‘Rich and powerful.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know. Intimidating. He was handsome and nice enough to me but again I didn’t have much contact with him.’
‘We appreciate your help,’ I said. ‘Now let’s get you a drink.’
Darren and Michelle and me sat drinking but Michelle didn’t have much more to tell us. Darren looked tired, rough, but seemed happy to be around Michelle. He had gold sparkles underneath his eyes, embedded in the dark circles, from rubbing at his tired eyes after picking at his beer’s green and gold label. I stared out on to the rainy street, thinking about the case, while Darren flirted with Michelle. The puddles were undulating and spitting in the wind and rain and changing colour with the traffic lights. A detective attempts to make sense of both what’s presented to him or her and what’s hidden from plain sight, modestly trying to parse things out, not accept received opinions, while maintaining one’s own dignity; this is why those of us, those of us without power, are detectives, that is to say, we wake up to a world every day that has all sorts of plans for us and we spend our time figuring out said plans, battling the day, till we’re too tired and need drink and/or love to put us to sleep again. This is what a detective does, I thought. Michelle had one vodka-cranberry and then left. Darren and I needed to come up with a plan.
‘So what should we do?’ said Darren.
‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ I said.
‘And … ?’
‘Well, we’ll get there first. Stake it out.’
‘We should probably pick up your gun.’
‘I don’t own a gun.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a camera?’
‘Yes.’
‘We should get photos of the payoff.’
‘Right.’
‘Also, man, we need some sort of weapon. They’ll all be packing, for sure.’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I don’t know. What do you have?’
‘A Louisville Slugger. A block of kitchen knives. You?’
‘Some old golf clubs, I guess, and a baseball bat, too. We have a nail gun in the back of the boutique.’
‘Great. Let’s collect our gear.’
‘Okay,’ said Darren.
We went to my place first, since it was on the way to chez Darren and Chez Marine. Darren waited in the car out front while I ran in to get the baseball bat and camera and anything else I could find. I ran up the three small flights of stairs and dug around in my pockets for my keys. I was fumbling and flustered. While inserting my key into the lock I was greeted from behind with an X26 Taser buried in my side. I was down on the ground in a second, neuromuscularly sedated with 50,000 volts, and once again in cuffs. The cops had me in the back of a squad car before I knew what was happening; for a moment I thought I’d had a heart attack and/or a stroke.
23
Sitting handcuffed to a chair, I thought, I spend an inordinate amount of time handcuffed to chairs. They left me in the interrogation room alone for at least twenty minutes, which is pretty much sop. Sometimes they make you wait much longer but O’Meara had a rendezvous with the Devil, I thought, or Devils, plural, or at least with some real bad assholes, so he couldn’t waste too much time. Still, he wasn’t there to attempt to intimidate me right away and left me sitting there restrained, still rattled from the 50,000 volts. On the car ride to the station one of the officers asked me if I’d ever had a taste of an X26 before and I said, ‘Why would I have?’ He told me that in the academy he’d volunteered to be shot up with electricity and had been OC-sprayed, too. ‘Like pepper-sprayed?’ I said, and he said yes and said that OC was an abbreviation for Oleoresin Capsicum. I asked him which was worse, the X26 or the spray, and he said they were both bad but before both they took away his service weapon and that if he’d had it after the Taser he would’ve shot the cadet who’d Tased him and if he’d had it after the pepper spray, he would’ve shot himself. ‘The academy sounds like a gas,’ I said, and we stopped talking for the duration of the ride.
O’Meara entered the room carrying a phonebook and we both knew what that was about. He kicked the door shut behind him and walked swiftly over to me and whacked me across the face with the book. It hurt so badly that I instantly tasted blood and felt sick.
‘Okay, okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hit me with that again. What the fuck’s your problem?’
‘Rick, you know damn well what’s my problem.’
‘Me?’
‘Bingo.’
‘Well, sorry I guess, but his wife hired me.’
‘Yes, I know. You fell for Clytemnestra.’
‘Impressive reference for a flatfoot.’ O’Meara swung the phonebook back, ready to deliver another blow, but I said, ‘Seriously, please don’t do that again. I’m not here to fight.’
‘You’re here because you can’t follow orders and have no respect for authority,’ he said. ‘But authority will simply knock you down when you get out of line. And, Rick, you’re out of line.’ Then, of course, he hit me across the face with the phonebook and for a second I blacked out.
‘Man!’ I said, sniffling, nose bloody. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time and I get it – you’re a cop and I’m a private dick and we don’t like each other – but I was hired by the wife of a murdered man and now you’re beating me up for doing my job.’
‘Rick, you’re horrible at your so-called job.’
‘So be it, so you think. But you don’t need to beat me like a fascist.’
‘Rick, the world is fascist, first off, and secondly, you’re lucky you’re not dead.’
‘Doesn’t feel like it right now.’
‘I want you to leave town.’
‘Can I have till sunup since sundown’s past?’
‘If you don’t leave town you’re dead.’
‘You’re going to kill me?’
‘Someone will. I’m doing you a favour.’
‘What have you got yourself involved in?’
