Double Shot of Scotch

by Cleveland, Peter

  “Beef tenderloin, please.”

  “How would you like it done?” Cathy asked.

  “Medium rare.” Dozer said in a trance-like tone.

  “Very well,” she said, “thank you. Shouldn’t be too long.”

  With that she walked away slowly, for Dozer’s benefit, St. James was sure; and Dozer took full advantage of the view. His eyes didn’t return to the table until Cathy was well out of sight.

  St. James grinned.

  “If I can persuade Dozer to rejoin the meeting, we’ll proceed.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m here,” he said as if St. James was nagging.

  “Then there’s Malachi Jensen. He’ll have to be interviewed a second time. I’ll do that when we return from England.

  “Gyberson and The Carstairs Group need to be chased down. Fargo police put an APB and BOLO on Gyberson as suspect one for Stevens’s murder. He’s also on an FBI wanted list. We’ll be there when he’s picked up. Dozer, you’re the best man for this job. I’m told he’s a smaller man. You’ll intimidate the hell out of him.”

  Smythe squinted, “I know APB stands for All Points Bulletin from cop shows. What’s a BOLO?”

  “BOLO stands for Be On the Lookout,” St. James said as he handed Gyberson’s duplicate file to Dozer. “There’s a list of questions to ask inside.”

  Dozer’s huge hand flipped open the cover. “Gotcha,” he said, as he ran a finger down each page.

  “Dozer, Anna will be with me in England, so I’ll be her guard. I have a friend at Scotland Yard I’ve worked with many times, Inspector David Kingston. He’ll provide whatever protection he can spare while we’re there. That frees you for the Gyberson job and one other I’ll mention in a minute.”

  St. James stopped there. The team had a number of questions, mostly around logistics and communication while he and Anna were in England.

  Dozer was worried about the traps and electronic surveillance equipment at Anna’s apartment while he was doing other things. Someone had to monitor all this.

  “There will be other Frank Longs,” he said. “We have to plan for that.”

  “I agree. What about your brother? Can he handle that while you do other things?” St. James asked.

  “You mean Denzel?”

  “Well, how many brothers do you have?” St. James asked lightheartedly.

  “One,” he said calmly, as if St. James’s question was serious.

  “Is he between jobs?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Can he do the surveillance job?” St. James persisted.

  “With a little training, maybe.”

  “How much training?”

  Dozer looked somewhat distant. “About a day.”

  “Can he be trained before next Tuesday?”

  Anna interrupted.

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Dozer, but why am I feeling uncomfortable with your brother watching my apartment?”

  Dozer turned to Anna. “Well, Anna, it’s like this … you’re not feeling uncomfortable with Denzel. You’re sensing that I’m feeling uncomfortable with Denzel. And that’s making you uncomfortable. You see, Denzel is all right when I’m right there, working alongside him, constantly giving direction.”

  “Dozer,” St. James said abruptly.

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong with Denzel?”

  Dozer hesitated. “It’s … hard to describe.”

  “Dozer,” St. James said firmly, “we don’t have all night.”

  “Denzel’s slow,” Dozer finally blurted. “I’m embarrassed by it. I shouldn’t be, I know. But I am.”

  Dozer looked down at his place setting like a child about to be scolded.

  St. James momentarily looked at the ceiling, debating how to get out of this without ruining the evening. Anna looked about to tear up. Smythe didn’t know what to say or where to look, so he stared at the painting on the far wall.

  “Look, Dozer, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No way you could have known, man” he said softly. “I never talked about it. I was ashamed of him all through childhood. We were teenagers before I fully understood his disability. Then I found myself protecting him from bullies. Kids made fun of him and pushed him around. Now I’m ashamed of myself for being ashamed of him.”

  St. James considered this as he stared at the artwork along with Smythe.

  “Then you owe him a great debt,” St. James said finally.

  Dozer shot St. James a sharp look. “What do you mean I owe him a great debt?” he said, as if St. James meant to insult.

