Race

by Mobashar Qureshi

  His face went serious. “The favour you mentioned. Why?”

  “Let’s just say, I want to be the one who breaks this investigation. Make up for the mistake I made years ago.”

  A group of people stared at us. I guess they wanted a taxi. I started the car and drove.

  “What will I get if I help you?”

  “I’ll tell them you were very helpful.”

  “I’ll still go to jail. I sell drugs to kids, remember.”

  “That’s your problem, but if you help us you won’t go to jail for this new drug, will you?”

  He thought about it.

  “There is nothing to think about,” I said.

  “Okay, okay. They came a few days ago with their new quick-dissolving formula. You know about it?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Quick-dissolving?

  “This thing, I mean, this tablet just disappears inside your mouth.”

  “You tried the drug?”

  “No way,” he snapped. “You crazy.”

  “Where can I find these people?”

  “How the hell do I know? The rule is you don’t ask any questions. But they’ll probably come back when they have the drug.”

  “Right,” I said more to myself than him. “Once they come to you, we follow them.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said.

  “So we have a deal, right?”

  He moved his head in agreement. “Yeah, sure.”

  I turned my head back, slightly. “You better stick to the deal or else—”

  “Look out!” he screamed.

  I twisted and saw a kid crossing the road. I turned the wheel sharply. The car veered to the right, went onto the sidewalk, and hit a large recycling bin. The heavy plastic bin flew over passing vehicles and landed on the opposite sidewalk, like a scene from a cartoon.

  I turned to see if the kid was okay. He was walking in the opposite direction with his head low and bopping. His ears were covered with large pilot-style headphones. He had no idea what had just happened.

  Teenagers!

  I looked back and Marcus had horror over his face. His eyes bulged out and his arms were spread apart. He looked as if he was going to fall and was holding on for dear life.

  “You okay?” I said.

  He was pale and his mouth was open.

  “You must have seen worse,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt.

  He nodded and then quickly pounced out of the car.

  “Remember our deal,” I yelled as he ran away.

  It’s not pretty seeing a grown man in a fur coat run like that.

  I got out to see the damage.

  I nearly screamed, the kind of scream that even aliens on far away planets can hear.

  There was a large dent, the size of a half watermelon, on the right side of the front. The headlight was smashed beyond repair.

  This was not good.

  Mahmud would kill me.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called the one person I knew who could help in this situation.

  ***

  Eight minutes later a brown coloured tow-truck parked behind the busted taxi. Out came Joe Coultier, his massive body moving toward me.

  “Jonny,” he said.

  “What’re you doing here?” I asked. “Why didn’t you send someone else?”

  “The boys are busy. This is our peak time, you know. Parking on the streets without residential permits, leaving cars in the parking lots of malls, the usual stuff.”

  “Who’s watching the business?”

  “Marcie.”

  “She’s back?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t run the place without her. I begged her and gave her a raise.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I was looking forward to opening my very own impound with her.”

  “You know what? I like the coupon idea you had,” he said. “It would build customer loyalty and stuff. Anyways, you hit a taxi?”

  “No. The taxi hit the recycling bin.”

  “So what did you hit?”

  “The recycling bin.”

  “Both the taxi and you hit the recycling bin?’

  “No. Only the taxi hit the recycling bin.”

  He shook his head violently. “Okay, what were you driving?”

  “The taxi.”

  “What?” he said. “What’re you doing driving a taxi?”

  “It’s a long story. You gonna tow or what?”

  “I’ll tow,” he said getting down to business. “Just because you’re a loyal customer. No questions asked.”

  “So how many tows have I got?” I inquired.

  “Why?”

  “This one could be free.”

  ***

  Joe had taken the taxi to a mechanic he knew. I was going to cover the costs, of course, but that was not the problem. How was I going to tell Mahmud? He trusted me and I’d let him down.

  Maybe I could deny it.

  What taxi? I never borrowed any taxi? I don’t even have a license to operate one, must be someone else?

  No. I couldn’t do that.

  Mahmud was a good person, a decent person. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him what had happened. This might even end our fragile relationship.

  I got off and waited at the spot we had decided to meet. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was almost eleven. I paced back and forth, thinking of what to do next. Four long minutes later I saw Mahmud turn the corner and walk briskly towards me.

  “Mahmud,” I said. “Buddy, pal, how are you doing?”

  “Good, Officer Rupret, how about you?” he said smiling. His eyes darted behind me, searching. “Where is the taxi?”

  I scratched my head. “Well, Mahmud…maybe you should sit down.”

  He looked around. We were in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Standing might be better.” I took a step back. I said, “Mahmud, something happened to your taxi.”

  His smile faded.

  “There is a large dent on the right side.”

  He nodded, slowly.

  “But I’m going to pay for the repair.” I didn’t know how much was in that thick envelope Sergeant Motley gave me, but it would help.

  There was a pause and then he finally said, “You are okay?”

  “Yeah, couldn’t be better,” I shrugged.

  “You hit another car?” he asked.