‘Don’t ask questions.’
‘What the fuck’s going on? Who are these people?’
‘Leave town.’
‘Where’s Elaine?’
‘I have no idea but I suspect she’s far, far from here.’
‘Where’s Elaine?’
‘I’m not lying, Rick. I have no idea.’
‘What were you paid for?’
‘What are you implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything, O’Meara. I’m asking you straight: What did they pay you for?’
‘No one’s paid me for anything, Rick. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Cut the crap. It’s time to stop playing games. I know Bouvert and Adamson have paid you for something.’
Not surprisingly, he whacked me with the phonebook again.
‘Listen to me, motherfucker!’ he said, dropping the phonebook and pulling my hair back and spitting on my face. ‘You better shut the fuck up right now and stop asking questions or I’ll kill you myself. And next time no phonebook, instead a pistol-whipping,’ and he let go of my hair and pulled out his Glock from his shoulder holster, waving it in my face like a tough guy. ‘I don’t give a shit what you think, Rick – you don’t have a clue. I’m warning you that you need to leave town before you get yourself killed by asking too many questions.’
‘So if you think someone might kill me why don’t you do something about it? You’re the police.’
‘I am doing something about it, asshole, so don’t get in my goddamn way.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t care. Get on a plane or bus or train and get out of town.’
‘If I don’t … ?’
‘Leave town?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I thought I made that clear. You’ll be killed. The only thing I could do to protect you is to lock you up. Or, you could leave town. Two choices.’
‘What are you going to arrest me for
?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll stuff a bag of heroin in your shirt pocket. Whatever it takes. It’s not hard.’
‘I need twelve hours to solve this case.’
‘All right, seriously, stop it. Enough jokes.’ He put his gun away, back in its holster. ‘You’re deluded. You’re a delusional man. Leave or I’ll put you away for a long time, not just for the duration of this case. If I lock you up because you’re sniffing around this case, it’ll be for the rest of your life, capisce?’
‘O’Meara – ’
‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’
He uncuffed me and offered me a handkerchief for my bloodied nose.
‘You’ll wait here and an officer’s going to escort you home, you’re going to pack a bag, and then he’ll see you to the train station or the airport or the bus depot, your choice – ’
‘Thanks.’
‘ – and you’re going to get on your chosen mode of transportation and you’re going to travel to your chosen destination and you’re not going to show your face around here for a long, long time.’
‘Deal.’
‘I’m not really giving you a choice. Well, this or prison or death, I guess, so I am giving you a choice.’
‘I’ll get on a train and disappear for a while.’
‘Rick, that’s the first thing you’ve ever said I’ve liked.’ He opened the door to the interrogation room.
‘O’Meara,’ I said, holding the handkerchief to my nose.
‘Yeah … ’
‘See you in the funny pages.’
‘See you in the funny pages, Rick.’
24
The same officer who shot me up with electricity drove me back to my apartment, where I was supposed to pack and then hop on a train, not to return for some time. Of course, however, I’d made my plan of escape on the car ride home. It’d stopped raining and the temperature had dropped. Officer McLaughlin was short but muscular, top heavy, with a broad chest and broad shoulders. He clearly plays rugby on weekends, I thought, and when I asked him, he was astonished, and he responded in the affirmative.
‘How’d you know?’ he said.
‘Because I’m a detective,’ I said, and unlike O’Meara he didn’t make any derogatory remarks; he just seemed impressed.
I was growing to like Officer McLaughlin, despite the fact that he tased me, and I was feeling a little guilty that I was about to skip out on him, which would no doubt get him in a world of trouble and affect his career; for this, truly, I felt bad, but I had a case to solve and I wasn’t about to get on a train and leave town, not yet.
When we arrived at my place, I offered Officer McLaughlin a cup of tea or coffee, having nothing else to offer, and he accepted a cup of tea, and I started to pack a bag, with some clothes and my camera, et cetera. I wanted to pack some weaponry but didn’t want to look too suspicious. I told him I had to use the washroom to get cleaned up – wash away the blood – and pack my toiletry kit and he said that was fine but to be fast. I said thanks.
I ran the shower and the washroom began to fill up with steam. I washed my face quickly at the sink. I opened the small window above the shower and tried to figure out a way of hoisting myself up and out of it to the fire escape, while steam billowed and rolled out the window. The window was small, indeed, high up. I’d leave my bag behind, I decided. If I pulled myself up, I thought, I could balance on the shower-curtain bar, which was metal and very sturdy and screwed into the wall, and roll out the window. And that was exactly what I did, leaving the shower running and the washroom filling up with steam. As quietly as I could, I took the stairs down the fire escape to the street. I took back alleys to Chez Marine.
Getting to the flower shop’s back entrance wasn’t difficult, though I heard a police siren on the way and of course suspected it was Officer McLaughlin frantically searching for me. I slipped in the back door and didn’t make a sound. I looked around at all the flowers and tools and saw a cluttered desk with, amongst other things, a glow-in-the-dark Hasbro Ouija Board with a planchette on it. It must be Julie’s, I instantly thought, and then she came in to the back of the store and put her hand on her small chest, startled.
