A Cloud of Suspects

by Laurence Gough

  He drove across the Burrard Street Bridge, into the sometimes shabby, always excessively hip neighbourhood of Kitsilano, and cruised slowly around until he finally stumbled across a spot where he could safely park the Firebird without having to worry about getting towed. He got out of the car, and started walking down the street in the direction he happened to be facing — downhill, towards the harbour. The sun had sunk hours ago, and in the spaces between the streetlights, it was as dark as dark could be.

  He walked past a mix of quaint old shingled houses and ugly three-storey stucco apartment buildings completely lacking in character or charm. A pretty girl leaning against her balcony railing watched him stroll by. He tilted an imaginary hat to her, but she ignored him. He was tempted to kick down her door and teach her that it was rude to ignore people, because it made them feel small, and enraged. But he had work to do, so he kept walking. The angle of descent steepened, so his toes pushed into his boots. Sandy was another sonofabitch who had it coming. The difference between Sandy and the girl on the balcony was that Sandy was actually going to get it. Right between the eyes, when he least expected it.

  Jan had told him to steal a van. The idea of boosting a Windstar or a Previa or an Econoline or a CRV or any of a thousand other boxy pieces of underpowered crap was about as appealing as yogurt. His philosophy had always been that, if you were gonna steal a car, you might as well steal one you’d enjoy driving.

  Harvey thought a Corvette would be the perfect getaway car for the two of them, himself and Jan. Too bad Sandy wasn’t quite dumb enough not to figure things out, if Harvey pulled up in a two-seater. Ditto for Jan. Harvey planned to make it easy on her by pumping lover boy full of bullets before she realized what he was up to. As soon as Sandy was gone, Jan would start forgetting about him. Harvey had always admired her ability to see things as they were, unadorned by regrets or might-have-beens.

  The hill got a little steeper and then levelled out. He came to an intersection with a concrete “calming” circle in the middle. The circle had been filled with earth and then planted with a variety of small shrubs and colourful long-stemmed flowers. He walked over to the ersatz garden and snatched up a handful of bright orange flowers and then remembered he wouldn’t be seeing Jan until the morning. By then the flowers would be dead. He tossed the flowers in the gutter and kept walking. Maybe stealing a van wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Vans were anonymous and had bulk. In movies, the bad guys always had big magnetic advertising strips they could lay down on the body of the van and then rip off as soon as the robbery had been successfully accomplished. Like, “Leo’s Plumbing,” and things like that. Harvey had always wondered where they got the magnetic strips. Was there a special place crooks went to, when they needed that kind of thing? If not, why didn’t the cops check out the local sign-making businesses, find out who had ordered the Leo’s Plumbing sign, track the guy down and shoot his ass to pieces, or arrest him and make him rat out his buddies?

  Harvey walked in a zigzag pattern, up one block and along the next and then up another block, and so on. Pretty soon he’d zagged himself all the way up to Broadway. He started walking back down the hill again, towards the dark, maddeningly indistinct shape of the mountains. It was a weeknight, and the streets were full of parked cars. He strolled past a dark green Honda Odyssey. The vehicle had tinted side and rear windows, but he could easily see in through the windshield. There was plenty of room in there for a happily reunited married couple and a ton of diamonds. Probably, though, he should go after something a little heftier. Maybe a GMC Savana or a Dodge Ram Wagon. Better yet, a full-size cargo van like a Chevy Express or a Ford Econoline. Try to find one with a big V-8 motor, something that would make Jan happy.

  He turned down an alley. A dog barked at him. Its claws scrabbled on a fence. The dog was still barking when he reached the end of the block. He looked both ways, then crossed the street and continued walking down the alley. There were no houses here, nothing but bland three-storey apartment blocks that dated from the uninspired fifties and sixties. The buildings had open, ground-level parking at the rear. If you were a thief, the world was just one great auto mall. Harvey paused to admire a hellfire-red ’62 Valiant Signet convertible with collector plates. The Signet’s top was down. In the incidental light from the building, the white Naugahyde had a ghostly glow. Harvey wandered into the parking lot for a better view. A bubbly wave of excitement swept through him the way it always did when he was about to acquire something of value and make it, however briefly, his own.

