Milieu Dawn

by Malcolm Franks

He took the usual route for the flight to Vancouver. Heading south, he flew over the narrow opening of the inner harbour to the main port facilities. Then he steered over the small gulf islands and the open strait to the mainland. Once the ferry terminal at Tsawwassen came into view he altered his line to fly over the Lions Gate Bridge, before turning in a semi-circle to descend into Vancouver harbour. He took this path because he liked to try and guess the names of the cruise liners floating majestically below, either entering or leaving the port. As he dropped from the light blue sky the shell shaped roof of the cruise terminal loomed into view. His destination, to the right of the waterfront dominating hotel, was a small wooden pier nearby the newly built conference centre jutting out from the shore. A short line of passengers filed back from the pier. Amongst the patiently waiting party one particular svelte frame, standing at the rear, caught his attention.

  He recognized Jenna instantly. She looked stunning in the tight-fitting white dress patterned with thin purple streaks, fully accentuating her slim figure. Her gold tinted long dark hair fell around her part Oriental/part Caucasian face, and he could make out the outline of her almond shaped eyes. As he ferried the single propeller floatplane closer to the wooden jetty He found it a struggle to avert his gaze from the quietly standing figure.

  He had always regarded Jenna as a good friend, first and foremost. Today he could see only the attractive woman that she had been all along; and immediately admonished himself for the impure thoughts passing through his mind. The fact he even considered Jenna in this light told him it had been way too long.

  After mooring the machine he greeted each of the line of female passengers as they entered the fuselage of the flying taxi. Jenna was last in line.

  “Hello, Jenna,” he said with a broad grin. “You’re looking particularly lovely. I didn’t realize you were the lady getting married in Victoria today.”

  She returned his smile out of politeness.

  “Not today, Matt.”

  He had hoped to prolong the conversation. Instead Jenna held out her left hand whilst the other balanced against the open door, waiting for him to help her into the yellow flying machine.

  As the plane rose into the sky and then levelled for the short flight to Victoria, Matt’s thoughts drifted back to the early days of his return from Austria. He had made it one of his first priorities to visit Jenna.

  Not that he could offer much in way of explanation for his abrupt departure. Only it was unavoidable and he had no way of getting in touch. She had listened patiently without saying anything in return. He wanted to let her know what had happened. Somehow the words refused to flow.

  She had agreed to call him, once she’d had the time to come to terms with his sudden re-appearance. It never happened, and months had now passed. He had considered making one final attempt to try and regain her trust but never quite got round to it. The ongoing demands of the business didn’t leave him with any real free time anyway. At least that was the excuse he used to soften the disappointment as time slipped by.

  Matt had returned to Victoria in desperate in need of close companionship, and she had been his one friend still standing after the merry-go-round had stopped. Now, she even kept her distance too.

  “Best not to push it,” he told himself.

  Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist looking into the fuselage through the mirror to catch a glimpse at the svelte shape, quietly sitting there taking in the view outside through the window.

  He smiled at each of the disembarking passengers. Jenna was last again.

  “Enjoy the wedding,” he said.

  She half smiled without answering.

  He watched her go, pacing elegantly up the gently sloped concrete ramp to join the rest of her group. They had started to chatter excitedly as they made their way towards the church ceremony.

  Matt really did like Jenna, ever since they had first met in Vancouver all those months ago. His instinct had told him he would take to her right from their first introduction, and he hadn’t been proved wrong. All Canadians seemed nice to him, Jenna peculiarly so. It was the way she cared for all others, no matter their definition, that struck a certain chord with him. A paediatric nurse by profession, she carried her angelic disposition wherever she went in life. This was what defined her as a human being, and the reason why she was popular with her colleagues. Jenna was also far smarter then she led people to openly believe. He never could understand why she was still unattached. There had to be some right minded men out there prepared to beat a path to her door, and then sit outside for as long as it took to get her to accept a marriage proposal.

  As Matt watched her depart he hoped she would turn her head and give him one of those warm sunny smiles of hers, to show she hadn’t forgotten their past friendship completely. By the time the group had reached the top of the ramp, he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  Ten o’clock arrived when coffee was served. He had picked at the evening meal rather than tackle it with any enthusiasm. The brief encounter with Jenna had bothered him for most of the day. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want her to think badly of him, though he couldn’t provide any reasonable explanation for his sudden and prolonged absence. Maybe it was because he missed her company. Perhaps he was tired of being alone.

  With a gentle sigh he looked down to the newspaper. His attention was drawn to a small ad, in the bottom right hand corner. Feeling lonely, it read. Call on this number to chat, or speak to a representative about our companion partnership programme. Man or woman, we can provide the ideal evening partner for you. Matt had no doubt they could provide a live body for the night but his answer didn’t lie here, not in this cheap and nasty soliciting tactic. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had too many options looming over the horizon. There were no lines of women queued up waiting to beat a path to his door. Surely he could never get so desperate, could he?

