by Mike Knowles
“And why is that, Friday?”
“Because you’re scary.”
Irene put her hands on her hips. “I’m scary?”
Jones leaned back in his chair. “You didn’t know? I thought that was what you were going for.”
Irene looked at the wall. “I’m not scary. I’m really not. This isn’t me at all. It’s just what I am when I’m with him.”
Jones opened a drawer and extended a tissue to Irene. She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “I spent so long without him in my life. I learned how to do everything without him. I got to where I am today all by myself, and then, poof, he is suddenly there again. He’s just back in my life, and I’m responsible for him because someone has to be. Do you know how frustrating that is? He should have been the one taking care of me, not the other way around.”
“Sometimes prison punishes families more than it punishes the inmates.”
Irene’s head swung toward Jones. “How did you find out about that?”
“The other residents told me.”
“So everyone knows,” Irene said. “Great. Just great.”
Jones shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I get the impression that your father is kind of a rock star at the retirement home.”
Irene shook her head. “How nice for him.”
“They also told me about your father’s girlfriend.”
Irene’s eyebrow rose again. “What did they say?”
“Let’s just say your father might be a convicted felon, but his girlfriend seems to be the real thief.”
“Excuse me?”
“Her name is Charlene, and she seems to be something of a local attraction. She dates a lot of men and then usually tires of them when they run out of money.”
Irene spoke through her teeth. “My father doesn’t have any money. I have money.”
“Willy has a credit card, so he technically has his own money.”
“I hate when people call him that. His name is William.”
“No one calls him that but you.”
Irene crossed her arms and telegraphed her displeasure. “You knew all this and you didn’t say anything?”
Jones nodded. “I learned most of it after you dismissed me.”
“And you didn’t think I should know?”
“I wasn’t sure whose side I was on.”
Irene put two hands on the desk. “Because I’m scary.”
Jones looked at the hands. “Also because I thought he would be back by now.”
Irene lifted her hands and ran them through her hair. “God, I am so done with people making me out to be the bad guy.” She pointed at Jones with a dark red fingernail. “You know what kind of bad guy I am? The kind who pays his rent. The kind who makes sure he has nice clothes. The kind who makes sure he has spending money. That’s the kind of terrible person I am. I am also the only one who seems to care that my father is gone at all.” Irene picked up her pen and quickly scribbled in the rest of the details on the face of the cheque. “He doesn’t want me around and neither do you, and that is fine because I am done with this shit. I am done.” She tore the paper free and slapped it on the desk. “Do whatever it is you do and call me when you find him.”
Jones watched Irene gather her things and waited for her to slam the door behind her before picking up his phone. He retrieved the photo he had taken of William Greene’s credit card bill and called the one eight hundred number typed in large bold font at the top of the page. It took him eight minutes to traverse the automated receptionists maze and to outlast the instrumental Springsteen tracks meant to turn away all but the most determined callers. Eventually, Jones was greeted by Brian and told that his call might be monitored for quality assurance.
“Good morning, Brian. I seem to have misplaced my credit card.”
Brian gave every indication that he was sad to hear that William’s card had gone missing and he pledged to do everything he could to rectify the situation. Brian asked a few questions to confirm Jones was who he was pretending to be. The bill in his hand and the information Irene had given him was enough to pass for William Greene.
“Mr. Greene, is there any reason to believe that your card may have been stolen?”
“I would hate to think that someone had taken it,” Jones said. “But it is possible. I live in a retirement community, so there are many people in and out of my apartment every day.”
“I see,” Brian said. “Well, I can pull up your information if you just give me a moment.”
“That would be wonderful, Brian.”
Brian stopped typing just long enough to say, “It’s no problem.”
“I’m just so embarrassed. It’s a new card and I tried to be careful with it. I remember having it last week,” he said. “I know that much.”
“Let’s see. I have several charges attributed to a hotel in Niagara Falls. There are also charges to the Fallsview Casino.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Hilton.”
“I didn’t stay at the Hilton.”
“And what about the charges to the Fallsview Casino?”
“The only gambling I do is a regular card game with some of my neighbours.”
“Do you remember the last charge you made?”
“Like I said, it would have been no more than a week ago and it would have been in Toronto.”
“So the dinner at TOCA was you?”
Jones knew the restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton. Willy definitely had style. “Yes, Brian. I had dinner there.”
“I also have charges to a gas station in Toronto six days ago.”
“That was also me,” Jones said.
Brian said, “Hmm. It is likely that is where your card was either lost or compromised because the charges in Niagara Falls come after that. Well, I can flag those charges and cancel the card as well. You should receive a new card in the mail within the next seven days.”
Jones thanked Brian for his help and ended the call as he stepped outside and locked the office door. He got back into the Jeep and drove straight for the highway. The meeting with Scopes was in a few hours, but Jones wasn’t thinking about the sit-down with the detective; he was thinking about what would happen after the meeting—after the cop realized that Jones wasn’t going to show. The Falls wouldn’t be the worst place to be when Scopes set the dogs after him.
