When Hell Freezes Over

by Rick Blechta

  Then he stuck his face into mine. “Where is she?” he hissed.

  “Who?”

  With no warning, he jabbed his fist hard into my gut. This time I did fall to my knees, but was quickly dragged upright again.

  “That’s to let you know we’re serious. Now do you feel like answering the question?”

  “Not particularly,” I answered without thinking.

  He grabbed me by the hair and rapped my head against the door jamb several more times.

  “Wrong answer, pretty boy. Now if you want to stay pretty...”

  I knew I didn’t have many options. These idiots might have instructions to get specific information, or they just might be fishing. How was I to know? The worst part was that I really didn’t have much information they would want. I might actually have even less than they did. Would they be satisfied with almost nothing?

  I didn’t think so.

  As big as the two knocking me around were, the third guy scared me more. Not as big, he somehow exuded far more danger. Perhaps he had been the person who’d tortured poor Angus. The curious smile on his face told me that he’d enjoy doing things like that.

  An SUV rounded the corner at the far end of the building next to the one where we were standing. Sometimes the other tenants use the driveway that passes the side door of my shop in order to exit to the street, and if this were the case, it would mean he’d pass us. Only a dolt would not recognize that something bad was going on. The vehicle slowed for a moment, as if the driver were hesitating.

  We all seemed to be holding our breath, but for completely opposite reasons. Would he or wouldn’t he? The ringleader uttered his first words, “Get him into the auto. We can’t stand out here—”

  That’s as far as he got, because the driver of the SUV suddenly floored it, and with squealing tires, came directly at us. Both the ringleader and the dark-haired flunky reached into their jackets.

  The ringleader, standing out in the driveway away from my side door, made the easier target, and the SUV appeared to be aiming for him. At the speed it was moving, the guy wasn’t going to be able to attempt to get out of the way and get a shot off. The one with me, however, would have a chance to fire.

  Within the blink of an eye, the SUV came screaming to a halt, dividing the three of us at the door from the bloke in the driveway. In my impaired state, I tried to help by stamping down as hard as I could on the instep of the one with the gun. I was dimly aware of a noise from the other side of the SUV as I turned to the blond guy.

  He’d snapped out of it, all right, and gave me several quick jabs to my face with hands that felt like concrete blocks. I went backwards and bumped into the one whose instep I’d nailed so well. Being up on one foot, while holding the damaged one, he easily overbalanced and went down in a heap with me fortunately on top. My head hit something very hard. Maybe it was the driveway, maybe it was the guy’s head, but I must have actually blacked out for a moment. The next thing I was aware of was a shape coming around the back of the SUV . In the dim light and with my stunned brain, that’s all that registered. Blondie turned to face the newcomer, ready to do battle.

  Something flashed in the light as the newcomer came in fast and low, leg swinging wide. The next thing that registered was a dull thud, and Blondie was down on his side. A strong hand grabbed me, pulling me to my feet, and dragged me into the passenger seat of the SUV . In a flash we were underway in a second tire-screeching take off. A hard left, which had me falling against my saviour, who was behind the wheel again, had us accelerating down the back of my building towards the street.

  “Hold on to something, because I’m taking this turn as fast as I can without rolling,” the person said, which we did with a god almighty bump as the vehicle clipped the curb.

  We sped off west towards Woodbine Avenue, the main north/south road in the area, going right through the stop sign a block away from my shop. The light was with us at Woodbine, so with a sharp left and little slowing of our speed, we were heading south towards civilization.

  My saviour was keeping a sharp eye in the rear view mirror, and I couldn’t believe it when we quickly pulled into the parking area in front of a line of stores (closed for the night) only two blocks south. The SUV halted next to a small stand of fir trees which partially blocked it from the street. Our headlights and the engine were switched off, and the driver slouched down in the seat, pushing down on my head so I’d do the same. For a moment, it was silent, except for some pinging as the engine block began to cool.

  “What in God’s name are we doing?” I asked.

  Shannon O’Brien looked over at me. “We’re watching to see if they come by. I want to make their tags if I can.”

  “What?”

  “Get their license plate number.”

  “Do you think this is wise?”

  “Relax! It’s the last thing they’ll expect. I’m sure they figure we’re either hightailing it to safety or the nearest cop shop. So without knowing it, they’re going to provide us with the first solid lead we have in your little problem.”

  I rubbed the back of my sore head. I didn’t want to think aboutwhat my face looked like, but everything could have been a lot worse. “Thanks for what you did back there. I was in a pretty tight corner.”

  “Well, I should have been quicker on the draw. When you said someone had been nosing around your shop, that was a strong indication you could find yourself in a whole lot of trouble in a big hurry.”

  “Looked to me like you were doing just fine back there. I think two of those bastards had guns.”

  The blonde detective sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all of them did, the way things are in Toronto these days. We’re lucky they didn’t just heave you into the back of their car and take you someplace a little more private. I guess they figured your warehouse would suit for what they had in mind.” She sat up a little. “And here come our boys, if I’m not mistaken.”