  “No, recycling bin.”

  “Recycling bin?” He paused. “But recycling bin is on the sidewalk.”

  “Yeah, well, I kind of…you have to realize there was this kid with these big headphones walking down the street and to avoid hitting him I swerved…”

  He nodded, trying hard to digest what I was saying.

  “Mahmud, I’m really sorry,” I said.

  Mahmud looked hurt. I understood. It was his only means of making a living.

  His eyes narrowed as if thinking. He then moved his hand through his matted hair. He looked at me and then his eyes moved to the top of my head.

  I pulled off the Blue Jays cap and handed it to him.

  He put it on and then looked at the ground. “Maybe I made a mistake,” he said.

  “I know. You shouldn’t have trusted me.”

  He smiled. “I made a mistake of not running taxi over you before.”

  ***

  I woke up in the middle of the night in the Beadsworth’s guest bedroom. I tossed and turned and tossed some more. I was having strange dreams. First, I was in a taxi with Marcus being pulled by Joe Coultier—not towed, but literally pulled by his massive arms. Then, I’m back in the taxi and I hit a recycling bin and out pops Mahmud. He demands why I hit his recycling bin and not someone else’s. Then I’m in the House of Jam and I’m being chased by Mahmud’s taxi. Finally, I’m standing near a lake and I decide to jump into the water, and when I do the water turns into pills and I get sucked in like quicksand. I scream but no one is there to help except for Clara Terries. I call for her and she reaches out to help me, but before I
can grab her I wake up.

  It was 3:21 in the morning. My stomach moaned. I got up and went downstairs. As I turned into the kitchen a boy leaped up, startled. He was holding a sandwich in his left hand and his right hand was covered in a cast.

  “Hey, I’m not a robber,” I said. Black guy in the house in the middle of the night can send wrong messages to white kids. “I’m your father’s partner.”

  “I know that,” he said. “I was surprised.”

  “You’re…Christopher, right?” I said.

  “No. Noel.”

  Damn. Close, though. “Mind if I join you?”

  He shook his head and sat down. He took a bite off his sandwich.

  “That looks good,” I said.

  “It’s tuna. I’ll show you were Mom keeps it.”

  He pointed out all the ingredients and I made myself a similar sandwich.

  Once we were seated I said, “By the way, my name is Jon.” I offered my hand as a late introduction. He shook it. “You couldn’t sleep either?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “I couldn’t,” I said. “I had nightmares.”

  “You did?” he said, looking up.

  “Yeah.”

  “What kind of nightmares? Scary monster nightmares?’

  “You could say that,” I said.

  “I get this nightmare where this humungous giant lizard with fangs and five tentacles comes out of the closet and eats me alive.”

  Humungous lizard? I hope he doesn’t come after me.

  “Are you a police officer just like dad?” he asked.

  “Sure am,” I said, in my police-like tone.

  “You catch bad guys every day?”

  “Sure do.” I felt like John Wayne telling some whippersnapper about his sheriff duties.

  He then said, “You make lots of money like dad?”

  Uh? “What?”

  “Dad makes lots of money.”

  I paused. “Yes, he does.”

  I slowly took a bite of the sandwich, thinking. “Your dad told you he makes lots of money from his job?”

  “No, but I hear him talk to Mom. He brings her money in an envelope.”

  “An envelope, eh?” I said, thinking deeper.

  “Brown envelopes, sometimes white envelopes.”

  I began to eye the kitchen suspiciously: marble countertop, stainless steel dishwasher, two-door refrigerator, all top-of-the-line stuff.

  “What else did your dad tell you,” I asked, hoping to get more out of him.

  He shrugged, suddenly disinterested.

  I needed more information. “So, you broke your arm playing soccer?” I said.

  He looked away.

  I leaned in. “You didn’t break your arm playing soccer, did you?”

  He made no comment.

  “You got into a fight.”

  He nodded, very slowly.

  “Why?”

  He looked up and opened his mouth into a wide smile.

  I waited.

  He pointed to his teeth.

  “What?” I still did not understand.

  He pointed more dramatically.

  “Oh,” I said. “Kids made fun of your braces?”

  He closed his mouth and lowered his head, staring at the empty plate.

  “Your parents don’t know?”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about what those kids think,” I said. “When you’re older you’ll have a perfect smile and they’ll have crooked teeth like cats.”

  He laughed.

  Right then I should have told him an incident from my childhood, but I couldn’t think of one so I let it go. “You know,” I said. “You should tell your parents. Maybe they can help.”

  I suddenly realized the hypocrisy of what I was saying. Here I was giving Noel advice about being open and honest while I was hiding my career from my mother.

  When this was all over and done I was going to have a long talk with her. She would understand. She always did.

  “Talk to your parents when you feel you’re up to it,” I finally said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At the breakfast table I sipped coffee while eating a toast with marmalade. Beadsworth sat across from me with a newspaper. He was going over the front-page stories. Amy was upstairs with Liam. Noel had already gone to school.

