NIGHT MOVES: The Stroll Murders

by Gar Mallinson

  He stood outside the door for a moment looking out the window at the slice of harbour he could see. When he walked into the office, Sabina was perched at Willow’s old desk, twirling a bit of hair in one hand and working a square thing with the other. Harry sighed and walked over to look. It was another of those gadgets Apple sold, only this one didn’t seem to have a keyboard and it was about the size of a paperback. She started punching the screen with her thumbs.

  “Hey H,” she said. “You ought to get one of these. Keep everything straight, dates, projects, meetings, anything you got for the day. You could set up a whole month if you wanted.”

  Harry watched her thumbs flipping around for a bit and shook his head. “Why would I want to do that? Just make me depressed to see a whole month. You think we should paint the place? I mean, to go with the new stuff you got?”

  Sabina looked around and grimaced at the dirty beige walls and chipped woodwork. “Well, Sweets, paint would sure help, but we got stuff to do before that, like putting in partitions. See, we could separate the working part from the reception part. Put a bit of class into the place, make it look like a business and not just a place to park your ass for the day. Come over here and I’ll show you what I think.”

  Harry looked pained but walked over. Sabina spread out a couple of sheets of yellow legal size, and with a running commentary began to draw a plan of the office. She sketched in new walls, doors, furniture, and a computer station. Harry just watched. When she ran down, he grunted.

  “Ah come on. It’s gonna look great, you’ll love it. And you don’t have to do a damn thing. I’ll look after it all. You just blow off the moths and pay the man. I gotta pee. Don’t go away!”

  By the time she got back, Harry was sitting in Willow’s old chair, adding a few touches of his own.

  “Atta boy. Let’s see what you’ve done.” Sabina leaned over his shoulder, long blond hair brushing his cheek. “Hey, that’s good! I hadn’t thought of that! How about this?”

  By the end of the afternoon, they’d finished and were throwing around names for the new firm. Harry’s name and both of hers got put into the mix. He hadn’t known her full name until now: Sasha Hartley had become Sabina Harris.

  What followed was a journey into history and a decision to take the whole thing to dinner at the Modern. The first bottle of Shiraz hadn’t solved anything, so they ordered another and kept going. In the end, dinner finished and the second bottle gone, they mulled the result over coffee.

  ◆◆◆

  Kylie and Jen grew closer as the days passed. They met Billy and Jimmy at their spot on the river as often as they could, enjoying the reefers Billy always had and becoming ever more intimate, inhibitions fading like light behind the mountains at dusk. By the time Billy suggested tattoos, they’d had sex in every conceivable way, and had welded into a single entity as much as that were possible. The tats, Billy said, would make them part of each other, like a pledge between them.

  As time went on that summer, Billy became the one who defined the group. Jen and Jimmy were eager followers, and Kylie was the one who received them all, singly and together. For the first time in her young life she felt secure, a part of something rare, and she gave herself fully.

  If her parents noticed anything, they attributed the change to their daughter’s growing sense of who she was. She was less emotional at home, easier to live with, and more amenable to suggestion. If anything bothered them, it was her absences during the day. But it was summer, and they were more than happy to see her away from her computer and electronic devices and out in the fresh air.

  After an afternoon of sex and reefers along the river while they lay naked in the sun, Billy showed them the symbol he had decided would be their sign. It was a circle with four arms meeting in the middle, in a kind of cross except that the ends of the arms were joined to form an inner circle. Each arm met the circumference of the circle in two soft opposing curves. It was suggestively phallic, but visually attractive and meaningless to outsiders. Billy smiled. “We get it at the bottom of our backs where our hips start, and we all get it at the same time.

  “I’ve arranged it for tomorrow. I’ve got a place and a special guy to do it. We meet here and I’ll take you all. Kylie gets another pair of tats, a teardrop on each inner thigh.” Kylie was excited and eager. She was full of questions for Billy, about the tears especially, and how she would be exposed to get them. Her arousal was obvious, and they took her yet again as the afternoon wore down.

