"Who's out there?" I called.
More banging. Another step. Nothing. No one. I shuffled across the deck, my eyes dancing wildly over the little I could make out of the yard. Nada. Down the steps I went, onto the lawn, the wind and rain having their way with me. I noticed the dogs were not at my side. I looked back. They had decided to remain near the door, their eyes looking worried. Afraid to get wet or just a couple of mewling kitty-cats?
Banging.
I moved forward, tightening my grip on the bamboo.
And there it was. The door to my garage, at the back end of the lot, wide open, the wind having a heyday tossing it back and forth like some kind of toy.
"It's just the door," I yelled back at the pooches, but mostly for my own reassurance.
I dropped the bamboo and galloped down the length of the yard toward the garage. I reached for the door to rescue it from the violent embrace of the wind. A hand shot out from the darkness, grasped my arm and pulled me in.
I responded with force. As did Barbra and Brutus. Within seconds they were at my side, lunging at the dark figure that had grabbed hold of me from the unseeable depths of the garage. He had me by the left forearm, so with my right hand I reached blindly into the darkness from whence the offending hand came. I felt flesh, took hold of it and pulled with all my might. The intruder tumbled out of his hiding place and slammed into me hard, throwing us both down onto the soggy ground. The dogs were on top of us, snapping and growling, but thankfully refraining from actual biting. I rolled atop the attacker and landed a punch squarely on his jaw. He pushed up with his hips and threw me off balance, at the same time reaching up to throttle me around the throat. He was yelling. It sounded like, "Bus stop hustle!" but I wasn't in the mood to ask him to repeat the message.
Somehow we struggled to our feet, each of us trying to get good purchase on the other guy, upset schnauzers nipping at our calves.
"Stop it, Russell, stop it!"
This time I heard him, the familiarity of my name echoing in my ears. This guy knew me. Bunching up my arm muscles, I heaved against him and shoved him against the side of the garage. As he fell back he voluntarily let go of my neck.
Yup. He knew me. I knew him.
Even in the dark with rivulets of rain threatening to wash away his chiselled features, I could tell it was Doug Poitras. Or rather, the fake Doug Poitras.
"Who the hell are you?" I screamed at him, not bothering to restrain Barbra and Brutus who, along with me, had formed a menacing semi-circle around the man. "And don't bother lying. I know you're not Doug Poitras."
"Russell, my name is Alex Canyon," he said, careful to make no move indicating a planned getaway attempt. He'd obviously dealt with pissed-off schnauzers before.
I shook my head with disgust. "What do you want with me?"
"I can't answer that in a sentence," he told me after allowing another roll of thunder to die away. "But if you give me a chance...Russell, you have to trust me."
I guffawed at that one. "Oh yeah, sure, I'm a real sucker for trusting guys who lie to me, pretend to be someone they're not, break into my garage, and who knows what else."
"I didn't break in, I just...well, I was just trying to keep out of the storm until...well... Can we go inside?"
We stared at each other for several seconds. Me because I was trying to see something in his face, something to allow me to accurately assess the level of danger he represented, and he because it was either look at me or down the snouts of two rather unhappy schnauzers who were anxious to protect their master.
"Only if you promise to tell the truth. No song and dance." It was a stupid request, I suppose. If he was a liar there was nothing I could do about it. But, it couldn't hurt to ask and really, what else was I suppose to do with him? Leave him in my garage?
Alex Canyon trotted after me and the dogs into the house.
"Hold on," I said once we were inside and out of the inclement weather conditions. "Power's out and we're soaking. I'll get some candles and towels."
When I returned to the kitchen, Alex had doffed his shirt and was using a tea towel to dry his hair. The dogs were at his feet, guarding (or maybe ogling) the grade A slab of beefcake. With opposable thumbs, they'd have taken photos.
He looked up at me and held forth the now sodden tea towel. "Sorry," he said. "I was dripping on the floor and..."
I nodded and wordlessly tossed him a bath towel. I lit a trio of tapers I'd found under the bar in the living room and, after setting them into holders, took off my own shirt. Sure, he was Adonis material, and maybe I wasn't thrilled about being in my mid-thirties, but I'm still no Peewee Herman. Besides, this wasn't a competition. We were wet and getting chilled. Right?
I left one of the candles on the kitchen island, kept one for myself and handed the last one to Alex Canyon. "Why'n't you take that and follow me."
If this were a tale of gothic romance I'd have led him directly into my boudoir, loosened his flowing hair from its ponytail bondage and pulled off his pantaloons with my bare teeth. But this was current day Saskatchewan and, as far as I knew, neither of us was named Fabio, so instead I took him into the living room and proceeded to set up logs in the fireplace. I offered him a seat, but no drink, and, once the fire was blazing, faced him squarely in the eye.
"So?" I said. "Spill it, Alex Canyon."
"First I want to apologize for impersonating Doug Poitras the other night, for lying to you."
"Why did you?"
"I wasn't expecting to speak with you that soon. I wasn't ready."
