A guy stuck his head out his van’s window, big beard flowing, threw a kiss, offering ten bucks for the girls to take down their signs.
“Can’t, he’s a cop.” Vicki pointed at Beck, the bearded guy flipping Beck the bird, the van rolling through an amber light.
More poses, more pics, the girls informing the public, keeping their signs in front of their chests. Sure to rocket off the YouTube charts, go viral on the net. Likely make the six o’clock news. Doing it till they ran out of pamphlets.
The pimp still eyed him, Vicki calling Beck over, introducing him to the other girl, Tori, younger than Vicki, blonde and marked up the same way, getting her share of looks. Tori offered a soft hand, letting the sign slip, teasing him, saying, “You’re the fella with the boat, right?”
“Guess I am,” Beck said, shaking her hand, not letting his eyes drop.
“Vicki sent me the pics,” Tori said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Nice-looking boat by the way.” Looking him up and down.
“Thanks, I guess.”
Tori said to Vicki, “You’re right, he is cute.” Letting go of Beck’s hand, saying she’d love to hear how he got the scar sometime, turning and going back to informing the public.
The pimp pushed off the wall and stepped over, thumbs in his belt loops, slinging an arm around Vicki, a HEART button on his lapel. Pushing forty, a marine haircut, hairline receding, and a hawk nose. A bit taller than Beck in the cowboy boots. Likely there to protect the girls from the carnivores they were handing pamphlets to, whisk them out of there if the cops pulled up.
“Oh Beck, this is Jimmy,” Vicki said.
The pimp stuck out his hand, saying, “You’re the dude with the boat.”
Beck shook the hand, saying to her, “Anybody you didn’t tell?”
“You were on the force, am I right?” Jimmy squeezed.
“Right,” Beck said, returning the grip.
“Tough luck, running out of gas.” Jimmy grinned, not letting go.
“Gas was fine. Was the batteries that went flat.”
“Got to charge those puppies up,” Jimmy said, pumping the hand.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“And you pointing your big orange gun,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “Wish I’d been there.”
Beck took his hand back, asking, “You with HEART, Jimmy?”
“Me, no. Just lending moral support. I’m with an outfit, call ourselves the Sea Rangers.”
“Sea Rangers, huh? That come with a badge and whistle?”
Jimmy lost the grin, saying they were into anti-whaling down in the Southern Ocean. Making a difference.
“Like those guys on TV?”
“We help each other out from time to time.”
Tori stepped from the corner, out of pamphlets, putting an arm around Jimmy, asking him, “You working on Beck, signing him up?”
“Can always use a good man.”
“I’m doing it,” Vicki said to Beck.
“What, the Southern Ocean?” Beck said, surprised. “Even colder down there.”
“We’ll keep her warm, don’t you worry,” Jimmy said, arms going around both girls, telling them to lift their signs a bit. “Like poker, girls. Got to hold ’em close.”
Somebody took a shot of the three of them, Vicki handing out a pamphlet.
“Tough gig being a cop,” Jimmy said.
“Not for everybody,” Beck said, liking the pimp less every time his mouth moved.
“Did my bit in the military.”
“That right?”
“Two tours. Kosovo and Sudan.”
Beck bet field-kitchen duty, maybe relocating civilians.
“Got lucky,” Jimmy said. “Put me right out there on the front lines.”
“Saw action, huh?”
“Some.”
“Tour of duty, what’s that, six months?”
Jimmy grinned.
A guy in discount tweed interrupted the head-butting, setting his briefcase on one of the paper-boxes, asked Jimmy if he’d mind getting out of the shot, the girls getting in nice and tight, showing smiles behind the signs, the guy snapping away with his cell, saying this was going right up on the mantle, thanked them and went on his way.
“We about done?” Beck asked Vicki.
“Little early to eat, no?” she said.
“Any other surprises?”
“Could play a little Officer Down.” Toying with him, she handed out her last pamphlet, a rotund woman with yellow Bay bags taking it — a bit reluctantly.