  Kylie smiled and spread her arms and legs in unconscious imitation of the symbol that would shortly join them all.

  Over coffee in the Modern, Sabina said, “You know, you got a real screwy name there. Jesus, what was your mother thinking! Sounds like an English barrister, you know, one of those guys in a wig with his nose up his ass? Jonathon Hargreaves Touchstone? Where’d she get that?”

  “If you knew anything about United Empire Loyalists, you’d understand. You young people got no sense of history. Anything past last week is obsolete. It’s a wonder you can figure out anything.” Harry sat upright and wagged his index finger in her face.

  Sabina guffawed and kicked him under the table. “Well, we gotta make something out of that mess. Why don’t we take the H out of Harry and maybe the S out of me, and add the H from Harris and Hartley and Hargreaves, and make SHH out of it. Besides, with my last two names, it could be all me if you bail, or you and me together if you can stand the pace.”

  Harry sat back and thought about it. “You know, there’s something in that. Sort of onomatopoeic. SHH: Private Investigations. Maybe on two lines. In gold. Outlined in black. On the glass part of the door when we get one.”

  “Onomatopoeic?” Sabina asked. “You been reading funny books again? So okay, I get the inside, you get the door.”

  Harry grinned. “Sounds fair to me. Let’s go home and talk it over in bed. I got a Scotch that has to be sipped slowly, and we need to be comfortable for that.”

  Sabina got up, sauntered past the waitress, camped a bit for the barista, and paid the bill. What followed was a head to head at the register, a few giggles from her, and some nods and a giant smile from him. The waitress muttered something under her breath and went to the kitchen. Harry followed Sabina out the door.

  They walked over to Front Street, passed the Anglican church, and wandered down to the seawall. It was a quiet night, the breeze fitful, the rigging from the marina muttering in the darkness. The harbour heaved quietly, the swell swinging in from the Salish Sea. No waves broke the surface.

  They took the path around Maffeo Sutton Park and crossed the pedestrian bridge over the Millstream River. Then they turned up the short street at the rear of the yacht club to their home. Sabina peered in the salon window. “Think I should try this place, H, or would I cause a stir and embarrass you?”

  “Hell, most of the guys in there are on your side of the park, so you should fit right in. Try it out tomorrow. We got things to do tonight.”

  Harry unlocked the door and followed Sabina up the stairs, happy enough with the day and satisfied with the view.

  II

  The next morning at ten, Kylie met Billy, Jimmy, and Jen in the rocks by the river. It was cloudy, the air close and heavy with the promise of rain, and the lower river sluggish and full with the tide. The four passed a reefer around, spent some time getting mellow, then took the path up the hill to Billy’s old, mud-spattered pickup. It had a rear bench seat, narrow and uncomfortable, but serviceable enough for Jen and Jimmy. Kylie sat up front with Billy, her pleasure at the arrangement obvious to them all. She kept close to Billy until he pushed her away so he could manage the stick.

  He took them through the south end, up Victoria Road, and onto the highway. He drove up the long hill past the Cedar Road lights and the Duke Point feeder highway to the cut-off just before the Cassidy Bridge. He turned off here, taking River Road along the ridge. The river below spread green and grey in the soft light. He drove on for a few kilometers
to a single gravel track that left the two-lane blacktop and ran steeply down the side of a gorge in two precipitous switchbacks toward the river. On both sides of the narrow, poorly maintained road, the forest rose above them, plunging them into a damp, cool half-light and muting the river’s voice. The track levelled out near precipitous rock walls where the forest ended and through which the river tumbled.

  The track led to a low, single-storey clapboard house set on a narrow protrusion of rock. The porch, attached haphazardly, was little more than a handmade addition thrown up in a hurry. It canted toward the river. The house itself was set back on the rock and surrounded by firs, cedar, and underbrush, its scabrous paint peeling in streaks like the moulting skin of a snake. The roofline bowed in a swayback.

