by Jay Lang
* * *
The wind is cool and unforgiving when I step from the ferry wharf and walk up Granville Street. There are few people walking around the usually busy area because of the cold. When I finally reach the office, a pretty young red-headed woman about thirty with huge breasts is just leaving. She’s wearing tight blue jeans and a short pink puffer jacket with matching pink boots. She nods and smiles as we pass each other. As soon as I walk in the office, I see Ed behind his desk, fiddling with papers.
“Ed, how are you?”
He looks up and smiles, “Hi, Jules. Come in, sit down.”
“I just wanted to come by to touch base and make sure you haven’t given my job away,” I say, half joking.
“Naw. After how well you did on your first assignment, I wouldn’t dream of letting you go.”
Relieved to hear it, I ask him about how business is? When he starts to go through a short list of new cases, I see a dark pink smear on his cheek. I wait until he’s done speaking and say, “Ed, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it but you have lipstick or something on your face.”
He instantly turns red which makes me question if I should have said anything. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out some tissue then wipes at his cheek.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I just didn’t want you walking around like that.”
He chuckles and tells me that he hired a new secretary and lately she’s become very friendly.
I smile, “Do you mean the hot chick I just passed in the hallway a few minutes ago?”
“That would be her.”
“Wow. I don’t know how you get any work done at all with that kind of distraction.”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t. Thankfully, it’s a slow time for business right now.”
Over the next half hour, we talk about Jason and his upcoming wedding in England before I tell him that I need to get going. He asks me when I’ll be able to come back to work and I tell him I should only need a couple more days to make sure my dad will be ok on his own. We say goodbye and I head out.
As I walk toward Granville Island, I chuckle to myself. Men can be so easy to read. By the color Ed’s face turned when I mentioned the lipstick on his cheek, it’s so obvious that he has a crush on his hot new secretary, and I can bet that her looks have almost everything to do with her getting hired. No wonder he doesn’t mind me not being at work.
* * *
Once I’m at Granville Island Market, I think about catching the passenger ferry to Yale town and going home, but then I remember that Dad is out with Charlie and probably won’t be back for quite some time. As much as talking to Ed was a good distraction, being alone right now with just my thoughts might bring back my anxiety about meeting Slinky. Instead, I opt for grabbing a tea in the market and take a seat at the large windows overlooking the harbor.
As I sip my drink and watch the gulls scavenge for bits of food, I think about Slinky. How horrible his life must be living in a shit hole area like Blood Alley. I’ve never asked him about where he grew up, if he ever had a wife or how he ended up where he is now. If Slinky and I do get out of this plan alive, I’ll have to start spending more time being a friend to him. So far, he’s proven to be a friend to me. I just can’t let Dad know. He’d freak out if he knew about everything that has been happening. Not to mention, he told me to stay away from Fournier. If I told him about my interactions with Slinky, he might guess that I had dealings with Fournier too. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him, especially because he’s terminally ill. It all seems so unfair: Dad’s condition. It’s so hard to believe that he suffers with addiction for so many years, loses his wife and child, then is falsely imprisoned for almost a decade and a half. And finally, when gets clean and sober he’s diagnosed with an incurable tumor. How is that right? Especially when horrible people like Fournier and Tank are out there, healthy and making money off the weak. It just doesn’t make sense. But I guess it’s like my grandma used to say, “If you’re waiting for life to be fair, you’ll be waiting for a long bloody time.”
I watch as two gulls fight over a discarded French Fry. A little girl sitting with her mother at a table behind me slides off her chair and runs up to the window to watch the squawking birds. She’s a pretty little thing, blonde curly hair and large blue eyes—she reminds me of Abby. Her mother yells for her to come back to the table, but the child ignores her, transfixed on the seagulls.
“Do you think they will hurt each other?” she asks, sadly.
“No. I don’t think so. I think they’re just having a disagreement.” I answer, consolingly.
“But they shouldn’t be mean to each other. They should be nice and share.”
“You’re right. That’s always the best way to do things, isn’t it?”
She nods and looks back at her mother.
“Katie, come back to the table and quit bothering that lady,” orders her mom.
“Your name is Katie?” I ask, smiling.
“Yep. What’s yours?”
“Its, Jules. You know, you should probably listen to your mom.”
The child shrugs then walks back to the table.
I can’t help but see the irony in our meeting. She looks like Abby and her name is Katie, both are people who mean so much to me. I’ve been so preoccupied with what I might lose, instead of being grateful for what I have and still have.
* * *
Back on the passenger ferry, I text Katie and briefly tell her about the cute little girl I met with the same name as her’s. Katie sends a smiley face and texts me saying that she’ll talk to me when she’s back at her apartment tonight. I hope like hell that everything goes well with Slinky so that I can come home to start a new life with Katie. Other than my father, she’s the best thing in my life.