“She say where we’re eating?” Jimmy asked him.
Beck looked at him, then back at Vicki, Rotund waving a sausage finger in her face, telling her she ought to be ashamed. An old gent with a cane stopped and said, “Thought the loin was in the back.”
Assuring the guy hers went all the way through, Vicki moved her leg, demonstrating, Beck and Jimmy watching. The guy with the cane thanked her for clearing that up, then was dragged away by Rotund, handing him the yellow bags.
Staring at her, a kid on a longboard rode straight into the Sun box, nearly tumbling into the street. A CTV News van screeched to a stop, honking, its bumper just missing the kid.
Pedestrians milled around, the news crew piling out of the van’s sliding door, a guy with a green mohawk hoisting a JVC to his shoulder, Beck recognizing the blonde reporter from TV, the woman stepping from the passenger seat, smoothing her outfit, every hair sprayed in place. Interviewed him one time at a crime scene on the Eastside, a vicious bitch with a smile and a microphone.
A squad car pulled up behind the news van, and there was his old partner Danny Green, stepping out of the passenger side, snugging his cap, checking out the disturbance, seeing the girls with the signs, glancing at the gathering crowd, smiling when he saw Beck, shaking his head and stepping over, leaving the scene to his rookie partner.
Danny turned enough to watch the rookie handle things, the young female officer getting out her pad, one hand on her nightstick, asking Vicki and Tori if she could see their permit, Jimmy stepping in to straighten things out, the rookie telling him to step back.
“Last I heard,” Danny said, “you got yourself into a charter boat.”
“Heard right,” Beck said. “Took the afternoon off, came down to meet my date. Going to dinner if your partner doesn’t arrest her first.”
Danny looked over at the girls. “Yeah? Which one?”
Beck pointed.
“Nice.” Danny nodded, Beck guessing he still felt bad for the night Beck was stabbed, blaming himself for his rookie mistake, taking out the nightstick instead of the Glock.
Beck pointed at Danny’s partner. “Fresh out of Depot, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s coming along, though,” Danny said.
“That was you two years back.”
They watched Jimmy trying to defuse the situation, Vicki and Tori arguing, Danny’s partner warning Jimmy again to step back, hand on her nightstick, same way Danny used to handle things.
“That guy a chaperone or a pimp?” Danny said.
“Arrest him if you want.”
Danny started walking, saying he better step in. “Before she takes the stick to him.”
“You ever feel like wetting a line . . .” Beck called.
Danny nodded, said for sure, then stepped into the scene, the two girls with their signs, harping about their rights. Danny steered his new partner out of the cameraman’s line of fire, the blonde reporter asking why the girls were marked up like meat.
. . . MADMEN ON THE WATER
He wasn’t sure at first. Could have been the screech of a seabird. The girls had gone off down the passageway, headed for the galley to scrub off the ink, lit up and buzzing over the HEART thing, nearly getting arrested, Jimmy volunteering to help with the scrubbing, told to wait with Beck.
>
The two of them left in Jimmy’s cabin, Jimmy and Beck looking at each other, not saying much. Then Jimmy went off in search of coffee.
On the narrow bunk, Beck looked around the cabin, the engines rumbling below decks, the engineer running his checks and tests, making adjustments. Beck taking everything in: the metal room all grey, no window, no closet. A Greenpeace poster declared, WE FUCKED UP EARTH. A beat-up suitcase in one corner, a guitar case against the desk, said Gibson on it. Jeans and Ts hung from the door hook. For a guy pushing forty, a Gibson and jeans weren’t much to show.
“You play, or it just for show?” Beck asked when Jimmy came back, Jimmy handing him one of the Styro cups. He said the guitar killed the boredom, wasn’t a lot of TV to watch in the Antarctic, telling Beck about the ship: fifty-six meters of riveted steel, RESEARCH painted down both sides, on the block for two years before the Sea Rangers made their bid. Told him about the board of directors, an ex-chair from some council on international alliance, an activist from the Capital who used to flog sustainable development for Greenpeace, along with an assortment of tree-hugging philanthropists. Jimmy said the man with the captain’s cap was ex-navy: Angus Hilton, with the Donald Sutherland looks, a good egg when he wasn’t into his cups — why he wasn’t still with the navy.
