by Brian Toal
"Do you have any identification?" The lady asked Chris as he ineffectively tried to smooth the dress across his legs.
"No, I don't." His voice quivered as he looked up at her.
She nodded and then ignored him. "Madam, may I have the keys for the trunk please."
"So, you are University students." She continued as she opened the truck lid. "But, you can't remember the name of your residence."
"Well, you know how it is..." Carman tried again, "...I’ve only been at UBC since the first of September, and for the life of me, I can't remember the name of my residence. I’m sure I was told, but you know...the beginning of school...buying books, finding all your classes. The name must have just slipped my mind."
"I’m going to run these ID's." The other custom guard interrupted. Carman's and Jon's driver's licences were attached to a clipboard in his hand.
"Right." She nodded as she finished her inspection of their trunk. "What are you taking at UBC?" She asked Carman, as she bent down on one knee to look under their car.
"I’m in teacher's college."
"Oh yes..." The customs guard responded easily. "I have a friend who is in teachers collage at UBC. What building do you take your classes in?"
Carman said nothing. There was nothing to say.
The guard glanced up at her once and then silently continued her inspection of the underside of their car.
Rising to her feet she spoke. "I think you’re going to have some problems. I don't believe you have ever been to UBC and you certainly are not students there."
"Oh." Carman muttered, unsure of what she could say that would improve their situation.
"It would be in your best interests if you start to tell the truth," the customs guard said sternly. "Are you students at UBC or not?"
"No, we are not."
"Then you admit you have given a false reason for entering Canada?"
Carman nodded slowly. "What’s going to happen to us?"
"Hard to tell. Why did you want to enter Canada?"
"Ahhh...the reasons are kind of complex."
The customs guard gave Carman a withering look. "I think the time for games is over. Depending on your reasons for trying to illegally enter Canada, you could all be in real trouble."
"Jim..." She called to another customs guard, inspecting a car a few yards away. "I’m going to take these people over to immigration.
"Right." He waved his hand and then returned to his inspection of the suitcases in the open truck in front of him.
"Okay, people." She waved her hand towards a building at the far end of the parking area. "Let's go down to immigration and see who you really..." She stopped speaking. Frozen in position, her mouth half open, her eyes locked in a fixed stare.
"Get in the car." Chris whispered, loud enough that both Carman and Jon could hear him.
"What?" Carman looked around wildly to see if anyone was noticing the statuette customs guard.
"Get in the car." Chris whispered again, urgency in his voice. "We’ve got to get out of here."
Jon looked first at the rigid guard, then at Carman. "Is he doing this?"
"Yes." Carman hissed.
"Get in the car.” Chris whispered urgently, “I can't keep doing this for very long, it's too hard just to make her stand here doing nothing."
Carman took one more look around and then jumped into the driver's seat.
"Oh...shit!" Jon muttered and opened his door.
"No." Chris whispered again. "Get into the back seat."
Jon said nothing. Quickly he opened the rear door and flung himself inside.
The custom guard began to move slowly, her arms hanging limply by her sides, as she shuffled step-by-step over to the open front door. Chris walked behind her, his eyes never leaving the back of her head. Reaching the open car door, she turned at the waist, her feet still planted firmly on the pavement. Two seconds passed with the female custom's guard turned awkwardly, her rear halfway in the car and her feet facing straight ahead. Then she collapsed into the car, the back of her head smacking against the door frame as she fell into the seat. Another few seconds passed as she sat limply, her hands dangling against the metal door frame, her legs still outside.
"Chris, let's go!" Carman whispered urgently from the driver's seat. She had already started the engine.
Slowly the guard lifted her legs off the ground and swung them inside, her hands and shoulders following them into the car. Chris slammed the door behind her, then stood staring in the open window, his eyes only inches away from the side of her head.
"Chris!" Carman whispered, "hurry up."
