Green Eyed Burn
Page 15
John remained where he was. “You’re evicting me? Have I overstayed my welcome?”
St. James lit up a cigarette. “I’m afraid there has been an incident.”
A dark cloud passed over John’s thoughts. “What?”
“I returned as soon as I heard.”
“Heard what?” John asked, his voice caught.
“We lost Cathy Wildman last night.”
John choked. He stepped backward and fell into a kitchen chair. “What, what happened?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Riel. I kno—”
”What happened?” John snapped.
The older woman looked at Burton, then back at John. “The report is still sketchy, but from what I understand there was some sort of mechanical error.”
“Mechanical error?” John repeated.
“Her chartered small plane went down.” St. James blew smoke from her nose. “Both her and the pilot were killed instantly.”
His body felt numb. No, no... not again! No not again!
“The incident will certainly be investigated.”
“Investigated?” John’s instincts took over. “Why? What do you suspect?”
“Calm yourself Mr. Riel,” she took another drag on her cigarette. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you. I wasn’t sure if you knew or not. It was on the evening news.” St. James gestured around, blowing out a ring of smoke.
“But, of course there’s no television in here.”
John lowered his head and forced himself to focus. He got the impression that St. James enjoyed handing out bad news. “With all that she has been through. After everything we,” he slumped in the chair, “We....” No... it can’t... not again...
“I know. It’s senseless,” St. James said flatly. “With Officer Wildman’s sudden demise any connection you had with the investigation is severed.”
John was bewildered, “What?”
St. James stared at him through cold eyes. “You have two hours to vacate the apartment.”
“I-what?”
143
DAVID A. LLOYD
“I am sorry Mr. Riel,” St. James said. She spotted the lap-top and silently cursed the doctor. “There will be an officer outside the door if you need anything.”
John looked at her, “Could I please have a moment.”
“I understand,” she said.
Do you really?
St. James stood and left the apartment.
Burton watched her leave then looked at John. “I’m sorry,” he said and closed the door behind him.
Outside the window a storm front swelled across the evening sky like a blistering omen.
*****
John did not know how long he stood there, but when he opened his eyes again the man with the shovel was gone. John knelt down by the head stone. WILDMAN, CATHERINE SOPHIA
1989 - 2020
“Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche”
John Riel removed the red rose from the lapel of his overcoat and placed it on the fresh dirt, “G—” he choked back the words as he remembered Catherine’s wish, Please, never say goodbye. I... I’ve had too many, and looked skyward. The rain still pelted down but the clouds were reluctantly breaking up. Shards of gold fought across the heavens as the sun forced through the gray.
John stood and found Burton standing a meter behind him.
“Mr. Riel.”
“Lieutenant.”
“Director St. James would like to see you in her car. She has some papers for you to sign.”
“Fine.”
John followed Burton to a black Lincoln Continental parked at the cemetery gate. The door opened and John climbed in.
“My condolences Mr. Riel,” St. James said as John sat down. “I realize that you and Officer Wildman did not know each other for a long time, but traumatic emotional experience like the one you shared does bring people 144
GREEN-EYED BURN
together. However, in the long run those relationships seldom work out.”
Never so badly had John wanted to squish someone’s head than right then and there.
Burton closed the door behind John then slid behind the steering wheel.
“Ottawa has approved your compensation,” St. James said and handed John a sizable check. “I also have some papers for you to sign.”
“Like what?”
St. James handed him a document, “This says that you are bound by the Official Secrets Act. Although Special Operations is not a clandestine operation, the location of the offices you visited do not officially exist.”
“I see.”
“This also prohibits you from suing the Government of Canada for damages caused by this incident.”
“I wasn’t about to.”
“Or any unforeseen incidents related to this incident.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” John said.
“Just a routine statement,” St. James said and produced a pen. Burton watched the exchange in the rear view mirror.
John took his time and examined the document. Satisfied, he signed and handed it back, “Anything else?”
St. James slid the papers into her briefcase. “Yes. We found your van.”
“Where was it?”
“They stored it in a warehouse in Ajax, along with a cruiser the OPP
reported missing. I’m afraid your van was a total write off. It you leave an address we’ll have what was left of your equipment sent to you.”
“You’re so kind,” John replied.
St. James glanced at Burton, who asked, “What are your plans now?”
John was silent for a long moment, then said, “I think I’m going to finish something I started long ago.”
Then, without another word, John left the car and strolled back to his rent-a-wreck. Along the way he felt the warmth of the sun contrast with the icy stabs of rain.
Thank you Catherine, thank you for everything.
John started up the car and drove off without looking back.
*****
Burton turned and faced St. James, “Why didn’t you tell him?”
145
DAVID A. LLOYD
“He had no need to know Lieutenant.”
“No need to know that Smyles and DeTully escaped from the idiots that the American State Department send? What about Wildman’s mystery woman? We have no idea where she is or what she knows,” Burton snapped. His voice bordered on rage. “I think he has a right to know he’s still in danger.”
“Something you want to get off your chest, Lieutenant?” St. James asked apathetically.
