I saw Cassandra up ahead standing on the corner of the busy intersection. “Pull over.”
“I’m just saying, let’s talk about this.”
Cassandra climbed into the back. She blinked when she saw me holding the gun. “Jack?”
I kept my eyes fixed on Fisher. “You know me, Cassie. I get a little itchy when someone tries to hold me at gunpoint.”
Cassie stared at me and then stared at Fisher. “It smells like blood in here.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Do me a favour, will you? Put the shotgun in the duffle bag with the coke.”
“Easy, though,” Fisher said. “That gun’s a collector’s item. It was machined from a single solid block of American steel.”
“Shut up, Fisher,” I said. “Nobody cares.”
CHAPTER 49
We headed south on Spadina toward Anton’s penthouse at Queen’s Quay. Fisher punched in a code and the parking garage doors rumbled up. The car slid down the ramp like a minnow disappearing into the mouth of a great white shark.
Fisher pulled into a parking spot and we all piled out. The gun was in my hand and my hand was in my jacket pocket. Cassie carried the bag.
We took the elevator up to the penthouse. Fisher knocked once and opened the door. We all filed in. Beside me I could feel Cassandra shivering.
Inside, the penthouse was opulent. The carpet was lush white shag. Anton’s furniture was black leather and chrome. The man himself sat behind a massive mahogany desk in front of a giant wall of glass. Beyond the glass was the lake. He smiled when he saw us walk in.
“Welcome back, Cassie.”
Cassandra looked away. Her face was red.
Fisher frowned. “He’s got a gun, Boss.”
Anton stood up from behind his massive desk. There was a sleek black .45 in his fist. “I figured. Get that gun out of your pocket, Mr. Palace.”
I didn’t move. Anton kept smiling. “Are you a good shot? Maybe you can shoot me before I shoot you, maybe not. Can you shoot both me and Fisher before one of us kills Cassie? Is that a gamble you’re willing to take?” Anton dropped his smile. His eyes were cold and grey like slate. “Drop the fucking gun.”
I did. It thudded into the white shag. I was hoping maybe it would go off and shoot Anton in the head but it didn’t.
Fisher stepped toward me, his hands curled into fists. I braced myself.
“No!” Anton barked. Fisher froze. Anton shook his head. “You come in close, he’s going to break your arm. Aren’t you, Jack?”
I didn’t say anything. Fisher glared at me then turned and walked across the carpet toward Cassie. He took the bag from her, opened it up and pulled out the shotgun. Fisher grinned at me. “Don’t need to get close now.”
Fisher tossed the bag onto Anton’s massive mahogany desk. Still keeping the gun on me, Anton gave the bag a pat. “Is this what I think it is?”
Fisher nodded. “Four keys of uncut, more or less.We can sell this shit ourselves. Take a bit of profit, then channel the rest into bringing back the Blood.”
Anton stared at Fisher. “I’m keeping the coke.” He smiled as he wrapped his hand around the duffle bag straps. His teeth were perfect. “Call it a finder’s fee.”
Fisher blinked. I could see his knuckles turn white around the shotgun. “Finder’s fee? I brought you that shit.”
“And I thank you.” Still keeping his left hand on the straps, Anton levelled the .45 at me and Cassandra. “Cassie, take a seat. You’re going to be here a while.”
She stood still like a statue. Then she shook her head. “No.” Her voice was quiet, disbelieving.
Fisher stepped forward. His hands were still white-knuckled around the shotgun. “We were going to bring back the Blood. We had a deal. You promised me, Boss.”
“I had a talk with my friends in the Angels. They agreed that bringing back Satan’s Blood wasn’t the best idea after all.”
“But…” Fisher spluttered. The shotgun trembled in his grasp.
Anton’s left eyebrow shot up. His gun was still levelled at Cassie and me. “Fisher, stay cool, now.”
“You fucking promised!” Fisher whipped up the shotgun. Anton swept the .45 toward Fisher and fired.
The old biker staggered and plopped down on the white shag with his back propped against the wall. The shotgun slipped from Fisher’s hands. Blood began to pool beneath him.