"I don't know if I can do it. It’s easier to make someone do something than nothing at all. I keep losing the picture." He remained standing, bent over at the waist, staring at the side of her head for another few seconds, then ever so slowly, his eyes never once leaving the customs guard’s head, he eased himself into the back seat.
"Go." He muttered.
Carman carefully backed the car up and put it into drive.
"Just drive away." Chris said, his eyes rigidly fixed on the back of the custom guard's head in front of him.
"Shit!" There’s her partner," Jon exclaimed breathlessly.
The older customs guard was standing just outside of a set of double doors, watching them as Carman drove over an endless set of speed bumps. "We're fucked." Jon muttered angrily.
In the passenger seat beside Carman the customs guard slowly raised her right arm outside the window and waved at her partner over the roof, her face manoeuvring itself into a thin smile.
Her partner sardonically waved his clipboard and returned inside.
"Holy shit!" It’s working." Jon's face exploded into a broad grin. "Fuck, Chris, you’re doing it! He thinks we’re driving the car down to the Immigration Building."
"Be quiet!" Chris grunted. His whole body was shuddering in concentration. Beads of sweat forming along the ridges of his eyebrows and along his upper lip. "I can't keep this up much longer. Get us out of here."
As the car jolted over the last of several huge speed bumps, and the white Immigration Building passed slowly to their left, the customs guard slumped forward in her seat, her head resting on the dash. "I wondered if I could do that," Chris said, leaning back against the seat, "she’s asleep."
As they bounced over the last speed bump, Carman matted the accelerator, the little four cylinder engine clanking and pinging in protest.
They were in Canada.
ELEVEN - FOUR
A warm mist billowed around Chris as he stepped from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, as his T-shirt and jeans were still in Portland. Over his left arm he carried the white dress, the black plastic belt hanging forlornly underneath. "Am I finished with this thing?" He asked the other two, sitting on the bed by the window.
Carman smiled. "I think the dress has served its purpose. You didn't make a very good girl anyway."
"Thank God." Chris muttered, tossing the dress onto the other bed and pulling on a new T-shirt Carman had bought him in the mall in Seattle. Then, returning to the bathroom, he pulled pulled on a new pair of jeans. Stopping once in front of the mirror to run Carman's hairbrush quickly through his hair, he dropped himself into one of the small, motel room armchairs positioned by the window. "What's up?" He asked.
"Carman and I were just discussing our little adventure at customs," Jon said, taking a slug of Canadian beer.
Chris nodded.
"It’s too bad we got caught. The lady customs guard has probably made her way back to the border by now." Jon laughed, "although I’m sure they are going to be talking about our distinctive method of clearing customs for a long time. But, now they have our drivers’ licences, with our pictures on them, and the main reason we came to Canada was to get away from our troubles with the American cops. Now we’re going to have trouble with the Canadian cops. So...we haven't really gained anything."
"But, Uncle Charlie won't know we are in Canada until we phone him and I don't thin
k he’ll be prepared for that."
"No, probably not. But my point is..." Jon had one of his perpetually bent Camels in his mouth, but both of his hands were searching through his pockets. “Damn, I can’t find my lighter again.”
“I’ve got it. You left it on the dash.”
“Damn, I should get one of those lighters that hang around your neck on a long string. I’m always losing this one... Thanks.” He took the lighter from Chris’ hand, then continued. “But what I was saying is, when this Uncle Charlie guy, or his police friends do contact the police up here, it’s not like they will have much convincing to do...the cops up here will already be looking for us."
"No. They’ll be looking for you and Carman, but not me. I never gave that lady any identification, so they don't know I was travelling with you - and I was dressed as a girl don't forget."
"True..." Jon replied thoughtfully. "But still, they have Carman's drivers’ licence and from that they can get her licence plate number. There can't be that many Oregon plates in Vancouver, and if the cops have our licence plate number we could get pulled over anytime. Especially if your Uncle Charlie's friends notify the cops up here to be on the lookout for an Oregon car at the airport."
