by Pruden,T. F.
The trip ahead of him would take a full day. A flight across the prairies to the Calgary home of his friend and fellow cook George Willmans would be quicker. The cost of it was four times that of the Greyhound.
He made the decision without regret as he also hated to fly.
He would start work at the northern Alberta camp in ten days. In no real hurry the tall chef looked forward to the trip. The day on the bus though less comfortable should give him time to think.
It would help him unwind from the rising stress that somehow overtook his life during the weeks of working close with his landlord.
The bottle he brought along for the ride would help him to relax. Though it had been more than a year since his last drink he was sure he was ready for it.
Maurice grinned as the cab pulled into the parking lot of the liquor store.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to the taxi driver as he reached for the door handle to exit the yellow sedan.
“No problem,” the driver replied with a grin, “I’ll be waitin’ for ya’.”
The tall chef walked with feigned confidence into the bright lit and government operated retail liquor outlet. He ignored the blonde-haired girl selling flowers on the sidewalk next to the entrance.
Maurice strode to the shelf holding the bottles of clear liquid across from the cash register as though following a beacon.
He reviewed the variety of labeled bottles with a pleased smile occupying his unlined face. A moment later he grabbed a pair of thirteen ounce ‘mickeys’ and made for the cash register. Maurice paid the clerk in cash and thanked him before exiting the store. He placed the change from the completed transaction into the hand of the girl selling flowers as he walked toward the waiting taxi.
The tall chef grinned at her shock and winked to her as he walked away. After climbing into the taxi he laughed with pleasant relief at the muffled clink rising from the paper wrapped bottles.
The noise reminded him he was now in the company of an old and trusted friend.
“To the Greyhoun’ depot mon ami!” the tall chef said with a smile, “it’s time to get ‘dis show on ‘da road, Tabernac!”
“Yessir!” the driver replied as he put the car into gear and backed away from the store.
The few blocks to the bus depot at the corner of Balmoral Street and Portage Avenue passed in silence. Maurice handed a ten and twenty-dollar bill to the driver and told him to keep the change as he exited the taxi.
He first transferred the pair of bottles from the paper sack into the inside pockets of his heavy sailors’ coat. He retrieved the canvas duffel bags containing his few possessions from the opened trunk of the yellow sedan and nodded his thanks to the driver. The sound of the trunk lid slamming behind him accompanied the tall chef as he stepped onto the curb. He placed the bags onto the bare concrete at his feet.
He stood and reviewed the signs arranged above the door.
After picking up the pair of duffels Maurice strode with waning determination toward the entrance to the old depot.
The filth surrounding the entrance documented a facility older than the tall chef. The littered street in front of the terminal entrance smelled of urine and cigarettes.
He wrinkled his nose at a young homeless couple sitting with hands out next to the doors trying in vain to earn his sympathy.
Maurice refused their entreaties by not acknowledging their presence.
He opened the glass doors and stepped into the bus depot. A long hallway led to the terminal proper. A Salisbury House restaurant and a hair stylist along with a video game parlor stood on either side of the wide and well-lit passage. An abundance of pedestrian traffic streamed into and out of the always busy facility. The tall chef walked with care through the crowd of travelers. He tried not to bump anyone with the duffel bags he carried.
A smile of serene confidence occupied his clean-shaven face.
Maurice walked to the nearest open ticket selling wicket and placed the bags at his feet on either side of him. He smiled at the aged and uniformed gentleman waiting behind the wire-fronted counter to take his order.
“One way to Calgary please, mon ami,” the tall chef said.
“That’ll be one hundred and ninety-nine dollars please sir,” the fellow replied, “plus GST, making two hundred and thirteen dollars and ninety-three cents your total. Departure time is eleven pm at gate twenty one.”
Maurice nodded and reached into his pocket for cash to pay for the ticket.
“T’ank you!” the tall chef said.
He withdrew the roll of bills he carried and peeled off the required amount to hand through the wicket to the waiting agent.
