The Specter

by Saul, Jonas

Aaron opened the office door and said, “What’s that?”

  “Stay out of this and let us do our job. You’re too wound up. You’re too close to this. Trust me, that doesn’t work. Give me your cell number. I will call you every day. I will keep you in the loop. The minute I know something, I will tell you. No stone unturned. Deal?”

  Aaron nodded, knowing he could never agree to walk away, but at least it would calm Folley and let him focus on what he had to do. He recited his cell number and walked away.

  “Stevens?”

  Aaron stopped and stuck his head back in. “Yeah?”

  “Sorry about your parents. They sound like shits. When I have some free time, I’ll look into your case. It was only eleven years ago. Maybe I can find something out for you.”

  “I had a recording on my cell phone for two days from my missing sister. A little research and I witnessed Gary Weeks being manhandled into a white van. Do you mean you’ll investigate my parents like you’re handling my sister’s case? Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude, but you can’t even solve that Rubik’s Cube. Detective Folley, thanks, but no thanks. Don’t need your help, and how do you even know if I want to find my parents?”

  He shut the door hard and walked away. He knew that was uncalled for, but he was sick of the system, the promises and the security it was supposed to represent.

  He had other places to go and other people to see. Aaron would find his sister before the cops did, and Folley could eat shit.

  It didn’t hit him until he had already pulled out of the station that Folley hadn’t taken his statement of what happened on the island airport that morning. Men had pointed guns at him and the detective didn’t file a report or send someone else to do it.

  What the fuck are the cops doing anyway?

  It was time to get serious. He had a court date coming up for attempted murder. Jail time was a probability. He had to find Joanne and help her out of whatever trouble she was in before he could think about his own future.

  Without Joanne, his only surviving family member, he had no future.

  Chapter 3

  The anger at the injustice of the system brewed in Aaron like rancid milk, turning his stomach and making him physically sick. He had to do something about it. He had to find Joanne first and then talk her into leaving the strip club. Whatever was needed, he would do it.

  After staying up all night to meet the ferry at the Toronto docks, Aaron left the police station and headed home to sleep. But sleep was elusive. He tossed and turned, his mind spinning possible scenarios, attempting to sew something together that made sense.

  At just after four in the afternoon, he rose from bed, groggy and exhausted, did a fifteen-minute kata to loosen up his muscles and initiate better blood flow, and got dressed.

  He grabbed his car keys and headed out. Ten minutes later he was en route to the House of Lancaster. Someone there must have seen something. He still had no idea how Frank or his brother Gary were involved with his sister. Now that he had seen Gary, maybe one of the girls at the club would recall him.

  He pulled into a half-full parking lot.

  Not too busy just before the dinner hour, eh?

  A large bouncer stood by the back entrance. The House of Lancaster had a front door facing Bloor Street, but almost everyone used the more discreet back door by the parking lot.

  Aaron walked through the back lounge area that was always devoid of people but filled with tables and chairs. He walked down a short hall, the kitchen’s window on his left, the stage on his right. Ahead of him sat the cavernous seating area where men could drink and drool over the cavorting bodies of half-naked women, or in some cases, completely naked women.

  The young girl on the stage couldn’t have been more than eighteen, thin, undernourished, already wavering on her feet, no doubt due to alcohol, dancing to a Blind Melon song about no rain. She wore a thong and nothing on her breasts as she worked the pole. Five men sat in pervert’s row, right up at the stage, two of them tapping the edge of the stage to the beat of the song.

  He found an empty seat halfway to the back. When talking to the dancers about his sister, it would provide a modicum of privacy.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A tall black girl wearing a purple lace bra and panties approached him.

  “Ya wanna dance, honey?” The dancers were on him before the waitress.

  “No, a coffee would work though.”

  “I’m not a fucking waitress,” she mumbled and was off to the next table.

  Caffeine in his blood stream was a requirement before he attempted to talk to anybody. He needed a clear mind, one not subdued by lack of sleep.

  The only woman in the club that wasn’t dressed like a dancer sat at the bar on his right. He waited until she turned his way and then signaled her with a wave of his hand. She got up and approached.

  “What’ll it be?” she asked.

  “Coffee.”

  She walked away, her hips swaying, as though hoping she was hot enough to elicit a tip.

  It was a world Aaron couldn’t get into, a world he didn’t understand. Sure he was male and all that goes with that, but random pussy was never his thing. He couldn’t desire a girl just because she showed him her wares.

  He rationalized that it was the same as meeting a girl in the library. What if she was sweet, kind and had a great sense of humor? They decide to go for a coffee or even dinner and then she drops her shirt and exposes her breasts, asking him if he still wanted to go for dinner. It was degrading and unnecessary.

