Malabarista

by Garry Ryan

  There must be over one hundred birds.

  Their wings began to flap as they waddled, then ran. Lane was almost among the birds. He looked at Matt. Pure joy deepened the lines around his nephew’s eyes. Matt let out a cry of exhilaration as the geese began to lift off.

  Lane could feel the air pushed by their wings. He looked right. A goose was flying beside him, honking. The tip of its wing brushed Lane’s shoulder. Geese surrounded him now. Their necks bobbed as they worked to gain altitude. Lane felt as if he were about lift off as well. The wind kissed his face. The flock was all around him. For a moment, he was part of the undulating mass of Canadian geese. Lane screamed with unexpected joy.

  A minute later, Roz came back, her tongue hanging out one side of her mouth. Matt was bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  Lane inhaled and watched the flock as it turned west, then south over the river. “Amazing!” he said.

  Matt smiled at his uncle. “Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it? Like you could fly!” He threw his arms up and laughed.

  “I think I’m going to get fired tomorrow.” The words were out before Lane could reel them back in.

  Matt stared. “You sure?”

  “I made the chief look bad when we arrested one of his buddies. You remember the dentist who was into little girls?”

  Matt nodded.

  “He was one of Chief Smoke’s buddies. That’s why Smoke put me under investigation. It’s not about the weapon at all.”

  “It’s all about Smoke’s ego?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “When you think about it, you are being punished for doing your job.” There was a note of incredulity in Matt’s voice.

  Lane shrugged.

  “What else?” Matt asked.

  Lane shook his head. “My brother and his wife offered money for Christine’s education, but I said no.”

  “Why?”

  Lane watched the flock circle back. “Because they wouldn’t do the same for you.”

  “Why not just take the money for Christine?”

  “They acted like you didn’t count. Like you and Christine and Arthur aren’t my real family.”

  “Oh.” Matt waited a moment then asked, “Are you sure Uncle Arthur will be okay?”

  MONDAY, AUGUST 20

  chapter 6

  Police Chief

  Under the Influence

  Calgary Chief of Police Calvin Smoke was charged with driving under the influence in the early hours of yesterday morning. Smoke was attending an international conference for police chiefs in San Diego, California when he was charged.

  A spokesperson for the San Diego Police Department reported that Smoke registered 2.1, more than twice the legal limit for alcohol concentration in the blood stream.

  Recently, Chief Smoke’s reputation has been tarnished by his association with Doctor Joseph Jones, who was charged with the murder of his dental assistant. Jones was also implicated in a child pornography ring.

  “Matt told me you’re upset because you think you’re going to get fired.” Arthur sat in a kitchen chair. His coffee cup sat in front of him. The cup was almost big enough for Roz to use as a drinking dish.

  “You’ve been so busy. Taking on extra clients so we can pay for the kids’ education. I didn’t think you needed more on your plate. And now you’ve got breast cancer. My worries pale by comparison.” Now that I’ve said it, it sounds so lame, Lane thought.

  “Give me a break! Do you have any idea what it’s been like around here?” Arthur’s voice rose with anger until it seemed like it could shatter ceramic.

  “I live here.” Lane thought the offhand remark might defuse the situation.

  “Oh, really? That’s what you call what you’ve been doing?” Arthur’s sarcasm was accentuated by his body language.

  “You are such a drama queen!” Okay, let’s go for it!

  “Finally!” Arthur threw his arms in the air.

  “What are you talking about now?” Lane found himself floundering.

  “You’re talking to me. Saying what’s on your mind. Do you realize how long it’s been since we had any kind of real conversation? Do you think I can beat this fucking disease on my own?” Arthur looked sideways at Lane.

  Answer this the right way or you’ll be in more trouble. Go with the first question. “A week?”

  “Ten days.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lane looked at the stove clock. I’d better get moving.

  “And after you get fired, if you do in fact get fired, I expect to meet you for lunch.”