The fellow took the proffered cash and counted it before placing it into the register. He then handed a printed ticket through the window to the tall chef with a nod and a smile.
“Enjoy your trip,” he said.
“T’anks again,” Maurice replied.
He tucked the ticket into the inside pocket of his coat. The tall chef grinned as he felt the little bottle. He picked up the duffel bags and turned to take a seat in the front row of the plastic chairs arranged across from the ticket window.
It was a long wait until departure time.
Maurice didn’t notice the young fellow with the long hair and jailhouse tattoos covering his hands seated a few chairs away from him. The fellow watched as the tall man peeled the pair of brown hundred-dollar bills and the green twenty from the roll carried in his pocket.
Naked avarice flashed in his dark eyes as the tall chef handed the cash to the ticket agent.
His name was Ronnie Sargeant and like most people in the depot the young man waited for a bus.
Though he held a newspaper in front of his face, he did not read it. His release from the provincial jail at Headingley arrived only hours before and he instead sized up his fellow passengers. Ronnie prepared for an overnight trip to Regina. There his older brother Reggie waited to collect him for a one hour drive southwest to their isolated rural home.
The sixteen months prior to today he spent serving the third sentence for assault causing bodily harm and breaking and entry of which he had been justly convicted.
Ronnie looked forward to getting home near as much as he did to making his next score.
He watched as the tall man retrieved the pair of duffel bags and turned away from the ticket counter. The fellow sat in a plastic seat only a few spots away from him. He waited to see if he would be joined by a friend or traveled alone. When twenty minutes passed, it was clear to Ronnie the fellow was without company.
His pulse quickened as he realized his next target now sat only feet from him.
With the bus to Regina not scheduled to leave for another few hours there was plenty of time to get acquainted with the fellow. He smiled with anticipation as he continued to feign reading the newspaper.
Ronnie planned for the tall man to meet a new friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Wayne took a deep breath as he turned away from the locked street entrance of the restaurant.
He trudged the short hallway to the dining room, relieved the meeting with Bill Saturday had gone well. The old newsman gave the renovated space a thorough review while questioning him about the menu and operating hours.
A mention in tomorrows’ column would be positive, of that he was sure.
The reporter also enjoyed the three double whiskies he swilled while conducting the interview. He agreed to attend the grand opening scheduled for one week from tonight. Bill further agreed to devote a second column to the upcoming event. Wayne agreed to provide the newsman a weekly tab and meals for the next few months at no charge.
The deal would ensure ‘Rene’s at the Marlene’ received a regular mention in his weekly local entertainment column.
Wayne knew the resulting publicity would be worth more than any he could otherwise purchase.
He stood at the entrance to the dining room and looked with satisfaction at the now decorated space.
Bill Saturday had been as surprised by the changes to it as he was impressed by the concept of the restaurant scheduled to open there. If the quality of the food lived up to the hype he and Rene were building their success would be assured.
Though a good start could not guarantee them long-term success, a poor one would assure their early failure.
A full house of reservations was already in place. They now expected what was sure to be a standing room only crowd far exceeding their legal seating capacity. The pressure would be on the kitchen to deliver on the extravagant promises the partners had made.
The experience of the tall chef comforted Wayne.
When combined with the support of his able young protégées it would render the concerns of little consequence.
With help from Sarah he hired another three servers to complete the front of house staff complement. As he planned to handle the bartending duties in the lounge himself the hiring for all lunch and dinner positions needed by the restaurant was now concluded.
Wayne had yet to discuss the progress of the breakfast service with Rene.
He wondered if the senior partner yet planned to launch the late addition to the restaurants’ concept. He continued to hope he might change his mind as both Wayne and the tall chef believed it unsuitable and a bad idea. Though he resigned himself to accepting the late change, he was unsure of Maurice’s commitment to it. The tall chef only grudgingly agreed to Rene’s demand to go forward with the plan.
