“You trust her, right, Phil?”
“Yes, I fucking trust her.”
“Then maybe you should start dropping those hints right away. Tell her you want to play it safe.”
Chapter 12
Sue heard a car door close. She took the plate of tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions she had just cut, scraped them into a salad bowl, and moved into the front room. Looking out between the drapes on the big window to her driveway, she saw that Gloria and Charles had arrived. Charles carried his briefcase and a paper bag.
Fiddling with the strings on her apron, Sue met them at the front door and hung her apron on the banister. Charles held up the paper bag. “Nice little chardonnay, Sue...not too oaky. From a new vineyard, down near St. David’s.”
Sue put the bottle in the fridge. “Would you two like a snack? I have some sausage rolls I can heat up. It’s a little soon to start the pasta.”
“I’m good,” said Gloria
Charles put the briefcase on the hall table, opened it up, and took out a small camera, a notebook, and a flashlight. “I can wait too... I’d like to take a walk. It’ll be dark soon and I want to check some things near the property.”
“Let’s all go.” said Sue. “I got copies of old property records for this lot at the library and Found a cross-reference at the Battlefield House Museum to a military report that mentions a house on this site. There are even some sketches. They’re all archived at the Toronto Reference Library. I phoned and ordered some copies.
“Tonight, whatever else we look at, I just want you two to get a feel for the house and the barn. When I’ve received the reference materials, I’d like us to get together and compare notes.”
They stepped outside and stood on the porch. It was a mild evening with a light breeze, quite comfortable for walking. Charles had the camera hung around his neck. He placed the flashlight and the notebook into his jacket pocket.
“We’ll look at the immediate area first, and then your property,” he said. “I took a drive around on the way here. The things I want to look at are across the road.”
A few minutes later they stood on the edge of a deep cone-shaped crater. They were about eighty yards from the north shoulder of the road, in a public viewing area. The crater was shaped like the inside of a tornado. Here and there, thin waterfalls tumbled down layers of limestone, and over sporadic clumps of brush or spindly trees perched on wafers of soil between the layers. Sue estimated that at this point the drop was well over a hundred and fifty feet.
“The Devil’s Punchbowl,” Sue said. “Quite impressive, isn’t it?”
Charles took several photographs and pointed to a large electrified cross that rose prominently from a concrete platform. It was just a few yards from the viewing area. “I knew the Punchbowl and this cross were up here, but this is the first time I’ve seen them up close. I hadn’t realized how near they were to each other. What do you know about this place, Gloria?”
“The history is pretty intense. With the battlefield just below, there’s been a lot of bloodshed within a few hundred yards of here. I’m not so sure that either of these features has anything to do with the happenings at Sue’s house. I know the cross was erected in the last two or three decades, and has become quite the landmark, you can see it from the north shore of Lake Ontario. But, I think it was a religious gesture sponsored by a local businessman. Nevertheless, the area has that dark history, so it wouldn’t hurt to learn everything we can about this place.”
Charles put his hand on Sue’s elbow and steered her towards the road. “Let’s go have a walk around your property...by the time we’re finished, we’ll be getting hungry.”
They stopped near the line of fruit trees at the edge of her property. Charles wandered around in the small orchard, pausing on occasion to make notes. When he came out, Sue pointed to the barn door. It was open. Gloria had gone inside. Charles moved around with his flashlight, examining the earth features in the barn’s shadows. He stopped at the open barn door and examined the wooden latches. “Let’s go in and see what she’s up to.”
As soon as they went through the door, Sue shivered. The air in the barn was heavy and frigid. Gloria stood motionless. Sue was about to say something, but Charles shook his head. They waited in the darkness, the flashlight illuminating the ground a few feet behind Gloria.
Sue’s stomach was knotted the whole time they stood there. Her breathing became shallow, and a feeling of panic gripped her. She wanted to scream and run out.
Gloria turned to them. “Very strong here, incredible grief. My God, it’s intense.”
With one last long look around the barn, Gloria steered Charles and Sue back outside, and then up to the house.
They relaxed and enjoyed some wine for an hour, and then Sue set their meals on the table. Charles poured them each another glass. He spun his wine gently in the glass and looked at Sue.
“Have you ever experienced anything inside the house?”
She took a sip of her wine, processing a response. “Well no, not really. Although...I’m not sure if I was just dreaming, but a couple of times I...” Sue’s face flushed. She was sure they’d noticed.
Don’t worry,” said Gloria. “There’s no need to hold back. What do you mean by ‘not really’?”
Sue leaned back in the chair.
Damn it, I didn’t imagine those things, and they’ve gone to the trouble of coming here. I’m going to tell everything that happened. Everything!
She’d felt things. In her bedroom. There had been touches, some casual and innocent, others passionate and pleading, directed at intimate places. She’d heard whispers at those times. A name. Sometimes she felt something lay next to her, a male presence. A few times it hovered over her. Twice she’d felt it probing her. Panicked by the invasions, she’d screamed and punched at the air until the sensations stopped.
I’ll tell them about that as well.
