by Ingrid Betz
A narrow waist-high counter ran the length of the store, its surface bare except for a couple of electronic scales. Stretching upward into the shadows as high as the ceiling, rows of shelving contained a profusion of bins, tins, jars, and bags the contents of which, he was assured, could treat every ailment he cared to name. “I’ll take your word for it,” Peter had joked; everything was labeled in Chinese. He was struck by a dry smell in the air; like hay with a whiff of something sharper. Pleasant or unpleasant, he couldn’t decide, it was so alien.
The store, the uncle, and later his conversation with Li Chen of The Happy Long Life Mushroom Company—who spoke surprisingly good English in a gravelly Peter Lorre sort of voice—struck Peter as creepy. That was the only word for it. But he’d persevered. They would never have asked him to Toronto if they hadn’t wanted something from him. Maybe even, he was pretty sure, if they weren’t afraid of what a word from him in the wrong ears could do to them. From him and more precisely, from Marigold.
The upshot was that ten days later here he was, preparing to sign a contract.
A light blinked on the desk. The secretary looked up, smiling, and said Mr. Chang would see him now. Even her teeth, Peter noted, looked camera-ready and movie-perfect.
“Something isn’t clear to you, Mr. Cormier?”
David Chang spoke helpfully from across the polished surface of his desk. Rosewood, Peter judged. Everything in the lawyer’s office indicated money: the furniture, the art on the walls—most of it recognizably Chinese, like those galloping horses on a scroll of parchment—right down to the spectacular view of the city from the twenty-eighth floor of the downtown skyscraper.
“No. No. Everything’s clear so far.”
As clear as legal jargon ever could be. He picked up the document and studied it more closely. It was hard to concentrate with that damn bird in the other room, gargling as though it were auditioning for the opera. Chang glanced at his watch; the fancy type that told you everything but your name, which was probably engraved on the back.
“The terms are the ones you agreed to in your meeting with Mr. Li,” he said.
Peter nodded. He remembered Li Chen’s opaque black eyes fixed on him, and how he hadn’t so much agreed to the terms being offered as been steered to accept them by the sheer force of the older man’s will.
Agreement Between The Cormier Lab And The Happy Long Life Mushroom Company, he read and skimmed over the phrases contained in the neat blocks of print. Provide quality control. Ensure same is in keeping with standard Canadian regulations. In essence, the Lab would provide the seal of official sanction to the products marketed by the company. In return, the Lab would receive a monthly retainer plus a certain portion, still to be determined, of the profits. No less than … and not to exceed … blah, blah. Penalties to be exacted if either party failed to live up to its commitment.
All that was standard stuff. What concerned him was the inclusion in the contract of Marigold Green. He hadn’t counted on the name of his chief lab technician turning up in the fine print, but here she was not once but twice, in wording that made her out to be an integral part of the deal.
Marigold was already paranoid about anything to do with the men from the park. The two of them had come as close as they ever had to having an all-out barney when he casually mentioned his meeting with Kim’s uncle. He’d blundered on that score; he ought to have waited till the Algonquin episode had faded some more. Still, she knew their financial situation as well as he did, and he’d convinced himself that relief over the fact that he’d found a solution to the Lab’s money worries would outweigh her qualms. Instead, Marigold’s response had shocked him.
“Oh, Peter! You’re not! You can’t!” She scraped her chair back from the counter where she’d been analyzing blood samples with such force that it ricocheted against a trolley laden with glass vials. “Tell me you haven’t agreed to work with those … those criminals.”
“Hey! It’s no big deal!” Glass clashed and tinkled and he grabbed at the teetering vials to keep them from spilling. “It’s just a matter of doing a quality check. So they can put the bile on the market as a licensed product.”
“Product? They call bear bile a product? That’s got to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
“There’s a big demand for the stuff. No matter what we think.”
