by Paul Slatter
They reached the entrance way to Sebastian’s place and Belinda parked outside, leaving the engine running, and sat quietly as Chendrill closed his eyes, thinking again. He had heard about the guy in the alley and he’d been in the area himself not a short time before. In his day, chances were high it would have been him who had been there to investigate—the guy in charge, looking for witnesses and clues until he eventually found the guy wearing the size tens.
“How’d you know about that?” he said.
“It was on the news, Chuck.”
“Well promise me you won’t be going around there. And promise me you let me know what’s going on as soon as you know. Because there’s no way I’m having it that a shithead like her old man gets to live in a house you own on his own, watching reruns of his wife getting pounded while you’re paying for her to live somewhere else in the meantime. Okay?”
“Yes—you promise me then you’ll take care of Suzy, Chuck. She may have been a stripper, but she’s still my friend and a human being after all.”
Chapter Thirteen
Missing the routine of walking his dog first before going upstairs to his penthouse suite, Sebastian went from the front door to his huge white bathroom and ran the bath. It had been a hard week, but now it was almost over. The film had been nothing less than a disaster so far. But he’d had a bit of excitement with it along the way. Now all he needed to do was get everything sorted, see the lawyer he’d found, get all the paperwork done properly, sort himself out personally, then the company, so that in the end if he shut it all down there could be no comeback for anybody—especially Rock Mason, and that would be that. First though he was going to take an Epsom salt bath and lay in it and relax until it got cold. It didn’t matter who called or needed him with regard to the film because within a couple of days, it wouldn’t really matter anymore.
That evening as he sat out on the balcony with a plate full of white stilton gold he’d been saving along with an open bottle of Screaming Eagle, feeling the breeze in the early evening air as he looked at the view that he knew so well and the water where he’d swam so many times years before with Alan and only once recently with their little dog, which had become their child. The beach there down below, with its slide out in the water and its coast road where aging men cruised on noisy Harleys looking more at themselves than at the road.
With the cheese half gone and the sun almost down, the lawyer had arrived.
The guy full of his own self-importance standing there at the door in his suit and fancy tie with his bald head and beaky nose. The man, Callum Rensberg, telling Sebastian straight off that he did not like dogs, but he was sure Sebastian’s would have been an exception. The wine also was okay, as was the cheese, even though both were the most expensive a man could buy. But he wasn’t there for comfort or friendship, he was there to do a job, and three hours later with everything witnessed, signed, and double signed again, and with Sebastian feeling as though he could not take another moment in the lawyer’s company, the man was gone, along with Rock Mason’s career—for now anyway.
Sebastian awoke early. He put on his favourite silk shirt, handmade Italian shoes, and went to watch the sunrise and to hear the birds sing as he took the dawn walk around the seawall. Stopping for blueberry pancakes and cream with an Earl Grey tea at the White Spot on Georgia, served to him by a pretty single mother of two. By 10 a.m. he’d secured a healthy donation to the Vancouver Philharmonic for the services of a pianist and a violinist and by midday he was sitting alone in the pews of St. Paul’s on Burrard Street, listening to the melodic tones of Debussy played by musicians at the top of their game dressed in tuxedos. The music filling the air as it echoed around the high walls and the ceiling of the old wood beamed church. Enveloping Sebastian’s senses to the brim as wonderful memories rose from deep within, bubbling up, as the soft and honest music played out, drawing goosebumps from his skin, which ran along his arms and legs as the spiritual music passed through him, speaking to his soul.
By three in the afternoon and after finishing a lovely plate of pasta with another glass of fine red wine from his favourite waiter, Sebastian was on his way back towards the park and, making good time and stopping only to help out a family with car trouble, soon he was there, standing high on the centre of the Lionsgate Bridge, taking in the fresh air as he caught the first of the cruise liners passing below as they headed out through the bay towards the inside passage towards Alaska.