  “A celebration?” Lane was surprised, not for the fist time that day.

  “Why not? I won’t miss what this job does to your head, and what it does to us. Besides, who knows how long either one of us has?”

  Lane replayed their conversation in his mind as he parked downtown behind the barbed wire of the police compound alongside the offices of Calgary Police Services.

  Five minutes later, he stepped off the elevator and onto the floor where Deputy Chief Simpson’s office was located. An officer pushing a dolly piled high with boxes brushed past Lane to get into the elevator.

  Lane found the deputy chief’s office. More boxes and a computer sat in stacks on various chairs in the waiting room. A young woman wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt sat next to the computer. She pushed a wayward strand of red hair back over her ears and studied Lane with frank fascination.

  She’s watching the detective get fired. Word sure gets around in this place, he thought.

  Lane could see the feet of another woman on her knees under the receptionist’s desk. He coughed.

  The woman backed out and looked up at Lane. Her hair was grey and short. She looked to be about fifty. “Yes?”

  It’s a good thing you’re wearing pants, girl. “Detective Lane to see — ”

  “Go right in, he’s waiting for you,” she said before turning her attention back to whatever she was looking for under the desk.

  Lane walked to the open door. He looked inside. Deputy Chief Simpson was sitting at his desk, working the keys on his laptop. Lane looked around. The walls were free of pictures and the shelves were empty. The carpet was pitted with the imprints of missing furniture.

  Simpson looked up. His blond hair was cut short. His blue eyes studied Lane with obvious curiosity. He stood, leaned over the desk, and offered his hand.

  Lane shook it. The officers took the measure of one another.

  “Please close the door.” Simpson’s voice was friendly and commanding. “We have to get this done today.”

  Lane shut the door and turned to face Simpson, who stepped around to the front of the desk.

  “We have a problem,” Simpson said, “and Deputy Chief Harper thinks you’re the solution.”

  Deputy Chief Harper? What is he talking about? “What?”

  “Did you read this morning’s newspaper?”

  “No.” What am I missing here? I thought he called me in to fire me.

  “Chief Smoke resigned early this morning. I’ve been asked to act as chief. And I’ve asked for Cam Harper to take on the duties of deputy chief. He accepted.” Simpson waited for Lane to process the news.

  “This is not what I expected.” Lane frowned when his voice broke.

  “What were you expecting?” Simpson’s phone rang. He ignored it.

  “Because I’m being investigated, I assumed I was being terminated.”

  Simpson thought for a moment, as if considering what to say next. “Since word circulated of the investigation into your conduct, four distinguished officers, an elder from the Tsuu T’ina Nation, two doctors, and a local lawyer have been very insistent about making appointments with me to vouch for you, your character, and your contributions to this community. Frankly, terminating you is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  Lane considered what Simpson had said and his calm delivery of the message.

  “You understand that once the investigation into this so-c
alled lost weapon was initiated, the process had to be followed through to its conclusion?”

  Lane nodded.

  “That’s about as much as I can say at this time without running the risk of jeopardizing the process.” Simpson leaned his right hand on his desk.

  “Well then?” Lane moved to leave, but Simpson stopped him.

  “We haven’t talked about the problem,” he said with a smile.

  “Problem?”

  “I have a young officer on loan from the RCMP. She’s right outside. She worked undercover for several months at a local restaurant. Her instincts are good, she’s bright, and the new deputy chief assures me that she will be an excellent detective — with the right kind of training, of course. Frankly, we’d like to get her on here permanently. As of yet, you haven’t been assigned a new partner.” Simpson smiled again. “You understand, of course, that this is not an order?”

  “Right now, there’s very little that I do understand.” Lane wished he had a cup of coffee.

  “She’s made some powerful people unhappy because of the evidence she uncovered. Sound familiar?” Simpson waited for Lane to catch up. “We need an experienced detective to work with her and protect her.”

  “Protect her?”

  “Threats have been made against her life.”

