Pierre nodded and walked away.
“Charlie, Anthony, Pierre?”
“I might be a bit of regular here.”
“You don’t say.”
“You’ll see why in a minute.”
I spent my minute watching the band working their way through a nifty rendition of recent radio hit, “Tequila,” by The Champs. They knew their stuff and kept the dance floor sweaty and happy. As they segued into “Get a Job” by The Silhouettes, Pierre returned with two cocktails. But these were unlike any cocktail I’d ever had. Each glass looked like it contained a cloud floating in a hazy sky.
“Try it,” said Adora.
The “cloud” tickled my nose but the booze went down smooth. “Yowza.”
“It’s the hotel’s own concoction. They’re cagey about the ingredients but I’m pretty sure it’s gin and the ‘cloud’ is egg white sprinkled with grated nutmeg.”
“Who knew I’d ever like an overcast day in a glass so much?” I took another sip and sat back, taking in the scene from our corner perch. The joint was alive, for sure. So was I, slowly returning to form. The music, the buzz of conversation, the booze, all playing a role in righting my ship, the one that’d listed to the side over the last days.
I thought about my calculations. Strange math but it added up. Hugo’s father dies in a “fall,” and Hugo becomes a shut-in still signing cheques but it’s Janssen wielding the chequebook and being chauffeured around in the Brasher family automobile. Rolly gets the hard push from Janssen to sell the business, later “slips” in the health club shower and the tow truck company is then bought by a mysterious third party. And the way that tow truck driver tipped his hat to Janssen outside the warehouse…like a nod to the Boss, a King. Deference.
“By the way,” I said, leaning over the table slightly and talking low, “I found out that a man that fits the description of Janssen’s henchman, Reynold, was at the Point Grey health club that morning. And Butch Montrose, now head of Janssen’s security, was the cop that investigated. I bet he smelled something fishy and sat on it, prepping an angle to hit Janssen from. Then, when Mrs. Brasher fell in his lap, he had everything he needed to shake the tree and see if some money fell out. It’d be quid pro quo. Butch eats what he knows, Janssen promises to feed him well in the future.”
“Sounds like quite the conspiracy,” said Adora, nodding the kind of slow, deliberate nod that says, Cough cough nudge nudge. I’d been slow to the party but now that I’d arrived it made sense.
“You didn’t kill Rolly, did you.” I realized after I’d said it that it was a statement, not a question.
“Easy on the ‘k’ word, okay? Ears everywhere.”
“Right, sorry. You didn’t, uh, ‘take him to dinner’?”
Adora shook her head. “I loved Rolly. But we were kids and it wasn’t the right time. Probably never would’ve been.”
“Some people shouldn’t be together.”
She looked me up and down. “I guess I don’t learn, huh?”
“What, me?”
“You think we’re a match made in heaven or hell?”
“Oh,” I said, as surprised as a pig gettin’ truffles when it thought all that was in the bucket was slop. “We’re a match?”
“Enough to keep me lighting the fire when I don’t know yet if one of us is gasoline. This last year, I’ve dated bankers and lawyers, gangsters and politicians and…”
“And…?”
“And I keep showing up to that fleabag room in that fleabag building in that fleabag neighbourhood.”
“No doubt the stimulating conversation.”
She laughed and “harrumphed” at the same time. Made for an interesting sound. Adora took a big sip from her cocktail. “I couldn’t be a mother back then. I can barely handle it now.”
“Ask for help.”
“I am. But not for what you think. Because what I can handle even less than being a mother is that monster walking around. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking then you’re right. The dentist may not have done it with his own hands, but he’s equally as guilty. He deserves to get taken out for ‘dinner,’ believe me. He did the same to Rolly, my daughter’s father. And someone I used to love very much.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“Get him. Janssen, Quest, whatever the hell his name is. Figure it out so I don’t have to. I promised myself, for Ellie’s sake. I’m worried that if I plan a meal on Rolly’s behalf, it’ll be a step too far. That I won’t come back.”