I keep as busy as possible at home, doing laundry, washing windows and sweeping the floors. When Dad returns, he brings a bag of groceries and says that he’s making us a nice dinner. While we unpack the food, he tells me about meeting with his parole officer and how afterwards, Charlie took him for lunch at the legion. He’s walking even slower than when he left this morning and his squinting eyes hint that he may be in pain as well. The day’s events must be taking their toll on him.
He tells me that he’s going to lie down for a while before preparing supper. I ask if we should invite Charlie over to eat with us?
“That’s a great idea,” he says, as he walks down the hall and into his room. I wonder if Dad has told Charlie about his condition? Probably not. Weakness is not an option for my father and if he told his new friend about being sick, Charlie might feel sorry for him. Considering the type of person my grandmother was—closed off emotionally, I can see her influence on him.
I sit down to watch TV but don’t really retain anything. All I am thinking about is how scared I am to go to Fournier’s Bar. I just hope Slinky knows what he’s doing. After about an hour of sitting with my head spinning, I hear Dad’s bedroom door open. Leaning my head over, I look down the hallway and see him with a couple of pill bottles, going into the bathroom. I sigh and sink back into the couch wishing there was something I could do to alleviate his pain.
Dad walks into the living room with a brave face and a forced smile, “Well, kid. Are you ready to make a mess and a good dinner?”
I smile back and then remind him to ask Charlie if he wants to join us. When Dad leaves the apartment, it occurs to me that I’d better touch base with Slinky and confirm the plan for tonight.
I text Slinky. ‘Are we still on for tonight? If not, I’m totally ok with waiting. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it and if you want to cancel for tonight, maybe we can meet for a coffee tomorrow and discuss things so they are a little clearer to me?’
I place the phone on the counter hoping that Slinky agrees with my suggestion and texts me back. But something tells me that he won’t. When I spoke to him on the phone earlier, he sounded hell bent on going through with things tonight.
When D
ad walks back into the apartment, we start to make dinner, chicken with cream sauce and steamed carrots and rice. Trying to work side by side over the stove, my dad shakes his head at everything I touch. Finally, he orders me out of the kitchen and tells me to set the table.
“Really, Dad? You’re firing me as sous chef already?”
“Yep, you’re all thumbs. You’ve been demoted to table setter.”
I laugh grabbing the plates and cutlery.
While putting out the table settings, my father starts to whistle a song that I haven’t heard in years. Immediately my mind is transported back to when I was a child and my parents would be goofing around while they cooked. Mom would hum while Dad whistled a tune, the same one he’s whistling now. I feel my eyes well up with tears and I ask him what the title of the song is?
He thinks for a moment then says, “Après De Ma Blonde. It’s a French song that my father used to sing to me, only I could never remember the words, so I just whistled the melody.”
I nod, thinking about how I need to look up the tune so when he’s gone, I can listen to it and feel closer to him.
Dinner is tasty but the company is boring. Dad and Charlie spend the whole time talking about old war planes and ships while I eat and wonder what Katie’s doing? After everyone’s finished, I gather the dishes and wash them while the men sit at the table and eat pumpkin pie for dessert. When I’m done in the kitchen, I glance over at my phone—still no message from Stinky.
I decide to take a quick shower while Dad and Charlie finish visiting. When I’m finished, I throw on my robe and start walking to my room when my father calls me from the kitchen. The seriousness of his tone reminds me of when I was a child and in trouble. Walking up to him, I see that Charlie has gone home and Dad is standing beside the counter holding my cell in his hand.
Why does he look pissed off? Did I get a text and he read it? Please don’t let it be from Slinky.
“What’s up?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” he says, with his brow furrowed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lie.
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, I saw Charlie to the door and your phone started vibrating. I went to grab it and the screen lit up with a text.”
“Ok. So?”
“So, Jules. Are you sure there’s not something you want to talk to me about?”
“Yeah, one-hundred percent positive,” I say, snatching the phone from him.
I’m trying to take the position of being defensive so that he won’t pursue the conversation. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hallway to my room. Once inside, I close the door and lean against it, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Looking at my cell, I see that both Katie and Slinky have texted. Katie wants me to call her and Slinky said that our plan to meet at Fournier’s bar tonight is still on.
Shit. Dad must have read the text. Why else would he be so pissed off? As much as I want to go to him and tell him everything, I can’t. I’m terrified to go to meet Slinky, but in reality, if I don’t go, I’ll still be in the same shitty situation—owing Fournier an astronomical amount of money.
I quickly call Katie and tell her that I’ve got a bit of a headache so I’m going to be hitting the hay early. She buys it and we talk for awhile before I wish her good night and hang up. Dad, on the other hand, is going to be a lot tougher to deal with. Knowing that you can’t con an ex-con, I decide that talking to him and trying to bullshit my way through Slinky’s text… Well I decide to avoid it all together. All I have to do is wait until Dad falls asleep and then tip-toe out of the apartment and go meet Slinky. It’s already almost 10 pm. Dad should be crashing within the next hour. I’ll just have to avoid him until then. I decide to lie on my bed and listen to tunes on you tube to relax but it doesn’t work. With each song that plays, I find myself watching the time like a hawk, worrying about tonight and what awaits me.