  Against all odds, the Signet’s keys dangled in the ignition. Harvey’s hand closed on the driver’s-side door handle. A fat man in a white three-piece suit stepped out of the shadows. The hot end of a cigar glowed red. He wiped his hands on a rag and said, “Get your hand off my chrome.”

  Harvey said, “Sorry.”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you that you shouldn’t touch stuff that doesn’t belong to you?”

  “My mother died when I was two years old,” said Harvey. “She was in a marked crosswalk when she was run over by a car just like this one.”

  The guy was in his sixties, a chunky six-footer. He took off his suit jacket and slung it across the Signet’s backseat. He wore a short-sleeved shirt. His arms were huge, the muscles bulging and rippling as he folded his arms across his chest. His snow-white handlebar moustache was a yard wide, the ends waxed and twisted into lethally sharp points. He had baby-blue eyes Santa would have died for. Harvey said, “It’s a beautiful car.”

  The guy yanked the cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at Harvey as if it were a weapon. “Beat it.”

  Harvey said, “Excuse me?”

  “You live around here?”

  “Uh … ”

  “Lemme see some I.D.”

  Harvey backed away from the car.

  “I ever see you around here again, i’ll beat the crap out of you.” The Signet’s owner flapped the rag. He added, “Or anybody unlucky or stupid enough to look like you, asshole.”

  Harvey turned and beat it. He wasn’t quite running, but it was a near thing. He reached the end of the block and turned left and walked to the end of that block and turned right, and decided that, when the time was right, he’d come back with a tire iron, pound the Signet into scrap.

  Harvey continued to roam the neighbourhood. After a while he walked past another pretty girl on a balcony. He stared up at her and she stared back. He was about to say something clever when she picked up a cordless phone and started dialling.

  He kept walking. A gleaming black Miata with leather upholstery caught his eye. He would have lusted after it, if they weren’t so common. A pair of Oakley sunglasses lay on the passenger seat. Harvey scooped them up and stuck them in his shirt pocket without consciously thinking about it.

  An overweight, affection-starved marmalade cat meowed as it eased out from under a boxwood hedge. The cat trotted towards Harvey on an interception course. Harvey got set to punt the animal over the moon. As he drew back his foot, the cat caught a whiff of his karma, and turned and ducked back beneath the hedge.

  Harvey kept on walking, down one street and up the next. Hard work on a hot summer’s night. Sweat ran into his eyes and made his shirt hang heavy on him. His sweat-soaked underpants clutched at his balls. Beads of sweat dribbled from his heavy black eyebrows and down into his eyes, sparkling like diamonds and blurring his vision. It had been a long day. He was tired, and he wanted a beer. But Jan was counting on him to find a getaway vehicle, and he wasn’t going to let her down.

  Harvey walked for what seemed like hours, until his legs turned to jelly. He stumbled across an English-style neighbourhood pub and went in. The place was about to close, but the bartender drew him a couple of pints after Harvey promised to knock them back in a hurry, and get the hell out. Harvey drank his two allotted pints and got up and walked away. He wearily turned the corner and there she was, the getaway car of his dreams.

  The car, a glossy black PT Cruiser with dark-ti
nted windows and polished alloy wheels, was idling at the curb in front of a grocery store, the radio playing softly. Some kind of piano music, a light jazz that wormed into Harvey, made him snap his fingers and dance across the street. He was twenty or thirty feet away from the Cruiser when the driver pushed open her door and got out of the car and eased the door shut behind her. She was in her mid-thirties, but Harvey forgave her because she had a knockout figure despite her age. Her window was down. The music meant she’d left the engine running. He could hardly believe his luck.