  “One of your greatest gifts is you don’t tolerate bullies; it’s burned into your DNA from protecting Denzel. His younger years made you a better person.

  “Lack of tolerance for bullies and never giving up on a case is why you are a superb detective, what makes you an exceptional person, and why you have my most prized possession.”

  “What’s that?” Dozer said, now sounding more confused than annoyed.

  “My everlasting respect! Your brother has a job with me on this case. Train him. You’re the best at what you do. Teach him. Give him a chance. We all have limitations. Some more than others.”

  Anna smiled, seemingly proud of St. James’s handling of the situation.

  Dozer’s face was strained.

  Cathy arrived with appetizers, the second Pinot Grigio for Anna and Cabernet for Smythe, but stopped suddenly when she saw everyone’s faces. Her smile faded.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “When I left everyone was so happy, poking fun at one another.”

  Suddenly realizing she’d crossed the server–customer line, she said, “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. I misspoke.”

  St. James raised his hand in Cathy’s direction.

  “Don’t worry, Cathy. This is a team-building night. You’ve done nothing wrong,” he consoled.

  Cathy’s eyes moved rapidly from face to face as if to ask what kind of team building exercise could make people this sad.

  Cathy struggled to refocus.

  “Would you like wine with your meal?” she said finally.

  St. James’s eyes surveyed the table.

  “Red or white?” he asked.

  Everyone’s lack of composure left St. James’s question floating out there, unanswered.

  St. James turned to Cathy.

  “Give me a second if you would, Cathy.”

  “Of course.”

  St. James opened the wine list.

  “We’ll have a bottle of each to start. Then we’ll see where the evening takes us.”

  “Wise approach, Mr. St. James,” Cathy said with a forced smile.

  “For the white, we’ll have a bottle of Ronco del Gelso Pinot Grigio 2007. For red, the Talenti Rosso di Montalcino 2008.”

  “Both excellent choices, sir. When I return with the wine, I’ll take orders for the main course.”

  “Thank you, Cathy,” St. James said soberly.

  With that, she whisked herself away toward the bar.

  Dozer’s eyes didn’t follow her this time. He was pensive, reflecting on what had just happened.

  When everyone had more or less restored themselves, they nibbled away at their appetizers. The room was quiet, and St. James decided to leave it that way, let someone else break the silence. Surprisingly, it was Dozer who took the plunge.

  “What you said about me owing Denzel: you’re right, Hamilton. I have to appreciate Denzel for who he is, and for what he’s capable of being, not dwell on what he can’t do. I’m afraid I’ve been looking at this through childhood eyes. Immature ones. I have skills to grow him, more than I have wanted to up to now.”

  “That’s the spirit, Dozer!” St. James said with a fist pump. “Think of it this way: there are jobs demanding consistent and reliable behaviour that are mind-numbingly boring, because they’re repetitive. Denzel might be very good at them. Once he learns what to do, he can just repeat the steps, over and over. Same routine every day.
Repetition brings familiarity. Familiarity brings comfort. He’s not likely to drop the ball. You and I would, because we’re used to greater challenges. Our minds would wander all over the place just to keep entertained. We’d lose focus on what we’re supposed to do, maybe miss something important.”

  “Thanks for opening my eyes, Hamilton. I’m grateful to have you as both a client and a friend. I’m also grateful for you giving Denzel a chance.”

  St. James straightened in his chair and lightheartedly wagged a finger in Dozer’s direction.

  “Let’s be clear. I’ll pay a fair wage for a fair day’s work. He’ll earn his keep, albeit with your training. His confidence will grow, hopefully allowing him to do more jobs down the road.”

  “I believe that too, Hamilton.”

  The appetizers were finished in silence.

  Cathy returned with two bottles of wine and poured each goblet according to preferences.

  “Now, what would everyone like for the main course?”

  Dozer said, “I’ll have the New York striploin, medium rare, sautéed mushrooms and onions, with a baked potato.”

  Cathy scribbled the choice.

  Cathy and Dozer were back to smiling at one another.

