Race

by Mobashar Qureshi

  “Jon?” I heard her say.

  I was staring at the table. I was trying desperately to remember everything that had happened. Exact words, certain body movements, precise images, they were now all important to me.

  I looked up. “I have to go.”

  “Jon, are you okay?”

  “I’m glad we had this talk,” I said and walked out of the deli. I needed fresh air. I needed to recollect and reprocess everything in my mind. So much I had ignored before was so important now.

  I stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk.

  No. I couldn’t start making any conclusions until I was certain. I needed to start at the beginning.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The first batch of Nex did not turn out as planned. The ingredients reacted negatively to the process. The combination had to be precise. After being frozen, the tablets formed a glassy solid, and once dried, the structure collapsed. Another batch was prepared immediately.

  ***

  I knocked and a black kid opened the door. He looked at me attentively and then another, much taller kid, came rushing over.

  “Theo, I told you never to open the door,” said the older one.

  “Hey, Voshon,” I said.

  I was back in Regent Park.

  Voshon looked at me with searching eyes, “You’re the guy with Officer Beadsworth.” He stuck his head out into the hall. “Is Officer Beadsworth coming?”

  “No, I came alone. Can I talk to you?”

  “Yeah, sure, come in.”

  The apartment was pretty much empty, except for the sofa and a few other items.

  “You moving?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we got a place on Chester. One bedroom only, but the rent’s good.”

  “I need some information,” I started. “Has anyone suspicious come by here lately? I mean in Regent Park?”

  “In Regent Park everyone’s suspicious,” he said, smiling.

  I waited.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “I don’t know nothing. You learn to mind your own business.”

  “When you moving?” I said.

  “We’ll be gone in a couple of days.”

  “Then you won’t mind helping me out,” I said.

  He looked away. He looked at his little brother. “What’re you looking for?”

  “Anything,” I said.

  “There is this guy,” Voshon said scratching his head. “Wears a large fur coat—even in the summer—tries to act like he owns the place. If anyone knows anything it would be him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Marcus, I think.”

  “Where do I find him?”

  “I see him coming in and out of the building over there.” Through the window I saw a brown building.

  “Will he be there now?”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t go there alone. He usually has a bodyguard with him.”

  My mind started churning. I could stake out the building. Wait for this Marcus to come out…but then what?

  I couldn’t just walk up to him and say, “Hey, man. Have you been part of anything illegal or unlawful? If so, can you tell me where I can find RACE?”

  I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

  I thanked Voshon and left.

  ***

  I stood across from the brown building, thinking hard. How was I going to get to him with the bodyguard hovering around? How then was I going to make him talk?

  I had no clue.

  It was afternoon and the area was pretty much deserted, except for a couple of moms pushing strollers and chatting away. They were coming in my direction so I decided to leave.

  Walking west, towards Parliament, I had an idea. Not a very bright idea—but an idea. I searched through my pockets for the number for Mahmud Hanif. I called him and, luckily, he was just north of Danforth, dropping off a passenger.

  Ten or so minutes later a taxicab drove up. I got in the back.

  “Hey, Mahmud,” I said patting him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”

  “Always good to see you, too,” he said smiling. I swear this man smiled too much.

  “How’s business?” I asked.

  “Good. I’m very sorry what happened to your house. I heard it on the news.”

  I just shrugged, not knowing what to say.

  “If you need a place to stay…”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you need any money…”

  “No, really, I’m fine.”

  “If you need anything…”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do need something from you.”

  “Yes.” His face became eager.

  “I need your taxi.”

  There was a pause and then a cry. “I understand.”

  “Understand what?” I said confused.

  “Don’t worry, Officer Rupret,” he said reassuringly. “I know people that can help you.”

  “Mahmud,” I said. “What are you talking about?’

  “You don’t need to drive taxi. You’re still a young man. Driving taxi is not good.”

  “But…”

  “I will call Lateef—he works downtown—a good man,” Mahmud said. “He will help you find a job.”

  “I don’t need a job,” I nearly yelled.

  “What?” he replied, eyeing me through the rear-view mirror. “You can’t make money without a job?”

  I started to laugh. “You think I want your taxi because I need money?”

  He slowly moved his head up and down. “That is why I drive taxi. Why else?”

  “It’s for my investigation.”

  After a brief pause a smile crossed his face. “You want to go undercover. Yes?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “It’s only for a short while.”

  “No problem. When do you need it?”

  “Around six.”

  ***

  Mahmud dropped me off at the corner of College Street and McCaul. His fare, a middle-age couple, was waiting for him. I had insisted he take the fare; I was going to be using his taxi later. I waved him goodbye and then realized I was standing in front of the Toronto Police Headquarters. I doubled back and hurried around the corner. I moved as far away from the main entrance as possible. I had no desire to go inside. I was supposed to be recovering from my tragedy.

