The Unlucky

by Jonas Saul

“We found a makeshift grave. There’s at least a dozen other bodies buried behind that house in Orillia. They’re still up there digging. It’s turning into Ontario’s version of the Pickton murders.”

  “Pickton murders?” Sarah asked, glancing at Parkman. “Not sure I’ve heard of that one.”

  “In British Columbia,” Parkman cut in, “Robert Pickton was convicted in 2007 for the murder of six women and charged in the death of over twenty more, but those charges were stayed.”

  “Wow, you keep up on Canadian affairs, Parkman. Impressed.”

  “That was a big one. I read the online papers.”

  “I have enough criminals in my life on a day-to-day basis,” Sarah said. “I don’t read about them online. But I have heard of Paul Bernardo here in Ontario back from the early ’90s.”

  “Yeah,” Diner was shaking her head again. “That was before I made detective. But discussing serial killers and murderers won’t get us anywhere. We could spend all afternoon talking about Jeffrey Dahmer, Karl Toft, Ed Gein, Ted Bundy, and Charlie Manson, but we’ll be no closer to what you’re doing.” She paused and tilted her head back in thought, staring at the stucco ceiling. “Or are you trying to outdo them, Sarah, thinking you’re justified in some way?”

  “Let me ask you a question,” Sarah said, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the armrests, coffee cup cradled in both hands. Sarah’s coffee was half gone. She took one more large pull from it and set the cup down on the table by her chair.

  “If you knew what Hitler was capable of before the war, say in 1936 or 1937, and you had a chance to take him out, would you?”

  “No.”

  “You have an answer that fast? So you’ve thought of that question before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked.

  “Because, a lot of senseless lives were taken during the war, families destroyed, and I’m sorry for that, but in the end this world has changed because of him. The Geneva Convention. The new laws. The world stops people like Saddam Hussein now. Who knows what the world would look like if Hitler hadn’t risen to power?”

  “You’re crazy,” Sarah said. “Sorry, but that’s ridiculous, in my opinion. Too many families, too many people suffered because of one man’s lunacy. Granted, I wasn’t there, but if I knew what I know now, I wouldn’t just kill him, I’d tear his intestines out and put all thirty feet of them on display for the world to see.”

  “And you’d be imprisoned or killed for it,” Diner responded, her voice sharp and curt.

  “You’re right. And you want to know why? Because fate is what it is? Bit of a lame argument, don’t ya think?”

  “Whatever.” Diner adjusted herself on the sofa. With her hands cuffed behind her, she appeared to be getting more uncomfortable as they talked. “Say what you have to say to me. You’re running out of time. There will be a dozen police officers busting that door down in within the hour.”

  “Bullshit.” Sarah let her feet fall to the floor and stretched her legs. “You checked Aaron’s history, read his file. You looked up Parkman. You didn’t believe they would harbor a fugitive. You figured they wouldn’t tell you where I was, but you knew I wouldn’t be here or you wouldn’t have come alone. At least that’s what you counted on. But you did come alone because Detective Mason is attending to other business. He’s checking with his colleagues if his wife can come home now. But therein lies the problem for him. Samantha Mason is in the basement of a Chinese restaurant being worked over by a small contingent of a Chinese gang.”

  “And how do you know all this?”

  “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

  Diner leaned forward on the sofa. “What was that with all the Hitler talk?”

  “I wanted you to have a better understanding why I killed Fletcher Aldrich’s father. He was the mastermind of the consortium in Toronto that I’m here to break up. He started it and his sons took over. When there was a dispute about Joel’s behavior, he was banned, but continued his evil ways on his own property in Orillia. Fletcher’s father was evil incarnate, a despicable man who should have been killed fifty years ago. Hundreds of women have been murdered because of him.”

  “Preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous.” Diner was working herself up. She tugged on her cuffs and tried to get comfortable on the couch. “We would have caught on to someone like that years ago. We’re not some half-baked detective crew eating donuts all the time. And what consortium are you talking about?”

  Sarah rose from her chair. “I’ll need your car and your gun to free Samantha Mason. So thanks for the loan.”

  “What about me? With murder charges pending, I can understand that kidnapping a detective isn’t much, but I’m still wondering, what about me?”

  “When I’m in position, or when Samantha is with me, these men here will take you somewhere unharmed and take the cuffs off. Until this is completely over, Parkman and Aaron will not return to this apartment.”

  “You’ll all be hunted down like the fugitives you are,” Diner blurted out.

  “Fate, right?” Sarah nodded. “We’ll take our chances. When you discover the whole truth, you’ll understand what motivated me. You might see things differently.”

  “I’m sure I won’t. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Murder is never the way. Never.”