  The sidewalk in front of the store was crowded with potted and cut flowers. Harvey had expected the PT’s owner to walk straight inside. When she stopped to smell the roses, he was forced to do some serious dawdling. He lit a cigarette and waited impatiently as she lingered over bunches of various kinds of flowers he couldn’t name if his life depended on it. He found himself thinking about the last time he had bought Jan flowers. It was almost five years ago, the day his dumb-ass lawyer told him his appeal had been dismissed.

  Jan said, “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means I’m going straight to the slammer,” said Harvey. As he’d spoken the words, his mind had spun like a whirligig in a force-ten hurricane. The happy-face truth was that he could go almost anywhere he wanted to, if he didn’t need a passport to get there. He guessed that meant he was free to travel from sea to shining sea, and that was about it. Still, the freedom to take off for Halifax or whatever was marginally better than no freedom at all.

  All that stopped him was Jan and Tyler. No, be honest. Just Jan. She’d put up his bail money. If he walked, she’d lose every penny, and wouldn’t be waiting for him when he got out. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do six months without knowing Jan was out there, waiting for him.

  The PT owner plucked a bunch of white flowers out of a green plastic bucket. She held the dripping flowers well away from her body as she scrutinized them, looking for bugs, or defects, or whatever else was on her mind. The flowers must have passed inspection. Still holding them well away from her cute little body, dipping into her purse with her free hand, she turned and walked briskly into the store.

  Harvey strolled over to the PT Cruiser. There were lots of people around, but nobody paid any attention to him. He opened the car door and slid behind the wheel and shut the door. The key was in the ignition. The engine was running. He pushed back the seat to give himself more leg room, adjusted the side and rearview mirrors, released the emergency brake, and put the car in gear.

  The woman came out of the flower shop, moving so fast she might have robbed the joint. She checked for traffic and trotted across the street. Harvey powered down her window just as she got to the car. He grabbed the flowers out of her hand and hit the gas, made a hard right at the corner, and was gone.

  Chapter 18

  Reconciliation

  Parker made Annie a breakfast of whole-wheat toast, a soft-boiled egg, and tea. She sat on the edge of the bed and had a cup of tea herself, while Annie ate her meal, and fed Hadrian bits of toast as he played with his favourite toy, a small yellow rubber duck with a bright orange bill. The duck, when squeezed, either barked or oinked or meowed or whinnied. The various sounds it made were in no particular sequence, and therefore unpredictable. Hadrian knew that ducks were supposed to quack. He found the toy endlessly hilarious. Parker had deliberately “lost” the toy several times. Hadrian always made such a fuss about it that she’d been forced, in the interest of her own sanity, to “find” it again.

  She’d brought the teapot upstairs, and poured herself and Annie another cup. In light, non-interrogative tones, she said, “When did you get in last night?”

  “A little past two.”

  “Pretty late. Were the buses still running?”

  “The driver told me I caught the last one.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Annie nodded. Parker sipped her tea. The morning had started out overcast, but a strong, gusting westerly had cleared the sky and now the sun was shining, brightening Annie’s room, even though Parker hadn’t drawn the curtains.

  Parker said, “So, where were you?”

  “Last night?”

  Parker smiled.

  Annie said, “Paige and I went to a poetry reading, met some people, and went back to their place and just kind of kicked around, watched a movie on TV.”

  “What did you watch?”

  “Am I being interrogated?”

  Parker laughed. “Yes, I suppose you are.” When Annie didn’t say anything, she added, “You haven’t seemed yourself lately.”

  “I haven’t?” Annie was flustered. She drank some tea. “You mean, because I’m thinking about not going back to school?”

  “Not just that.” Parker didn’t know how to broach the subject. She’d spent hours thinking about it. No matter how she phrased the question, it always seemed blunt as a sledgehammer. She stood up, and went over to the window.

  Annie said, “Leave the curtains, okay?”

  “Your friend Paige,” said Parker. “Is she gay?”

  Annie jerked backwards as if Parker had taken a swing at her. Milky tea slopped over the rim of her mug and splashed onto the sheets. She blushed fiery red. Autumn in Vermont, thought Parker. Annie said, “That’s none of your business!”