Ready? "Ready for what? Who are you? And why have you been following me? Why did you set those goons on me at the Ex?" I was going for broke and planned to blame him for everything I could think of that had gone wrong in the last few days, including the fact that my wonderpants were tight at the waist.
"I have been following you," he admitted with a straight face. "I followed you to Moose Jaw. I've been watching your office and home. But I had nothing to do with any goons at...what did you call it...the Ex?"
I gave him a doubting look. "You promised you wouldn't lie. Are you telling me you weren't watching me at the fairgrounds? You weren't the one who ordered those assholes to attack me?"
He shook his head. "Russell, I did not order anyone to beat you up." He said it in a way that made me think I could either choose to believe him or not, it was no hair off his chest. There was something about his manner, the tone of his voice, which told me he wasn't lying. But if it wasn't Alex Canyon behind the attack, then who?
"I don't know who attacked you, and I'm sorry about that, but I had nothing to do with it," he repeated.
"Oh yeah," I said, pretending I wasn't exactly convinced. "So you're telling me you'd never do such a thing."
For a second he hesitated, no doubt judging how honest his reply should be. "I didn't say that," he said. "I just didn't do it this particular time."
Ahhhh, a tough guy. Well, so am I. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about, or are we just wasting our time here? If so, I'll give you your shirt and you can buzz off." I was hoping he'd stay. And keep his shirt off.
The next words out of his mouth threw me into a spin.
"Russell," he began carefully. "I know you've been searching for Sereena Orion Smith. I'm here to stop you."
Chapter 11
I was desperately trying to make enough saliva in my mouth to swallow. The words Alex Canyon was saying to me made no sense. How could this man, this stranger, know about my search for Sereena and now be prepared to stop me?
Why? Why would he want me to stop?
Who was he really?
How would he know about any of this?
Where was she? He had to know where she was if he was so desperate to keep her hidden...or imprisoned?
Little did Mr. Canyon know that I had already begun to conclude for myself that the search for my missing friend was futile. Over the past months I'd tried everything, talked to everyone, travelled everywhere I thought s
he might be, all to no avail: plenty of expense and time and heartache for nothing. She was gone. Maybe forever. I believed, somewhere in my soul, that her disappearance wasn't foul play but rather that Sereena had masterfully orchestrated her own disappearance. Like a ghost. Poof. Gone. She just didn't want to be here anymore.
But none of that made it any easier. I missed my friend. I worried about her.. .when I wasn't pissed off that she'd left without so much as a good-bye wave. All that remained of her was that blasted For Sale sign on her lawn. Having drinks and witty repartee with a cardboard sign isn't nearly as pleasant. Even so, the time was coming when I knew I'd have to give it all up. I had to let her go. I had to believe she would come back when she was ready-if ever.
But now...this changed everything.
"Where is she?" I hammered him with a steely gaze and hard words. "Tell me."
"No," he said simply.
I stood up from where I'd been crouching by the fireplace and glared down at him. "So then why are you here? Why have you been watching me?"
Fie wasn't much for being stared down at, so up he came, our noses inches apart. "I wanted to get an idea of what you were up to."
"What are you talking about? Why? You're not telling me anything, Mr. Canyon."
"Alex."
"You're not telling me anything, Aaaaaaalex." The bitchy me.
He grinned, but said nothing more.
Another faceoff. Finally I stiffened my chin, curled my lip and told him, "I won't do it. I won't stop looking for her." So there!
He looked at the flickering fire as it grasped at charred logs with its hungry fingers, then back at me. There was a burning glint in his eye, but nary a smile as he licked his lips. "Something about you, that first night we met.. .well, I didn't think you would."
"So now what?" I goaded. "Come on, you gonna pull a gun? Silence me? Do it now, buddy, just try it." Apparently a little nap really puts the piss and vinegar in me.
Instead of any of my suggestions, Alex Canyon calmly said, "I'll take my shirt back now."
The power was still out so I hadn't tossed the sopping shirt into the dryer and I hadn't thought of hanging it up in front of the fire. "It'll still be wet," I told him. What a putz I am sometimes. Like that was going to stop him from leaving and encourage him to tell all.
He turned heel and headed for the kitchen. The dogs looked up from where they'd taken root by the fire, close but not as close as they get to the gas fireplace in my office which burns even hotter but without the risk of flying sparks that might singe their precious fur coats. With looks that urged us to reconsider, they stayed put until I too headed off.
By the time I arrived in the kitchen, Alex had buttoned up the front of his shirt and was tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.
"Thanks for the towel," he said, brushing his fingers through wavy hair, eyeing me with those Kahlua eyes.
I was at a loss for words. I couldn't get a grasp on this guy's game.
I watched as he reached behind him. Was this it? Was he pulling out a weapon? I hadn't seen one in his back pocket and I certainly had checked him out, stem to stern. It wasn't. It was an envelope. He handed it to me. It felt damp. The front was blank, without address or any other marking.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Just be careful, Mr. Quant," he told me. "Be very careful."
