Harvey went over and stood by the window. Rusty chicken-wire stapled to the window frame made the street look like the interior of a gigantic beehive. Harvey felt claustrophobic, and trapped. He toyed with the idea of scooting, but reluctantly decided to hold his ground. He had to have a gun, and had no idea where else to get one.
Anders was gone a long time. Eleven or twelve minutes, by Harvey’s cheap but deadly accurate analogue watch. Harvey had feared Anders would return armed and dangerous, intending to rob him. He was relieved to see that all Anders was carrying was a matched pair of small black lizardskin suitcases.
Anders indicated the sofa with a sweep of his massive arm. “Sit down, man, make yourself comfy. I got no alcohol, but would you care for a Sprite?”
Harvey shook his head. Anders continued to stare quizzically at him. He said, “No thanks,” in case he wasn’t getting through.
Anders put the two suitcases down on the coffee table. He lay down on the sofa on his side. Harvey noticed that Anders was wearing pyjamas that perfectly matched his robe and the sofa. It was weird, the way he blended in, like he was an exotic snake on the Discovery Channel. If he took off the glasses, he might disappear entirely. Anders waved nonchalantly at the suitcases. He said, “Dig in, man. Take a look, see if there’s anything tickles your fancy.”
Harvey hesitated, and then sat down on the edge of the sofa. He unzipped the suitcase and flipped it open. It was filled with tapered rolls of newspaper. Harvey picked one up. It weighed four or five pounds. He unwrapped the paper. The gun was a stainless Smith & Wesson .38-calibre revolver, four-inch barrel and black composite grips. A price tag was affixed to the trigger guard with a short length of string. Harvey caught the tag between his thumb and index finger. He twisted it so he could read the numbers printed on the tag in black ink.
Anders said, “That’s U.S. dollars.”
Harvey did the math. The gun was priced at two hundred and fifty dollars, which translated into roughly four hundred Canadian.
He rolled the revolver back up in its cocoon of newspaper, and put it aside and unrolled the paper on another gun, a black .40-calibre Glock. He checked the tag. The price was five hundred dollars. He said, “That’s nine hundred bucks. You’re asking retail, almost.”
“That piece is brand-new, never been fired. Plus you gotta factor in that you don’t pay no taxes or licensing fees.”
“What’s the cheapest gun in your arsenal?”
“You already seen it — the .38.”
Harvey said, “Is it clean?”
Anders chuckled. The air vibrated, and was still. He said, “It’s a fucking handgun, Harvey. They’re all dirty. That’s the nature of the beast.”
Harvey said, “Toss in a box of ammo and your sunglasses, you got yourself a happy customer, if you’ll take three hundred.”
Anders spread his arms wide. “Four hundred’s cheap. Bearing in mind you also get a fifty-round box of gruesome deadly hollowpoint bullets.”
“Three and a quarter,” said Harvey. “That’s my best offer, take it or leave it.”
Anders said, “Get the fuck outta my house.”
It went like that for ninety hectic seconds. Anders caved in at three ninety-five, losing a little face just to get the deal done. Downstairs in the hotel bar it had been quiet, but suddenly the compressive thump of the sound system was loud enough to make Harvey’s ears hurt. Overhead, the shrunken heads danced erratically. In the kitchen, three days’ worth of dirty dishes rattled in the sink. Harvey slipped a round into the Smith while Anders was counting his money.
Anders said, “‘Stairway to Heaven,’ my favourite.”
*
Seduction
Sandy parked his truck around the corner from Jan’s apartment. He walked down the paved alley and around to the front of her building, all the way to the end of the block, and then turned around and walked back on the opposite side of the street. In a neighbourhood as densely populated as Jan’s, it was impossible to catalogue and keep track of the local vehicles. What he was looking for was a couple of beefy guys slouched low in a parked car, shining their badges. He didn’t see anybody. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, but it cut down on the odds. He crossed the street and walked up to the building and rang Jan’s buzzer. She answered right away, as if she’d been waiting for him to show. She told him to come on up, and hit the button that unlocked the glass door to the lobby.