Wayne remained concerned Maurice might not support the added service.
Rene nodded as the alarm beeped a greeting to him from within the restaurant.
As he opened the wide door and entered the kitchen he appreciated the security and wondered when the young chefs would arrive behind him. He left it unlocked and walked through the shining cleanliness of an efficient professional environment. Rene shook his head as he noted the attention the tall chef had lavished on his new work space.
They would be a long time finding a man as particular about cleanliness as the tall chef he knew.
The fact he had left struck Rene with a physical pain radiating outward from the pit of his growing stomach. He steeled himself and with renewed purpose continued his journey to the dining room. Rene reminded himself the man had left on his own accord. The remaining partners must press on if they were to avoid disaster.
He could only hope Wayne would take the news of Maurice’s unexpected departure with the aplomb he seemed to hold in reserve for such difficulties.
“Is that you coming in Maurice?” Wayne called from the dining room.
“Allo mon frere!” Rene answered his call with one of his own, “it’s Rene us’ang ‘da back door mon ami!”
He walked through the swinging door and smiled at his young partner who stood alone near the booths at the front of the room.
“Hello Rene,” he said, “you just missed Bill Saturday.”
Rene walked with his head down toward the front of the room as he replied.
“An’ ‘ow was your meet’ang wit’ dat ol’ newsman?”
“Excellent in fact,” Wayne answered him with a grin.
Wayne extended his hand as Rene arrived to stand beside him.
“He’ll be planting a nice review of the soon to open ‘Rene’s at the Marlene’ in tomorrows’ column.”
Rene looked up and grasped his hand, shaking it with conviction as he stood beside his partner.
“Tabernac! ‘Dats good news!” he said, “is ‘da ol’ reprobate plan’ to atten’ ‘da gran’ opening?”
“With a photographer no less,” Wayne replied, “and he’ll be adding us to his weekly stops, with one lunch and one dinner, plus drinks, getting us a notice in his column every weekend.”
“Now ‘dats cheap advertis’ang you ‘ave bought for us ‘dere ma’ frien’, for sure for sure, eh?”
“The best bang for the buck that we’ll find I’m thinking,” Wayne spoke with apparent satisfaction, “and where’s Maurice? He didn’t ride in with you today? Did you bring the vette?”
“Mon frere we are go’ang to ‘ave to talk about ‘dat,” Rene answered the young man with a note of sadness, “I ‘ave some ver’ bad news to share wit’ you.”
The west wind swept away the exhaust fumes rising from the busses idling a few yards from where Maurice stood.
The darkness falling outside the terminal concealed the mickey from which he surreptitiously drank. He had stored his duffel bags in a coin operated locker inside the depot an hour earlier.
Maurice then joined his new acquaintance Ronnie Sargeant, who stood only a few feet away from him smoking, in the Salisbury House restaurant for a light meal. The men had struck up a conversation while seated in the terminal waiting through the long evening for their bus.
Maurice had been pleased to discover the fellow was traveling as far as Regina, Saskatchewan, on the same coach that would take him to Calgary, Alberta.
He invited the man to have a drink with him after eating a light meal at the restaurant in the hallway leading to the terminal. The two men walked out of the depot and into the gathering dark behind it to share the bottle. It pleased Maurice when Ronnie produced a mickey of his own. His new friend offered it to him before Maurice could open either of the bottles he carried in his coat pockets.
They made a sizeable dent in it before the long-haired fellow could light a cigarette.
The false comradery of men drinking together settled onto them as they stood in the crepuscular dim of the oncoming night. Relief flooded through Maurice as he looked forward to a night of good companionship on the long ride. The pain of his sudden departure dulled as he took another pull from the little bottle.
The tall chef grinned and handed it to the tattooed man standing next to him with the cigarette in his hand.
“Mon ami,” he said, his voice betraying happiness as he extended the bottle, “‘ave a’nudder drink before ‘da soldier she is kill’.”