That’s going to leave a stain, I thought stupidly.
Keeping an eye on Anton, I took a step toward the shotgun. Anton was looking at Fisher with an almost idle curiosity, as if Fisher were a fly and Anton had just pulled off his wings. I reached for the shotgun, but Cassandra got there first. In one fluid motion she scooped it up and fired. She screamed as she pulled the trigger. Anton’s chest exploded. He looked surprised. The floor to ceiling window behind him shattered. Cassandra fired the other barrel. This time her aim was a little off and the duffle bag exploded. White powder went everywhere. Anton reeled, hand still clutching the bag. Eyes wide with surprise, he tumbled back through the window, falling through a cloud of cocaine and broken glass.
The wind rushed in. Cassandra stared, unblinking, at the broken window and the spot where Anton had been just seconds ago.
“Give me the gun, Cassie.”
Behind us, Fisher gurgled. I knew at a glance it was all over for the old biker. His arms and legs twitched as he died.
“Cassie! The gun!”
Cassie blinked and handed me the gun. The barrels were hot to the touch. I threw the gun across Anton’s office and then I swept her up in my arms.
CHAPTER 50
We sat in my office with all the shades drawn. The light from my desk lamp cast a murky orange glow. Cassandra sat on the couch, a glass of Scotch in her hand. She stared straight ahead at nothing. I was sitting next to her, but at a respectful distance.
Finally, she said, “I thought I would feel better.” She glanced over at me and smiled her crooked half smile. “I thought about this day for a long, long time. I used to lie awake at night and think of all the ways I could kill Anton. It was almost like counting sheep. Poison … shooting … stabbing …” She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Now I close my eyes and I can still see him falling. Right out that window, Jack. Just like my mom.”
“Don’t even think it.”
“What’s the difference, Jack?” Cassie hung her head. “I’m just like him. Just like my fucking dad.”
“No.” I reached out and put my hand on her arm. “Here’s the difference. Anton was a monster. The world’s better off without him.”
“So why do I feel so bad?”
My phone buzzed. I glanced down at the text. “It’s Melody. She wants to meet.”
“She turned me down, you know.”
“What?”
Cassandra turned away. “I asked her out. She said no.”
“I’m sorry, Cassie.”
She shrugged. “These things happen. Maybe I’m better off, right?”
The mist hung low over Withrow Park. My feet squelched through the wet grass as I walked toward the woman in the blue-and-white striped hoodie sitting hunched on top of a picnic table. She had her back to me but I knew it was her. “Melody?”
She didn’t turn around. “Hi, Jack.”
I walked over to the other side of the picnic table. I heard dogs barking in the dog park on the other side of the hill. A guy all done up like the Tour de France rolled by on his bike and then was swallowed by the fog.
Melody had been crying. Her tears had smudged her makeup, leaving black rings around her eyes. Her dyed blond bangs were wet from the mist. She stayed hunched over, hands shoved in her pockets, hood up. “You want a cigarette?”
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
She pulled out a pack of smokes and shook one out, then sat there with it dangling from her mouth. Was she waiting for me to light it? After about twenty seconds she sighed, pulled out a tiny pink plastic lighter, and sparked it up herself.
“No.” Melody rubbed her eyes. “Not really. My dad’s not talking to me, Jack.”
“Can you blame him?”
“He’s all I’ve got, Jack.” She exhaled smoke into the mist. “I thought I was helping.”
“No, you didn’t. You thought he was a mark. You think everyone is a mark. Like me.”
She shook her head. “No.” She took one more puff and then ground out the cigarette on the top of the table. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Fuck it, I’m out.” Melody snuffled and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I’m just going to pack up my shit and go. Just head off into the sunset. Move to Vermont, open up a bed and breakfast.”
“Vermont, huh?”
“Sure, why not? Put little doilies around. Get some brass pots and antique teakettles. Lay in a supply of quilts and syrup. You like pancakes, right?”
“Everybody likes pancakes.”
“Well, there you go.” Melody looked up at me. Her eyes were wet but she was smiling. “Will you come stay at my bed and breakfast?”