The Sea Ranger cause was shaping into a government nonprofit deal. The aim was to outfit the ship and form a crew, sail her to the Southern Ocean, assist Greenpeace and the Sea Shepherds, see that the Japanese refrained from whaling, assert a Canadian presence, gain international points. Jimmy saying the federal government was playing look-over-there, diverting attention from the other coast, Canadian citizens beating seal pups with clubs, spoiling the America Lite image. The kind of thing that didn’t look good in world news.
Jimmy saw himself in the chief officer spot, second-in-command, waiting on the board’s vote.
Beck blew at the steaming coffee, sipping it, burning his tongue. Tasted a week old, bitter and reborn from old grounds.
“Need sugar?”
“Need someplace to spit.” Beck thinking a shot of whiskey wouldn’t save it.
Jimmy pulled packets of sugar and powdered cream from a pocket, said it might help.
“It’s fine.” Beck set the cup between his shoes.
“The way Angus likes it,” Jimmy said. “Guy tosses the powdered stuff in his.”
“Stuff circus clowns light on fire.”
“Yeah.” Parking himself backwards on the chair, Jimmy leaned in, saying, “So, which one?”
“Which one what?”
“Vicki or Tori?”
“We tossing for the girls?”
“Just asking.”
“See, Vicki invited me down. Was thinking we were having dinner, as in just the two of us.”
“Full of surprises, that one,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.
“Yeah.” Dinner turning into a group effort, Beck figuring she was getting even for last night. The ship’s engines rumbled louder, the Styro cup at Beck’s feet showing rings from the vibration. They sat quiet for a while, Jimmy sipping, Beck asking, “You got a target date?”
“Was thinking Tori, but if you —”
“Meant the Southern Ocean, going to save whales.”
“Ah, well, soon as we get past the red tape.”
Beck nodded.
“Pain in the ass getting a committee to agree on the simplest shit,” Jimmy said.
“Tell me about it.” Reminded Beck of his days in uniform, red tape and policy change, memos like clockwork.
“Right now they’re debating what color to paint the hull, camo gray or leave her white. Going back and forth. Then there’s coming up with a name.” Jimmy rolling his eyes.
“For the ship?”
“Yeah. Some going for an environmental lean, most wanting a celebrity’s name down her sides.”
“Yeah, like who?”
“Some going with David Suzuki.”
“A name the Japanese would get.”
“Right. Captain’s on the fence between the SS Bieber or the Bublé.”
“Bieber, the kid singer?”
“The daughter thinks he’s cute, wife thinks the other’s got talent. Were up to Angus, I think he’d go Pam Anderson.”
“Pam, huh?”
“Other names got tossed around: Keanu Reeves, Trebek, that Linkletter guy, Howie Mandel . . . guy that played Doc Hollywood . . .” Jimmy snapped his fingers, couldn’t come up with the name. “Hockey goalie, got his teeth knocked out all the time . . .”
“Johnny Bower,” Beck said. “Used to call him the China Wall.”
“And that guy played Captain Kirk.” Jimmy sipped, saying, “Me, I say we go Neil Young. Most talented guy in the country.”
“Hard to argue.” Beck saying he loved the tune about the chick on the Harley.
“Trouble is, board thinks old Neil throws off a homeless vibe, gives the wrong impression,” Jimmy said. “Only way he gets on board is if we pipe his tunes through the PA.”
“Taking a film crew?” Beck thinking Vicki would be all over it.
“Had talks with the Cousteau people. Guys from Nickelback practically begging to do the theme track.”
Nodding, Beck wondered what was keeping the girls, Jimmy mentioning a wine-and-alternative-cheese do Captain Angus was throwing up in the wheelhouse, drumming up support, saying they could go up for a drink when the girls got back.
“Vegans drink wine, huh?”
