Cop House

by Sam Shelstad

  We went back to the hotel to ask about the wine tour. We’d missed it. The lady at the desk said the guy comes by with the bus to pick people up at seven every morning—it was already eleven. She said we could go tomorrow, but we’d have to be ready by seven this time. Seven sharp, she said.

  “I didn’t like her tone,” said Orin when we returned to our room. “She acted like we were her kids or something. How the hell are we supposed to know when the damn bus comes? And why is there a bus? I thought this was a bicycle thing.”

  “He has to drive us out to the vineyards first. He has the bikes and everything. Stop being so negative. She didn’t mean anything.”

  “Like hell she didn’t.”

  “Orin, you’re being ridiculous.” I said but didn’t really think he was. I wasn’t fond of the desk lady myself. We weren’t her damn kids.

  Later that day, Orin still hadn’t had his bowel movement but I convinced him to go to the horse stables in the afternoon. We drove to a ranch just outside of town where there was an amazing trot path that went by a little waterfall. We paid and got all set up but then Orin wouldn’t get on his horse.

  “I don’t like the look of mine,” he said.

  “Well then let’s trade.”

  “No, you go ahead. I don’t really like the look of either of them.”

  I didn’t want to ride alone so we just went back to the hotel. Orin made me wait in the hall for a while and then we took a nap.

  We had the TV on while we were dressing for dinner and I noticed there was an update on the “Fiddler Murders,” which was what they were calling them. It was a national news story now. There were still no suspects but there had been another unsolved car shooting in Niagara Falls a month earlier. A woman waiting for her son to get off work was gunned down by the side of the road—probably by the same killer.

  The TV reporter was standing outside the theatre and cops and news trucks were all around. They had yellow police tape up and people were crowding behind it, watching the scene. The caption at the bottom of the screen read: “Fiddler on the Roof murderer on the loose in Niagara-on-the-Lake.”

  “That’s kinda funny,” Orin said.

  “How is that funny?” I said. “Two people died last night.”

  “The caption. You can’t tell me that’s not funny. I think it’s meant to be a little funny.”

  “It’s not funny.” I was lying… it was a little funny. But it was funny to appreciate on the inside and keep to yourself because two people had been killed and it wasn’t right to laugh at that kind of thing.

  The streets were busy and we had to wait twenty-five minutes for a table at the restaurant I’d picked. We waited at the bar and everyone was talking about the Fiddler murders. One guy said he’d sold the woman, the director, a pack of cigarettes the day she died. Another said he figured the killer was someone local who auditioned for a role in the musical but didn’t make the cut—or maybe was an understudy. And then a woman said it was great they had all this publicity for the musical now but that it was useless because they’d shut down the production. Orin and I sat and listened.

  The server came to escort us to our table but by the time I arrived I couldn’t find Orin. He’d just slipped off. I sat down anyway and told the server my husband would be back, and he did come back ten minutes later. He walked towards the table with his arms up, but with a big grin.

  “I made!” he said.

  “Oh, I’m so glad, dear.”

  “Things will be different now. We can really start our vacation. I bet I could hop on a horse right now. Are they still open?”

  “Oh, I’m so happy.”

  It was the best dinner. I ordered pasta and Orin had roast duck and scalloped potatoes. We shared a bottle of Pinot Noir from one of the local vineyards—one we’d probably visit the next day on the tour. Our server was charming and the music was at the perfect volume. I couldn’t stop smiling.

  We talked about the wine tour and Orin suggested we stay an extra day so we could visit the stables again.

  “I’m getting on that horse, Laura,” Orin said. “You can count on that.”

  “We’ll ride past the waterfall.”

  “You bet your little ass we will.”

  When we got back to the hotel I thought we were going to have sex. We were tipsy from the wine and Orin groped me a little in the elevator. A married couple doesn’t need to have sex all the time but when you’re staying in a hotel I think it’s important to have sex at least once. Especially if you’ve had a nice time at dinner. But when I went into the washroom to change out of my blue dress, Orin fell asleep. I sat on the bed beside him and played Tetris on my phone.