Sandy thumbed the elevator button and stepped back three paces. The elevator worked its way down from the third floor. The doors slid open. Sandy got in and hit the button for Jan’s floor. The doors slid shut. He knelt as if to tighten a shoelace, and adjusted the suede holster strapped to the inside of his right ankle. The holster held a .22-calibre semiauto his father had given him. He’d practised with the weapon at a local club. It was reasonably accurate to a range of about ten feet. Beyond that distance, the chances of hitting anything smaller than a barn were roughly equivalent to winning the lottery. He stood up. The elevator door slid open with a faint grinding sound.
Jan was standing right there in front of him, smiling. She wore a sleeveless summer dress in pale green with big white flowers, some kind of orchid. She smelled great and looked even better. He said, “You look terrific.”
“Thank you.” He could see she was pleased. She was a little hard around the edges, but there was no denying she was a beautiful woman. He guessed that Harvey hadn’t been big on compliments. They walked down the hallway hand in hand to her open apartment door. As she led him inside she said, “Want something to drink?”
“Ice water would be good.”
“You don’t want a beer, glass of wine?”
“Makes me sleepy.”
She gave him a slow look. “Would that be a bad thing?”
Sandy said, “Excuse me, I gotta use the can.”
In the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck, and stared himself down in the mirror as he told himself he was doing the right thing, that everything was going to work out, not to worry.
He found Jan in the living room, sitting at one end of the sofa with her long legs tucked under her.
She said, “I’m having wine.”
“Whatever.”
She handed Sandy a wineglass full of ice cubes and water. They clinked glasses. She said, “Here’s to us.”
Sandy drank some water. It was so cold it hurt the back of his throat. Jan sipped at her wine. Her dress was made of one of those tricky fabrics you could almost but not quite see through. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her lightly tanned legs were bare. He wondered if she was wearing panties, and felt himself stir despite all his worries. She’d told him she was on the Pill, but he always wore a rubber. He’d told her he took the extra precaution because he wasn’t anywhere near mature enough to be anybody’s father, but the truth was that he was terrified of AIDS.
Jan said, “Is anything wrong?”
“No, of course not.”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m fine, really.”
Jan eased off the sofa and went into the kitchen for a second glass of wine. She came back looking flushed and a little too serious. Sandy had meant to let her lead him to wherever it was she thought she was going, but he was losing patience. Not a good thing. He made a little more room for her, but when she’d settled back down, he shifted closer, took her small foot in his hand, and gave her a gentle massage.
She stretched out her leg to make it easier for him. “That feels good.”
Sandy paused in his rhythm. Her freshly painted nails were the same lurid shade of red as fresh-spilled blood.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing, I thought I might’ve squeezed too hard, that’s all. You’ve got such small bones, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Jan said, “Good, because I don’t want to be hurt. I’ve already had enough of that to last me a lifetime.” She was quiet for a moment. Sandy swi
tched to her other foot. The thin gold chain around her ankle got in his way. He unclasped the chain and put it on her other ankle and resumed his massage. Jan said, “My ex-husband was released a few days ago.”
“Harvey?”
“That’s the one. He dropped in on me, at work. Said he looked me up in the Yellow Pages.”
“I didn’t know you were in the Yellow Pages.”
“I’m not.”
“What did he want, everything to be just like it was five years ago?”
Jan smiled. “Not even Harvey’s that stupid.”
“Money?”
She drank some wine and put the glass down on the windowsill, disturbing dust motes that swirled in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Sandy had noticed the first time he’d visited Jan that she wasn’t much of a housekeeper. But then, he was in no position to pass judgement. Not on that particular issue, anyway. Jan said, “No, that’s what I expected, that he was after my fortune, but he claimed that all he wanted was to visit me and Tyler.”
“You got a restraining order, anything like that?”
Jan shook her head, no.
“How you feel about him seeing Tyler?”