“Yes ma’am,” Burton said. It was time to take a stand. “Smyles is a psychopath. You read Dr. Yen-ping’s report. There’s no telling what he or DeTully are going to do. He tried to kill Riel once. He might try again.”
“Relax Lieutenant.” St. James smiled wickedly. “Everything’s under control.”
146
22
“Yes... yes... yes... Do it like I said! Yes right there! Ohhhhhh! Yeah!”
Lydia cried.
Kieran Crudup grunted as his video phone chirped for his attention. He switched the video wall from Lydia’s image to the face of a man he did not want to see. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “Yes? What is it?” After a few minutes of heated conversation, Crudup broke the connection. “Damn.”
Why the hell did I ever throw in with these psycho freaks. Oh yeah, the money. He fingered his remote and the image on the screen switched back to Lydia, dressed from head to toe in back leather, dominating two blond men. Raising a cat o’ nine tales with one hand, she encircled her hand around one of the men’s thick shaft and pumped him brutally. The second man was on his hands and knees with a red gag ball in his mouth.
“I guess I better tell her,” he said and rubbed a few of his chins. “In a moment,” Crudup thumbed up the volume.
“Yes!” she screamed. “Now!”
*****
Fat knuckles rapped on the door.
&
nbsp; “Come.”
Crudup entered, crossed to the middle of the room and faced Lydia. She was still in her leather gear and sprawled sideways across the bed, smoking a cigarette. The pretty boys were gone.
“What do you want Crudup?”
“I just received a phone call.” His eyes swept across her breasts. “You’ll 147
DAVID A. LLOYD
never guess from who.”
Lydia blew a stream of smoke from her nostrils. “True, ‘cause you’re going to tell me and eyes up,” she said.
Crudup straightened up. “Smyles.”
Lydia rolled over and crushed out her smoke on the night table. “Christ.”
She slid off the bed and started to pace. “Where is he?”
“Windsor,” Crudup said and fell into step with her. “My private helicopter is on its way to pick him and DeTully up in. He said he has a job for you. Something about real estate.”
“Damn. Why now?” she whispered under her breath.
“What?” Crudup asked.
“Nothing. Forget it.” Lydia noticed him mirroring her actions. She stopped and placed her hands on her shapely hips. “Is that all?”
Crudup realized what he was doing. “Yes,” he said, regaining his composure.
“Good. Now get the hell out.”
Crudup shuffled toward the door, “Do you want me to send someone in?”
he asked opening it.
“No.”
The fat man closed the door behind him. “Tart,” he whispered and wandered back to his office.
Wynorski, Crudup’s personal bodyguard, stood outside his office.
“What is it George?” Crudup sighed. For some reason it amused the fat man to refer to Benny “Two Toe” Wynorski as “George.”
“Dhere is zome one to ‘te ya, suh,” the mountainous mouth breather mumbled, opening the door for Crudup.
“Great, just great,” Crudup huffed. “Who?”
“I think he’s referring to me,” said the platinum blond sitting behind Crudup’s desk.
Crudup smiled. Things are starting to look up.
148
23
The Riel Residence
North of Cobourg, Ontario, Canada
19:31 hours 19 August, 2020
When he turned his rent-a-wreck from country road 18 onto the dirt lane, John felt his hands start to shake. He stopped the vehicle and climbed out. The warm sun lowering in the west had cast long snarly shadows though the apple trees lining the way. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and slowly started to walk, as ghosts of the past drifted though his brain. John continued past the trees and approached a structure he had not seen in years. He squeezed the key the Realtor gave him and looked at what had been his home for the first seventeen years of his life. The cobblestones he stood on circled around a wishing well and met at the side of the porch fastened to the end of the caboose. He recalled when his father, a railway man for most of his life, bought the land, the rails, and the three train cars. Rail service in North America was on its last legs and Patrick Richard John Riel knew it was time to get out, but he could not bear to leave without taking a slice of history with him. The caboose rested on its rails parallel with the road, followed by the sleeping car with a tinted glass blister on top and finally the dining car at the end.
Home looked liked it did the day he left.
Ludicrous.
He remembered his father totally rebuilt the three cars on the inside. The 149
DAVID A. LLOYD
caboose acted as an entry way and sitting room. The sleeping car had been entirely gutted and turned into an open living room/dining room combination. A circular iron staircase in the middle lead up to the master bedroom on top covered by the tinted glass blister. The final car was divided into three sections. The first third was an office/workshop area, followed by the washroom and finally the kitchen with a glass breakfast nook set at the end, over-looking the backyard and Lake Ontario twenty kilometers to the south. John froze and stared at the railway cars. He noticed the boards were off the windows and the grass was no longer at his knees. Chimes on the porch jingled softly as a warm breeze drifted though them and gentle laughter sang out as children played in the yard. The spicy aroma of pumpkin pie danced teasingly under his nose.
“No,” John whispered. The childhood ghosts dispersed. The grass was long and the windows were still boarded. He placed the key in the lock and pushed open the door. “For better or worse, I’m home.”
150
24
Nearby
The small black helicopter skimmed across the dark cresting waters.