“Sure, vegan wine. We got Absolut, Amaretto if you’re a chick, Bacardi, Baileys, Chivas, you name it.”
“Wash down the Tofurky, huh?”
Jimmy looked thoughtful, then said, “She told me, you know?”
“Told you what?”
“About you two in that bay.” He took a sip. “The tug and the guys staring, you pulling your flare gun. Wasn’t till later, she got that it was a sub.”
“A sub? Come on, Jimmy. This is the other Colombia.”
“Showed me the shot she took,” Jimmy said, “one with you naked. Sub in the background, a bit soft, but, no doubt what it was.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Running dope?”
Beck shrugged.
“Ask me, these guys aren’t going to leave loose ends.”
“They come back, then I do something about it.”
“They come, they’ll come for her, too,” Jimmy said.
“Like I said . . .”
“How about your cop buddies, still got some, right?”
Over the rumble of the engines came the clanking of heels on steel.
Vicki stepped through the doorway in skinny jeans, heels and a T that said SEA RANGERS CREW.
“What happened to Tori?” Jimmy asked.
“Got cleaned up, squeezed into this steampunk corset number,” Vicki said, “Next thing she’s done in, couldn’t handle the swaying.”
“We’re tied to a dock,” Jimmy said.
Vicki tossed up her hands. “Called a cab and that was it.” Digging a folded paper from her stash pocket, she handed it to Jimmy. “Said call her if you want.”
Frowning, Jimmy tucked it away, Vicki looking at Beck, saying, “He sign you up yet?”
“Been working on me.”
“I’m in,” she said, her eyes dancing, hands holding the T-shirt like maybe he hadn’t seen it.
Beck turned to Jimmy. “Didn’t mention that.”
Jimmy just shrugged. “Not mine to tell.”
“Ditched a couple of auditions, postponed my HEART commitments,” she said, “but I’m all in.”
“He mention how cold it gets, bottom of the world?”
“Got the parkas, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, Canada Goose all the way,” Jimmy said. “Big logos on the pockets, look good for th
e cameras.”
“Fresh-water rationing,” Beck said, “He mention you’ll be lining up for sponge baths, sharing a washcloth?”
“Nothing like that,” Jimmy said, laughing.
“Three, four days in and you start smelling like a hamster.”
“They’re cute, right, hamsters?” she said, laughing too.
“All that to save a fish,” Beck said.
“Mammals,” they both said.
Beck felt the ship sway, the engines rumbling louder now, Beck knowing the sounds of a ship getting underway, looking at Jimmy, saying, “Full of surprises, huh?”
“My idea,” she said, sitting next to Beck on the bunk, taking his hand, patting it, Jimmy draining his cup, setting it on the desk, asking Beck, “Sure I can’t get you something else?”
“Maybe some ice . . . for my hand.” Rubbing his knuckles.
“What’s with your hand?” she asked, looking at it.
“Nothing yet,” Beck said, looking at Jimmy.
Jimmy grinned at him, a jumbled announcement coming over the PA, something Beck couldn’t make out.
Vicki kept patting Beck’s hand, saying, “You took me on a boat ride, now it’s my turn.”
“This is you getting even, huh?”
“Just once around English Bay. Drinks up in a warm wheelhouse. Hardly makes us even.”
“And dinner?” Beck said, looking at Jimmy.
“Right after some wine and vegan cheese. Get us started.”
Jimmy was first through the doorway. Vicki hooked Beck’s arm, leading the way, saying the milk-free cheddar was to die for.
. . . DEVIL’S IN THE BED
“So, I’m supposed to what, walk up, middle of the day, busy fucking marina,” Eddie said. “Say ‘how you doing, saw you naked,’ and start shooting?”
The two of them at a table in the dining room, out of earshot from the two bikers shooting pool, Ramon picking up the sandwich Axel brought, Axel sticking his head through the kitchen door, asking if they wanted dills on the side. The old man had told Axel to keep an eye on them, even took Ramon’s keys, his Town Car miles away at the truck rental place.
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