And there he stood, as he had with Alan and Fluffy so many years before, looking out from high over the bay towards the mountains across the water and the setting sun. The steady stream of liners passing below with the happy faces of children waving to him, stretching their arms as they reached up to try to touch the returning stretched out hands of the happy joyous man whose life was done and who was about to die.
With his heart pounding and the sun on his face, Sebastian stood and watched the last of the cruise liners pass into the distance, then he climbed the barrier, took the last deep breath of fresh, clean air he would ever take in this world as he felt the wind in his hair, and dropped himself down 200 feet from the bridge’s side into the water below.
Chapter Fourteen
Chendrill was the first to hear the news that his good friend had decided to take his own life. An old colleague calling him directly, having pulled Sebastian’s wallet and ID from his trouser pocket after hauling his soaked and broken body into a police boat a mile or so into the bay after Sebastian’s body had trailed after the cruise liners, carried in the rip from the changing tide. The man who loved boats sitting on the small boat’s gunwale surprised to find Chendrill’s business card sealed in a small plastic bag inside Sebastian’s zipped up pocket—almost as though Sebastian had wanted it to be found.
But what was stranger was the call Chendrill had received half an hour prior to that about his old friend from a lady who sounded old and who’d simply said, “I just spoke with Sebastian and he says to tell you he’s fine. He swam out and met Alan and Fluffy on Ambleside beach.”
Then as he’d driven back out of town he’d got the call from his old buddy who’d dragged Sebastian’s body onto the deck of the police boat. His friend wondering why Chendrill, who was normally so cool, sounded so confused and was asking so many questions, saying things like, “Are you sure it’s him?”
He was 100% sure, and had replied, “Pictures don’t lie Chuck, I’m sorry.”
“When did you find him?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“How did he end up there, was he swimming off of Ambleside Beach?”
“No, he jumped off the Lionsgate bridge, somebody saw him go over the barrier. They called it in maybe an hour ago. We didn’t know who it was until now.” Then he paused and Chendrill’s old buddy, who patrolled the marine coastline every day of his working life, and who on the weekends sat on his own yacht said, “And Chuck, also, on the back of the card, it says, ‘Chuck - Our tears we shed together yesterday were great tears.’”
Fuck me, Chendrill thought as he sat there outside Dan’s mother’s place at the wheel of the Aston, unaware of any of the journey he’d taken to arrive there. He could not move. There hadn’t ever been a time, even with Daltrey, that the shock had hit so hard. The feelings of anger and regret and guilt searing deep wounds as they passed through him. It must have been almost an hour later when Dan’s mother came to the window, looked in, opened the door and crouching down said, “Chuck what are you doing sitting out here all alone.”
Leaving out the strange call from the lady, Chendrill told her what had happened and took her inside and held her while she cried. Half an hour later, Dan appeared in just his shorts, looking for the bag of Cheesies he’d seen his mother hide a week ago, the kid feeling the silence and looking at his mother’s tears, and saying, “Who’s dead now?”
And hearing the answer, Dan turned and left his hunt for food to return to his bedroom in the basement, from which, for the longest time, Chendrill heard nothi
ng other than silence.
************
They all met the next morning in the offices of Slave. Samuel Gadot, Sebastian’s actual lawyer greeting them individually as they entered. The man who in the autumn of his career now owned the whole top floor of a building next to the Vancouver Supreme Courts, which was home to a company he also owned comprised of some thirty lawyers and articling students—unlike Callum Rensberg, who stood next to him, and who had worked for almost the same amount of years, carried the same law degree, used an office at a friend’s firm on the other side of town, and who had spent his entire career chasing ambulances.
It was pretty obvious why two days prior Sebastian had used the man who now stood alongside Samuel Gadot, wearing the same suit and tie he had worn when he’d sat in Sebastian’s luxury apartment for an evening and made Sebastian feel dirty in his presence. If he had come to Samuel with the requests for legal documentation of this degree, the alarm bells would have rung and he would have known his regular lawyer, Samuel, would have firstly said ‘no’ then straight after started asking questions.