  When Billy turned off the engine, the screech of heavy metal pounded out of the place, mixing with the roar of the churning water in the river’s narrow bed. Mist seeped up from the gorge. Everything was slick, wet, and dripping, the moss on the trees like green slime. It was the most dismal place Kylie had ever seen. She sat in the truck unwilling to get out until Billy reached across and pushed open her door. She looked at him uncertainly and climbed down.

  They all followed Billy to the house. Once on the sodden floorboards of the rickety porch, they waited in curling tendrils of mist, enveloped in ear-splitting acid rock, while he pounded on the warped wood door. The sudden cessation of screaming electric guitar chords was as unnerving as the view over the sheer cliff walls to the raging river below. In the open doorway stood a huge, bearded, leather-clad biker who grinned at Billy and clapped him on the shoulder with a massive hand before hauling him inside. Jimmy, then Jen, then Kylie, followed.

  The interior held a couple of drab couches on one side, both sagging in the middle, two tilted floor lamps, shades askew, and a huge flat-screen on the opposite wall flanked by speakers as tall and as wide as the biker himself. In front of the couches was a long low table covered in fast food cartons, pizza boxes, and a small army of green bottles, many on their sides like fallen soldiers. Behind all that mess, in the back, was a clear, clean spot, lit by one low-hanging high-intensity lamp over a black leather bench built like a massage table. Standing to the side of the table was a contraption that reminded Kylie of a dentist’s office except that this monstrosity was black.

  The biker had his back to Kylie and Jen and was talking quietly to Billy. Jimmy stood by his side saying nothing. Now and then, the biker looked up and eyed the two girls while Billy talked. Then he grinned at Kylie and ran his eyes over her young body. She shuddered, revolted by the intimacy. It was as if he could see through her clothes, and she could almost feel his big hands crawling over her naked body. Her revulsion surprised her. She’d come to recognise and welcome the lascivious looks of her peers and even older men who saw in her walk and manner the promise of her body. Only her parents seemed oblivious.

  As the huge biker continued to eye her, she felt her body react and the heat of it melted away her initial feelings until she began to respond in kind. The biker nodded to her, his smile bigger, his eyes registering her growing compliance. He looked down at Billy and nodded some more. He looked back up at Kylie again, his eyes knowing, his lips parted, his tongue protruding slightly in a highly suggestive way that made ripples of anticipated pleasure flow through her. The intensity of their exchange blocked everything else, and she knew the big man would take her, felt the heat rise in her. She turned from him and walked to the black couch, letting her body reflect her arousal, knowing his eyes were still fastened on her, aware that she was the center of his attention.

  The three men finished whatever it was they were discussing and seemed to have reached some kind of agreement. At least that’s what it looked like to Jen, who had watched it all and smiled as she saw the big man watching Kylie, and Kylie loosen and respond. She knew what would happen, knew they’d all be a part of it, and felt her own pleasure rise.

  Billy came over to Jen. “Get over there with Kylie and make out. He wants to watch for a while. Get her naked and use the table. We’ll join you when she’s ready, all of us. Later we get our tats, and he’ll get her high and do the tear drops. She belongs to us, and we’re gonna use her to break into the life. This guy’s our connection.”

  The rest of the morning vanished in a feverish round of sexual activity on and around the black bench. The afternoon stretched out, measured by the sounds of the needle while the four of them received Billy’s circular tat at the base of their spines. The heavy biker was all business with the boys but lingered over the girls, especially Kylie. All of them had been treated to a powerful sedative before he began, and all lay placid on the table as the work was done.

  He was good in spite of his appearance, and the tattoos, if simple in execution, were fine examples of his work. Kylie was the last to get her circle and perhaps the most affected by the drug.

  When the big man was done with her back, he turned her gently and spread her legs. He created twin teardrops containing intricate internal designs of his own as a kind of special mark for her alone, an appreciation of what she was. The tears were larger than the others had envisioned and were highly suggestive, placed as they were on Kylie’s inner thighs, their tails curling up around her genitals. The area was sensitive, and Kylie was covered in sweat and in considerable pain by the time the work was done. She had whimpered quietly throughout the ordeal but had never moved.