Alex Canyon left and the rain dissipated, leaving behind a scent of heaven and slivers of sun poking through the spaces where clouds were breaking up. It had gone from night to day, and, in an hour or so, it would be night again. I fingered the envelope he'd given me and slowly peeled back the flap. Inside was a letter of instructions. At the end Alex had handwritten a request: "Trust Me" followed by his name. I dialled Errall's number. I'd need someone to look after Barbra and Brutus.
It was very early on a late July Tuesday morning when I stepped out of my life and into a dream, a dream that would last for the next thirty-six hours. I would leave behind Saskatoon, my current case and, in some ways, all that I knew to be sane and real. There was no way I could have known as I began that day how much my world would be shaken.
The sun in Saskatchewan was forecast to rise at 6:01 that morning and as I turned off Thayer Avenue onto Wayne Marks Lane it was still two hours off. Between two pond-size puddles compliments of the previous night's rain, I found a parking spot near Hangar 10. The West Wind Aviation Aerocentre is within visual distance of Saskatoon's commercial airport but wholly removed from the main terminal. I locked the Mazda and headed inside. Surprisingly someone was waiting for me, processed me through, and within minutes I was walking down a brightly lit tarmac, gleaming with early morning dampness, toward a Cessna Citation 560 Ultra, engines running. I was almost upon it when I saw a figure standing beside the plane's right wing. A jolt ran through my chest and I stopped in mid-stride.
I'd been hoodwinked.
This wasn't about Sereena at all. I had stupidly allowed myself to fall into a trap, with the promise of Sereena as bait, for there, next to the Cessna was Pepe le Bleu, all six-foot-five of her, skin gleaming black and that crazy stripe of blue blazing atop her head, like some punk rooster. She of the golden nose ring and Mr. "Trust Me," Alex Canyon, were obviously in cahoots. She'd tailed me on Broadway Avenue and to Vancouver, Alex everywhere else. And now they had me.
Or did they? I swivelled my head right to left and debated my chances for a clean getaway on the deserted tarmac. They weren't good. Flights out of the main airport hadn't begun for the day, so the chances of getting someone's attention over there wasn't likely and, as far as I knew, everyone in Hangar 10 was in on this with Alex and his pet, Godzilla. Still, I wasn't about to stand there and be abducted or threatened or killed or maimed or whatever they had in mind for me, so I was preparing to bolt when it spoke: "Get on the plane." Her voice was as deep and cold as a coal mine and sounded kind of Arnold Schwarzenegger-ish.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I told the Incredible She-Hulk. "I agreed to meet Alex Canyon here. Alex, not you. I'm not going anywhere in that plane and certainly not with you." I think I made my intentions clear.
A new voice: "Russell." It was Alex. He appeared from nowhere and was now standing next to the gleaming white, unmarked jet. He was wearing a lightweight, knee-length jacket to protect himself from the morning chill and a wind that whipped locks of dark hair over his forehead.
I hesitated, decided to hell with it, and moved forward slowly, stopping in front of him. We didn't shake hands. "I can only assume you've decided to whisk me away to a deserted island where we'll romp naked on the beach, after which you'll profess your love for me," I said, my tone more serious than the words.
His eyes were dark slits as they searched mine. For a fleeting second there was some kind of connection, then it was gone. Without a word, his thick jaw moved up and over, indicating the steps and that I should use them. The strong silent type, I guess. Last night he'd instructed me to trust him. It was now or never. But how could I? I glared at the big woman next to him.
"Grette Gauntlus," he said by way of introduction. "She's with me."
In for a penny...I did as instructed and mounted the steps, bowing my head as I entered the cabin of the eight-passenger jet. The lighting was dim, but I could see enough to tell this wasn't just an everyday corporate junket type of aircraft. It had leather seats that looked like sofas, a fully stocked bar and entertainment centre, plush carpet and obviously expensive artwork fastened to the rounded walls. I was betting I was in for more than pretzels and plastic utensils.
At first I thought the cabin of the plane was empty...but then...I saw a sole inhabitant, someone sitting with their back to me. My heart began an erratic pitter-patter. Sereena. Perhaps this aircraft wasn't going anywhere at all. Maybe this happened to be the most convenient place and time for a meeting with my long-elusive neighbour. Maybe...
I inched down the aisle, my eyes never wavering from the back of the chair. I stopped less than a metre behind it and waited. I
wasn't sure if I was ready to face this.
"Please," the voice said, "won't you join me?"
When I sat in the seat opposite my host, I studied his unfamiliar face. He was dark, with liquid black eyes, jet-black hair-dyed maybe, and beginning to recede-and beautifully shaped, thick lips. The skin beneath his jaw and over his eyes was beginning to loosen; he was nearing seventy, and a strikingly handsome man.
"My name is Maheesh Ganesh," he told me in his polished Indian accent. "Will you have some coffee? Or perhaps juice of some sort?" But then he must have thought better of it. "But maybe not yet. We've a long way to go and you must return home the sooner the better, yes?"
I nodded. I guess I'm taking a jet plane ride this morning after all, I said to myself, still debating whether I should make a run for it.
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