  We woke up at eight—we’d missed the pickup for the bicycle tour. It was raining anyway.

  “Maybe we should just drive home,” Orin said.

  “What about the horses?”

  “It’s raining.”

  “I thought we were going to stay another day?”

  “It’s raining, Laura.”

  We left after Orin’s nine a.m. bowel movement.

  The rain stopped around Hamilton and it was clear skies all the way until Windsor. We didn’t say much to each other. Orin let me play the radio for a bit. There was more news about the Fiddler murders: Still no suspects, but apparently the police found an unlicensed gun and half an ounce of crystal meth in the director’s car. It was too early to speculate, the newswoman said, but she speculated anyway. She said it was possible the two victims were involved with some sort of crime ring. It was all very sensational but Orin made me shut the radio off because he had a headache.

  I wondered what Cathy would say when I returned to work the next day. She’d probably go on about how she’d just been there, in Niagara-on-the-Lake, and how she’d seen the musical with the two murder victims. She’d act like the office expert on the whole matter. If anyone brought it up, Cathy would swoop in and take over the conversation: Well, when I saw the production, I could imagine her saying, I noticed something a little off about the guy playing Tevye. I bet you did, Cathy.

  The funny thing was that I was actually there for the whole murder. I could have sat next to the killer in a restaurant, or maybe they were staying in our hotel. You never know. But I couldn’t say anything because Cathy thought I was sick at home. My Niagara-on-the-Lake story was better and more relevant than hers even though Orin and I didn’t really do much. We didn’t do anything aside from our dinner. But we were there. And it was a magical dinner.

  “Remember dinner last night?” I said. We were outside of Woodstock.

  “It was good.”

  “I really had a great time with you, Orin.”

  “The food was excellent.”

  We stopped for lunch in London and Orin let me run into Wal-Mart afterwards. I went to the DVD section to look for Miss Congeniality so I could lend it to Cathy but they didn’t have it. I found the movie version of Fiddler on the Roof in a bargain bin, which I bought. I missed out on the live show but I could have my own private experience when we got home to supplement the trip.

  I couldn’t wait to get back home and watch the film. I scanned the DVD case for the rest of the drive to Windsor imagining what the film would be like. It’s exciting to watch something that’s relevant to your own experiences. The whole thing would be coloured by the murders.

  We stopped for the last time before arriving home near Chatham. Orin filled up the car and I bought an ice cream sandwich. I ate half and passed the rest to Orin.

  The next day at work I didn’t say a word to Cathy about any of it. I let her yammer on about a painting class she’d signed up for. I smiled and nodded along. She had no idea where I’d been.

  “The instructor’s actually from Paris?” I said.

  “He really is!” Cathy said.

  But I wasn’t listening to Cathy’s story. I was thinking about Orin. I pictured him walking over to me in the restaurant, his hands up in the air, the enormous grin plastered across his face. I want
ed to live inside that moment. Orin would never reach the table and we would never place our orders. But I wouldn’t know that. I’d just sit and watch my smiling husband walk towards me forever.

  Pool Rules

  No running on the pool deck.

  No splashing or horseplay.

  No flotation devices (except on Tube Night).

  Proper swim attire must be worn at all times. Bathing suits and swim caps with Sunny Planet Aquatic Centre insignia can be purchased at the front desk. Do not enter pool area unless you are wearing these items.

  Patrons must shower before entering the pool. To turn on shower, enter your name and social security number into the touch-screen below shower head.

  Always swim with a buddy. You will be randomly paired with a swim buddy upon exiting the locker rooms. This person will be your permanent swim buddy. Pool Leader will perform a brief ceremony before you and your buddy may enter pool. Do not think of this as a “wedding,” though legally you will be married to each other.

  No cursing.

  No English. Patrons must speak Korean until Pool Leader finalizes the unique Sunny Planet Aquatic Centre language.