  He gazed around the room. Little had changed. The new owner had retained the original colour scheme of the interior. Candlelight bounced off the reddish coloured walls onto the stock of square wooden tables providing an intimate ambience for the many diners. The heavily polished wooden bar stretched almost the full length of the end wall, other than the two access corridors running to either side. Heavy laughter cascaded down from the similarly decorated upper eating area.

  Despite the level of noise the mood of the building was good-humoured and friendly, as it always was, apart from a small group of young men who had occupied the corner table near the door. They weren’t regulars, each of the young faces being unfamiliar, and they appeared to be nearing the limits of their alcohol consumption given their rising boisterousness. He looked around to see the franchise owner, Tim, keeping a watchful eye on the group.

  The Keg’s landlord usually made polite conversation with him, unlike many residents who remained suspicious of the past. Matt had been anxious about the kind of reception he would receive on his return to Victoria. Tim, at least, seemed prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and for that the Englishman would always be grateful to the blonde haired Canadian.

  “Matt Durham?” asked the voice.

  He looked up at the smiling, dark face of a tall young man. Dressed in jeans and jacket, commonly described as smart casual these days, the black man thrust out an energetic hand as a means of introduction.

  “I’m Horton Priest,” he offered. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Matt regarded any uninvited intrusion as both rude and disrespectful. The fact this man was quite happy to ignore the lack of response and occupy the chair opposite really pissed him off. He studiously chose to avoid extending his hand in welcome.

  “I’ve been following your case with great interest,” said the man called Priest.

  He pushed a business card across the table. Matt glanced at the small, rectangular white card adorned with the lavish blue lettering. Investigative Journalist, it read. What is the big deal with people and titles?

  “Case?” said Matt.

>   “Yeah, it takes real guts to do what you’ve done.”

  “Done what exactly?”

  “You know. Come back to an area where the residents are mostly harboured in suspicion, after all that happened.”

  Matt’s eyes narrowed, both in distaste and anger. Not that his loathsome expression came anywhere near to putting this guy off.

  “From what I understand you arrive in Victoria from out of nowhere, take three months or so to get your feet under the table, and then all hell breaks loose. First the landlady of The Keg, with who you went on a luxury cruise, succumbs to a mysterious accident. Then her two best friends, Jack Carter and Holly Irvine, are violently murdered shortly after. Matt Durham meanwhile disappears for several months only to return having miraculously inherited the entire estate of the said Jack Carter. And there are no questions asked by the authorities. A series of events stranger than fiction, wouldn’t you say?”

  The gauntlet had been severely slapped around Matt’s face and then tossed contemptuously onto the table. At least Priest was prepared to confront directly what had been on everybody else’s mind. In an odd way this presented him with a golden opportunity, a chance to put the record straight once and for all. End the underlying doubts so evident on the faces of the locals, every time he deigned to appear in public. God knows he had grown tired of the constant sniping and whispering every time his back was turned; except Matt had done nothing to apologise for.

  “You’ve had your say, Mr Priest. Now if you don’t mind I’d really prefer to finish up this meal without any further interruptions.”

  The reporter failed to hide his surprise at the coolness of the response.

  “Christ you’re cold, Durham. Three of the most popular people on this part of the island died soon after you entered their lives and you couldn’t give a shit.”

  Matt averted his gaze in an effort to control his rising anger. He told himself this guy didn’t know the facts, had no idea of the background to the turbulent events of the past. So it wasn’t Priest’s fault he was an asshole. Matt felt the need to fix his attention elsewhere, anything to avoid his temper erupting into an uncontrollable Hulk-like rage.

  He decided it better to leave. Rising slowly from the chair he noticed the sodden group of young men were no longer at their table. Three of the group were walking towards the bar, two unsteadily, to join their remaining colleague who had already parked himself there. The unfolding scene caused him to hesitate. Tim was trying to reason with the drunk.

  Matt sauntered across and leaned onto the wooden surface, the debate getting ever more heated. The amiable chatter from the surrounding tables had begun to quell in response to the first man’s raised voice. The gaiety upstairs had also started to hush into silence with each rising decibel of the increasingly angry voice.

  The largest of the men pushed himself to the bar, insisting upon being served, his gestures becoming more and more aggressive. A stubby right index finger jabbed urgently into Tim’s chest.

  “Why don’t you call it a night, lads?” said Matt.

  “Who the fucking hell are you?” said the big man.

  Clean shaven with short cropped hair and a deeply troubled expression, the man looked as though he could take care of himself. Matt could see in the man’s eyes he hadn’t killed before, so knew he held an advantage should things get ugly.

  “Just a guy looking to have a peaceful night,” said Matt.

  “You’re a Brit,” said the first of the men behind. “What you taking his side for?”

  “I live here. This is my local.”

  “Stay out of it,” hissed the big man. “This is between us and him.”

  Matt shook his head.

  “No, it’s between you and the rest of the island,” said Matt, calmly. “Things work differently here than they do in the UK.”

  The diners on the ground floor had fallen noticeably silent. The big man looked him up and down, trying to decide what his chances were. His smaller friend, standing directly behind, was nudging at the back of the colossus to urge him forward. Matt knew then what would follow and tensed his muscles in readiness for the expected assault.