  Arthur sat on the terrace behind the coffee shop in Kensington. It overlooked an alley and a residential street where new houses were replacing old ones and trees reached across the road to touch one another. He studied Lane through his sunglasses as he arrived on the terrace accompanied by a young woman. Lane grabbed an extra chair and sat next to him.

  “Arthur, meet Keely Saliba.” Lane indicated with his open right hand that it was safe to talk openly with her.

  Arthur leaned across the table to shake hands. “And?”

  Keely turned her blue eyes on Lane. “We’re partners,” he said.

  Arthur took a sip from his coffee cup and set it down again. “So you weren’t fired?”

  Keely shook her head. “Smoke was.”

  “Chief Smoke?” Arthur looked at Lane and then at Keely.

  “Resigned due to an impaired driving charge in San Diego.” Keely looked over her shoulder as their coffees arrived.

  “Keely Saliba?” Arthur blinked. He was having difficulty catching up with the turn of events.

  “That’s right. My mom’s of Irish descent. My dad’s from Lebanon.” Keely waited to see if Arthur was up to speed yet. “Mom’s a lawyer. Dad’s a teacher. I have a brother. I was in the RCMP for a year when I was asked to work undercover in a restaurant. When that job was done, Harper and Simpson came up with the idea that I should be Detective Lane’s new partner.”

  “Cam Harper?” Arthur asked.

  “Big guy? Big mustache?” Keely asked.

  “That’s him.” Lane wanted to laugh but felt sorry for Arthur, who was bouncing from one surprise to the next.

  “The restaurant where I was undercover was upscale. Lots of the city’s who’s who would show up there. Simpson wanted me to pay special attention to the Scotch drinkers’ club. There were leaks in the department, and he wanted to find out if the restaurant was the source. It turned out the leaks were coming from Smoke’s ever-expanding drinkers’ club.” Keely put her hand over her mouth and pulled it away. “Arthur, you’re not a cop. I shouldn’t be telling you this!”

  “No, but he might as well be,” Lane said.

  “How do you like the coffee?” Arthur lifted his cup. “One of the perks of Lane’s job. He finds all the best places for an excellent cup of coffee. It’s where he gets much of his information. Kind of like you being a waitress at the Scotch drinkers’ club. People talk as if there’s no one else in the room. All you have to do is sit down, enjoy the coffee, and listen.”

  Keely looked at Lane. “Arthur’s getting up to speed.”

  Lane nodded. He looked past Keely as a young woman in a red tank top approached with plates of food.

  They devoured their soup, salad, and sandwiches in silence. Patrons began to occupy nearby tables. Lane looked over the alley at the trees and then the shrubs below. He wondered about past cases and thought, What will I remember when I look back on this one?

  “When will you tell me about the case you’re working on?” Keely asked, wiping her lips with a napkin.

  “Our case.” Lane watched the breeze play with the leaves on the trees in front of the newly constructed mansions eyeing each other from across the street. He turned to see that another strand of Keely’s red hair had freed itself and was now hanging in front of her eyes. She blew it away. It fell back down. She’s only a bit older than Christine.

  “I don’t understand.” Keely again wiped her mouth with a napkin. Her blue eyes zeroed in on him.

  “If we’re partners, then it’s ‘our’ case.”

  Keely smiled, then hid her reaction behind a hand.

  Arthur leaned back in his chair to give Lane and Keely their space. He acted like an outsider on the inside.

  “Well then, tell me about our case,” she said.

  Lane leaned in close and kept his voice low. “The body of a male, we believe it to be Andelko Branimir, was found chained to cinder blocks in a dried-up slough. His wife says he bought a ticket to fly home last year. She says he had a drinking problem. Jelena, the wife, and her daughter live on the western edge of town.”

  “How far from where the body was found?” Keely asked.

  Lane studied her. Good question. “Less than ten kilometres.”

  Keely nodded.

