by Lori Power
“They’re dead, Michael. Dead, and it’s all your fault.” Her voice started to rise, and he could hear the sob. “You did this to Daddy. Poor Serge. You, Michael. You did this.”
Luke was nodding his head vigorously while mouthing “all.”
“Listen to me, Vonnie,” Mitch said, a note of pleading creeping into his tones. He’d had a relationship of sorts with her. He wasn’t a robot. He didn’t want anything to happen to her. “You have to get away. I can help you. Let me come to you. I’ll protect you.”
“You?” Her voice shrilled, and he could almost see the track of tears running down her cheeks. Then she laughed. It was high pitched and forced. “You can’t protect yourself, Michael. He’s coming for you.”
“Vonnie, listen to me. You’re in danger too—”
“No, not me, Michael. Uncle has some definite plans for me,” he could still hear the tears, as her voice dropped to a whisper. “I wasn’t arrested. I’m safe. But he’s coming for you. The Fongs never forget a slight. The Fongs always get their pound of flesh.”
And the line went dead.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s a goddamned disaster,” Boulet raged late Thursday afternoon. His craggy planes were the color of an over-ripe apple, his eyes engulfed in the folds of his molten face, left little doubt of the depth of his anger. He hauled the investigative team into his office after confirmation of the discovery of the bodies by the Vancouver detachment.
Mitch held his tongue and his military stance of feet shoulder-width apart, hands linked behind his back. When grilled, he relayed the details to date then stood his ground, listening to his chief yell.
“All nine dead. They didn’t even try to hide the bodies. Basically lined them up with display signs for us to find. It was a fucking Gestapo-style murder.”
Flanked by Luke and Hank, Mitch stared straight ahead, fixing on a crack in the dull paint directly to the right of Boulet’s ear. “Correct, sir,” he answered, keeping his tones even.
“They were found right along the False Creek waterfront. A bullet each in the forehead,” Luke confirmed.
Boulet’s palm slapped the desktop and he spun in his chair. “Might as well have a sign—‘fuck you and your investigation,’” Boulet steamed and stood to pace to the lone window. “Months of preparation. Countless man-hours. People’s lives in jeopardy—and for what?”
A rhetorical question Hank apparently felt compelled to answer. “It’s not all lost, Chief,” the big man interjected, his negotiator voice soothing. “The information we learned from those perps still holds. We have a lot of leads on cold cases when we had nothing before.”
Their commander spun on his heels to face the trio and rolled his eyes heavenward. “And we’re no goddamned closer to reaching the kingpin, Charlie Fong!” He sat heavily in his chair, palms flat on the blotter. “By now, he would have reorganized, and we have to start over at square one.”
“There’s still me, Chief,” Mitch volunteered. “Vonni–ah–Veronique said he’s coming for me.”
“And how’s that supposed to be good news? The only thing we had going for us this morning is no loss of lives amongst the officers.” He puffed out his cheeks. “You out to be a martyr?”
“No, sir. I am not.” Mitch locked eyes with his superior. “Use me to draw him out…”
“How? Through that Tymchuk woman?”
“She’s n—”
“Save it, Morgan,” Boulet said, picking up a thick file from the side of the ink blotter. “Luke, what do we know? Tell me what threads we’re going to pull to bring this guy down.”
Luke opened the heavy folder in his hand. “Tymchuk’s uncle, Danny Lang, had custody of her for a short period of time after her parent’s death. Lang’s offenses stretch a mile long. Not least of which were identity theft and a number of grow-ops. The crack down on one of the grow-ops is how he lost custody of Tymchuk. When Lang was arrested for possession and the boys in blue searched the premises, they found her locked—”
“How’s that a help?” Boulet tucked his thin lips between his teeth.
“We traced Lang back to Gary Fong—”
“Go on.” The commander leaned forward on his desk, resting his weight on his elbows, obviously encouraged. Luke paused before continuing, casting a quick glance in Mitch’s direction.
“Lang had custody off and on until the girl was ten. He died when she was eleven, and Tymchuk bounced around foster homes until she landed with the Cobalts.”