Sue brushed at some bread crumbs on the table cloth, searching for words. Gloria watched her closely. Charles waited with his notebook and pen. Her face flushed again, but she was ready to go on. She cleared her throat. “I know there’s something in this house. I’m not imagining it. I’ve felt it. What I felt was very real and very strange. You’ll probably think what I’m about to tell you is nonsense and that I’m losing my grip.”
Feeling that her friend needed a little time to build courage, Gloria slowed her response with a general question. “When was this house built, Sue?”
“The present structure was built a long time after that war. It’s late Victorian. I think it dates from just before the turn of the century...why?”
“Did your research indicate whether this was the first house on the site?”
“It wasn’t the first house. I know that the property has been lived on since 1770, but I don’t know where any of the earlier buildings were located, or even if this house sits on the original spot.”
“It looks like there was an earlier house that sat between this one and the barn, there’s still some evidence of the original wall by the barn’s footing,” said Charles. “But let’s get back to theses strange things you’ve felt in the house, Sue.”
“Then pour us another glass of wine, Charles. Maybe I can be a little more specific.”
They settled into separate chairs in the front room with their wine.
Avoiding eye contact with Charles, Sue spoke tentatively. “They have all been confined to that one room in the house.”
Gloria leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, everything you’ve experienced inside has been in your bedroom.”
Sue wrapped her hands around her glass. “Yes... it came to my bed, whispered to me. I felt it beside me... I can’t...”
“What did it whisper? Was it a young or an old voice?” Charles asked.
“It had the voice of a mature man. Whispered a name...as if I were mine...”
The roar of a motorcycle cut through the night, and decreased directly in front of the house. They h
eard the crush of gravel on the driveway. The motorcycle shut down. Charles put his glass down onto the coffee table and stood. He looked out the front window.
“You have company, Sue.”
Chapter 13
Marco Ranez watched the front door from a booth in the back of a bar on King Street in downtown Hamilton. It was upscale compared to most bars in The Hammer, and popular with those who worked in what passed as the city’s financial district. Despite the bar being a popular spot in the evening, it was usually quiet in the afternoons until about five. It was on one of the busiest streets in the city and he’d dressed to blend in with the business people from the nearby office buildings. The chances of any cops watching or being in that kind of bar on a weekday in the middle of the afternoon were slim.
Marco had told his contact to come in the back door off the parking lot and keep a low profile. The transaction would be quick. Once he got these papers, there would be no time to relax, he would be on the move constantly until he was out of Ontario for good. But now, he could relax for a few minutes. He ordered a premium single-malt scotch, told the waitress to make it a double shot, neat, and to bring some ice on the side.
He took his jacket off and rolled his left shirtsleeve up past the elbow. He touched the fleshy part of his forearm, admiring his scorecard in the bar’s dim light. It was a large tattoo of a spider web. The strands of the web intersected so that each shaded pane was shaped like a diamond. The elaborate and colorful tattoo covered the length of his forearm, from wrist to elbow. It circled like an elaborate sleeve. The web had been applied by a pro, a real work of art, but Marco had applied the additions himself: simple stick people, snared in the web, inspired by the hangman game that he’d played as a boy. They were crude images, plain and featureless, just like the shitheads they stood for. Nine stick people were already twisted and tangled in the strands and colorful panes of the web. Three more still needed to be applied: the two jewelers from New York and the little snitch from the steam bath in Toronto. There would be plenty of room for more. Marco knew, there would soon be more.
The waitress headed towards his booth. Marco dropped his left arm below the table. No sense giving her an eyeful of the tat. She might remember it if cops came sniffing around. Why help those assholes build their database?
Marco settled the bill immediately, giving her a decent tip. He brushed off her attempts at friendly chatter with a hand wave and said he was leaving shortly. No sense in complicating things. He dropped the ice into the glass, swirled it once, and took a generous sip.
He watched the back door carefully, and took occasional glances at the front, just in case the idiot came through the main door. He needed to get this guy in and out quickly. Without any fanfare.
An overweight man shuffled in through the back door. It was Danny Kotch, the guy Marco was waiting for. He walked along the washroom hallway to the lounge door. He stood, looking at Marco. Marco pointed down the hallway to the small washroom closest to the back door. Kotch went in, Marco followed and locked the door.
Kotch was there because he had a reputation of being good at his craft, and Marco had placed an order. Kotch nodded nervously. “I’ve got those things,” he said, touching his jacket pocket.
“Take off the jacket, Kotch.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Marco glared at him. “Take off the fucking jacket, pal.”
Kotch struggled out of the jacket. He had on a faded white t-shirt that clung to his blubbery torso like wet paint. The underarms were soaked. Marco gestured towards the sink. “Stand over there and turn around slowly.”
He frisked Kotch, putting up with the stench as he checked his shirt, his crotch, and the beltline of his grubby jeans for signs of a wire or body pack.
“All right. Let me see the stuff. Lay it out up there.”
Kotch took an envelope from his jacket and laid the contents along the ledge below the washroom mirror.