  I sat up in time to see a nondescript white car pass by. They made it even easier by having the car’s dome light on. The dark-haired one was driving, and Blondie was partially turned in the passenger seat, talking to his boss, who sat slouched in the back with a hand to his eye.

  Shannon took out a pen and wrote on the back of her hand.“Made the tag! It was so kind of them to wash the car recently.” She turned the key in the ignition and the SUV roared to life.“Let’s follow these suckers and see where they go!”

  “I’d rather not. I’ve had enough for one day.”

  As the shock of what had almost happened started to sink in, I felt like crawling in the back and hiding under the seat. Shannon was almost vibrating with excitement, and I realized she had a real love of the chase and not a lot of fear. Interesting woman...

  She suddenly seemed aware that I had been pretty badly knocked around. Switching on the dome light, she fished around in the back seat for her purse and produced a wad of tissues. “Here. Use these. I don’t want you to bleed all over my upholstery.”

  I took the tissues, not knowing if she were serious. Touching the right side of my face gingerly, I realized it was damp. With the sun visor down on my side, I saw in its mirror that my head was indeed bleeding—and swelling up nicely in the bargain. I’d look really terrific by morning.

  My detective switched off the light and put her vehicle in gear.“We should get that looked at.”

  “No,” I answered firmly. “I don’t want to take the chance.”

  “You think they’re going to be watching all the hospitals for you?”

  I shook my head. “No, not them. Reporters. I’m worried about publicity. I don’t want any. You never know who’s going to come around to dig up the dirt.”

  Her face took on a quizzical expression. “You have been out of the spotlight for quite some time, you know.”

  I explained to her about the proposed Neurotica benefit concert. “Look at it this way: I’m involved in a murder, and then this legendary band announces it’s going to play with all
the original members for the first time in twenty-four years. It may not be big news here yet, but it is in the UK . I just don’t want to take any chances with somebody finding out what’s happened tonight. You don’t know how these things can get twisted around.”

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  “Just take me back so I can get my car.” I stopped as memory seeped in. “Wait a minute. My keys are on the roof of the building. Damn!”

  “Michael...”

  I turned stiffly in my seat to look at her. “I hate to ask, but can you drive me home?”

  “What are you going to do there?”

  “Clean myself up and go to bed.”

  She shook her head. “You’re too much. What if the bad guys show up at your door?”

  “They can’t know where my apartment is.”

  “Do you want to bet your life on it?”

  That brought me up short. “I see what you mean. Well then, drive me to a hotel. There’s one just down the road.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ll take you to my place.” I must have telegraphed what shot through my mind, because she laughed. “Have you got the wrong idea! I have two children, one of whom crawls in my bed most nights because he’s been having bad dreams, plus, my mother lives with us.”

  I felt kind of stupid jumping to conclusions like that. “Well, I did notice you don’t wear a wedding ring.”

  She stopped smiling. “My husband and I divorced last year.” She started backing out of the parking place, a little quickly to my mind. “So, will you take me up on my offer? I have a big old farmhouse with lots of spare rooms. The bad guys won’t find you there, and I can keep an eye on you. They thumped you pretty good. You might have a concussion.”

  “You really know how to cheer a bloke up.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So what’ll it be?”

  I shrugged. “Take me to your place, I guess.”

  ***

  Shannon explained as we drove that she lived northwest of Toronto in an area of Peel Region where they still have farmland.

  “My family has lived there for almost a hundred and fifty years. We haven’t farmed it since my dad passed away. A neighbour leases the fields from us now, so my kids get to see the land being worked, and we still keep some chickens, a cow, a few sheep. My youngest, who’s eleven and named Robbie after his dad, loves the outdoors and really ‘gets it’. My daughter Rachel thinks living off a dirt road and sharing her yard with a bunch of animals is ‘boring’, just like a lot of other fifteen-year-olds—bright lights of the big city and all that.”

  We were speeding west along the 401, Toronto’s main superhighway, at well above the speed limit. Shannon seemed quite competent behind the wheel, but it still made me a tad nervous the way she wove in and out of traffic. Snow had begun falling again, and I knew how quickly it could get slippery.

  “May I ask how you got into the investigation business?”

  “Got a couple of hours?” she laughed. “I had a grandfather, father and uncle who were all cops with the Toronto force. My ex-husband was a detective. I guess you could say it was pre-ordained.”

  “What about siblings?”

  “Two brothers. Oh, they considered it, but chose other paths. One’s a university professor in Ottawa, and the other works for a bank in Vancouver. It really disappointed my dad, though.”

  “How did he feel about you becoming one?”

  “He didn’t like it at first, but he got used to it.He’d retired by then and was trying his hand at running the farm. He wasn’t very good atit, I’m afraid, and it eventually killed him.”

  “So how long were you a police officer?”

  “Nine years. I stopped shortly after my son was born. It seemed the smart thing to do. Policing in Toronto was getting more dangerous. My husband quit soon after, and we started the agency. He felt there was better money in it, and we could set our own hours, rather than always being at the mercy of whatever shift we were assigned. Boy, were we naïve!”

  “And he’s...?” I started, but the sentence was left dangling for several seconds.