I sat down beside her but didn’t say anything.
She wiped her eyes. “Pancakes, Jack. Sounds pretty nice, right?”
We were both quiet for a minute, together in the mist.
“It might take a little while to get that bed and breakfast up and running.”
“Yeah, it might.” Melody leaned against my arm. “I’m still getting out of here, though. My dad has a cabin. We used to go there when I was little. He taught me how to fish …” She broke down sobbing, great heaving, painful sobs.
I turned and reached out for her. She slumped sideways into my arms. “I’m tired, Jack.” Her voice sounded like a shipwreck, distant and drowning.
I patted her back and then stood up.
“Goodbye, Melody.”
CHAPTER 51
Eddie and I strolled along the boardwalk by the beach. A family of four zipped by on bicycles. A blue-and-yellow-striped kite fluttered in the sky.
“You heard from Cassandra?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking of giving her a job.” Eddie rolled the toothpick around his mouth. Twenty-two days without cigarettes. Almost a full month. “You cool with that?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“She might stay in your old office.” Eddie smiled. “Be nice to have someone in there who actually cleans the place every now and then.”
“You think she’s tidy?” I shook my head. “You’ve been misinformed, my friend. She’s not tidy at all.”
“Well, then I guess nothing changes.” Eddie stopped talking and we stood there quietly. The sun was shining. From a nearby tree, a bird began to sing.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “So long, Jack. Don’t be a stranger.”
CHAPTER 52
Make a break. Change your life. More and more, I was beginning to think it was possible. I got out of my brand-new truck and looked out into the fields. A cool breeze ruffled my hair. Birds were singing in a nearby tree. I had no idea what kind they were. There were thousands of different birds and I had no idea what they were all about. I knew city birds — sparrows, robins, pigeons, gulls, now and then blue jays and cardinals. Once in Melody’s backyard I even saw a woodpecker. I heard it before I saw it, the hollow rapid-fire rat-tat-tat that made me think of cartoon gangsters with Tommy guns. And all the psychotic cartoon birds of my youth: Woody, Daffy, Donald. Once my mom threw our TV out the window of our fourth-floor apartment. “You sit glued to that thing like a fucking idiot!” she’d yelled. I’d run and hidden in my closet, crouched in the darkness, shaking while she raged.
Birds, man. I could see it now, sitting out here every morning with a pair of binoculars, steam rising from my cup of coffee. I could get one of those illustrated books about birds and just sit out here and watch the little fuckers bounce around. You ever see a bird walk? They hop, man. They hop and they bounce and on occasion they even strut.
Out here were fields, rolling green, stretching out toward the woods on the horizon. Overhead, clouds twisted by, taking their time. Time was different out here in the country. Once when I was lying low in The Chief’s trailer, I realized that Einstein was right: time is relative. It took me three days to come down from City Time and sink deep into Country Time like it was a nice warm bath. It was quiet, man. No sirens, no gunshots. No hobos fighting in the alley. Don’t get me wrong, I knew all kinds of horrendous shit went on behind closed doors. People were still people, and some shit never changed. But out here, in the clean country air, change seemed possible. And at night, you could see the stars.
Marcus walked over, grinning. I shook his hand. “I got the wood.”
We walked back to the truck together. On the side it said PALACE SECURITY. The truck bed was filled with new boards for the barn. We would need more, but this was a good start.
We unloaded the wood, and we started to build.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Big thanks to my agent, Kelvin Kong of K2 Literary. Thanks as well to Sam Hiyate at The Rights Factory.
Thanks to Scott Fraser, Allison Hirst, Laura Boyle, Jenny McWha, and everyone else at Dundurn, as well as Catharine Chen, for helping turn my manuscript into a full-fledged book.
Thanks to the crew from The Old Neighbourhood: Iain Deans, Chris Turner, Beau Levitt, Julia Chan, Jason Lapeyre, Saira Hassan, Matt Stokes, Julie Raymond, and Angela Pacini. Thanks also to Anne Yourt, Robin Dwarka, Ashley Bristowe, and Conrad Schickedanz.