“You bet my friend,” Ronnie answered, “an’ don’t worry, I’ve got another couple o’ these in my backpack for the ride.”
“Tabernac!” Maurice spoke in a voice rising with humor, “in ma’ ches’ pockets I ‘ave two mickeys as well mon ami! We are go’ang to ‘henjoy our trip, oui, oui?”
“You bet my friend,” Ronnie said with a smile, “it’s a killer dull ride with a buncha stops but a drink always shortens a trip I say!”
“An’ ‘dats for sure for sure!” the tall chef agreed, “what t’ame do you say we w’eel get into Regina in ‘da morn’ang mon ami, eh?”
Ronnie raised the bottle and feigned taking a drink. He pressed his tongue over its top as he held it to his lips. He passed it back to the tall man standing beside him after lowering it.
“Just about time for breakfast my friend,” he said, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand before continuing, “dependin’ on stops we oughta be there by five or six in the morning, an’ certainly no later ‘n nine. My brother’s gonna pick me up at the depot an’ we’re gonna do a run to the White City Humpty’s ‘fore headin’ to ‘ar farm just outside Fort Qu’Appelle.”
“Tabernac! I w’eel be ready for breakfas’ by then for sure for sure mon ami!” the tall chef replied.
His mood continued to improve as the liquor took hold.
“‘Ow long does ‘dat bus stop ‘dere, eh? W’eel ‘dere be t’ame pour moi to go for breakfas’ w’eet you while we are ‘dere?”
“I’m thinkin’ he’ll make an hour stop there, mebbe longer dependin’ on when he gets into the Queen city,” Ronnie replied.
He could hear the booze warming the tall man and looked forward to the upcoming ride.
“But my brother will get you back in plenty o’ time if you wanna come eat wit’ us inna mornin’ an’ ‘at’s fer sure.”
“Mon ami ‘dat shounds good,” Maurice said with a slur.
The impact of the liquor surprised the tall chef. He enjoyed the smooth rush of it after the long year alone.
/> “Your br’udder ‘e is old’ar or young’ar ‘dan you are yoursef’, eh?”
“He’s older than me by a few years,” Ronnie answered.
The slur from the tall man at his side surprised Ronnie. The man sounded drunk. He could only hope he hadn’t slipped too big a dose of the valium into the little bottle.
“But he’s not forty yet an’ he still enjoys a party.”
“Tabernac! ‘dats good news mon ami,” Maurice replied with a wide grin creasing a now inebriated face, “it ‘as been a long t’ame between parties pour moi an’ h’am ready for a good one for sure for sure, eh?”
“That makes two of us in that case,” Ronnie returned the smile as he answered, “fancy us meetin’ up at just the right time like ‘at eh? Ain’t we jus’ two big ol’ peas in one pod?”
Wayne followed Rene to the booth near the kitchen door.
He sat on the upholstered vinyl bench across the table from him, wondering what bad news he would share and concerned at the older mans’ apparent misery. Had his efforts to bring Miss Lonelyhearts onto their side failed? Had he decided against launching the breakfast service? The thoughts competed for limited space in his exhausted mind and he took a deep breath as he waited for his partner to unburden himself.
“Our chef ‘as left us,” Rene said, staring at Wayne as he spoke.
“What do you mean?” Wayne replied, surprised by the cryptic statement, “Left us for where and for how long? Is he ok? Did he get sick? Is he dead? Whatta fuck do you mean ‘left us’?”
“I fin’ ‘dis note wait’ang wit’ ‘da keys to ‘dis place on ma’ answer’ang machine ‘dis af’ernoon when I arrive to pick ‘im up for work,” Rene said, passing an envelope to his partner, “read it for yourself, mon frere.”
Wayne took the envelope and opened it. He pulled out the note and read the words scrawled upon it with care. A cold lump of fear grew in his belly as he reached the end. Too shocked to accept what he read as true he shook his head as though clearing his vision before reading the note again.