Knock me down with a feather, I was flabbergasted. I think it was the most honest thing Adora had ever said to me. Sap, tapped straight from the tree. The pure amber liquid clouded my judgment and made me feel noble. Truth was, I had to admit a little scheme had been brewing in the coffee machine of my mind over the last weeks and it was maybe, probably, ready for a pour. After all, I couldn’t play the ostrich role forever. Had to get my head out of the sand and face this Janssen mess head on, or at least from an angle less likely to get me pulled through another window by Butch or my noggin twisted off by Reynold.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Let me give it a shot, my way. But it won’t be dinner. More like a snack.”
“As long as it’s something.”
“I’ll need some things.”
“Anything.”
“For one, tomorrow’s newspaper.”
“That’s it? You gonna roll it up and smack him over the head? I was hoping for something a little more, shall we say, painful.”
“Don’t, shall we say, worry.”
“Okay. What else?”
“You know people, don’t you?”
“I do, yes. Lots of them.”
“Well, any of them happen to be pharmacists crooked like a nail been hammered in wrong?”
Adora looked at me funny.
“What?” I asked. “You know the type.”
“Probably. I know another type, too.”
“Yeah, that right? Devilishly handsome former unofficial private eye shut-ins with the wittiest of repartee and a hankering for another round of delicious cloud cocktails?”
“Yes, that kind.”
“Sounds like a keeper to me, that kind of guy.”
“We’ll see.”
Pierre walked by. I held up two fingers and winked. Adora grinned.
“Gettin’ your mojo back?” she asked.
I returned a grin in reply and said, “Tell you what: whisk me back to my place after this and we’ll find out.”
14
The next morning, Adora was gone when I woke. No surprise, not for the reigning Queen of Stealthy Exits. In her place were two quarters on the pillow and a note that said, “Get your own damn newspaper, ya lazy sack of bones.”
I set out to do just that. And this time, unlike the routine of the past several weeks, when my right foot hit the Gastown pavement I followed with the left. And I did that again and again until I was at the diner. Though I’d walked quick, head down, defenses up, in case of goblin attack. But all the humans seemed only human and going about their business and no one gave a rat’s ass about me. Which was actually very comforting, to feel anonymous and unmarked. What I couldn’t shake from the involuntary trip Janssen sent me on was that feeling of paranoia, of being watched, of every step being assessed for weakness, for when best to strike.
Inside the diner, it was mid-morning quiet, only a few souls nursing mugs of coffee, heads buried in their newspapers. The clock ticked. The grill hissed. Greek Benny stuck his head out the pass-thru window and dinged the bell for an order: two eggs over easy, hashbrowns and toast.
Glenda was happy to see me. She rushed over, gave me a big hug and sat me down at the counter like I was an invalid who recently returned from hospital. She took a seat beside me. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said.
“I’m hangin’ in there.”
“You had Benny worried. He asked after you every day.”
; “He did? Didn’t know he cared.”
“Well, the girl who picked up your soup said it was a real bad case of food poisoning, so he kept asking if you’d croaked yet and exactly how much of the cherry pie you’d eaten.”
Ah, made sense. Greek Benny had a very active sense of self-preservation. As if on cue, he stuck his head out of the kitchen. I waved. He nodded once, a base acknowledgement, and grimaced.
“Look Benny,” said Glenda, “Fitch’s back.”
“I can see that,” said Benny.
“And he’s fine.”
“Hooray, it’s a miracle. Shall I pop the Champagne?”
“No, just some more pie for me. Actually, I don’t want to eat it now so if I could get it to go…”
“Go? Go where?”
“Out.”
“Out?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna eat pie outside?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You never get pie to go, why now?”
“And I have a special plastic container so if you could put it in there.”
“Plastic container?”