  I was walking as fast as my feet would allow when up ahead a police cruiser emerged from the headquarters underground parking lot. I lowered my head and continued walking. I was not going to slow down and wait for the cruiser to pass me—that would mean stopping.

  As I passed the cruiser, there was a loud honk that nearly threw me off my feet. I looked back and saw to my surprise, Constable Clara Terries. “Officer Rupret,” she said.

  I walked over to the driver’s side.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” I said.

  “Not bad,” she said.

  A male officer sat beside her, and for some unexplainable reason I was glad he looked much, much older than her.

  She introduced him but I didn’t remember his name. I think I chose not to remember his name.

  “I heard what happened,” she said.

  I shrugged, as if these things happened to me all the time.

  “So what are you doing now?” I asked.

  “I’m back on patrol,” she said. “Get to wear my uniform again”

  “I can see that.”

  The radio dispatcher cut through. There was a ten-something in progress.

  “We should go,” she said. “I was thinking, Officer Rupret, maybe we could talk some time, if you like?”

  “Yeah, I would like that very much. And it’s Jon.”

  “Bye, Jon,” she said with a smile.

  The sirens came on and the cruiser sped away.

  ***

  Ed Burrows burst through the door. He was upset and he was angry. Ms. Zee looked up from her desk. He stormed toward her, his size threatening. Kong moved in his direction but Ms. Zee raised her hand. He retreated.

  “This is unaccepta
ble,” he bellowed.

  “What is?” she said calmly.

  “Everything. How can I produce something as sensitive as Nex with this primitive technology.”

  She waited.

  “The equipment is outdated. What we have are rejects from defunct pharmaceutical laboratories. The blender doesn’t dissolve the active ingredients properly. One of the freezing tunnels refuses to stay at the required temperature. Several of the freeze-dryers discontinue functioning in the middle of the process—rendering large batches of Nex useless. It has to be precise. I refuse to work under these conditions.”

  Ms. Zee listened and then said, “Mr. Burrows, time and constraints did not allow us to acquire…state-of-the-art machines.”

  “Without them I cannot ensure a stable and functional product.”

  “You must try,” she pleaded.

  “It cannot be done.”

  “Yes it can, in experienced hands such as yours.”

  That was a boost to Burrows ego and Ms. Zee continued. “You have the opportunity to create something that—” she was searching for the exact words, “will benefit so many people.”

  “But…”

  “So much pain will be relieved because of your desire and determination.”

  He was glowing.

  She smiled. “I promise. Soon you’ll have your state-of-the-art equipment. But right now you must use your energy in producing Nex.”

  He seemed more agreeable. “The building doesn’t even have sufficient airflow systems to ensure product purity.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when we search for another location.”

  He thanked her and left.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I sat inside Mahmud’s taxi not far from Regent Park. To fit the role of a taxi driver I had asked Mahmud to lend me his Blue Jays cap.

  It had gotten dark very fast and the street was only occupied by the occasional passer-by.

  I got out and went in the direction of the brown building. The poor lighting on the street concealed me. I found a white BMW in a lone corner spot. Earlier, Marcus had emerged from the vehicle and gone inside.

  I looked around. There was a group of kids bouncing basketballs heading in the other direction. I knelt, took another look, and began releasing air from the tires. When I was on the third tire there was a sudden noise. Startled, I turned around, with fists raised, ready to fight. There was no one there. It was only the streetcar in the distance, going east on Gerrard.

  I finished my task and headed back. Once I got inside the taxi I began to fully breathe again. My shirt was soaked from sweat and I tried to air it dry. While I was breathing deeply a man in a suit got inside the taxi.

  “University Avenue and Edward Street,” the man said.

  I slowly turned.

  “University Avenue,” he repeated.

  “Sir, I’m waiting for a customer,” I said.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?” I said.

  “Your customer.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Get out,” I said.

  “That’s not fair,” he said.

  “What’s not fair?”

  “I shouldn’t have to find another taxi if the guy you’re waiting for doesn’t even show up.”

  Actually, the man did have a point. My imaginary customer had no respect for my job as a driver, or for this man.

  “How about this,” I said. “I’ll give you five bucks and you go find another taxi?”

  He thought about it. “You’re serious?”

  I pulled out a blue coloured piece of paper and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I hope your customer comes soon.”

  I hoped so too.

  ***

  I waited…and waited…and waited, until I could no longer wait.

  Hours had gone by. No sign of Marcus. I turned the ignition and headed toward the building. I drove slowly. The BMW sat airless on the right. I moved past it, when suddenly the door of the brown building swung open and a suited man came out, followed by the unmistakable fur-coat-man.