Thanks to my fellow writers: Jacqueline Valenica, Paul Vermeersch, Andrew F. Sullivan, Mat Laporte, Lisa de Nikolits, Terri Favro, Gary Barwin, Elan Mastai, Carolyn Black, and Sandra Kasturi.
Thanks to my family: Frances MacFarlane, Don MacFarlane, Don Pasquella, Dennis Boatright, Andrew Pasquella, Margie Niedzwiecki, Randy Niedzwiecki, Jacob Niedzwiecki, Anand Mahadevan, Thaba Niedzwiecki, and Phet Sayo.
Extra big thanks to my wife, Emma Niedzwiecki, and to my kids, Leah and Matthew. I love you all so much.
MYSTERY AND CRIME FICTION FROM DUNDURN PRESS
Birder Murder Mysteries
by Steve Burrows
(BIRDING, BRITISH COASTAL TOWN MYSTERIES)
A Siege of Bitterns
A Pitying of Doves
A Cast of Falcons
A Shimmer of Hummingbirds
A Tiding of Magpies
A Dance of Cranes
Amanda Doucette Mysteries
by Barbara Fradkin
(FEMALE SLEUTH, WILDERNESS)
Fire in the Stars
The Trickster’s Lullaby
Prisoners of Hope
B.C. Blues Crime
by R.M. Greenaway
(BRITISH COLUMBIA, POLICE PROCEDURAL)
Cold Girl
Undertow
Creep
Flights and Falls
Coming soon: River of Lies
Victor Lessard Thrillers
by Martin Michaud
(QUEBEC THRILLER, POLICE
Procedural)
Never Forget
Stonechild & Rouleau Mysteries
by Brenda Chapman
(INDIGENOUS SLEUTH, KINGSTON, POLICE PROCEDURAL)
Cold Mourning
Butterfly Kills
Tumbled Graves
Shallow End
Bleeding Darkness
Turning Secrets
Coming soon: Closing Time
The Candace Starr Series
by C.S. O’Cinneide
(NOIR, HITWOMAN, DARK HUMOUR)
The Starr Sting Scale
Tell Me My Name
by Erin Ruddy
(DOMESTIC THRILLER, DARK SECRETS)
Jenny Willson Mysteries
by Dave Butler
(NATIONAL PARKS, ANIMAL PROTECTION)
Full Curl
No Place for Wolverines
In Rhino We Trust
Creature X Mysteries
by J.J. Dupuis
(CRYPTOZOO
LOGY, FEMALE SLEUTH)
Coming soon: Roanoke Ridge
The Walking Shadows
by Brenden Carlson
(ALTERNATE HISTORY, ROBOTS)
Coming soon: Night Call
Jack Palace Series
by A.G. Pasquella
(NOIR, TORONTO, MOB)
Yard Dog
Carve the Heart
The Falls Mysteries
by J.E. Barnard
(RURAL ALBERTA, FEMALE SLEUTH)
When the Flood Falls
Where the Ice Falls
Coming soon: Why the Rock Falls
Dan Sharp Mysteries
by Jeffrey Round
(LGBTQ, TORONTO)
Lake on the Mountain
Pumpkin Eater
The Jade Butterfly
After the Horses
The God Game
Shadow Puppet
Lion’s Head Revisited
True Patriots
by Russell Fralich
(POLITICAL THRILLER, MILITARY, ALT RIGHT)
Max O’Brien Mysteries
by Mario Bolduc
(POLITICAL THRILLER, CON MAN)
The Kashmir Trap
The Roma Plot
The Tanzania Conspiracy
Cullen and Cobb Mysteries
by David A. Poulsen
(CALGARY, PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS, ORGANIZED CRIME)
Serpents Rising
Dead Air
Last Song Sung
None So Deadly
Jack Taggart Mysteries
by Don Easton
(UNDERCOVER OPERATIONS)
Loose Ends
Above Ground
Angel in the Full Moon
Samurai Code
Dead Ends
Birds of a Feather
Corporate Asset
The Benefactor
Art and Murder
A Delicate Matter
Subverting Justice
An Element of Risk
Carve the Heart Page 18