  Anna followed. “Maple-glazed salmon, pink in the centre, please.”

  “Very well.”

  Cathy stared at Smythe.

  “I’ll try the macadamia-crusted halibut.”

  “And for you, Mr. St. James?”

  “King crab, thanks Cathy.”

  Cathy finished scribbling the selections and hurried off.

  St. James sipped wine and returned to the agenda.

  “As you know, Samuel Franklin flew to Toronto from JFK on September 20. When Spencer and I questioned Long, I specifically asked what city his employer lived in. He said Toronto. Spencer said anyone could fly in, make an arrangement with Long, and then fly out. Long might have just assumed he lived in Toronto. Either way I have never been threatened by anyone from Toronto, and Samuel Franklin doesn’t have a motive, at least not yet.

  “Dozer, this is the second assignment I have for you. Spencer asked Toronto police to find Franklin and bring him in for questioning to see what can be learned about Stevens, the money, and his relationship with Gyberson. I’d like you to work with them. When they find Franklin, you’ll have a crack at him too. Here are some notes and questions.”

  St. James handed Dozer a file, and Dozer took a few moments to scan its contents.

  “Easy enough. I have no questions,” he said conclusively.

  “Good. That’s all I have on Stevens,” St. James said. “Now, if there are no questions, we’ll turn to CISI.”

  No one spoke.

  “As you know, I started the investigation this week. Anna and I leave for England this Tuesday to investigate their two largest fish plants. There was a huge inventory write-up last fiscal year, and these two plants account for more than 50% of the adjustment. No one on the board really understands the write-up. That’s the crux of the case: to find out what happened with inventory and if wrongdoing was involved.”

  Smythe interrupted. “Didn’t this all begin with the board not trusting the CEO?”

  “Yes. But when I met Anderson one-on-one he had inventory concerns too. And he was more civil with me than he had been earlier. I may have misjudged him at first. I believe his initial behaviour was driven by frustration with the board showing no appreciation for the company’s financial success. Most likely he saw me as a vote of non-confidence by the board, a threat to his position.”

  “Well maybe he’ll become an ally for you, Hamilton,” Dozer said.

  “Good point, Dozer,” said Anna.

  Smythe nodded in agreement.

  St. James looked reflective. “Possible, I guess. We’ll see what happens.”

  The conversation drifted from business to chatter about hockey teams and politics until Cathy returned with the main courses.

  St. James ordered more wine.

  St. James could see Dozer wasn’t quite over outing Denzel’s handicap. But surely Dozer would feel better in the long run. Keeping it to himself for all this time must have been stressful. Conflicting feelings of embarrassment and guilt isn’t healthy for anyone, even if they are tough as nails.

  They said goodnight around 8:30 and went their separate ways. St. James and Anna strolled back to 700 Sussex, poured a glass of Bailey’s Irish Cream on the rocks each, and sat quietly on the living room chesterfield.

  “That was a helluva meeting, Hamilton,” Anna said as she popped off her shoes and put her feet down on the large glass coffee table. “One minute we’re laughing, the next we’re close to tears. Can’t imagine what’s going through Cathy’s mind.”

  St. James said, “I feel sorry for Dozer, keeping Denzel’s condition to himself all this time. Must have been difficult.”

  “Would eat him up inside. I was proud of how you handled the situation, though, linking Dozer’s hatred of bullies to defending Denzel. If you hadn’t done that, I’m not sure what would have happened.”

  He nodded.

  “You didn’t have to give Denzel a job either. Very generous.”

  “It’s the least I could do for a man who’s saved my life on more than one occasion.”

  Anna leaned over and kissed him.

  “You’re wonderful, Hamilton,” she said softly.

  He returned the kiss. “So are you. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

  Suddenly Anna pulled back, and St. James sensed a bout of panic coming.

  “Hamilton, we’re going to England in a couple of days!”

  He chuckled.

  “I know, Anna. I’m the one who invited you, remember?”

  “I don’t mean it like that, silly. I mean I don’t have much time to get ready!”