Chapter Fourteen
Dad takes longer than usual to go to bed. At about midnight I finally hear him in the washroom and shortly after that as he goes into his room and closes the door. I’m sorry, Dad. I really wish I could tell you what’s going on, but I can’t. If anything bad does happen to me tonight, I hope you know how much I love you. I wait about fifteen minutes after my father goes to bed then pull on a hoodie and slide into a pair of jeans. After my shoes are on, I quietly open my door and creep out into the hall, being extra cautious not to make a sound. Finally, I make it to the front door. I reach over to the dimly lit kitchen counter to grab my keys when I see a small piece of paper sitting next to them. I pick it up and read it, “I love you, my angel. Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. You’re a big girl now and you have your own path to travel, but listen to this old man when I tell you that when you’re dealing with people from the seedy side of the tracks, no one can be trusted. I love you, Dad.”
Sonofabitch. I knew it. I could just tell. He read Slinky’s text. Half of my brain is telling me to go back to my room and get undressed and get into bed, while the other half is saying that I have no choice. I have to go. If I don’t, things will get a lot worse for me, and for us. “I love you too, Dad. I’m so sorry that I’m going against your wishes. Soon, I’ll be able to tell you everything, just not quite yet,” I whisper, folding the piece of paper and sticking it into my pocket.
* * *
In the truck I look at the time on the dash. It’s 12:40 am. I should get to the bar right when Slinky told me to be there. Driving out of the underground parking, I look at the building in the rear-view mirror and hope that this isn’t the last time I’ll see it. No matter what happens, my number one goal is to get in and get out undetected by Fournier or Tank.
Chapter Fifteen
Just as Slinky said, the bar is closed early and there are no cars in the parking lot. I pull up behind the pub and shut off the engine. My hands shake as I walk up to the pub. Through the glass, I can see a hefty woman wiping tables with her hair loosely pulled into a ratty looking bun. I lightly rap on the door but she doesn’t seem to hear me. I try again, only harder this time.
Her face turns toward me. She has a stern, weathered look on her face. Throwing down the cloth, she walks up to the door and unlocks it. Opening it slightly, she peers out and asks what I want.
“Hi. I’m Jules. Slinky told me to meet him here.”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she swings the door open just enough for me to enter then locks it behind me.
I follow her to the back of the room and up to the red door. “Is your name, Darlene?” I ask, trying to break the ice.
“Are you taking notes?” she asks, gruffly.
“No. I’m sorry. I was just being friendly.”
“Well, I ain’t here to make friends.”
‘With a sweet disposition like yours? You’re kidding?’ I think but don’t say.
Darlene pulls out a key from her pocket and opens the door. She waves me in and locks the door behind me.
As soon as I walk around the corner, I see Slinky sitting on a chair behind an old wooden desk. All four walls to the small room are made of cement. A small sofa sits off to one side with an old coffee table sitting in front of it.
“Hey, kid. It’s good to see you. Come in. Come in,” he says, standing up and walking to greet me.
He hugs me tightly and then stands back and looks me up and down, “I’m so glad you’re ok. That night in the park, I was terrified that Fournier was going to do something horrible to you. I’m so happy to see you in one piece.”
“Thanks, Slinky. It’s good to see you too. To be honest, I’m scared shitless right now. I know that you’re trying to help me by doing this, but shouldn’t we get out of here as soon as possible, like grab the book and go?”
He laughs, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve got it all covered.”
Slinky sounds a little too confident and, in my experience, when someone is too sure of themselves, something usually happens to bri
ng them down a peg.
“Did you get the book?” I ask.
“It’s right here,” he says, tapping on the breast of his jacket.
Then, I notice something that I missed when I first walked in, his hand. There are no bandages on it.
“Slinky, your hand. It’s ok. I don’t understand.”
“Ahh, yeah. Crazy isn’t it?” he says, twiddling his fingers in front of me—all ten digits are there.
“But I saw Tank cut off your pinkie with that silver contraption.”
“Did you? Are you sure about that?” he says, with a malevolent grin.
“I…I was sure of it,” then I remember turning my head at the exact moment Tank pushed down on the strange device.
“But why would you fake getting your finger cut off?”
Just then, I hear the door open behind me. First, Fournier walks in and behind him, Tank.
My breathing becomes shallow and I hyperventilate, “Did you set me up, Slinky?” No matter what his answer is, I’m sure of one thing, the odds of me getting out of here alive are slim.
Fournier briefly looks at me and then turns his attention to Slinky.