  Refer to your swim buddy and the other patrons by their Pool Names only. If you are male, your Pool Name will be Marco. Females are named Polo. Do not forget your Pool Name.

  Do not attempt to climb on the lifeguard towers. Sunny Planet lifeguards are armed and extremely overworked—the stress of the long hours may cause resentment toward pool patrons.

  Do not look lifeguards in the eye.

  Before using the diving boards, patrons must sign a release form stating that Sunny Planet is not responsible for any injuries and that patrons promise to cut off all ties with their families.

  Please be advised: Sunny Planet Aquatic Centre has a Locked-In Policy, which means you cannot leave the premises until you complete our intensive water-safety training program. Bunks are provided in the locker rooms until training is completed.

  No outside food or drink is allowed. Use the wall-mounted food pellet machines if you are hungry. These machines only accept Cleaning Tokens, which you can earn by cleaning the facilities.

  Do not drink from the water fountains. The water in these fountains contains a highly concentrated poison and will serve its purpose at a later date.

  Every hour there is a mandatory group chant held in the lobby. If this is your first visit to Sunny Planet, you are required to bring all your possessions and add them to our “First-Timers” pyre which will be set ablaze by Pool Leader.

  Do not look Pool Leader in the eye.

  Respect the pool. Greet the pool before entering the water and thank the pool before exiting. One hour per day should be spent bent over in supplication before the pool.

  Do not enter the pool if you have any open sores or communicable diseases. The infected are not welcome at Sunny Planet Aquatic Centre. If you see an infected person approach the pool, inform a lifeguard immediately and stand out of the way.

  Use the waterslide with caution. You may notice that the waterslide does not appear to lead into the pool but instead appears to travel through the adjacent wall. Ignore this. This is an illusion due to the curves of the slide and light bouncing off the water.

  Do not knock on the windows at the bottom of the pool. Do not wave to the men in lab coats on the other side of the glass as they are very busy.

  If you notice the water in the pool change colour or turn opaque, do not panic. Do not exit the pool. Move to the centre of the pool where the men in lab coats can monitor your behaviour through the windows.

  Do NOT drink the pool water. If pool water is accidentally swallowed, signal to the men in lab coats and wait for assistance.

  Children under twelve must be supervised by an adult. They must also enroll in our special school. Transportation will be provided to our Sunny Planet Farm where the school grounds are located. Your child will be returned when he or she is of marriageable age.

  Lifeguards have full authority over pool patrons and may enforce rules not listed here, as needed. If approached by a lifeguard on the pool deck, lie down on your stomach and clasp your hands above your head.

  If you hear talk of a resistance movement, inform a lifeguard. There is no resistance movement and there is certainly no “chosen one.” If you notice a voice coming from an air duct in the locker rooms claiming that you are the “chosen one,” inform a lifeguard and proceed to the waterslide.

  Do not ask pool staff to open the retractable roof. The retractable roof will open in July of 2025 when the Mothership is expected to land.

  Should the Mothership arrive ahead of schedule, an ear-splitting alarm will sound. If you hear this alarm, exit the pool as it will be drained and converted into a landing pad. Put on your Sunny Planet flip-flops, queue up at one of the water fountains and await instructions from Pool Leader.

  Absolutely no Band-Aids in the pool. This is a shared space—be mindful.

  Bowman

  Charlie Eckles surveys his empire. The Good Morning breakfast diner. Sunday. A handful of customers but the church crowd would come rolling in shortly. This is mine, Eckles thinks. I built this. Six crummy booths. One long, crummy counter with eight crummy stools bolted to the floor. Two framed Gone with the Wind movie posters—he’s never seen the film. Eight loaves of Dempster’s Texas Toast. My legacy. Alexander the Great ruled over Macedonia, but Eckles the Underwhelming ruled the waffle iron.

  “What am I looking at here?” Eckles steps back into the kitchen.