‘You frightened me!’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but the police are after me.’
‘Oh wow.’
‘Is Darren around?’
‘No, but I’ll call his cell. I haven’t seen him since you two left earlier.’
‘I was with him but then I got taken away by the cops. He doesn’t know. He was sitting waiting for me in the car, while I was going to grab some supplies from my place.’
‘I’ll call,’ she said, and picked up a phone on the desk with the Ouija board. While Julie dialed, I thought I should contact Gerald Andrews with the board and ask him who stabbed him to death.
‘Darren,’ she said, ‘I’m with Bob. At the store. He’s in trouble … Okay, bon … Ciao … ’ She hung up the phone.
‘What’s he saying?’
‘He’s on his way, said he just stopped at his apartment.’
‘Great. Merci, Julie.’
‘De rien.’
Darren was there within minutes. Of course, his first question was what the hell happened and I filled him in on everything: the Taser, the interrogation, the phonebook, O’Meara’s Glock and splitting out the washroom window on Officer McLaughlin.
‘We’ve only got a little over an hour till O’Meara meets up with the lawyers, so we’d better get moving,’ I said.
‘I’m ready,’ said Darren, picking up a nail gun off a table.
‘Is this is a good idea?’ said Julie.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but we have to do something. I can’t just sit on my hands. We have to be there for the payoff – see what this is all about, see what O’Meara’s up to.’
‘Do you believe he’s working on the case?’ said Darren. ‘Like, undercover?’
‘Do you?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither, but I’ve been fooled so many times that I’m open to the possibility that he’s on the up and up.’
‘Right … ’
‘We’ll see, I suppose.’
‘So what … ?’
‘We go down to the Old Port, find this restaurant, find the pier close by, and then hide and watch. A stakeout.’
‘Do you have a plan to intervene?’
‘No. We’ll see what goes down.’
‘You two are crazy! You’ll end up in prison or dead.’
‘I really hope not, Julie.’
25
En route to the Old Port, I thought about what to do and didn’t really have many ideas. Julie said if she didn’t hear from Darren and me in a couple of hours she’d call the police.
We explained to her that the police are potentially our main problem at the moment. She seemed to understand but nevertheless said she’d contact the authorities if she hadn’t heard from us in a couple of hours. Darren promised to call, at the very least, and told her to hold tight. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he told her. I was nervous for Darren’s safety, however; after all, I thought, he was a student and a flower-delivery driver who’d done me a whole host of favours, not a law enforcement officer or a criminal (when there’s a difference) or a private detective – this really wasn’t his problem or his case, though his help had been invaluable, I thought, even though I still wasn’t sure what was going on or what was about to go down. Still, thanks to Darren, we knew about the payoff, I thought, if the payoff was still going down. Darren had brought the nail gun along and had grabbed a baseball bat and a couple of golf clubs from his apartment. Even with our armament, I thought, we were dead if things got violent, so probably best to stay out of the way, and I told Darren what I’d been thinking, emphasizing that I wanted him to stay out of harm’s way, watching but not intervening, no matter what. He just nodded.
‘I’m serious,’ I said.
‘I know.’
‘It’s not worth you getting hurt or killed over a bunch of rich assholes’ bullshit.’
‘I know.’
We drove on in silence. Darren had looked up Diavolo Cucina’s address back at the boutique. He said the restaurant was right down by the water, far off from the touristy section, where you can buy fudge and watch jugglers and unicyclists and men making balloon animals, sometimes making them disappear by eating them. It was in the corner of the old city, by the waterway, near an overpass. We pulled up to the old stone building, which looked like a tiny fortress, with black steel fencing, and knew it was the restaurant, even though there wasn’t a sign.
‘We should wait near that little park but under the overpass,’ I said, pointing to a small grassy strip across from the restaurant but before the wharf, with a few benches and picnic tables.
‘I know just what to do,’ said Darren, and he pulled the car up alongside a pillar under the overpass, from which we could see the restaurant’s entrance, the small park and the pier. ‘I’ve got a camera and binoculars in my knapsack.’
I turned around and unzipped the red-and-blue knapsack and took out the binoculars. I held them up to my eyes and looked over at Diavolo Cucina. It’d been a long time since I’d looked through a pair of binoculars, I thought, no longer owning a pair myself. I used to own a pair, a while back, but they got broken on a case: I’d dropped them from the rooftop of an apartment building, on a stakeout. C’est la vie, I thought, but it was nice to use binoculars again. I pointed them toward the wharf and the pier, where a couple of container ships were moored. I pointed them toward the park – nobody was in sight. I pointed them toward the restaurant and it seemed like the only place in the area with movement. It was dark but not too dark. The area was pretty lit up, with old-style streetlamps. They looked Victorian, I thought, but I really had no idea.
A black Mercedes pulled up to the restaurant – ‘It’s him,’ said Darren and grabbed the camera – and lo and behold, Bouvert got out and was greeted by a valet, who took his keys and parked his car. Darren snapped photos nonstop, since his camera was digital.
The Devil and the Detective Page 10