But today, what was done was done, and the documentation had been passed over to him and it was now Samuel Gadot’s duty as a friend and professional to make sure Sebastian’s wishes were honored.
Dan surprisingly sat in black, at the back as he liked to, and stared at the floor as he heard the man who stood there with presence begin to talk.
“No one here can be more upset about the circumstances of us being here today than me. Sebastian and I have been friends for many years. I do though have to speak with you all, as it was one of the man’s wishes that everything would be dealt with as fast as possible to alleviate any suffering his departure has or may have caused. Firstly, after reading though the paperwork, I must say Sebastian would like you all to know his passing has no bearing on the incidents or stresses caused in the proceedings that have taken place over the last few days and in fact and truthfully has everything to do with Alan his departed husband who passed on some years back,” said Samuel Gadot.
Fuck me. This is going to be a long one, Patrick thought, as he watched the man blabber on and tried to remember if he’d sold the guy a property a few years back. Maybe, he thought, he was the same guy who grabbed that nice place in Point Grey? Yes, he was the guy he’d made it happen for over a weekend. Patrick looked around the room then back to the high-priced lawyer. Just get to the bit about the film, he thought as he wondered about the guy’s rate, probably $500 plus an hour, knowing Sebastian, so the way this guy was going on blah-de-fucking-blah-de-dah, he had just made $200 talking about a dog. If the man kept it up much longer, he was going to leave here, grab a taxi to the bridge, tell the driver to drop him off in the middle and do exactly the same as Sebastian had done. Patrick discreetly looked at his watch—he was right, almost half an hour of droning. What was the guy doing, training to be a priest? Yeah, Sebastian was a good guy, but so was Charlie Manson if you caught him on a good day.
Putting on a sad and concerned face, he looked back around the room. There were a lot of red eyes. Chendrill was still looking to the floor, Dan’s eyes were closed, maybe asleep, Mazzi Hegan, in his big boots, sitting over at the side, looked fucked up with his hair all messed up as though he’d been pulled in off of a building site. Marshaa was crying and texting at the same time. Dan’s mother—crying. Adalia crying also in her big black shades; Rock Mason—bored. Then he saw Clive Sonic was there also, the guy who was trying to steal his catch phrase and who couldn’t count to ten on his fingers—the fucker must have sneaked in late and closed the door with his gimpy hand. He looked back at the two lawyers standing at the head of the table. The expensive one in the Armani suit was now making his conclusions—if he was lucky, he’d get right to what was happening with the film. Then he heard the guy say, “So I’ll make this easy, I need to speak with everyone so let’s deal with the film you were all doing first.”
Great! Fucking Wunderbar, Patrick thought, as he heard the guy carry on, “So, Mr. Patrick De’Sendro. I’m not sure if you remember me but you facilitated a deal on a house for me a couple of years ago. I wish we were meeting under more pleasurable circumstances. But sadly not.”
Get to it and stop running down the clock, Patrick thought. Truth was, though, Samuel was there on his own time after having discovered what had gone down with the ambulance chasing son of a bitch after the man called out of courtesy. Patrick was a prick and he’d known that ever since Sebastian had put him on to him and the guy had somehow one weekend talked him into a purchase he didn’t want. He carried on looking at a folder he held in his right hand.
“Patrick, it is saying here that you are producing this film Slave is financing, and Sebastian has kindly decided to keep the money flowing for the movie even though he’s no longer with us.”
Thank fuck for that, Patrick thought, and did his best not to let go of the smile that was behind the facade of sadness. If he was lucky, he could get out of here and go see the latest hooker he’d found who was enjoying riding him.