  I stared at Beadsworth intently. Something about him made me irritated. It wasn’t his trimmed beard, or his perfect ironed shirt, pants, or tie. It wasn’t even the way he was reading the paper, folding each page precisely to avoid any creases. It was what his son Noel had told me last night. Beadsworth gave his wife money in brown and white envelopes, and large sums of it, at that.

  Where did he get that kind of money? Not as a police officer, I was sure.

  I glared at him.

  Maybe, Phillip, it’s because you’re a corrupt cop, taking money from drug dealers so you can live a life of luxury.

  He flipped the page and in doing so glanced at me. I lowered my eyes to my toast.

  Think about your wife and kids, Phillip. Wait, your wife is in cahoots with you. Where does she keep your money? Maybe, she is a victim. Yes. She has no choice but to follow you. You fiend!

  He flipped the page again. “Breakfast okay?” he asked, smiling.

  “Oh, yes. Just perfect.”

  Yes, keep smiling, you well-dressed dictator.

  He scanned the last page and placed the neatly folded paper on the table.

  “Everything satisfactory yesterday?” he said. “Amy told me you came home last night looking distressed.”

  Why do you care?

  I said nothing.

  “I’ve been made aware that Constable Barnes is now at home,” he said. “He’s doing much better. He doesn’t remember much, I’m afraid. But the force is not placing any pressure on him until he has fully recovered. If you like you can visit him.”

  I nodded.

  ***

  Ed Burrows stormed into the office. He was smiling from end-to-end. “We have it!” he said.

  He placed a small navy-blue tray with a dozen square white tablets in front of her. Ms. Zee leaned over to pick one up when Burrows stopped her.

  “Not with your fingers,” he said, handing her a small instrument that looked like a tweezer.

  She plucked one up and brought it close to her. Her hand trembled at the thought of finally holding Nex.

  Burrows spoke, “This is our finest batch. The ingredients acted positively to the process. I feel we should have compliance.” Ms. Zee knew that meant the drug would give the result they required. “But we do need to test it. Until then we cannot be one-hundred percent certain.” What that meant was they needed a guinea pig, someone who would voluntarily or—involuntarily—test the drug.

  She thought about Joey. With a little persistence he would have been popping down the tablets like M&Ms. But he was no longer available. It then suddenly dawned on her, Regent Park.

  “I’ll send Martin,” she said. “No—wait. I’ll go.” She wanted to personally see Marcus’ face when he saw she had the drug.

  ***

  In Thorncliffe Park searching for a parking place, I wished I had my parking enforcement cruiser. I could have parked anywhere.

  A purplish van exited a spot and I immediately took it. I went up the elevators to the fifteenth floor. I found Barnes’ apartment and knocked.

  A pretty girl, in her early twenties, answered the door.

  “Hi,” I said. “My name is Jon Rupret…”

  “Yes, Michael mentioned you were coming,” she said. “Come in.”

  I went in and the smell of something cooking penetrated my nostrils.

  “Michael is in the bedroom.” She led me down the hall and into the room.

  I found Michael Barnes propped up in bed watching TV. He looked up and a smile crossed his face.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “Better than you,” I said.

  “Have a seat.�
�

  I sat on the single chair opposite the bed.

  The girl behind me said, “Michael, can I get you anything?”

  “No, honey, I’m fine,” he said and she went away.

  He leaned over to me and whispered, “So what do you think of her? She nice?”

  She seemed polite and was very pretty. “Sure,” I said.

  His smile widened. “My mom told me she was at the hospital every day. She was at my bedside hoping and praying for my recovery. I didn’t realize it but I love her so much.” He faced the television and waited for the commercials to come. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “That’s great,” I said. I paused and then said, “I’m sorry about what happened that night.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “You know what’s strange? I don’t remember much.”

  “Yeah, Beadsworth told me.”

  “But you know what?” he said glancing back to the TV. “I do remember going there with you but I don’t remember anything after that except for…” he trailed off.

  “Except for what?” I asked trying to get his attention.

  “Uh…yeah. Except once in a while I see a bald head.”

  “Bald head?”

  “A big shiny bald head. I don’t know why.”

  “Is there a face attached to it?”

  “I hope so. But I don’t see it. It’s blurred.” He shut his eyes and then opened them. “At the hospital I was on some heavy-duty drugs and I got these funky dreams where I’m at the House of Jam—but, it’s not really the House of Jam but a weird, psychedelic kind of club. I’m either with you or my partner, Carlos, or sometimes even with Detective Garnett.”

  “That’s not a dream. That’s a nightmare.”

  “But every time it’s like this bald head is coming after me. Chasing me.”

  “Does it catch you?” I said, fishing for some clue.

  “I don’t know—I guess so.”

  His mind was going back to the TV.

  I had decided it was time to go, when he said, “What happened to RACE? Did you guys catch them? Carlos never talks about them.”

  I didn’t know where to begin. Operation Anti-RACE was no longer operational and our main witness was dead. For all we knew, Nex was already out on the streets. But I couldn’t tell him all this. Not in his condition.