“A product of torture is what it is. Caging wild animals and hooking them to catheters so…”
“Okay, okay. Since when did you become an expert?” Again Peter was taken aback. He hadn’t reckoned with Marigold being so knowledgeable about the extraction process.
“I looked it up on Wikipedia. I’m still having nightmares. And you want to aid and abet cruelty like that?”
“Come on! It’s not as though you and I are the ones doing the deed.” Peter felt hurt to think that she would believe him personally capable of animal abuse. She ought to know him better than that.
“Besides,” he added, trotting out the time-worn argument which had served him on dicey occasions in the past, “if Cormier Lab doesn’t do it, some other lab will. Why shouldn’t we be the ones to cash in?”
Marigold snatched up an eyedropper and drew a drop of blood out of a vial. Hands trembling, she ejected it onto a glass platelet. “I don’t understand you, Peter. Have you forgotten this is the outfit that killed Lynn?”
“You don’t know that for sure. Nobody does.”
“I know what I saw,” said Marigold stubbornly, adjusting the eyepiece of her microscope. “And if they ever find out what that is, they’ll kill me, too.”
“You’re not still barking up that tree, are you? Talk sense, Mar. Sure, they suspect you know something. But that’s what gives us a hold over them. As long as we have that, we’re home free.”
She raised her head and gave him a look that silenced him. “Oh, Peter. You’re playing with fire. Hasn’t it occurred to you that works both ways? The reason they’ve agreed to hire you, is that it’ll give them a hold over you? Think about it. The minute you sign their contract, in the eyes of the law you’ll become an accomplice. A participant in their scheme. That’s their insurance. You wouldn’t be able to go to the police, even if you wanted to, without landing yourself and me, and anyone connected with us, in it too.”
Peter felt a sudden chill, and he’d had to sit down. A part of his brain knew that Marigold was right. In spite of her timidity and lack of self-confidence, she had a good head on her shoulders. Better than his—that’s why she had the diplomas and he didn’t. He resorted to bluster.
“There’s no law against harvesting bear bile.”
“That’s only because nobody in Canada has thought of doing anything so heinous to a wild animal. Until now.”
Heinous. He wasn’t even sure what the word meant. All he knew was that he’d worked damn hard to get this chance to make some serious cash. He’d even traded on his friendship with Kim. The income would mean finally getting out from under the bank and placing the lab on a solid long-term financial footing. Short-term, it would mean giving Darlene what she wanted. At the thought of his wife, his resolve, softening under Marigold’s objections, hardened again.
Bringing home cruise brochures wasn’t enough anymore for Darlene. The other night he’d come up to bed unexpectedly early, and found her in front of the mirror, posturing in skimpy shorts and a halter top. Cruise-wear, she’d told him with a challenging look. She hadn’t even bothered to lie about it.
“Listen, Mar. This is Cormier Lab’s big chance—maybe our last one—and I’m not having you ruin it. Just because you care more about dumb animals than you do about me,” he’d yelled at last. Yelling was something he rarely did; the repercussions were never good. Marigold, predictably, started to cry, and he’d gone out the door, slamming it behind him so he wouldn’t have to hear her. Hussein, printing out labels, had sent him a cowed look, which he’d pretende
d not to notice.
Returning to the present, Peter reread the clauses with Marigold’s name in them.
Were they really enough to turn her into an accomplice as well? God, it would take a lawyer to figure out this stuff. Not Chang, but one who was on his side. Although when had he and the legal profession ever been on the same side? Maybe if the vocal acrobatics in the outer office would stop, he’d be able to think better.
“A cup of tea?” said David Chang. “Or something stronger to toast the agreement?”
Peter realized the other man was trying to move things along. “Tea would be great.” Not as great as a stiff vodka and tonic, but he needed to keep a clear head.
Chang made the request over the intercom and a minute later, the door opened and the secretary entered bearing a lacquered tray holding two cups. She tripped across the lush carpeting in high heels. His eyes drawn by what passed for her skirt, Peter couldn’t help wondering if she and her boss had a thing going outside office hours. The cups were the kind he’d seen in better class Chinese restaurants: white china patterned with swirling blue dragons and lids on top to keep the contents hot.