“Nothing new there.” Boulet sat back on his chair again, picking up random pieces of paper from the file, seeming to lose interest.
“She received a substantial influx of cash a few years ago,” Luke persisted, flipping pages. “Jordan from IT checked. She has no mortgage, no business loans. Pretty swift for a woman who should have nothing but debt and student loans, given university education, master’s degree, and the check on the Cobalts show they barely scraped by.”
Boulet laid the paper down and steepled his fingers in midair while Mitch felt his insides turn to water fighting to control his rising anger over this intrusion of Lorna’s privacy. “Continue. You have me curious now.”
“She works for a variety of companies—clients—but her biggest client just happens to be the one and only Tim Fong…”
“What?” Mitch broke rank, swiveling his head in Luke’s direction. “Who? When did that come up?”
Luke flicked him a brief glance before focusing back on their commander, his fingers paused on the crisp pages. “Jordan gave it to me ten minutes ago.” His former mentor’s color was high in his pale cheeks and looked smug. “Her biggest client is Aqua Oil, and the owner of that little billion-dollar business is big brother Fong. He’s the legitimate businessman in the family trio. Started his pipeline company off the back of his father’s dirty money–drugs, prostitution, and the like.”
“Can we prove this? You think she’s part of this…” Boulet paused, leaned back in his chair, fingers moving to lace behind his in thought. “Of this legitimate operation? She could be the link. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Luke closed the file with a shuffling sound. “If she’s linked, it’s not intentional,” he confirmed. “We believe the Fongs took advantage of an opportunity. She would be considered at this point an unwitting participant.”
“Do we need to keep her under surveillance?” Boulet stood from his chair.
Hank took the opportunity to answer. “Actually, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. With the Fongs intent to come for Mitch, they may try to do it through her again.”
Boulet leaned on his desk. “Has the Fong woman called?” The question was addressed to Mitch.
“No. Not since Tuesday when she told me of the deaths of her father and brother.”
“Do we have a trace on her?”
“No. Not yet, Chief,” Hank answered.
“Get one.”
***
Kris ran across the front yard. Balloons flapped in his outstretched hands like wings. I have to let this sadness–obsession–go, for his sake, Lorna clapped her hands encouragingly. I can’t pine over a guy who wants nothing to do with me.
Squaring her shoulders, she determined to make this the most wonderful weekend for her son. As a team, she, Grandma, and Kris put the final touches on the decorations for the youngster’s birthday in the backyard. Ten equally rambunctious kids were expected within the hour. It was a bright Saturday morning, promising to be a hot day as Lorna lined the veranda railing with colorful balloons.
Kris zoomed in circles and she ached to join him in his carefree fun. Frankly, she didn’t know who was more excited–she or Kris. With the last red balloon tapped to the balustrade, she turned to go back into the house. “Come on in, Super Kris,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s get the treats.”
“Can I have some?” he called as he ran up to her, his cheeks rosy, eyes bright. Holding his thumb and forefinger close together, he continued. “Just a ’ittle bit?”
“Awhh,” he moaned without meaning it before he took off ahead into the house.
She clasped her hands over her heart. His gentle soul was the balm she needed. This is what I have to do, she thought following him inside. Focus on the happiness. I am a very lucky woman. I never had birthday parties. Closing the screen door gently behind her, she determined her time with Mitch would have to be remembered with the fondness of a beloved dream. And as with all dreams, eventually you wake up to reality.
Lorna stopped in the kitchen to grab bags of chips and a flat of juice boxes on her way to the back deck. Mariam huffed, filling a piñata with candies and small toys.
“No choking hazards in there, I hope,” Lorna joked, settling her burden on the picnic table.
“Good heavens, I hope not.” The older woman said with a laugh. “That’s all we need.”
“It’s the best day ev-er. It’s the best day ev-er,” Kris chanted skipping across the freshly mowed lawn.
“He’s fairly wired for sound today.” Lorna poured chips into plastic bowls. The sun arched high in the sky, warming her back as she straightened the table cloth, set out the plastic utensils, and stacked the paper plates and cups for later.