Marco examined every item. There were nine pieces of forged identification: six Ontario driver’s licenses in a multi-compartment plastic sleeve, one in a single sleeve, and two doctored Canadian passports. One passport had the same name as one of the driver’s licenses. He turned the sleeve of licenses face up, examining each one carefully under the lights of the bathroom mirror. He compared one passport’s info to the corresponding driver’s license. The other passport was a stand alone.
“I’ve seen better, but they’ll do. How much did your asshole friend charge for the passports?”
“Three hundred each.”
Marco checked the other driver’s licenses separately, and thoroughly.
“You did the licenses though?”
“Yeah, man.”
Marco placed all of the documents into his coat pocket. He handed Kotch a wad of bills wrapped in an elastic band, his stare silently forbidding Kotch to undo the elastic and count the money. “Did you follow the other directions?”
“Of course. I don’t screw around.”
“Now Kotch, when we’re done today, I want you to forget all these names. And then I want you to forget all about me. If you flap your fat face about any of this, you’ll end up on a wide slab. You got that?”
Marco checked the time. He didn’t trust this guy and decided to keep him close for a couple of hours. That would give him time to figure out how to handle the jerk.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ve got another job for you. You’ve got wheels, right?”
“Yeah.”
Marco patted Kotch on the shoulder. “You’ve done okay so far. Come on, show me where your car is parked. Then sit in it, and wait for me. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. There’s another hundred bucks in it for you, and I’ll pay the gas. You good with that?”
“Sure, that’s good.”
Marco was running late. He was due to call Vince. There was a payphone in the back hall just past the washrooms. He ignored it and continued to the back alley. “Which one is yours?”
Kotch pointed out his car.
Marco walked off the lot and stayed in the alleys between King and Main until he came out near the Royal Connaught Hotel. He found a bank of phones at the back of the lobby. He dialed the designated number from a list of payphones in downtown Toronto.
Vince picked up at the other end. “Yeah.”
“I’ve got the documents,” said Marco.
“Took you long enough to call, I’ve been here ten minutes. When can you make your move on the keys?”
“I’m sure they’re at that woman’s place, or close to it. But I’ll never find something that small without her showing me. This is where I earn big. I’m a good persuader, and I’ll be at my charming best. But I have to time it right.”
“Never mind the bullshit. Give me a ballpark guess. How long before we get our goods?”
“Give me a bit of time. I need to scout things out. See what the hell I’m dealing with here. It may take a few days.”
“Well, get on it for Christ’s sake. Call me tomorrow afternoon and bring me up to date, three o’clock. Use number seven on the list.”
Marco scratched out the number he’d just called and circled number seven.
Danny Kotch was in his car when Marco returned. He was munching on a super-sized O’Henry bar.
There’s no way I can trust this lump of shit. This is the right call.
Marco got into the car and pointed to the street. “Let’s go, Kotch. I’ve only got a couple of hours.”
Kotch’s heavy frame jiggled as he leaned forward to start the car.
Marco passed him a cigarette once they were off the lot. “Okay, I’ve got two stops to make. I need to pick up something up. It’s stashed at Crawford Lake, then I need to drop it at Toronto International Airport.” He placed two twenty-dollar bills and a ten on the seat. “I’ll give you the other fifty when we’re done. How’s your gas?”
“Less than a quarter tank, man.”
“Here’s another twenty. Stop and gas up first. Keep what’s left.”<
br />
Happy with the extra cash, Kotch smiled. “No problem, thanks.”
“There’s something else you can do for me and I’ll make it worth your while. When I placed this order, I said I wanted a good-looking chick to pick up a package for me, to do a little number on the guy, make him feel good. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she did it up right. The dumb prick was real happy. Set me up with her, I need to celebrate, let off a little steam. Make it for around eleven tonight. We’ll use your place. Find a gas station that has a phone booth and work it out.”
“She uses my place all the time. She’s gorgeous. No sweat, consider it done.”
By the time Kotch had stopped at a pay-phone, got some gas, and made the forty-minute drive to Crawford Lake, the road into the park was deserted. Marco saw no parked cars or people anywhere in the park. He hadn’t expected to this late in the day; the sun was getting low in the sky and its light was muted by trees. Still, he kept his eyes peeled. He’d been playing this game for a long time, he knew what to watch for.
They hadn’t been followed.
“Pull in to that clearing over there. My stuff is buried around there somewhere.”
Kotch pulled the car off the road and down a slight grade. He stopped in a hard, well-trodden patch of ground that was surrounded on three sides by thick brush and tall trees.
“I don’t have a shovel,” Kotch said. “Don’t you need a shovel?”
Marco ignored him.
They stepped out into the damp chill of dusk.
“Open the trunk for me, and I’ll be right back with my stuff...I better have a look. I need to make sure you’ve got enough room.
“No worries, man. The trunk’s clear.”
“I want to see the trunk.”
Kotch fiddled with the car keys in the fading light. He opened the trunk. When he turned away from the car, he was looking down the barrel of Marco’s gun.
Diamond Run Page 6