Cautiously, he blew on the tea and took a sip. He wanted to be careful how he worded this. “I see that Miss Green is mentioned by name in the contract.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not for me, no,” he hedged. “But I’m not sure how Miss Green will feel about it.”
“Are you saying she doesn’t approve of the work the Lab would be doing for The Happy Long Life Company?” Chang eyed him sharply. “If so, that could be a problem.”
“I didn’t say she doesn’t approve. She’s my employee. She does whatever work the Lab is contracted to do. Only…” Peter ran a finger under his collar. He was starting to sweat; hot tea did that to him. “It’s awkward. She’s nervous about working for a Chinese firm … well, this Chinese firm.”
“Ah. Because of what happened to her in Algonquin Park,” the lawyer helped him out smoothly. “A tragic case of miscommunication.”
“She feels it was a little more than that. A woman was killed up there. Her best friend. I’m not sure how much you know about the incident…”
“A Miss Lynn Harmer. Officially listed as missing. I understand the body has yet to be found.”
“True. But both women were definitely shot at.” He struggled on. Was he making things worse for Marigold? “She … Miss Green … has the scar to prove it.”
“My understanding is that the shots were fired to kill an adult bear charging to protect her cubs. The women failed to heed the warning to stay back. Unfortunate, but…” Chang shrugged.
Did he really believe that version of events? Peter gave the suave face across the desk a narrow look. You could never tell with lawyers. Natural-born poker players. That’s what they were paid to be. Peter surprised himself with his vehemence. “The fact is that Miss Green was left lying on the rocks to die.”
“Are you implying it was done deliberately?”
“Maybe not deliberately, no.” Peter backtracked. “But…”
“According to Mr. Li, the men panicked. The fellow in charge was from China. He wasn’t sure what to do in the circumstances.”
“He was in Canada illegally, you mean?”
Chang stared at him coldly. “I’d advise you not to put words in my mouth, Mr. Cormier. In any case, the man in question is no longer in the country.”
Out of reach of the arm of the Canadian law, in other words. Peter drank more tea. It tasted like an infusion of hay. Thanks to the lid, the stuff was still hot enough to burn his tongue. Irritation made him reckless. “I guess what I’m asking is, how would it affect the contract if I found it necessary to replace Miss Green? With another technician, say?”
Chang stood up. In his colour-coordinated shirt and tie and wrinkle-free slacks he looked like one of those male models for Ralph Lauren fashion ads. Maybe the twittering and trilling was getting to him, too, because he moved to close the door the secretary had left open.
“Let me remind you, Mr. Cormier. You are the one who approached my client, offering the services of your laboratory.” He resumed his seat in the leather chair behind the desk. “Services that include the participation of Miss Green. I doubt Mr. Li would be comfortable with a switch to a new and untested technician. Somebody who has no reason to be—shall we say, loyal and discreet. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Behind the door, the bird fell abruptly silent. The secretary must have taken the hint and thrown a tablecloth over the cage, or whatever it was that people did. Peter considered the veiled threat behind the lawyer’s comments. Marigold’s silence was being bought, and he was the one doing the selling. It was an uncomfortable thought.
He picked up the pen provided for his use. A sterling silver fountain pen. How many years had it been since he’d last written with one of those? Frowning, he laid it down again. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ll do my best. But this is Canada. Employees have rights. I can’t force…”
Chang looked at him shrewdly. “You care about this woman? This Marigold Green?”
“Well, yes…” Peter felt his face redden. “I…”
“In that case, let me put it to you this way. You’ll be doing her a favour by convincing her to continue in her position.”