“It’s his day.” Mariam fit the plug into the piñata. “Where are we gonna hang this?”
Opening her mouth to answer, the doorbell rang, interrupting…glancing at her watch, she nodded at Mariam. “I’ll grab the door, and then we’ll decide—”
“I get it. I get it,” Kris yelled, streaking across the paths of both Grandmother and Lorna as he tore through the open patio door and in through the kitchen to the front door.
Setting the juice boxes to the side, Lorna hurried to follow. “Wait for me.”
Catching the excited boy before he reached the door, she laid a hand on his shoulder to stall his movements. “What do you say?” Lorna asked, having rehearsed with Kris how to use his best manners to welcome his friends.
“I know,” he sighed, pausing to stare with an impatient gaze at her. “I say, tank you for coming. Then I sho ’em to the backyard.”
“That’s right.” She smiled proudly down at Kris, bending to tuck his shirt in his shorts while he opened the door.
“Mitchell!” Kris jumped up and down, nearly crashing into her chin.
Lorna stood suddenly and nearly lost her balance in the process. Disbelief left her dumb. Had he really the nerve to show up at her door unannounced?
“You remembered. You here for my party?” her traitorous boy continued excitedly, holding out his hand to the enemy.
She opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out. Clamping her jaws shut, Lorna turned her back quickly to cover her discomposure, pretending to reach behind the door. She grabbed a hat from the hook and held it out for Kris. Why is it when I convince myself he is no more, he shows up and my insides melt? With a quickened pulse, she nodded curtly, still unable to form words.
“I thought there must be something fun going on with all those balloons.” Mitch caught her eye as she stood stiffly behind Kris and then smiled down at her boy. “How old are you, little man?”
To Lorna, Mitch looked all at once terrible with his scruffy cheeks in need of a shave, drained with dark circles highlighting sleepless nights under his eyes, and to her aching heart so wonderful she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close and ease whatever pain caused him to look so drawn. Despite her best intentions to forever control her heart when he was around, relief to see Mitch again bubbled to the surface. The sun seemed brighter, the sky more blue, and the happiness of this day intensified.
“I four today!” Kris exclaimed enthusiastically, pulling Mitch’s hand, hauling him over the threshold. “Tank you for coming. You come in.”
Swallowing to promote moisture to her dry mouth, Lorna struggled, remembering her anger and hurt. At last finding her voice, she shook her head, saying. “No, no, Kris honey. I’m sure Mitch can’t stay.”
“Mitchell, Mama.” He looked up at her with his big sea-foam green eyes as luminous as the sky outside. “You said everyone would come for my party.” He turned his eyes to Mitch, retaining hold of his hand. “And here you are.”
Lorna squatted down next to the child, her heart breaking with the sight of Kris’s fondness for this man who had claimed her own heart so long ago. “I don’t think he knew it was your party, love. Did you, Mitch?”
A chagrined expression passed across his face as he took a hand from behind his back to reveal a present. His wide mouth lifted at the corners, creasing his cheeks. “I can’t forget such an important birthday as turning four,” he said, his eyes crinkling, transforming his face from his previous tired expression. He bent low to give the present to the youngster. “Do you want to put this with your other gifts?”
“This my only one so far,” Kris replied, releasing his grip on Mitch’s hand to accept and shake the small box. “What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.” Mitch laughed, straightening. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Go put it on the table with the big Ironman balloon,” Lorna instructed, standing with her arms folded over her chest.
“Okay, Mama. You come too, Mitchell.” And he ran off through the kitchen towards the backyard.
Waiting until the boy crossed out of earshot to the outside and checking to see no other visitors had pulled up, Lorna turned to Mitch. Moving her hands to her hips, instant anger consumed her at the use of her son in Mitch’s manipulation tactics. Hurt, frustration, and pent-up fury made her practically spit the next words. “What do you want?” she hissed.
“I want to explain,” he said, palm outstretched, taking a step closer than comfortable, forcing her to decide to either give ground or hold her own.