"Then we won't drive to the airport." Carman said, "we take a taxi instead and remember we never planned on picking Chris' mother up at the airport anyway. We were just going to have her paged over the public address system."
"True, but we’ll still have to be careful anytime we drive your car, so we should do our explorations when there is a maximum of traffic and we can dodge into a side street if we see a cop anywhere behind us." Jon turned to Chris, "when are you going to call your mom? Tonight or tomorrow?"
"Tonight. I want to make sure she is alright and they may need the extra day to get her an airline ticket to Vancouver, rather than Seattle."
Jon nodded. "Yeah, that’s probably best, but I would have liked to have visited the airport first. I mean, I’ve never been to Vancouver Airport. Is it big or small? Does it even have a public address system? It could be some dirt field."
Carman laughed. "Jon, close to two million people live in Vancouver. I don't think that a city this size uses some farmer's field as an airport. I’m equally sure the Canadians have discovered the technology behind public address systems. Can you imagine an airport without one? What would they do...have people running all over the place with signs and bull-horns announcing departures of flights?"
Jon shrugged. "Yeah, they probably have a public address system."
"I was thinking maybe we shouldn't meet my Mom at the airport..."
"We aren't. "Jon interrupted. We’re just going to have her paged and leave a message for her."
"Yes...I know." Chris spoke hesitantly. "But, I was reading some tourist pamphlets in the bathroom, and there is another place where we could meet my Mom and there is no way that they could intercept us."
"Where?" Carman and Jon asked together.
"Have you ever heard of Vancouver Island?"
"No."
"Well, there are these big ferries that take people and cars back and forth between here and Vancouver Island. If we told my Mom to take a certain ferry over to Vancouver Island, we could meet her on the ferry. I mean, there would be hundreds of other people around us all the time and if they tried to do something to her when they saw me, we could make a real big commotion. Since the ferry takes two hours to get across to the Island, if anything did happen, the police would have plenty of time to meet the ferry when it docked. But, the important thing is my Mom would be safe. And any bad guys that were with her would be trapped on the ferry with the rest of us."
"And we would be arrested." Jon added.
"Yes, but right after I have my Mom back, I’m going to go to the nearest TV Station anyway. They would let you guys out of jail as soon as they heard my story. After all, you were helping me."
"Right, sneaking through Canadian Customs."
Chris shrugged. "Well...the worse thing that would happen to you is that you would be deported and then maybe you wouldn't be allowed back into Canada again."
Jon nodded and then laughed. "Yeah...and hey...I've only been to Canada twice in my life. I could live without it."
"Why is it better to meet your Mom on a ferry, rather than someplace here in Vancouver?" Carman asked.
"If we have my Mom take a taxi and meet us someplace else, they could follow her. As soon as they see me, they might grab her and threaten me so that I had to do what they said."
"You could pulverise them!" Jon interjected.
Chris looked at Jon in annoyance. "Jon, I don't want to pulverise anybody! I keep seeing every little detail of what I do again and again in my mind. That’s the problem with Eidetic Memory. I can remember everything totally. Would you like to see people die over and over again?"
Jon sighed and lowered his eyes. "No."
"I don't either. It is terrible..." Chris shook his head at Jon's lust for blood. "My real problem is I couldn't pulverise them if they snatched my mother, and then took her around a corner or into a building. If I couldn't see her anymore, than I couldn't protect her. On a ferry they can't run away. It’s a boat. They can't get off."
Jon and Carman nodded.
"And we have two hours on a ferry to try and solve our own problems without the police around. Here in Vancouver all we need is, for Carman to be caught speeding, or any other little thing and you would both be arrested for sure."
"Okay..." Jon nodded, "you’ve convinced me. We leave a message for your mother at the airport, telling her to take a certain ferry out to this Island."
"Yes. It sounds like a good idea." Carman added. "The more people around us when we meet your mother, the better."