“I guess it’s a good idea. I mean, Harvey’s his father, and Tyler knows who he is, and everything. Or, at least he knows the good bits, in a theoretical sort of way.”
“You don’t sound too sure of yourself.”
Jan shrugged. Her breasts moved beneath the thin material of the dress. Sandy averted his eyes. He said, “You said Harvey was violent.”
“Sometimes. Not always. I might have asked for it, in a way.”
“How could that be?”
“I don’t know.”
Sandy said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, but it irritates me when you think poorly of yourself. You’re working hard, being a good mother to your child. What more do you want from yourself? Creeps like Harvey make themselves strong by undermining the people around them, feeding on their uncertainty and hurt.”
“Wow, you sound like a shrink.”
Sandy laughed. He said, “Don’t ask to see my certificate to practise, or we’re both in trouble.”
Jan leaned her head back against the sofa and shut her eyes. The wine and the heat streaming in through the window were making her sleepy. The conversation wasn’t going anywhere near where she’d meant it to go. She needed to fortify herself with another glass of wine, but didn’t want to risk getting drunk for fear she might blurt out things it would be better to let out slowly, word by measured word. Besides, she could tell that Sandy was tense, and that bothered her and put her on her guard, because as far as she could tell he didn’t have any reason to be anything but relaxed.
She lifted her leg and bent her knee, giving him a look at pretty much anything he wanted to look at, if he was in the mood. She dug her toes into his thigh. “Would you mind putting my gold chain back on my other ankle, please.”
“Yeah, sure.” Sandy’s voice was congested. Jan lifted her leg a little higher. When he’d fastened the chain around her ankle she swung her legs around and took his hands and pulled, so they stood up together, touching all along the length of their bodies.
She said, “Would you like to take me to bed?”
Sandy nodded.
Jan said, “Well then, let’s go.”
*
Insomnia
Jack pulled up to the curb in front of his home. He retrieved the morning paper from the flowerbed and went inside. The house was quiet. He called out Claire’s name and then hung his jacket up in the pine wardrobe in the hall, and kicked off his shoes and went upstairs. Claire was in Hadrian’s room, reading as she sat in the rocking chair by his bed. She looked tired.
Jack said, “You okay?”
Claire nodded. She said, “Hadrian had a fever. He threw up, but I gave him a cold bath, and he seems to be okay.”
“Do you think you should take him to the clinic?”
“He’s sleeping.”
Jack leaned over the crib and reached down to gauge his son’s temperature for himself.
Claire said, “Don’t touch him; you’ll wake him up.”
Jack hesitated, and then withdrew his hand. He said, “I’m going to take a shower, and get something to eat, and then go to bed.”
Claire nodded, and went back to her book.
She hadn’t asked him if she could make him something to eat. She hadn’t asked him where he’d been. He reached down and gently laid the palm of his hand on Hadrian’s smooth forehead. Hadrian’s skin was cool.
Jack stayed in the shower a long time, in the vain hope that the blast of water would sluice away his tension. He towelled himself off and put on his robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, and made a cheese and mushroom omelette and toast. He read the morning paper as he ate his breakfast.
Willows went to bed but couldn’t sleep. The bedroom was hot despite the open window and whir of the fan, and there was too much light, and the fitful rustling of the curtains disturbed him.
He tossed and turned for the better part of an hour and then, vexed, threw aside the sheets and rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. As he buckled his belt, Hadrian uttered a low, indistinct moan.
Willows hurried into the nursery. He was surprised to find Claire curled up on the carpet beside the bed, sleeping soundly. Hadrian was fast asleep. He lay on his back with his chubby legs tangled in his blanket, and his small hands loosely clasping his plump cheeks, as if in comic response to something that had shocked him.