  “Really? Okay, I’ll remember that.” Sarah pulled Detective Simmons’ cell phone out. “After Simmons was killed in front of me yesterday, his cell phone dropped virtually in my lap. I grabbed it. Here, read this text.”

  Sarah held it in front of the detective.

  “That’s the name of a missing persons case that’s a month old,” Diner said. “What’s the address for?”

  “Here’s another from the month before.”

  Sarah showed Diner, then pulled the phone away.

  “Don’t know that name,” Diner said.

  Sarah flipped a few buttons on the phone and held it for Diner to look once more.

  “That name I know,” the detective said. “Another missing persons. Why are they on Simmons’ phone?”

  “These are the names of nomads, wanderers who came to Toronto for fast cash, hooking on the side. No family, no friends. He sent one name per month and probably received payment for it.”

  “These girls,” Diner paused. She bit her lower lip, released it and said, “These girls are gone now?”

  “They were picked up. The warehouse has them. The same place Vanessa escaped.”

  “If Mason helped her escape this warehouse you’re talking about, what was he doing there?”

  “You’ll have to ask him yourself. Something tells me you’ll see him later today. Oh, one last thing.”

  Sarah flipped through Simmons’ received calls list until she stopped on a number. Then she showed it to Diner.

  “Know this number?”

  Diner shook her head. “Should I?”

  “Parkman looked the number up. It belongs to Councilman Marshall Machiavelli. Name mean anything to you?”

  “I know who he is, if that’s what you mean. Maybe Simmons and Machiavelli were friends.”

  “Maybe.” Sarah got up and walked around her chair. “Maybe. Something tells me we’ll find everything out very soon.”

  She walked away. In the bedroom, she grabbed a pad and a pen and made a note for Aaron. After ripping the paper off, she headed back to the living room.

  At the door, she put her shoes on and gestured for Aaron to come over.

  “This ends today. Here.” she held out the note. “Take this. Read it and do what it says. These are Vivian’s words.” She kissed him long and hard, biting his lower lip softly. When she pulled away, she said, “Let Detective Diner go to her office. There she will find a search warrant. Assure her she’ll want to execute it. Then meet me at the warehouse address on this note. I’ll need a ride to the airport.”

  “Why? Where are you going? And what’s at this warehouse?”

  “I have no idea what I’m in for
. All I know is what Vivian had me write down. Just don’t fuck any of this up.”

  “Anything for me to do?” Parkman asked.

  “Yeah, the same as Aaron. Follow what the note says to a tee.”

  “What about me?” Diner asked.

  “I’ll be seeing you later. Aaron will explain. You will have all the evidence you’ll ever need for your court system.”

  Sarah turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Diner asked.

  “To catch me some bad guys.” She stuck her head out the apartment door, then turned and looked back. “Oh, and thanks for the use of the car.”

  “You’re using it against my will,” Diner shouted. “And don’t get a scratch on it!”

  “You mean I’m stealing it?” Sarah asked in a high-pitched little girl voice.

  “Yes, you’re stealing it.”

  “Oooh, cool.”

  Aaron stepped in close. “Stay safe, woman,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I always do. Thanks for having my back.”

  Sarah stepped away, hopped on one foot and ran down the hallway.

  She didn’t want to be late because Samantha’s life had little time left. As far as Vivian would reveal, it might already be too late.

  Chapter 24

  Outside the apartment building, Sarah pushed Detective Diner’s key fob seven times before a car horn beeped to let her know where Diner had parked. Upstairs, it hadn’t crossed her mind to ask.

  She headed toward the horn’s short, sharp noise, but stopped a few cars away.

  This can’t be right.

  An old green car with shiny rims was parked in a visitor’s parking spot. Sarah pushed the fob once more. The green car’s horn beeped.

  “Wow, Detective, I would have never pictured you for the muscle car type.”

  Sarah circled the vehicle. It was a Pontiac Catalina, circa late ’60s, maybe early ’70s. She opened the driver’s door to a pristine interior, everything polished and spotless. It looked so clean, Diner must have it detailed weekly. She ran her hand along the body of the car and felt the power, the steel, and knew how heavy this older model vehicle was.

  At least heading for that Chinese restaurant was going to be fun in this thing.

  Sarah got in, started the engine, felt its low rumble, and then peeled out of the lot. She turned on the stereo system and played the CD in the dash. Skrillex shot out of the speakers.

  “Interesting taste, Detective.”

  After heading south a few city blocks, then across Queen Street and up Spadina toward China Town, Sarah located the restaurant by psychic magnetism as Vivian guided her. When she laid eyes on the front of the building, she knew it for what it was. Not a restaurant, but a drop location. A place that took payments, facilitated the movement of cocaine locally and was a big import-export player. Shipments were narcotics, but also humans. The food serving part of the restaurant was only there so deals could be made over chicken chow mein and sweet and sour chicken balls.