  A backward sway was all it took to evade the massive fist of his opponent. Matt responded with a punch to the throat, then spun the man round to face the bar and crashed his head against the surface. Before the brute could retaliate Matt brought the point of his elbow down between the shoulder-blades of his assailant. The short groan of pain came before the aggressor crumpled to the floor.

  Hearing the sound of breaking glass, Matt turned to see the fast approaching fist of the smaller man. He parried the thrust with his left arm, but not before the jagged edge of the bottle brushed against the flesh of his upper arm. Swivelling full circle, Matt’s body pushed up against the man and his elbow jabbed sharply into the stomach of his opponent. With his adversary doubled up by the blow Matt grabbed a clump of hair at the back of the man’s head and prepared to launch it into the wooden serving counter. He heard a man speak.

  “You don’t have to do that. He’s not likely to give you any more trouble.”

  The adrenalin fired through Matt’s veins. The rising anger he had felt during the short encounter with Priest had found an outlet. The urge to further batter his foe was irresistible. The voice of reason made him hesitate. Releasing his grip on the stricken figure, he watched it fall to the floor in an untidy heap.

  Matt turned to face the remaining members of the group. Both of the white men were of similar build, slightly taller than him. The one on the right with the cropped black hair had the look of an ex-forces veteran, judging by the steely expression in his eyes. He reminded Matt of that part robot guy from a sci-fi film he’d hired on DVD last week, the one who surrendered up his heart to the hero at the end of the film; only this man was younger. The other’s face was filled with an inflamed fury.

  “No, Mark. The man has skills,” said the one with combat experience, extending his left arm across the chest of his companion. Matt realised it was the same voice that had urged him to stop.

  “What’s your name?”

  “William. My friends call me Will.”

  “Well, William, it’s time you got your friends home,” said Matt.

  The man’s eyes sparkled into an active grin. He looked at the gentle stream of blood running down Matt’s arm.

  “You’re hurt,” he said.

  “Unlikely to slow me down,” Matt replied after a quick glance.

  “I know,” said the man called William. “You should get it seen to all the same, just to be on the safe side.” He paused for a few moments. “So we’ll call it a day then.”

  Matt blinked his eyes in agreement.

  “I apologise for the behaviour of my friends,” the man said to The Keg’s owner, and then pulled out a thick gathering of notes from his wallet which he handed across to Tim. “Will that be enough?”

  Tim nodded.

  “You should be able to afford better friends,” said Matt.

  “John’s my cousin,” he replied, pointing to the man who had attacked Matt with the broken bottle. “There are some things you can’t change in life.”

  His two downed comrades began to stir back into life.

  “Get up and get out,” he said to them both.

  The hushed silence in the room began to break. Matt’s gaze swept around the diners. All he could see were the images of people’s faces, filled with an expression of either shock or fearful admiration.

  “Again, I’m sorry,” said the man, bundling his colleagues towards the exit. “We’re usually far better behaved than this.”

  Tim nodded again in response to the apology.

  “It was good to meet you,” the man called back to Matt on leaving, and he returned a half smile.

  “Hell, Matt,” said Tim, “where on earth did you learn to do that?”

  “Picked the odd tip up here and there,” he replied casually.

  That’s when he felt the gentle touch to his
injured arm and heard the soft voice.

  “That will need dressing,” said the woman, inspecting the wound.

  Matt turned to face the concerned voice, recognising her instantly.

  “It’s only a flesh wound, Jenna. A cold wash and a plaster will fix it.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Where did you come from, anyway? I didn’t see you at any of the tables.”

  “We were upstairs.”

  “I’m fine, Jenna, really. Go and finish the evening with the rest of your party.”

  “I think you’ve pretty much ended everybody’s night,” she replied, motioning with her head towards the vast number of customers trying to settle their accounts.

  Tim responded by doing the table rounds, trying to reassure the bewildered array of anxious customers the incident was an isolated event.

  “Have you got a first aid kit at your place?” Jenna asked.

  “Yeah, it won’t take me long to sort it out.”

  “You’re going to dress it on your own? How exactly do you plan to tightly wrap and then secure a dressing with only one good arm?”

  “I’ll manage,” he said.

  She moved directly in front of him and looked sternly into his eyes.

  “You really do come out with some crap from time to time, Matt.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond to the disapproving tone in her voice, which was usually much softer and gentler. Then he noticed the beginnings of her normally warm smile appear at the edges of her mouth.

  “Okay, you win.”

  “I’ll let my friends know what’s happening,” she said with a smile before disappearing.

  Matt saw Priest making a number of copious notes into a small writing pad before leaving. For no obvious reason he wandered over to the table vacated by the reporter and picked up the business card.

  Once Jenna reappeared he caught Tim’s eye to indicate they were leaving, and the Canadian smiled appreciatively to thank him for his help.

  “I’m pleased it wasn’t me who upset your friend tonight,” said the woman being subjected to Tim’s charm.

  “He’s usually a quiet sort of guy. I must admit though, he even managed to scare the crap out of me tonight,” said Tim, with a boyish grin.

  Chapter Three

  Different