A thin band of sunlight was fragmented and deflected downwards off the many facets of a wind-up musical mobile dangling over the crib. The light turned Hadrian’s face into a nest of uncertain shadows, lending him a faintly ominous air, as if he were host to a malign spirit. Willows pushed that ridiculous thought aside. Hadrian’s little chest rose and fell regularly. Willows leaned over him, so close he could feel the warm puff of Hadrian’s exhalations on his cheek. Hadrian’s breath was normally warm and milky but this morning it was sour and noxious. This made Willows anxious. He gently laid two fingers on his son’s forehead. Hadrian jerked violently at the contact, and blindly batted Willows’ hand away.
Willows straightened. Hadrian was fine. A bad dream had probably disturbed his sleep. Willows contemplated what sort of bad dream a child of Hadrian’s age might suffer. Unchanged dirty diapers? A milk shortage? Having to eat the same stupid Pablum day after day? Not knowing you were going to get bigger? He stepped back from the crib, and looked down at Parker. She looked so comfortable that he decided not to disturb her.
There was no point trying to get back to sleep. He’d drive down to Spanish Banks and take a walk on the beach to clear his mind, then continue downtown to 312 Main to tackle the remains of yesterday’s mountain of paperwork.
*
Seduction, part II
Annie had walked over to the Safeway for groceries. She woke Claire when she got home. Claire reluctantly accepted Annie’s offer to drive her and Hadrian to the nearby medical drop-in clinic. Annie — these days — was no philanthropist. Claire hoped that all she wanted was to borrow the car, or cadge a few dollars’ spending money.
The clinic’s waiting area was full, but Claire wasn’t concerned because there were two doctors and they tended to move people along pretty quickly. Seventeen minutes per visit was the time allotted by B.C. Medicare, but that was the maximum; there was no established minimum time. She sat down in the last of the vacant chairs with Hadrian on her lap. There was a play area filled with brightly coloured plastic toys, but she didn’t want Hadrian playing with them, because it was safe to assume all the other children who had come in contact with the toys had been sick, or exposed to people who were not well. She picked up an ancient copy of Oprah magazine. Hadrian grabbed the corner of a page in his tiny fist. He yanked hard, and ripped off a small piece of paper. Claire took the paper away from him before he could stuff it in his
mouth, but moved the magazine closer so he could tear off another piece of paper. The grim-looking elderly woman in the next chair gave her an approving smile. Claire was so surprised she almost forgot to smile back.
Patients moved in and out of the waiting room. The receptionist’s phone rang constantly. Hadrian kept tearing apart the magazine.
Claire was starting to worry about Annie when she sauntered into the waiting room, the car keys swinging from her little finger. Hadrian saw the keys. He held out his pudgy little hand, and yelled ferociously. Claire didn’t want Annie to let him have the keys because she was afraid he’d jab himself in the eye, but she didn’t want him yelling, either. She let Annie give him the keys. He pulled them violently to his mouth and sucked greedily. Annie rolled her eyes.
Parker said, “The metal’s cool, it feels good on his teeth.”
“Whatever.”
Annie was debating not going back to UBC in the fall. The official reason was that she had decided a formal education was a waste of time. In a firm voice, she’d insisted to Jack and Claire that the only thing a Bachelor of Arts degree would guarantee her was a job working the graveyard shift at Subway, slapping together low-cal sandwiches for insomniacs.
But limited career choices weren’t at the heart of Annie’s dissatisfaction. Her boyfriend had just dumped her, and his parting shot was that he thought she was a lesbian. Annie had been devastated. Why would he say something like that, unless it was true? Claire had taken her shopping, hoping to find some decidedly feminine clothes Annie could add to her wardrobe. The shopping trip had been a disaster. Annie felt comfortable and safe in her baggy jeans and loose-fitting T-shirts.
Claire made the crucial mistake of giving her some unsolicited advice on the basics of makeup. Annie yelled at her that she didn’t appreciate being lectured and that Claire didn’t know what she was talking about. Lipstick was out. Nose-rings were in! It had been quite an outburst, from a supposedly mature twenty-year-old woman. Claire had worked hard to mend the damage. She knew that Annie was going through a difficult time, and that she must have mixed feelings about her new half-brother …
Annie said, “Claire?”
A Cloud of Suspects Page 8