“However,” Samuel carried on, “Sebastian has written a cheque for ten and a half million dollars, made out to the shell company the film has been working under and it’s stipulated in Sebastian’s will that I’m not able to hand it over unless this morning Mr. De’Sendro can answer correctly without help, a couple of questions. Sebastian states that if you are producing a film these questions should be, as he puts it here, ‘No Brainers’ and if you can’t answer, then you are not deserved of the money. So please, could you tell me—one: what is the name of the scripted lead character in your movie, ‘When the Shadows Form’. And two, what happens at the end of the script to this fictional character? Sebastian has stipulated you have 30 seconds to answer.”
Patrick sat there for a moment and tried to take in what had just been said. He got it yeah, there was actually little not to get, except the answers correct and if he did not then he could kiss the movie goodbye unless he funded it himself, which was never going to happen—or he could talk someone else into funding it, but how long would that take? The problem was he didn’t know what the lead character’s name was and since Rock Mason was onboard was he talking about him, or Adalia, or perhaps even Dan? He said, “Well, firstly, I’d like to say everyone has been doing a great job…. Rock…. Adalia, Dan, Marshaa, she’s fantastic.”
“Please answer the questions,” Samuel butted in.
Patrick stood, putting his hands out and looking at everyone in the room, especially Samuel, and said, “Trust Me.”
Then carried on with, “If there’s one thing I can say…”
To which Samuel Gadot, the veteran of over 5,000 cross examinations in court cases that spanned 3 decades, shut him down with ease, and, cutting in, said, “Thank you.” And pulling out the cheque from the folder, he ripped it in four and dropped it into the wastepaper basket next to the desk. Then he carried on with, “Everyone who was contracted on the film, actors, technicians and drivers and all rental facilities will be paid in full, plus a 50% bonus. Except for, I’m sorry to say, Mr. Mason, who will receive zero compensation.”
Rock mason sat there and wondered if this was some sort of joke—this prick was playing the clown from the other side of the grave. He looked around the room for some sort of sign that did not look like it was going to come any time soon. He said with his patented smile, “Hey, you have to stop with the funny stuff buddy, this man was our friend, we’re hurting here.”
But there was no funny stuff and everyone in the room except Rock Mason knew it.
With the skill of a man well versed in public speaking, Samuel moved on quickly and dismissed Rock Mason and Adalia.
Next was Clive Sonic, and he could tell from the way the man had just glanced his way moments before he allowed his silence to let the room know there was to be no more discussion on the subject. Clive was pissed and wished he’d never taken the call from Sebastian now if it was all going to be a waste of time since the fucker knew he was goin
g to throw himself in the drink.
Not only that, from what he could tell he had only been seconds away from passing over the centre of the bridge with his girlfriend when Sebastian had thrown himself off. Had he been moments earlier he’d have seen him and he could have stopped the car and jumped out and grabbed the man as he was about to fall, and if he was lucky he could have allowed Sebastian to pull him over as well, but then maybe he could have gotten a grip on the railing somehow and they could have both been dangling there from the bridge as a crowd gathered and someone could have gotten a video of it all—as they do these days. Clive Sonic, the ex guitar sensation, hanging from the bridge trying to save the life of his friend… But no, Clive’s hand, which was damaged in that incident in the Caribbean when he survived being attacked by a stingray, couldn’t take the weight of the two men hanging and Clive’s grip slowly loosens. Then he could have seen whoever had the best angle on him with the video on their phone and he could have looked into the camera as he tried to hang on, then as others tried to reach his hand he could have let go and fallen down, down, down, still holding onto Sebastian until they both crashed and died as they hit the water below.
It would have been fantastic—he would have been a hero and remembered forever after the clips went viral of him trying to save the life of another and falling to his death were played alongside those with him on stage with his eyes closed banging out ‘Boom Boom Love’ on his guitar.
Samuel Gadot looked over as Clive had predicted and said, “Mr Sonic, may I call you this as Sebastian has noted that you prefer to go by that name instead of your actual name of Smith?”