  Parker said, “You’re right, I suppose. But why are you being so defensive? You wouldn’t say that if Paige was interested in men, would you?”

  Annie put the tea mug down on the tray. She lay back and shut her eyes and rolled over on her side so her back was to Parker. Parker said, “That’s mature.”

  Annie violently sat bolt upright. Tea slopped out of the mug onto the tray. She said, “Yes, Paige is gay. She’s a flaming lesbo. So what? Who cares? Are you happy now?”

  “I’m happy if you’re happy,” said Parker.

  “Bullshit!”

  “No, it’s true. I’ve only met Paige a few times, but it seems to me that she’s a young lady with a very forceful personality. It occurred to me that it was possible that Paige wanted the kind of relationship you weren’t certain you were prepared to offer.” When Annie didn’t react, Parker decided to continue. “Sometimes, to find out who we are, we need to experiment a little. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s hard to make a rational, or true, decision when you’re caught up in an emotional whirlwind.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I guess I’m trying to say that sometimes there’s a temptation, or pressure, to be far too quick to decide who we are.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  Parker chose to ignore Annie’s challenging tone. She said, “Yes I do. I really do. It starts in school, far sooner than it should, and once the pressure to decide who you are and what you’re going to be has started, there’s no stopping it. I realize that your sexual orientation is none of my business, Annie. All I want to do is help, if you need help. Would I be happier if you weren’t gay? That’s a tough question. I don’t really know the answer. Speaking selfishly, I want to be a grandparent, one of these days. That’s always been very important to me. I’m aware that same-sex parents do have children nowadays, but it doesn’t happen all that often. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I approve of same-sex parenting. But even if you were heterosexual, that certainly wouldn’t guarantee that you’d want to have children, would it?”

  Parker moved closer, and gently took Annie’s hand in hers. Annie didn’t resist. Parker said, “There are very few guarantees in life, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that I love you for who you are, not what you are, and I will always love you with all my heart, no matter what. My love for you is boundless and unqualified, just as any parent’s love for his or her child should be. You know that, don’t you?”

  Annie shrugged. Parker put aside her tea and lay down beside Annie. She pulled her close and hugged her tight. Annie’s shoulders were thin and bony. Parker realized with a shock that Annie had been wearing loose-fitting clothing for longer than
she could remember. She had lost a lot of weight. How much did she weigh?

  Parker could feel Annie’s ribs through the thin material of her pyjamas. She was stricken with guilt. Annie hardly ever ate at home any more. Parker knew nothing of her diet. Her mind raced. How long had it been since she’d given Annie a hug, or stayed up into the small hours of the morning so Annie could talk about the things that worried or frightened her? Months and months. She couldn’t remember the last time. Hadrian had taken over her life, at Annie’s expense.

  Parker said, “You’re very thin. Are you eating properly?”

  Annie shrugged.

  “How much do you weigh?” Said Parker.

  “I dunno.”

  “There’s a scale in the bathroom. When you shower, I want you to take a moment to weigh yourself. Will you do that for me?”

  Another shrug.

  Parker said, “Your body’s an engine, Annie. It needs fuel, or it can’t function. Maybe school seems like too much of a challenge because your energy level is so low.”

  “It isn’t challenging, it’s boring.”

  “My mistake,” said Parker carefully. “Did you want another cup of tea, before I take the pot downstairs?”

  Annie shook her head.

  Parker collected the breakfast dishes and put them on the tray. She had pushed Annie far enough, for now.

  As she was about to leave the room, Annie said, “I’m worried about Sean.”

  “Me, too,” said Parker.

  “I wish he’d phone, once in a while. Has Daddy seen him?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Parker. “Sean didn’t want him interfering. He told your father to stay away from him, let him find his own way.”

  Annie rolled over on her back. She flung her arm across her face so Parker couldn’t see her eyes. She said, “They’re both so stubborn.”