  The boys left her alone on the table while the biker worked. Jen, however, had remained close and seemed to find the tears especially fascinating. She helped Kylie up, got her dressed, and accepted the biker’s instructions about care and a supply of medication.

  They were in the pickup again and turning to leave when Jen gave a start. She was in the front now with Billy. Kylie was lying in the rear, still a bit woozy from the drugs, her legs draped over Jimmy’s lap. Jen pointed out the front window and Billy stopped.

  In the forest near the house was an apparition that startled them both. The man was tall, thin, and naked, though it was hard to tell since he was covered in what looked like body paint in intricate swirling designs. The colours seemed to glow in the water-laden air. As suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished. Jen and Billy stared after him, glanced at each other, and shrugged.

  Billy finished maneuvering the truck so that it pointed up the pockmarked gravel track and paused again. He and Jen watched the forest with the wipers on to clear the mist, saw nothing, and Billy began the climb back to the blacktop in four-wheel drive. He took it slower than he needed to, and the two of them watched the bush on either side, but there were no more apparitions.

  By the time they were back in Harbour City, the day had cleared. The sun was low in the sky and the air still laden with moisture, making the colours deeper and more vibrant. Billy parked where they had begun their day. Jimmy roused Kylie, who was napping but had recovered from the drug, and all four of them went down to the rocks by the river. The shrubs along the path were bright with water drops and left damp streaks along their clothes. Jen fed Kylie another of the pills the biker had given her so she could handle the discomfort and eventually sleep. They sat on the rocks and shared a reefer, getting mellow again.

  Later, as the sun turned the bottoms of the few remaining clouds a vibrant blood red, Kylie returned to her family. Jen and the boys lingered near the river, sharing more reefers and watching the high water from the rains rush over the shelves of rock and boil up in the deep pools that formed below at high tide.

  ◆◆◆

  Harry stood in the office doorway and looked around. He liked the place the way it was. It was comfortable, like an old ball glove, and he was reluctant to let it go. But, he thought, this was a new game with new players, so best to get on with it.

  He was looking over Sabina’s plans and thinking how good the place would look. He thought about Will, another investigator and a friend who had rescued Willow from the big Native sadist and his skinny sidekick. Will had gotten Willow to Vancouver
and Chinatown. That made him think about Sam. And that made him leave the office and walk down the crescent and up Commercial to the bar.

  Sam was in his usual place near the register, leaning on the bar, toothpick in the corner of his mouth, coffee cup and paper spread out in front of him. It was still early. The place was empty, soft music playing on the system, and the lights at half-mast.

  Sam looked up from his paper, grinned, and waved. He set a cup out and poured. Harry took his old stool. “Been a while, how about an additive?” Sam turned, reached up to one of the glass shelves, pulled down a bottle of Bailey’s, and poured a slug into each cup.

  “Good to see you back from that mess over there. You seen Willow? Know how she is? She coming back too?” Sam looked up and waited.

  “I’ve seen her,” Harry said. “She’s okay, but she’s not coming back. Too many dark times. She’s hooked up with a girl I know over there. Mamma Jing’s daughter, Ling, you remember her. They’ve started a design business.”

  Harry looked at Sam. “She’s not the same girl. She never will be. She’s put herself together with a lot of help from Ling, and she looks good, real good, but she’s fragile. She’s different and she tries to stay away from men, especially us, people who were in it with her, who are part of that time. She won’t go back there, Sam, so she won’t come back here.”

  Sam nodded and folded his paper carefully. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry she’s gone from here, but I understand. I still have problems with things myself, especially in the storeroom where I got shot. But I gotta stay, this is what I am. No fuckin’ psychopath is gonna take it away. I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m glad it was Willow who got him. Yeah, I know all about that from Will.”

  Sam turned away and put the Bailey’s back on the shelf. When he turned back, there were tears in his eyes. “She was so fine, Harry, so fine.”