“Yeah, I’ve told some other people about your delicious cherry pie and I want to get their professional, uh, I mean, ‘expert’ opinion.”
“They really into pie, these friends of yours?”
“Not especially. They’ll test, I mean, ‘sample,’ anything that could be contaminated. Contaminated with deliciousness, of course.”
Benny finally got the joke, shook his head, called me an asshole, and ducked back in the kitchen. I fake wiped my eyes. “It’s like old times. You guys are makin’ me misty here. What’d I miss?”
“Well,” said Glenda, “let’s see. Lots of coffee and complaining, mostly. You know our clientele. But there was one good thing.”
“Do tell.”
“That guy that comes in here sometimes, what’s his name? Barely a tooth in his mouth.”
Sounded like a lot of the locals. I said, “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Sips short dogs out of brown paper bags on the corner and has a cardboard belt.”
Still, could’ve been a lot of guys but I nodded. I was pretty sure she meant Ricky Sims, aka No Teeth, who I’d last seen in line at the DSG warehouse. I went all goosebumpy. No ma’am, I didn’t like the turn this conversation had taken. “Sure, I know who you mean. Seen him around.”
“He came in for lunch the other day, all cleaned up and dressed half-respectful. Said he got himself a job washing windows and didn’t order the usual soup paid for with a handful of pennies. This time it was a sandwich and he had folding money in his pocket. And a new set of fancy dentures to chew with. Real big and shiny white. Say, you okay, Fitch? You’re shiverin’ a little.”
“Must be the air conditioning.”
“It’s not on.”
“Oh, right.”
“Cup of java to warm you up?”
I did the fist-guns-and-wink-yes bit, told her to please add two short stacks with extra syrup to that and it all felt enough like a normal life that I could almost forget my run in with the deranged dentist and his dandy psychedelics.
Almost.
Those goblins in the shadows, waiting for the night.
I had Adora’s two quarters earmarked for the diner bill so the trick was waiting long enough on the right horse. And by horse I meant one of the two gents reading newspapers in the diner. I’d bet everything on the guy in the corner—sharp suit, salesman’s briefcase, tapping his right foot—and eyed him on the sly like a bird keeps track of a worm. Sure enough, he packed up and rather than tucking the newspaper away, he left it on the tabletop. So nice of him. I quickly snatched the newspaper after the diner door chimed closed.
Get Janssen, she’d said. Whatever that meant to a woman like Adora, who may not have been the creature lurking under the bed I once thought but who knew her share of darkness and could bring it to your doorstep if you wronged her. Regardless, it was easier said than done. But I said I would give it a shot and named my requirements, after which she had a stipulation of her own.
“Promise me one thing,” she said, as we drifted off to sleep.
“What’s that?”
“I know you’ve had Ellie running some errands for you and that’s fine. Hell, I forced her into your life and it’s been good for her to get her mind off Rolly. But don’t use Ellie for this, please. She doesn’t need to know anymore about him and what he did. She loved her daddy very much and still believes it was an accident.”
That said, and satisfied with my response, Adora closed her eyes.
As now, the diner door opened.
And in walked Ellie.
I’d nodded okay to Adora but had my fingers crossed.
We got down to business. Ellie ate pancakes. I skimmed the obits. I needed to figure out where Janssen would be at a given time, which was where the newspaper came in.
“So, this is about getting back at that dentist scummo that drugged you?” asked Ellie, chewing.
“Exactly,” I said.
“Jeez, finally. I was beginning to worry I’d show up one day at your place and find that chair permanently fused to your ass. But why the doom and gloom section?”
“You mean the celebrations of life?”
“Sure, that.”
I explained how I’d remembered seeing a newspaper open to the obituary section on Hugo’s desk when I was “invited” in the house by Janssen and his goons. And that I’d noticed a red circle around several entries. Ellie nodded an “I see,” and took a giant swig of coffee to wash down the last of her short stack.