  The street was lined with vehicles. She eased by the restaurant slowly and watched the building. The two men acting nonchalant and chatting on cell phones out front were security. The one on the right had a shoulder holster exposed. She had to assume the building was wired with cameras and like a casino, those cameras were always monitored by someone in a back room.

  Maybe she would try the rear door or a window at the side of the building. There had to be a way in without walking through the front door.

  Garbage littered the sidewalk and the smell of the area came off the already-hot pavement. The sidewalks were scattered with hundreds of people shopping, touring, and preparing for lunch. Ill equipped with a small gun, she had no idea how she was going to get inside and rescue Samantha Mason.

  Sarah turned up a side street half a block away and parked by a garbage bin. She kept the car away from the brick wall of the building to her right so she could use the passenger door if she needed it to get Samantha inside fast.

  After turning off the Pontiac, Sarah checked her mirrors and removed her seatbelt.

  “I’m here, Sis,” she said to the empty car. “What now?”

  At first nothing came, even though Sarah could feel Vivian was close.

  “Vivian? Anything? Any ideas on how you want me to get inside this restaurant and extract—”

  Get down!

  Sarah reacted instantly, lying across the seat of the Catalina. It was like a sofa, one long piece.

  “What was that for?” Sarah whispered. Her hand snaked back and withdrew Diner’s gun, her eyes on the driver’s side window. “You gonna tell me why you yelled in my head like that? It’s disorientating. Scares the fuck out of me.”

  Chinese voices bickered about something close by. Cautiously, Sarah sat up high enough to use the passenger side mirror to look behind the car, then ducked back down.

  “Holy shit, holy shit,” she muttered over and over.

  She fumbled for her cell phone, hit 911 and got directed to the police department. As the line clicked, the Chinese voices outside stopped arguing.

  “Police, what’s the emergency?”

  Sarah checked the mirror once more. Earlier there had been three, but now five men fanned out behind the Pontiac Catalina. Each man carried a large machine gun slung over his shoulder. But now all five men had them aimed at the Pontiac.

  “What’s the emergency?” the 911 dispatcher asked again. “Is someone there? Are you all right?”

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak but was cut off as a cacophony of machine guns erupted behind the car. The cell phone dropped out of her hand and fell to the floor mats as she moved to cover her head. The vehicle shook violently from the assault of the fusillade. The back window burst inward, covering her in bits of tempered glass. She couldn’t hear herself scream as the bullets rained down.

  For fear of the car’s gas tank exploding, she wanted to get out, but the thought of moving anywhere, let alone into the open without the protection of the car, kept her immobile.

  Then, just as fast as it started, it stopped. She panted like she’d just come up from under water after being submerged too long. She moved to check the mirrors, but both outside mirrors were shattered. Glass covered the seat and floor. Even the front windshield was broken in multiple places.

  Diner’s going to kill me.

  Without eyes on her surroundings, her attackers could be walking up to the car on either side and she wouldn’t know about it. She had to get out of the car.

  Using the tip of her shoe, she pulled the door handle toward her and pushed outward with her other foot. The driver’s side door popped open. The second it was open all the way, gunfire exploded from behind, shattering the inside panel. Chunks of plastic, liner and little bits of metal danced from the assault and came to rest on the pavement below.

  She let out a small scream and reached for the passenger side door, shoving it open. Then she thrust forward and was about to climb out the passenger side head first when more bullets hit that side. The door was destroyed to the point where it broke free from the body of the car and dangled at a forty-five degree angle.

  The guns wouldn’t let up. There was no way out. All routes of escape were cut off by a deadly hail of bullets. She screamed at the injustice. Why allow her to park here? Why did Vivian let it end like this?

  Through the front windshield, from her spread-out position on the front seat, Sarah stared up at the blue sky, panting, mouth open, covered in a cool sweat. She had been through a lot, but had never been held down like this by machine guns. Diner’s small weapon would be no match for the five men behind her vehicle.

  At any moment one of those men would walk up beside the car, spin their hand cannon toward Sarah, and empty their clip until her body succumbed in an epileptic death dance.

  The distant whoop of a police siren felt like safety, security. But there was no way those men would walk away, the job incomplete. This wasn’t a warning. This was a death squad and they had left her
with no play.

  Glass crunched underfoot nearby.

  The police were still too far away. Her life would be over in seconds.

  Vivian wouldn’t leave her in this situation unless there was a way out.

  Glass crunched again. Sarah assessed how close they were. Then closed her eyes and whispered to Vivian to help in locating them.

  She counted to one.

  Slipped her finger inside the trigger guard.

  Counted to two.

  Applied pressure on the trigger.