  Shannon sighed. “Gone,” she said wistfully, then her voice and expression hardened. “Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

  We continued our drive in silence, lost in our own thoughts. I distractedly watched the Toronto landscape slide by as we turned north on the 427 to skirt the eastern edge of the airport, then west when the 427 ended, then north again, up a two-lane road.

  The weather worsened the further we went. Once clear of the housing developments, the snow swept unobstructed across the flat acres of fields in a blinding, white vengeance. With my winter experience shaped by city living, I was becoming uneasy. Go off the road out here and it could be hours before they find you—long enough to freeze to death.

  “Is it much farther?” I asked.

  “Just a kilometre or two.”

  We slowed to a crawl as another buffeting of wind made the road disappear in swirling white.

  “Now I know why you drive one of these things.”

  “Sometimes I think a snow plow would be more appropriate,” she responded, leaning forward in an attempt to see better.

  A few minutes later, we stopped, then slowly turned right. How Shannon could see where we were was beyond me. Creeping forward, the wind died for a moment, and I could make out a farmhouse a few hundred feet ahead.

  She cursed under her breath as she pulled up next to the house. “Darn kids must have every light in the house on!”

  It certainly was a handsome building. Made of brick with all the gingerbread trim, white shutters and a big porch, it looked well lovedand well lived in. Long ago, someone had planted a windbreak of pines, which had now grown tall and protected the house from the worst of the storm. As we got out of the SUV , you could hear the wind thrumming through the branches as the trees tossed to and fro.

  Walking to the back of the house, I frowned as my shoes—good for travelling, bad for winter walking—filled with snow. I got the feeling I might not be going anywhere in the morning.

  A light clicked on as we approached the back steps—motion detector. Shannon hopped up all three athletically, and I followed slowly. I still felt rather wobbly, and during the long drive, I’d stiffened up quite a bit.

  Shannon opened the door, and life and warmth erupted from the kitchen beyond with a loud cry of “Mommy’s home!” and the tailwagging fury of two dogs of uncertain parentage. “Mommy” quickly closed the door, shutting winter firmly outside where it belonged.

  The kitchen of the O’Brien farmhouse had been built for a time when large families and farm labourers were the order of the day, and as such, it was a generous size and dominated by a rather grand old table much scarred by years of service. I imagined it was as old as the room itself. At the moment, the table had been turned into a homework station, and Shannon’s two kids’ textbooks, papers and a laptop were spread haphazardly over its surface.

  The inevitable questions started immediately. “Who’s he?” “Mom! You could have told me you were bringing someone home!” “Are you on a date?” “He looks as if someone punched him out!”

  An odd expression flashed across Shannon’s face as she turned away from the coat pegs by the back door. “Kids, you’re not being very polite! Where are your manners?”

  “We don’t have any!” the little guy shouted, then dissolved into laughter. I got the feeling I’d just experienced a well-rehearsed and often-played scene.

  On the opposite side of the room, a short, stout woman with her grey hair done up in a tight bun was busily putting the last of the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. She turned to face us, wiping her hands on a towel. “Are the roads bad?”

  Shannon smiled tolerantly. “I feel like I’m holding a press conference! Okay, everyone, this is Michael Quinn. He’s a client ofmine, and he owns a business at the opposite end of the building my office is in.” She turned to me. “And Michael, this is my son Robert— but everyone calls him Robbie—
and my daughter Rachel.” Shannon walked across the room, putting her arm around the older woman. “And this is my mother, Mary Cathcart, without whom this household would grind to a halt in about one hour flat!”

  Rachel, growing tall like her mum but with dark hair and less delicate features, looked at me levelly before asking, “Why did you bring him home with you?”

  “He couldn’t get home on his own, and I didn’t want to drive him all the way downtown where he lives, so he’s staying in one of the spare rooms tonight.”

  Robbie, who shared Shannon’s fair skin and hair, sat once again at the table. “Did my mom save you from getting beat up?”

  Out of the mouths of babes...

  Mom, probably used to dealing with awkward comments from her child, did. “He had a bit of an accident, that’s all.”

  “But he’s bleeding!”

  Grandma Cathcart said, “He should have that looked at.”

  Shannon stepped to the other side of me, and after a closer look said, “You’re right. You’d better come with me, Michael.”

  Three sets of eyes (five if you counted the dogs) watched silently as Shannon led me out of the room.

  While she was busy rummaging in a built-in cupboard up in the farmhouse’s enormous bathroom, I took a peek at myself in the mirror over the sink. The side of my head which had been bashed repeatedly into the door frame had quite a gash, and it was still dripping. The blood had flowed down just in front of my right ear, and the collar of my shirt had soaked it up, leaving a brilliant crimson stain. To top it off, I was showing all the signs of a nice black eye, and my face looked lopsided from the swelling. Lovely.

  “Sit here on the toilet seat,” Shannon said as she flipped it down. “The light’s better.”

  I did as I was told and wished I were a million miles away as she snipped away a bit of hair, dabbed and otherwise tended to my wound. Even though she tried to be gentle, the swelling made the whole area quite sore, and I winced several times.

  As she finished up by applying a couple of butterfly bandages, Shannon said, “I want to apologize for what happened tonight.”