“Easy on the bean juice there, eh?”
She fake shook her hand as she put the mug down. Coffee sloshed over the sides. “What, you think I might be overdoin’ it a little?”
“Funny.”
“Why’s this guy so interested in funerals?”
“My guess is it’s the rich widow angle, in particular. Easy prey. And he’s a predator, no doubt. Smile that smile, spread that charm on real thick, then pass the donation plate and get more coin for the DSG coffer.”
“Eww, lovely. But anything you saw circled would’ve taken place weeks ago.”
“True,” I said. Ellie was a sharp kid. I smoothed out the newspaper halved at the horizontal fold and tucked the left half under the right to isolate a small section of funeral notices. “But if I think like him I can see where this week’s red circles would be.”
“Clever.”
“I have my moments.”
“True, every dog has its day.”
I tore the paper end off the wrapper of a diner straw, flipped it around and blew the paper tube her way. Bullseye, forehead hit. Her jaw dropped. She gave me “I can’t believe you just did that” leer then returned the favour. And her aim was true. The plastic missile hit me in the chin.
“Oh, this means war,” I said.
Straw Battle was as vicious as it was short. Soon spent shells of paper tubes lay everywhere, the straw jar sitting empty. No more ammunition. What we had plenty of were the curious glances, whispers, finger points and Greek Benny's furrowed brows as he glared at us over a plate piled with Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and green beans.
Glenda wandered over. “You two about through?”
“Truce?” I put out my hand. Ellie shook it.
“Truce.”
“Good. ‘Cause we don’t get another shipment of straws until next week. We get a run on milkshakes, you’ll be hearing from me. And him.” She hoisted a thumb at Greek Benny who was still glaring, but now there was a pastrami on rye with a side of fries added to the mix.
Tails between our legs, the hot course of combat adrenaline through our veins cooling, we scooped up all the paper tubes into a pile. It was a big pile.
“You were saying about the red circles,” said Ellie.
“Yeah, you told me Janssen was holed up in the mansion, except for a few times when he left with his whole cre
w. Well, I think he was headed out to go fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Of sorts. At the funeral homes. Put out some widow bait on a hook and see if it gets a bite. It’d go something like how he knew the husband in business circles and it’s such a loss, a shame, etc. and in times of sorrow nothing helps like a bit of the ol’ TV medicine. And did they know they could help others see the light with only a small donation? I’m pretty sure he funded a large part of his whole ‘religion’ with widows’ cash. And in Brasher’s case, surviving heir cash.”
“Crafty son-of-bitch.”
“You allowed to curse?”
“You allowed to be so square?”
I mock tipped my hat to her. Touché. “You think your mom had us meet because she thought you needed a father figure or I needed some responsibility?”
“Definitely your problem. You’re a mess, Fitch.”
I shook my head, ouch, direct hit, and reached for new ammunition in what would undoubtedly be a hard fought Sugar Packet War, but Glenda interrupted, saying she’d meant to tell me that the Widow Brasher had been in the diner while I was home with food poisoning. “She was looking for you, Fitch. Last time a few days ago.”
Guilt popped me a quick right hook. Snapped my head back. I tried to walk it off, no luck. Had to take a knee. I’d completely disappeared, hadn’t I? Never even crossed my mind to follow up, to let her know I’d seen Hugo. He was not well and something hinky was going down for sure, but he was alive.
Ellie piped in. “Mrs. Brasher, that the old lady with the chauffeur you told me about?”
“Yeah.”
“I was going to tell you: I’m pretty sure I saw her car drive through the gates of that big house last night.”
“You didn’t take the tow truck, did you?”
“You think I’m an amateur? No, a cab, like you told me to.”
“She come out?”
“Beats me. I had to make like a tree and leave so I could get back home before mommy dearest got there. She’s got me on a tight leash these days.”
“Honey,” said Glenda, “you okay? Isn’t that too late to be staying up before school?”
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