22
It took Jones almost two hours to get to the Hilton. He spoke with a young kid working the desk and persuaded him, with two twenties, to tell him which room William Greene was in. Jones checked the room, but no one answered the door. He spent some time examining the automated lock and after he came to the conclusion that he had no chance of bypassing it with anything more subtle than his right foot, he turned his back on the room and went back to the Jeep.
Jones still had the picture of Willy stored on his phone. Irene’s plan to paper the streets with flyers would have never worked. For one thing, William Greene wasn’t even in the city; for another, the man in the picture looked nothing like the real William Greene. The man sitting at the poker table on the other side of the room was much older and thinner than the man in the picture on Jones’ phone. The name on the flyer would have been wrong too. Jones could tell just by looking at the man that he was no William. The eighty-year-old retirement home resident might have been William Greene to his daughter, but the man in the tailored suit casually flicking chips toward the dealer was Willy Greene.
There were three other men seated at the table; their sweatpants and the way the freely bantered back and forth made Jones think they were regulars at the casino. Willy, leaning back in his chair in an expensive looking suit and what looked like alligator shoes, was disinterested in the conversation. He watched the cards as they were turned up by the dealer and never consulted his hand to determine how they helped or hurt his chances. When it came time to bet,
Willy picked up a stack of chips without a glance and tossed them into the centre of the table. He won and folded with the same sly smirk on his face. Things got interesting on the seventh hand. Willy showed no signs of interest until the river card was placed on the table. Two players tossed in chips and the third made a joke that died in his throat when he saw Willy slide everything he had toward the centre of the table. The game had changed to business and the other players all suddenly forgot they were in dirty sweatpants. If Willy minded the hard stares, Jones couldn’t see it. Only one of the men decided to stay in the game and show his cards. Willy smiled at the challenge and then presented a flush that beat the man’s two pair. The regulars seemed to take Willy’s win as a slight and they dropped the banter. The three men were suddenly united and out to bleed Willy of every piece of plastic in front of him. After an hour, the three men stood and left behind everything they had shown up with. One of the regulars flipped Willy off before he turned and walked away. Willy laughed at the finger and then tipped the dealer with enough chips to raise her eyebrows.
Jones caught up to Willy an hour later at the bar. Willy glanced at Jones on the next stool and took a sip of the single malt he had been getting to know. “I was wondering when you’d finally make your move.”
“Are those alligator shoes?” Jones asked.
Willy smiled. “They are indeed gators.” He looked down and appraised his loafers. “It’s been too long since I had proper shoes.”
“The suit is nice,” Jones said.
Willy shrugged. “Not nice enough, but it’s a start. You’re not with the casino. If they wanted to watch me, they would just use the cameras.”
“I’m not with the casino.”
“You’re not a cop either. They don’t hire amputees.”
Jones laughed. “Not a cop.”
“So what are you?”
“Private investigator.”
Willy glanced a Jones and snorted. “Bullshit.”
“I get that a lot. Mostly it’s taking pictures and watching eighty-year-old ex-cons gamble.”
“Irene put you up to this?”
Jones nodded.
“I’m surprised she cares.”
“You’re her father,” Jones said.
“She calls me William.”
“Sounds like her,” Jones said.
“What does she want?”
“She wants me to bring you home.”
Willy took another sip and swirled what was left in the glass. “How’d you find me here?”
“Credit card,” Jones said. “I found a bill in your apartment.”
Willy put down the glass. “So it’s no coincidence my card was declined.” He turned and looked Jones in the face. “What did she tell you? That I’m some old man who can’t take care of himself?”
“Those weren’t her words,” Jones said.
“But that’s what she’s thinking.”
Jones shrugged. “She was worried about you. Then she found out about the credit card and Charlene.”
“Charlene?”
“Your poker buddies told me that she has a habit of hanging around until the money runs out.”
Willy thought that was funny. “You mean she’s a bad girl. The kind your mother warned you about?”
“Sure.”
Willy laughed again. “So you think I’m some fogey caught up in a honey trap. Did my poker buddies happen to mention that Charlene has a car?”
“They didn’t.”
“They wouldn’t. That’s because they can only think about what they would do with a woman like Charlene. They have no idea what a man like me might do.”
“And what did you do?”
Willy smiled and Jones saw two rows of large white teeth. “I got her to let me drive her car to a nice hotel. I took her out for an expensive dinner, and then we hit the town and had some real fun.”
“And where is she now, Willy?”
He shrugged. “Probably back home.”
“She didn’t stay with you?”
“Nope. Turns out she wasn’t so bad after all.”
Jones chuckled. “Not like you.”
The smile stayed on Willy’s face, but it wasn’t in his eyes anymore. “You got that right, kid.” Willy signalled to the bartender for another drink. “You want one?”