  He was under no illusion that the dancers were exposing themselves in the hopes of acquiring a date, but the analogy worked for him because that’s how he felt about a woman’s beauty. It was to be seen and treasured by the man who loved them, not to be shown off for a cheap thrill.

  Men were visual. Aaron understood this. But a gorgeous calf muscle exposed from under a pretty dress or a hot smile mixed with long, flowing hair was what captured his attention. There was nothing remotely interesting to him about a room filled with women disrobing and offering lap dances for twenty bucks or whatever it cost.

  The waitress set his coffee down and mumbled something. Blind Melon had ended, and the emaciated girl on stage cavorted naked to Def Leppard’s Love Bites. The volume was so loud he didn’t hear the waitress.

  He handed her a five dollar bill. She took a moment to spill his change on the table.

  He leaned up and spoke loud. “Do you know Joanne Stevens, my sister?”

  The waitress stopped her fiddling with the coins on her tray and glanced at him. Something flickered across her eyes in that moment.

  She knows something. She’s seen something.

  The waitress set the rest of his change on the table beside his coffee.

  “Nice girl. But I haven’t seen her in almost a week.”

  She made to walk away. Aaron grabbed her wrist to hold her a moment longer.

  “I’m asking because I haven’t seen her in almost four days. Were you working the last night she danced? Can you tell me anything about her?”

  The woman stared at Aaron’s hand until he released her. She met his eyes.

  “Don’t ever touch me again. The bouncers don’t like that sort of thing.” She collected herself, adjusted her shirt, and moved her tray—all gestures of nervousness. “Joanne never talked about a brother.”

  “We haven’t spoken to one another since she started working here.”

  The waitress nodded and backed away. “Sorry, can’t help you.”

  She spun around and headed toward the bar.

  Folley had said others had disappeared that day too, but Aaron had forgotten to ask what he meant by that.

  That’ll teach you to stay up all night. You can’t think straight.

  A short woman in her thirties approached him, a fake smile creasing her lips. She sat in the chair opposite him and put her hand on his right leg.

  Aaron jumped and moved his leg away.

  “Sorry,” she said and
started to get up.

  He put a hand on her forearm. “No, stay, it just surprised me. I don’t get touched often.”

  She eased back into her chair, a weird expression on her face. Then he understood.

  “What I mean is, I don’t get touched unexpectedly that often. Usually I’m more prepared. It just made me jump. It was nothing.” He lifted his coffee to test it.

  Not bad for a strip club.

  She applied her fake smile again. “You wanna buy me a drink?”

  “You wanna answer a couple questions for me?”

  Her face turned serious. “You a cop?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “What kinda questions?”

  “How about I buy you a drink and you’ll see. Only answer what you feel comfortable answering. Deal?”

  She looked around the club. Probably examining her prospects and finding only slim pickings as it was still before five in the afternoon. She nodded, her eyes showing the pain of years of abuse. His heart sank.

  Joanne, this life is so not you.

  “Gin and tonic.”

  She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and set her purse on the table beside his coffee.

  Aaron found the waitress two tables away from the bar, talking to one of the bouncers. He waited until she looked his way to motion for her.

  For a strip club that’s only got maybe fifteen men in it, the waitress is lazy. She should be working the tables, passing the drinks out and raking up the tips.

  The bouncer and the waitress looked at Aaron at the same time, the kind of look that told him he was the subject of their conversation. It wasn’t just a coincidence. The waitress did an over the shoulder thing while the bouncer lifted his head.

  Oh, no.

  Hoping to diffuse whatever it was they were talking about, he waved with his hand, pointed at the dancer sitting with him and used his other hand to pantomime drinking.

  The waitress said something else to the bouncer and then started toward Aaron’s table.

  The thin girl on stage had finished her set. The DJ was announcing a girl heralding all the way from Vancouver, here, live, for the next few days only.

  System of a Down blasted out of the speakers about toxicity as the waitress made it to his table. He had to shout it twice to be heard over the roar of Serj Tankian’s vocals.

  When he thought he had a break in the music, he turned to the dancer at his table. She fidgeted with the strap on her purse.

  Maybe it’s all related to the club? Maybe something went down a couple days ago and everyone’s living on the edge.

  He looked for the bouncer, but couldn’t find him. Mentally chastising himself, he sipped half the coffee down. He needed to be better in tune with his surroundings. He needed to know where the bouncer was at all times now that he had their attention. His presence had been noted.

  He leaned across the table and shouted, “Do you know a dancer by the name Joanne Stevens?”