  “Table four,” Patty says. Patty’s waited on Good Morning’s customers since the place opened, five years ago. She saw the whole thing come together. Eckles owned it with his wife, Maureen. Instead of a honeymoon, Eckles always said, we decided to start a business. The two newlyweds got the restaurant up and running and then, one year in, Maureen took off with the neighbour. Last Eckles heard she was working a perfume counter in Vancouver.

  “Table four, sure.”

  “You recognize that face?”

  “Yeah, it’s the new pope.”

  “It’s Todd Bowman. Don’t you read the paper?”

  “You’re pulling my leg.” Eckles knows who Todd Bowman is. He read the paper. Todd Bowman, bank robber. Twenty-first-century outlaw. Wanted man. Hospitalized two security guards and a bank manager in Stratford just last week. Eckles saw the man’s photograph that morning, skimmed the story. Cops were still searching, it said.

  “Look again,” Patty says.

  Eckles pokes his head out into the front of the restaurant. Table four, there he is. Now that he knows what to look for, it’s obvious. The busted nose. The long, greedy mouth. All those muscles crammed into the plastic booth. A caricature of a crook. The papers loved running Bowman photos on the front page.

  “Jesus.” Eckles ducks back into the kitchen, sits on a potato sack. “What do we do?”

  “Can’t call the cops,” Brian the cook snorts.

  “That’s exactly what we should do,” Patty says. “And let’s keep our voices down.”

  “Just sayin’,” Brian says. “If it really is Bowman and you bring the authorities down here, there’ll be trouble. He’ll tear this place apart.”

  Tear this place apart—the phrase begins to loop in Eckles’ mind. Why didn’t I think of that? he wonders. The restaurant had become a burden. A coffin. A symbol of his broken marriage. Of his defeat. While Maureen was off petting dolphins on the west coast, he was trapped in the diner sanitizing coffee mugs. Ordering napkins. Frying eggs. When he and Maureen decided to open the diner, they had a vision: a hub for the community, a spot where locals could meet up and chat with each other. The kind of place sitcom characters hung around—where narratives intersected and series regulars walked in the door to a studio applause. A place of comfort. That dream was long dead. Bowman ought to tear this dive apart, Eckles thinks. Perfect place for a shootout. And maybe I’ll catch a stray bullet. Put me out of my misery.

  “We have to call,” Patty says. “
It’s our duty.”

  “Your duty,” Eckles says, “is walking plates out to the customers. Anyway, are we sure it’s him? Seems like a dumb move, coming in here.”

  “Absolutely it’s him. The guy takes risks. That’s his whole thing. Besides, it’s just a phone call. The police can decide.”

  “Let’s see what he tips first,” Eckles says.

  “This is serious.”

  “Alright, alright. I’ll slip out back and call.” Eckles peeks into the dining area—Bowman was still digging his way through the Farmboy Skillet—and pulls his phone from his apron. He steps out the back door into the parking lot and pauses. He calls back into the kitchen before closing the door behind him, “Is this a nine-one-one thing? I mean, would you call this an emergency?”

  “Hmm.” Patty shrugs. “I think so. Yes. Of course it is.”

  “Well, that’s the number I know. Be right back.”

  The emergency dispatcher takes in Eckles’ story, types his information into a computer and tosses him on hold. Spanish guitar music plays. Eckles didn’t think they’d have hold music over at nine-one-one. Seems disrespectful. Disrespectful to whom, he isn’t sure. Just disrespectful in general. At least play something with a steady beat, not this meandering dog shit, he thinks.

  What am I doing here? Eckles thinks. Ratting on a customer. Sure, the man’s dangerous. A scourge to society. But who am I to intervene? Guy comes in for a hot meal, I’m sending him up the river. I should be trying to hold on to the few customers I have, not getting them locked up. If I had any guts I’d be right there with Bowman. The man was free, truly free. No restrictions. Robbing banks. Driving around. Better than scraping grease spatter off the walls all day, that’s certain. A woman comes on the line and asks the same questions as the dispatcher. Keys clack.

  “Stay where you are, sir. Do not approach this man. A team is on its way now.”

  Eckles hangs up and moves back inside. A team, he thinks.