  “We won’t be visiting the Queen. You don’t need much.”

  Anna’s panic turned to excitement, her words gathering speed as she spoke. “I have to get clothes from the apartment tomorrow, and my suitcase, and cosmetics. Do I have enough of everything? There’s so much to think about!”

  Chapter 39

  Saturday morning St. James woke to the sound of blaring car horns and yelling rising from the street. Anna was asleep. He hauled on clothes, shuffled over to the window, and discovered a three-car pileup on Sussex; a black limousine, a red sedan, and a blue half-ton pickup. The pickup’s driver was doing most of the yelling. From what St. James could make out he was blaming the limo driver for hitting the sedan and driving it into his tailgate. The tailgate was sprung, and cabbage and turnips were rolling around the street. Most likely the pickup was headed for a market stall to sell vegetables. Losing time and inventory more or less accounted for his irritable state. The sight of two uniformed policemen chasing turnips rolling down Sussex made St. James laugh.

  He went into the kitchen and fumbled with the Keurig, managing to fill it with water and pop in a Colombian ground pod, then fetched the morning paper.

  When the coffee had fully percolated he settled on an island stool to read the newspaper.

  The phone rang. Call display said Dozer.

  “Hamilton, thank you again for last night, for making me see more clearly.”

  “Only too happy to help,” St. James said nonchalantly.

  “I’ve worked it out.”

  “Worked what out?”

  “Denzel’s training.”

  “That’s wonderful, Dozer. How will you do it?”

  “I was up at six this morning thinking it through, writing down every step in detail. Times to check Anna’s apartment, the number and locations of traps, what to do if someone’s caught, your telephone numbers, plus Detective Spencer’s and the hospital’s. I laid out every step from start to finish with little boxes to check after he completes each one.”

  “You mean like airport washrooms?”

  Dozer was silent for a beat. “Huh?”

  “You know. Charts on the back of washroom doors showing
when they were serviced last, little boxes ticked for each action completed, and the attendant’s initials proving he was there.”

  Again silence.

  “Whatever, man … Whatever. I don’t go in there to read doors.”

  St. James shrugged at the phone.

  “Next team meeting, you bring Denzel. All team members are equal.”

  “I’ll have to think about that. I have to grow into this, Hamilton. I can’t be pushed, man.”

  “Fair enough,” St. James conceded. “I’ll take Anna to her apartment this morning to gather things for England. After that I thought we’d drive to Wakefield, let her wander through some shops. Maybe grab lunch at the Wakefield Mill. I know Anna would feel better if you were with us. Can you rent a car?”

  “No problem. What time?”

  “Hmm. We’ll need two hours or so to get ready. How about 10:15?”

  “Yeah, that gives me enough time,” he said confidently. “I’ll call you from the rental at 10:15.”

  “Good enough,” St. James said and disconnected.

  Anna yelled from the bedroom. “Any coffee?”

  “Make one for you in a jiffy.”

  “Would you be a dear and bring it to me before I shower?”

  “Right there, honey,” he yelled.

  St. James repeated the Keurig procedure, placed Anna’s coffee on the dresser, and kissed her good morning.

  “What was that racket I heard earlier?” she said with a yawn.

  “Fender-bender on Sussex. A farmer’s half-ton hit from behind; he lost cabbage and turnip all over the street.”

  “Oh? And who was on the phone?”

  “Dozer. He called to tell me how he was going to train Denzel before we go to England.”

  Anna sat up to drink her coffee. “How’d he sound?”

  “Like a man who knows he has to change.”

  “Hmm.” Anna nodded. “Hope he and Denzel will be okay.”

  “If I know Dozer, he’ll figure it out. He always does the right thing, in the end.”

  “In the end? What do you mean?” Anna asked.

  St. James shrugged. “Sometimes he needs time to process things. Just the way he is.”

  Anna nodded.

  St. James said, “I asked him to rent a car to shadow us today. I told him we’d be ready by 10:15. Hope that’s okay with you.”