  “Jelena says she and Andelko fought — ”

  “What kind of fight?” Keely asked.

  Lane bristled at the interruptions. “— and he said he was going back home. She said he was upset after seeing someone from the war. A malabarista.”

  “Malabarista?”

  “Juggler. Street performer. I found him at Eau Claire on Saturday morning. Everything was fine until I mentioned Goran’s name.”

  “Goran?”

  You don’t miss much. “Two ids were found with the remains: Branimir and Goran.”

  Keely nodded thoughtfully and leaned back in her chair.

  “Exactly who has been threatening you?” Lane watched Keely’s eyes as she mentally shifted gears from one case to another.

  She looked north into the distance. “Don’t know for certain. There have been anonymous threatening letters. Could be the guy who owned the restaurant where I worked undercover.”

  “Where is he?” Lane asked.

  She shook her head. “Don’t know. He’s part of a biker gang that used the restaurant to launder money from the drug trade. He had some pictures of his biker buddies up in his office.”

  Lane sensed her hesitation. “What kinds of pictures?”

  “Guys sitting on Harleys adorned with big-breasted women showing lots of cleavage. A couple of his associates turned out to be big boys in the biker hierarchy. The Scotch drinkers’ club gave them advance warning of police investigations.”

  “Smoke was an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Lane said.

  Keely nodded. “Apparently, Smoke still is.” She turned her head to one side. “Did you get the name of the juggler?”

  “First names only. Leo plays music while Mladen does the juggling. Two men and two legs.” Lane lifted his shoulders with a shrug.

  “What do you mean?” Keely leaned forward.

  “One has an artificial leg. The other has a withered leg.”

  Keely smiled. “We should be able to track down their last names easily enough.”

  I think I can see what Simpson and Harper were thinking. This one’s got a quick mind for this kind of work.

  The family sat on their backyard deck in the shade of the neighbour’s house. “How come you picked such a loser?” Matt blanched when he heard the blunt tone of his question to Christine. Matt was so tanned that the creases around his eyes looked white in the valleys.

  Lane and Arthur readied themselve
s for an explosion from Christine. They glanced at one another across a table covered with a tablecloth and a variety of salads.

  Christine chewed her food deliberately, considering the question. “I don’t know.” She challenged Matt with her glare. Her eye was puffy, a purple bruise tattooed on her eyelid and cheek.

  “I mean,” Matt began slowly, “I always thought I had to prove myself to my dad, be a man. Be who he wanted me to be. You know how badly parents screw their kids up with messed-up expectations? Now I think maybe he had something to prove to me.”

  Christine winced. “I thought the guy was nice, but he turned out to be a jerk.”

  “It’s just that women seem to go for the bad boy, you know? Look at my mom — she went for a jerk. I mean what’s that all about?”

  “I wish I knew.” Christine looked at Roz, panting in the shade.

  “What’s exciting about getting beat up, or having to burn down a house and run away from a place where you’re being treated like shit?” Matt looked in Roz’s direction.

  Christine’s voice trembled. “I don’t know, okay?”

  “We’ve all got stuff to figure out.” Lane said, reaching for a sweating glass of beer.

  “Speaking of which, you’ve got an appointment with a psychiatrist.” Arthur pointed his fork at Lane. “Tuesday morning.”

  “And what are we going to say to the surgeon on Friday?” Lane asked.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Of course.”

  TUESDAY, AUGUST 21

  chapter 7

  Lane looked across the low, round table at Dr. Alexandre. She looked, smelled, and sounded like a blonde southern belle. Her white blouse was ruffled and buttoned at the throat. She wore blue slacks and pumps. There were wedding and engagement rings on the appropriate finger of her left hand. She kept her hands in her lap. The scent of lavender permeated the air of her office.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” He raised his cup and smiled.

  “Loraine said you’re a very humane man underneath it all. That you’ve somehow managed to hold onto that despite what you’ve experienced.” Dr. Alexandre’s smile was gone.