."
Stan was considering the offer and was warmed by the Captain's generosity. He could use anything he could get his hands on as far as furniture went. "Thanks. When can I drop by?"
"You can drop by later this afternoon. I'll be home in a couple of hours."
Chapter 13
Mayor John Corbett liked to have meetings of a private nature at Jacob's Steakhouse. They were never too busy to seat VIPs and they had a few very private booths in the back room where you could discuss business without worrying about being overheard by the people at the next table.
Sergei Mogilevich had reserved a booth and was enjoying a coffee when Mayor Corbett arrived.
Corbett was one of those rare men whose presence filled the room when he walked in. He was a big man. 6 feet tall, 240lbs. The Italian on his mother's side showed much more than his father's English heritage.
He kept his dark brown hair trimmed short to minimize the impact of the severely receding hairline. Corbett was always impeccably manicured. He wore expensive Italian suits and loafers to match. The politician worked the room and chatted briefly with a few of the patrons as he made his way to the table.
"You must be hungry Serge, you beat me to the table."
"I always look forward to a steak at Jacob's. Consistently top notch food that never disappoints. I don't know how they do it, but it seems to get better every time I eat here."
"Yeah, I feel the same way about the place. Not too many restaurants left where you don't need a knife to cut your steak."
They both ordered an 8oz fillet with oven roast potatoes and vegetables Du Jour. Sergei had the waiter bring them a bottle of Shafer Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon Hillside Select. A delightful red wine that bumped up the dinner tab by $400 a bottle.
They continued with pleasantries until the waiter served their meals and topped up their wine glasses. Once the waiter left them to enjoy the food, they got down to the real reason why they were here.
"We've got a problem with the St. James Town project Serge. That asshole Wilson has managed to recruit enough opposition to keep it from going through."
"I heard. Turkell briefed me on his antics. I was hoping you were going to be able to persuade him to go along with the project John."
"I had every reason to expect him to back us on this. He was going to back us, but now that the media has made such a big deal of his posturing as an opponent to the project, he can't walk away from all the free publicity. He's conveniently forgotten what it is he was expected to do.
When I think of all I've done for him; the committees I've put him in charge of and all the money that goes with that. I could rip him apart with my bare hands that fucking ingrate."
"He does appear to be gaining a lot of popularity. People like that are dangerous to have around. They have no sense of loyalty."
"Yeah. It looks like I've created a monster. The son of a bitch is riding this for all it's worth. He's a regular savior of the working class all of a sudden."
"Turkell said he's actively trying to enlist even more people to oppose us."
"That's why we're here. He's crossed the line. It's one thing to play up to your constituents with a popular issue. But now he's gone too far. We've got to stop him and we've got to do it right away."
"Seems like you seriously misjudged Tim Wilson."
"No kidding. I'm usually a pretty good judge of character. That son of a bitch is the biggest mistake I've made since I took office."
"You want me to take care of it John?"
"Yeah. I think our friend needs a quick refresher in consequences. The son of a bitch has become so arrogant he won't even listen to anyone else's opinion anymore."
Sergei had been waiting for this. He was old school. Playing politics took too long and results were never guaranteed. Sergei liked to get results NOW. "He's cost us a lot of time and money already John. Is taking him out of the picture going to be enough for us to push this through?"
"It shouldn't be too hard to sway a couple more votes our way once Wilson is no longer part of the equation. Any promises he's made will be worthless if he isn't there to deliver."
"Alright John. Leave it with me. I'll find a way to make our little problem go away."
Chap
ter 14
Anatoly Rodchenko took the morning flight from New York city to Toronto. During the twenty five minute limo drive to the Executive Suites Hotel in Markham, his mind drifted back to the first time he had met Sergei. So many years had passed since then. Christ, they were almost seniors now.
Anatoly's gray hair had completely receded from the hairline and he was practically bald on the crown. He could be the poster boy for the typical grandfather of European descent. The blue eyes and kind friendly face belied the man's chosen profession.
The Borman Factor Page 3