  The girl looked sideways at him and shook her head. “I don’t know names. Only stage names.”

  “You gals never use your real names amongst each other?”

  She shook her head.

  Aaron found that hard to believe. She had to be lying. On stage, a long-legged, dark-haired woman did some kind of sexual gymnastics on the stage to the beat of Godsmack.

  The rest of his coffee went down in one long gulp. He knew the caffeine rush would cause him to be super hyper. It affected him like a sugar rush. Drinks like Red Bull were off the charts for him. Only in extreme situations would he have an energy drink.

  He needed to be more assertive as he didn’t know how much longer he had left. Whatever the waitress said to the bouncer about him could mean he would have an early exit.

  “Tell me …” he leaned across the table, “… what happened here three nights ago? I think it involves my sister, Joanne, and now she’s missing.”

  The dancer leaned away from him. “You a cop?” she asked again.

  “I already said I wasn’t. We both know that if I was, I would have to identify myself.”

  “Well, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Sure you do.”

  He waited. He wanted his confidence to rub in like a soft lotion. He wanted her to feel that she knew exactly what he was talking about and looking for answers was just as routine as dancing for another customer.

  He could tell that she wanted to leave.

  Then she did.

  “Hey, where are you going? Your drink is coming.”

  “I have to dance soon. I’m up next.”

  “But what about your drink?”

  “You have it,” she said and stumbled away.

  “Shit,” Aaron mumbled under his breath. Nothing was going as planned. He could feel he wasn’t wanted here. The waitress hadn’t returned with the gin and tonic. As far as he could see in the gloom, she had vanished from the floor. He still couldn’t see the bouncer.

  His eyes followed the dancer who had sat with him for a moment until she reached a back door to the left of the stage, where she glanced back at him before she disappeared.

  Maybe he should leave and tell Folley what’s happening at the House of Lancaster. Maybe a bevy of cops could come in and ask their questions.

  Yeah, and maybe pigs could not only fly, they could become ninjas and take out angry birds instead of the other way around.

  A hand rested on his shoulder.

  Aaron dropped off the chair by slipping his butt forward, his knees bent, until he was in a crouch in front of the chair. He stood to his full height and stared at the bouncer that the waitress had talked to.

  “You shouldn’t touch me,” Aaron yelled over the music.

  “You threatening me?” The bouncer moved closer.

  “No. Just stay out of my personal space. It’s called respect.”

  “You gotta leave.”

  “Why?” Aaron asked, his shoulders raised, his hands extended in a questioning gesture.

  “You’re causing a disturbance.”

  “How so?”

  “Asking questions about girls who aren’t here. How do you think that makes the other girls feel? You some kinda creeper? A stalker?” He walked around the table to within a foot of Aaron. “We don’t want creepers in here. You gotta go.”

  “Did you say you didn’t want creepers in here?”

  The bouncer nodded.

  “Then why are you here? You’re the one who snuck up on me and caressed my shoulder.”

  The bouncer was fast. He lashed out to grab Aaron’s arm where he would try to twist it up and manhandle Aaron out of the club.

  But Aaron was faster.

  He allowed his arm to be taken. As the bouncer twisted it around, Aaron spun with it and snapped his arm out and gripped the bouncer’s wrist all in one movement. The effect of the full twist, with the added torque of Aaron’s body, spun the bouncer’s arm like a windmill, pulling his upper body down with it. Using the bouncer’s body weight against him, the force was enough to spin the shoulder completely in a circle, lifting him off the ground in a body flip. He landed on his back, hard, Aaron still holding the man’s wrist.

  “I told you to never touch me. The simple act of touching someone against their will is against the law in this country. What I just did is called self-defense.” Aaron released the bouncer’s wrist. “Touch me again and I will be forced to use ‘as much force as is necessary’ as written in the Canadian Criminal Code. Are we clear?”

  The bouncer coughed a few times. He got to his knees and then pulled himself up, using a nearby table for support, collecting his breath. Aaron wondered why he had taken so long to collect himself. Could he really have hurt such a big man from a simple flip? Or was he waiting for backup?

  The music stopped. On stage, the dancer looked bewildered. She used her arms to cover her exposed breasts and leaned against the pole.

  To Aaron’s right, two new bouncers moved in. In his mind, he had already w
orked it all out. The only problem was, with men this big and this ready to fight, he would have to really hurt them, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t come here for that. Breaking bones and causing blood to hit the beat-down carpet under his shoes would be like a day in the office, but he couldn’t do it. Too much attention. The police would come. Folley would hear about it. Maybe his bail would be revoked.

  It was time to leave. Peacefully.