Jones shook his head.
“You sure? You’re buying.”
“Am I?”
“After that credit card stunt you pulled, absolutely.”
“I saw you play remember? You’ve got cash.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Willy said. “It’s the principle. Besides, you don’t want to risk causing a scene in this nice place, do ya?”
Jones did a poor job hiding his grin. “You’re eighty. I don’t think anyone’s worried about you causing a scene.”
Willy started to say something and then stopped himself. He lifted the glass and Jones heard the ice tinkle as he tilted it. Jones let the old con enjoy his drink and decided he would pay for it. It was the least he could do. Willy put the glass down on the table and broke one of the melted ice cubes between his teeth. Jones looked over at the older man beside him and saw Willy staring back. As soon as Jones met his eyes, Willy tossed the heavy lowball glass up into the air. Jones watched the glass as it went into the air and he instinctively extended his hands to catch it before it shattered on the polished bar. It was about this time that he realized his mistake; the realization wasn’t fast enough to allow him to prepare for the elbow already most of the way toward his nose.
The impact made a sharp crack that originated from inside Jones’ face and his vision immediately blurred with tears. The elbow was a hell of a surprise and meant to disorient him long enough for Willy to set up something more unpleasant. It was a good plan and it would have worked if Jones’ nose hadn’t already been broken four times before. Jones had been here before, and he knew what to do. He ignored the nose as he stepped off the stool and brought his hand up. His right hand brushed his eyes on its way to a position next to his jaw. The wipe was enough to clear his vision and he swung his head back and forth and got a second surprise. Jones had expected to see Willy coming at him, but the old man was still seated on the stool and he was holding the glass in his hand—he had managed to catch it after he broke Jones’ nose. Willy’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar told Jones that he thought the whole thing was pretty funny; at least, he did until Jones kicked the stool out from under him. Willy tried to use the two stools on either side of him to break his fall, but it didn’t work. He went down with a grunt followed by a loud clatter from the toppled stools.
Jones waited for the old man to untangle himself, but Willy didn’t move. Jones noticed the thin pale shin exposed by a pant leg that had ridden up and immediately regretted what he had done. Jones bent to start clearing the stools away and his head caught the heavy whiskey glass Willy had somehow managed to hold onto. The glass shattered against Jones’ skull and put stars in his eyes.
Willy wrestled his way out of the stools and pulled himself to his feet using the bar for support. Jones braced himself against the bar and ran his hand through his hair; it came away red. Jones cursed and started toward the old man while the bartender yelled, “Hey,” again and again from the safety of his spot on the other side of the counter.
Willy jabbed and then stepped in with a mean hook meant for Jones’ chin; neither punch landed. Jones swatted the jab away and stepped inside the arc of the hook, leading with his forehead. The headbutt sent Willy stumbling back and one of the upended stools caught his leg and sent him back to the floor. Jones took a fistful of Willy’s hair and was about to do something mean when two strong arms wrapped around his neck. Jones was forced to let go of Willy as a second security guard took hold of him and dragged him away. Jones stopped resisting and the guards shoved him toward a door mar
ked exit. They forced Jones through the door and shoved him back a few feet. When they saw that Jones had no intention of rushing at them, they turned their backs and went back inside. The door opened again a second later and the security guard who had first grabbed Jones popped his head out. “We called the cops, asshole. You should get out of here before they show.”
Jones watched the door close and then took a scan of the alley. There were two green Dumpsters and the pavement bore signs of the sloppy job the garbage truck did the last time it had emptied them out. The door that he had been forced out of had no handle and there was no intercom. Jones wasn’t getting back inside. The security guards read the situation like anyone else would have and assumed that a drunk asshole attacked an old man. Willy was probably getting some first aid while the staff waited for an ambulance to arrive. Jones looked up and down the alley trying to gauge the fastest way back to his Jeep so he could follow the ambulance to whichever hospital it took Willy to. He settled on going left and took two steps in that direction when the door opened again. The guard who had shoved Jones out was holding Willy by the torso while the other guard held one of the old man’s legs. Willy’s other foot was pushing against the guard’s face.
The guard looked up and saw Jones still standing there. “What are you still doing here? We gave you a pass because we know what a pain this asshole is.”
“Why don’t you put me down, Marty, and try saying that to my face?”
“Fuck you, Willy. Don’t come back inside. If you do, we’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Willy thought that was funny, and he looked like he had something to say about it, but he suddenly realized that Marty and his partner had cleared the door and were starting to swing Willy’s body back and forth. They threw the old man into the air and he landed five feet away on the pavement.
Willy rolled onto his back and stared at the sky as the guards went back inside and slammed the door. When he saw Jones in his line of sight, he smiled and said, “Still think I can’t cause a scene?”
Jones took a fistful of the man’s jacket and pulled him to his feet. “Did you do all of that because I called you old?”