Choosing to hold her ground, Lorna looked up into his face, refusing to feel anything but rage as she lifted her wrist close to her face to check the time. “The time for explaining is, ah, let’s see…” She scanned the sleek silver watch on her wrist. “Oh, yes, almost a week ago.”
“I can explain—”
“See there’s the thing, Mitchell. No, you can’t,” she cut in, a mocking whisper, throwing her arms up in the air. “And what’s more, you don’t have to. I no longer care.”
“So, we’re back to Mitchell, then.” He lowered his head in her direction to punctuate his words, eyes hard. “I do care, Lorna, and so do you. Don’t try to hide it. Let me explain.”
Lorna jutted her chin forward, wishing at this moment she were wearing heels instead of sandals so she could be nose to nose with him. “You’re wrong. I really don’t care. I’m thinking of it now like a bit of déjà vu.” She paused, narrowing her sight, spitting her foul words in a harsh whisper. “We fuck, you leave.”
To her immense satisfaction, Mitch took a step back. Had her words stung? His eyebrows rose, lost in the fringe of hair flopped over his brow. Her pleasure in his reaction was short-lived when, breathing hard, she saw the hurt swim in his oceanic eyes. Hardening her heart, she gripped the doorknob and nodded to the road. “Time to go.”
With absolutely perfect timing, a car pulled up and three loud children launched themselves from the vehicle to run across the lawn in her direction. Not stopping, simply yelling as they flew past, the kids scrambled through the house to scoot in the direction of the backyard carrying gifts, shouting Kris’s name.
“Ohmigod, they sure don’t need any sugar,” Ellie padded towards them, climbing the front steps to stop in front of Mitch. “I’m Ellie. Mom to the two redheaded hooligans and woman in charge of the other one that near took the legs out from under you.” She laughed nervously, staring up at Mitch, curiosity alight in her hazel eyes. “I’d say sorry, but it’s bound to happen again.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’re kids.�
� He grinned engagingly down at Ellie, and Lorna felt her heart twist with envy, wishing for the smile to be cast her way.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes and shot Lorna a diffident look. Returning his attention to the petite brunette, he held out his hand. “I’m Mitch. I’m an old friend of Lorna’s from our university days. Nice to meet you,” he said, beaming his boyish charm. “It’s a party. No sugar necessary.”
“You got that right,” she said, turning to Lorna, her face filled with question.
Lorna shook her head, declining to be drawn in. “Come on in, Ellie. I’ll get you a glass of lemonade? Or would you prefer iced tea?”
“I won’t tell you what I would prefer,” she tittered up at Mitch. An obvious flirt. She followed Lorna through the house. “But I’ll settle for a lemonade. Thanks.”
Lorna filled her lungs and fumed, unable to believe he would choose today of all days. Is he here to ruin the party? No, of course not. Kris is delighted to see him. I’m glad to see him. There’s the problem. I don’t want to be glad to see him.
As the only male over the age of five, Mitch proved to be a magnet. Even Mariam forgot how distressed Lorna had been when he didn’t so much as call this last week as she flitted around him ensuring his every need, supplying him with enough to eat and drink. As a pro forma protest, Lorna ignored his presence and strove to enjoy the afternoon, ushering the children from one game to another.
Two drinks in hand, Tia found Lorna demonstrating to the kids how to place the plastic ironized core in the correct spot of the life-sized plastic poster of the Ironman’s suit—a not so subtle twist on the old favorite, Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Handing Lorna an iced tea, Tia leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh my, he is a looker. He’s got the bedraggled, scruffy sexy look perfected. Wherever did you find him and why have you been keeping him a secret? Today is not the day to be happily married, I tell you.” Her assistant crossed one arm over her chest, holding her drink in the other and rolling back on her heels. “Umm, hum, yumm.”
“No secret,” Lorna turned her back on said topic of discussion. Mitch stood manning the barbeque, getting the hotdogs and burgers ready. That was supposed to be my job today, she thought with an internal sulk she tried not to let escape to an outside expression. She tried not to notice he seemed only to have eyes for her—a gaze, which penetrated through to her soul. He was polite, but paid very little attention to the surrounding females, save Mariam. “He’s just some guy I used to know.”