"Uncle Charlie. This is Chris..." Chris stood in the tight confines of a telephone booth several miles from their hotel. Jon and Carman stood close by listening to every word. "I phoned the hospital in Detroit and my mother wasn't there. Where is she?" He spat the last sentence two thousand miles away.
"Oh...Chris." His uncle answered casually. "I was expecting your call. I have good news for you. Your mother was well enough to leave the hospital and so she can fly out to meet you."
"Good, I want her out here tomorrow."
"Well...we’re not sure we can arrange the flight for tomorrow."
"Bull Shit!"
"Chris, now that’s not very nice language.
"I don't fucking care! You promised to send my mother out here Friday. Tomorrow is Friday!"
"Well, we are having some problems and..."
"You fucking bastard! I’m going to go to the television station right now!" Chris screamed into the telephone. "And I’m going to tell them everything - I’m going to tell them about you - and what happened in California - and why you were responsible - and why you can't be trusted - and why you should all be locked up forever - and why you should all be killed - and... SHIT!" Chris dropped the phone, letting it swing on its cord as he stepped back out of the booth.
"What's wrong?" Carman's hand came up onto his shoulder.
"Don't touch me." Chris moaned, his hands pressed to his eyes. "I've got to calm down."
Fear rushed across Carman's face as she tore her hand off his shoulder. "Chris don't..."
"I'm trying...I'm trying..." He whispered, sucking in huge lung-fulls of air.
Jon picked up the receiver. "Listen up bud. You better arrange for the kid's mother to be out here by tomorrow. You have no idea what he is capable of and he can screw up your little two-bit organization in a fucking second."
"I think I’m quite capable of imagining what Chris can do." Charlie replied. "And after hearing his outburst just now, I think you are the one that should take care."
"Ya, right buddy. Chris can take care of himself just fine."
There was a muffled thump from across the street and a red Canada Post letter box exploded in the air, cards and letters scattering across the lawn and roadway.
"Ohhh...shit."
Jon muttered, quickly turning his head to ensure Chris was not looking in his direction.
Chris was standing with his head down about ten feet away with Carman kneeling beside him speaking earnestly in his ear.
Jon turned his attention back to the phone. "Look, you better get his Mom out here or he’s going to bust this town up good and that'll cause just as much attention as if he went on television."
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
"Hey, buddy are you still there?" Jon shouted into the mouthpiece.
"Yes." Charlie answered after a moment. "I was just talking with someone else. Tell Chris he can be assured we will fly his mother out to Seattle tomorrow."
"Seattle is a no go. Your cop friends are too quick off the draw. We’re in Canada now." Jon allowed himself a quick laugh. "I figure that'll fuck up your cop connections pretty good."
"Canada - where in Canada?"
"Vancouver, British Columbia."
"Oh."
"Yes, yes, yes." Jon laughed again, partially in relief, as he watched Carman hug Chris tightly, his head resting on her shoulder. "You didn't expect that did you? It was Chris' own idea too. We got some other surprises for you as well."
"Like what?"
"Oh right, as if I’m going to tell you. Get his mom to Vancouver Airport by twelve noon tomorrow. There are only two direct flights from Detroit, make sure she is on one..."
ELEVEN - FIVE
Alex Baldwin's contracting company had never been busier. He now had over thirty men on his payroll. The big commercial job renovating the two floors at the Financier Centre occupied most of his crew. However, he also had two other smaller jobs on the east side, both of which were falling behind due to lack of workers. Those two jobs were the only personal income he was going to be receiving this month and he knew he had to get out there and try and smooth the relationship between himself and the general contractor.
It was too bad he couldn't claim a profit on the project at Financier Centre. But, he had been told that he couldn't. Knew he would, at best, only break even. But, that was okay. Anything to be of service. He would help out anyway he could. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity - and that is why he was here - apparently this little job was very important. So important that only he could be trusted to do it right.