Peter nodded. Clearly he’d reached the limit of how far he could pursue his objections. He was perspiring in earnest now. Maybe he could smooth things over with Marigold by giving her a raise. Heck, he’d do better than that. He’d give her a bonus and suggest she make a donation to the Humane Society in Lynn Harmer’s name. For that she could swallow her scruples. Moreover it would prove that he had her best interests at heart. He picked up the pen once more and signed his name and his initials on the lines indicated.
“Excellent.” David Chang reached for the document and allowed it to disappear into a folder lying ready. Rising from his chair, he dialed open a safe in the wall behind the desk and slid the folder inside for safekeeping. “You will not regret this, Mr. Cormier.”
Wouldn’t he? He’d walked in here so sure he was doing the right thing; now he wasn’t at all sure. “And my retainer?”
“Our accounting department will have it in the mail to you by tomorrow. If there’s nothing else…”
Peter remained stubbornly seated. “I’d like to have the money now, if you don’t mind.”
All at once he didn’t trust anybody connected with the Happy Long Life Mushroom Company. He even had some mad idea that the figure on the cheque would not be the one they’d promised, in which case he wasn’t leaving. He had a vision of security being called in and himself being dragged out kicking and yelling. If that happened, he’d have them charged with assault—on top of fraud. Unless Li had him waylaid in the parking garage and finished him off the way they must have done Lynn. He ran a nervous hand over his hair. God, he was getting as bad as Marigold with her fantasies of Asian killers.
“As you wish,” said David Chang and bent toward the intercom. Peter had expected to see contempt in his eyes, but the reality was worse: he saw pity.
“Nancy? Ask Accounting to send Mr. Cormier’s retainer over to the office, please.”
They waited in silence. Chang busied himself making notes while he finished his tea. Peter felt like a fool. Whatever had possessed him? He’d shown himself as insecure and desperate, when it should have been the other way around. He was the one doing them a favour, lending their shifty doings the gloss of legitimacy with his lab.
He scarcely looked at the figure on the cheque when it came. Returning it to the accompanying envelope, he tucked it into the inner pocket of his blazer and got to his feet. He and Chang shook hands at the door, a perfunctory gesture.
In the outer office, the secretary was removing an embroidered cloth from the bird cage. Peter noticed the way her skirt rode up as she lifted her arms, revea
ling a fringe of lace at her thighs.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Why the canary?”
The girl smiled. “It is for our Chinese clients. Makes them feel at home. In China many businesses keep singing birds on the premises.”
Live and learn, thought Peter as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the parking garage.
He couldn’t remember ever having been so relieved to get out of a building. Even the underground air smelled good as he headed for the Corvette. He loosened his tie—he’d worn the one Marigold gave him for Christmas, for luck—and slipped behind the wheel.
Now he really did need a drink. Something to take the bitter dry taste of the tea out of his mouth. He’d seen a bar in the next block; should he risk it? But the urge to put the maximum distance between himself and Chang’s office was too strong.
Instead he pulled in at the first rest stop past Mississauga. It was the same one he’d stopped at that day, returning from Huntsville with Marigold asleep in the passenger seat. He brought his coffee and a jelly donut back out to the car with him.
After he’d wiped the stickiness from his fingers, he pulled the cheque out of its envelope and let the figure sink in. It was correct. The first of many. He’d done it. Leaning his head back against the leather rest, he made some quick calculations. Even after he’d paid off the bank loan and put a sum aside for Marigold’s bonus, there’d be plenty left to convince Darlene she’d married the right man. Enough to buy her the cruise she was lusting after. Of course he’d go with her. Why not? It would take the company a while to get their operation up to speed and in the meantime a little vacation wouldn’t hurt. He’d earned it.
Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to be lulled by the ceaseless rush of traffic going by on the 401. He could see the two of them now, soaking up the Caribbean sun beside the ship’s pool, while Darlene in her bikini caught envious male glances. After dinner they’d take in a show—he’d heard they were spectacular on cruise ships, real extravaganzas. A couple of nightcaps later they’d head back to their luxury cabin, where the bed would be turned down, and Darlene would be only too happy to reward him for his generosity.