  I kept driving at a snail’s pace, away from them. Through the rear-view mirror I saw Marcus look agitated. He began yelling at his bodyguard, for obvious reasons.

  I was in the parking lot of an adjacent building when I saw Marcus look in my direction. He raised his hands and waved to me. I stopped. Oh, crap.

  I did a three-sixty-turn and headed back.

  I halted two feet from him. He rushed over.

  “You here to pick someone up?” he said.

  “Um…yeah. I got a call to come down, but all the buildings look the same,” I said.

  “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you take me to Queen and Coxwell,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  He turned and told his bodyguard to have the BMW fixed immediately.

  He got in and I eased the taxi onto Gerrard.

  “You’re not going to start the meter?” he said from behind.

  I eyed the machine carefully and then pressed a button. Red numeric digits appeared.

  We were going east when I said, “So, how about the weather, eh?”

  “What about the weather?” he said annoyed.

  “I…I mean…it’s nice,” I stumbled.

  “Yeah, so.”

  “I can tell you’re not a big weather fan.”

  “It’s all the same.”

  That’s probably because you wear a fur coat all the time.

  “How about those Blue Jays, eh?” I said.

  “You gonna talk all through the ride?”

  “Just trying to make small talk,” I said.

  “Don’t,” he shot back. “Just drive.”

  I didn’t have much time. This wasn’t a long ride, anyways, so I dove in.

  “You a drug dealer?”

  Through the rear-view mirror I could see his face contort.

  I said, “Yeah, you are. I saw you in the papers.” I lied.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  I searched, “Abdul Karim—er, Hakim—bin Karim—bin Hakim Karim.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “How would you know?” I said feeling offended. How dare this man insult my people?

  “Mahmud Hanif. You don’t look like Mahmud Hanif,” he said.

  “How would you know that?”

  “There’s a picture of him behind your head.”

  Damn. There was always a photo with the name and cab number of the driver on the back of the headrest.

  Once we were past Broadview I had had enough. I found a spot and parked.

  “What are you doing?” Marcus demanded.

  I turned and looked him in the eye. “I need information.”

  “So?”

  “You’re going to give me the information I need.”

  “Kid, you’re dead. You know that?”

  “Shut up,” I said. “You don’t scare me.”

  “My boy will get you.”

  “Your boy is still pumping air in the tires with his mouth.”

  He moved for the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “When you’re out that door I’m going to run after you and with that fur coat on you’re not going to get very far. Once I catch you I’ll beat the shit out of you.” I was lying, of course. I was thinking more of running him over with the car.

  “I’ll call the cops. You can’t touch me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll say you bolted before you paid.”

  “Shit, kid. You got a lot of nerve.”

  I flared my nostrils boldly. I was the man.

  He looked at me intently. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you that parking cop who was in the papers a couple of years ago?”

  My nostrils deflated.

  “Yeah, it was you.” He started laughing. “What? You screwed up so bad now you’re driving a taxi?”

  �
�A man can’t get no respect,” I said.

  He continued laughing.

  “I am in the drug squad now.” I flashed him my badge for good measure. “That is why you’re going to help me.”

  He leaned back and spread his arms.

  “Do you know anything about RACE?” I said.

  “Who?”

  Whenever I mentioned RACE people got that confused look.

  “Do you know anything about Nex?”

  “Kid, what are you talking about?”

  “This new drug that’s suppose to be bigger than Ecstasy.”

  “How’d you know about that?” Marcus asked, surprised.

  “I’m in the drug squad.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  He was right. He didn’t. It all looks so easy in the movies, where the hero demands answers from the villain and most often than not he gets them. In real life it’s entirely different. I might have to beg.

  “Come on, man,” I said. “Help me out.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he said laughing. “The only way I’m talking is if you arrest me.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Last time I do anyone a favour.”

  His eyes narrowed and he said, “What’re you talking about?”

  “I’m just saying,” I started. “We know you’re involved in all of this. Last week we saw them—” I had know idea what them looked like. “—at your place.”

  He said, “I’m gonna deny everything.”

  “Of course you are. But let me tell you. When these guys—” I was careful not to say RACE. “—Get busted, you’re going down with them.”

  “What’re you saying?”

  “I’m saying we know they have the drug and it could be ready in a matter of days.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course, man. We’re the cops. We’ve got a huge team working on this case. You’re a paper-reading-kind-of-guy so you must have heard about the RCMP’s investigation into the drug squad?”

  He nodded.

  “To bring respectability back to the force we’re going to get this gang of drug makers and we’re going to make an example of them.” I emphasized the next sentence. “We’re going to make an example of you.”