“Almost there,” the pilot called back to her mystery guests. The one with the hygiene problem grunted a reply.
The Bell 444 Alpha buzzed the village of Gore’s Landing, on the shores of Rice Lake in southern Ontario, before setting down in a farmer field fifty meters from a black limousine parked on the side of country road 18. Keeping their heads low, two figures climbed out and darted across the field as the helicopter took back to the skies. As they approached the limousine the back door swung open and Lydia Miezlaiskis stepped out.
“Gentlemen,” she said loosely.
Raymond Smyles snarled cheerfully, “I’m back.”
“Joy,” Lydia deadpanned and followed them into the limousine. DeTully eyed her long legs as she sat down. “Heh, long time to lay.” He winked.
Lydia covered her knees with the corner of her skirt. “Charming.” She tapped the glass dividing them from the driver. “So? How did you escape?”
Smyles leaned back in his seat as the car started up. “The men the State Department sent were placed there months ago for just such an event.”
Lydia rubbed her chin. “I didn’t know about that.”
“It’s one of many things you don’t know about.” Smyles leaned back and crossed his legs. Lydia noticed his socks did not match.
“Now,” Smyles continued, “it’s show time. I’ve got places to go, things 151
DAVID A. LLOYD
to do, and people to kill.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “How about some answers first.”
Smyles brushed her off. “I see you got my message?” he said, eyeing her yellow blazer.
“Yes. Everything has been set up, but—”
“Good,” Smyles said. “With ‘Twinkle Balls’ Stein spread across a slab with a new orifice in his chest, I’m running the show.”
“Give me a break!” Lydia snapped, “You?”
Smyles’ face hardened as he leaned forward. “You got a problem with that?”
Lydia felt her blood chill. Her eyes quickly glanced at DeTully. He licked his lips and broke wind. She looked back at the ugly man and fought to keep her voice steady as his meaning became crystal clear. “No problem at all.”
“That’s what I thought.” Smyles smiled and leaned back into the leather seats. DeTully scratched the top of his head and began searching for the wet bar.
“Now,” Smyles said and snapped his fingers, “we have two weeks to kill,”—he smiled at his own joke—“before my new market opens up.”
“Two weeks?” Lydia exclaimed. “We can’t sit on that much Ink for that long. Maybe you’ve forgotten but that crap is dangerous.”
“Crudup has it on ice,” Smyles explained. “It’ll hold that long before it goes toxic.”
“Crudup’s a buffoon.”
“Oh, I concur My Sweet, but he does know his shit.”
Lydia inwardly winced at Smyles’ intimateness.
“The hell with Stein’s and Crudup’s obsession with Russia,” the ugly man continued. “I hate the fucking Russians as much as the next red-blooded American, but this is business. Europe is the way to go. There’ll soon be a channel opening in Amsterdam. I’ve already talked to my man in Cali and he’s ready. The Netherlands will become our gateway into the European market.”
“Europe?” Lydia shook her head. “No way. The Viet Chi Triad will eat us alive.”
Smyles grinned. “Na-da. I have a plan to deal with those pricks.”
Lydia pushed on, “That market is sealed. You know how the Viet Chi operate.”
“She’s got a point,” DeTully volunteered. “‘Eat us alive’ is not just a figure of speech with those guys.”
152
GREEN-EYED BURN
“I said I have a plan.” Smyles face hardened. He was now in charge and he was not going to brook any discord with his underlings. “First things first,” he faced Lydia, “Did you get the house and van I wanted?”
“Yes,” Lydia said, “I’ve rented the house down the road from Riel’s and got a van made up with phone company markings.” She found herself smiling.
“Just wait ‘till you see where this guy lives.”
“Yeah, good,” Smyles said.“You have done well, my dear.”
Lydia’s mood darkened.
The dangerous edge returned to his voice. “With his bitch now a stain on the asphalt, Riel should be fairly susceptible to a pretty face.” Smyles pointed at calloused finger in Lydia’s face, “You are going to nail him where he’s the weakest.”
Lydia rubbed her temples. “Lord….”
“Starting tonight you are my weapon.”
“You want him seduced?” Lydia asked, “Why?”
Smyles grinned and his diamond glinted. Lydia hated when he did that,
“Don’t you think you’re woman enough?”
Lydia snarled and slapped Smyles across the face. Smyles was in charge and a ruthless killer, but nobody ever dared question her desirability. A deep smile then slithered across her face as she leaned forward and caressed behind Smyles’ ear with the tip of a long painted nail. The ugly man’s eyes widened as Lydia eased closer and edged her hand along his thigh. When she parted her moist ruby lips and revealed the tip of her tongue, sweat beaded across his brow.
Her tongue brushed his upper lip, “How’s that?” Lydia asked.
“It was good for me,” DeTully said slacked jaw.
Smyles lit a cigarette.
*****
Psalter’s Bar & Eats
Downtown Cobourg, Ontario Canada
23:30 hours 19 August, 2020
The smoke hung thick, like frosted glass. The music was loud and had a back beat that was felt blocks away. The lyrics were repetitive and incomprehensible, but the rhythm kicked and could help you forget, if only 153