by Ken Ogilvie
Matthew’s shack lay five miles further on, through dense bush and forest. By the time he arrived, night would have fallen, and there was no guarantee that his friend would even be at home. He’d just have to wait until Matthew returned, which might be hours, or even days. Since there was no other way to contact him, Hound might have to sit tight for a day or two, then if he still hadn’t returned, leave him a note.
Hound tramped on until darkness fell. Far from any town, the night was pitch black, but somehow he managed to reach Matthew’s shack. Getting no response to his call, he went inside. Matthew never locked the door.
The shack was sparsely furnished, and everything had a purpose, including the ornately carved bow hanging just inside the door. Matthew kept to many of the ancient traditions and practices of his people. He drew water from a nearby creek and took everything he needed from the bush. He was strong, healthy, well-adapted to the Spartan lifestyle he’d chosen — though only during the summer months. In winter he retreated to a pine bungalow in a small lakeside community, where he spent time with family and friends, ice-fished in Georgian Bay and hunted small game.
Hound lay down on Matthew’s cot with his legs dangling a foot off the end. For a while he thought about his childhood, and his exile — as he saw it — to Canada. His father, Richard Hounsley, had callously shipped him off when he was only ten years old, and he’d arrived in Lakefield, Ontario, lonely and dejected, having been offered no reason for this abrupt banishment. A chance meeting with an elderly Jesuit priest called Father Lapierre had saved him from utter despair. He wondered now why the priest ceased contacting him when he moved to Conroy. It was almost six years ago now, and he missed their long talks. He resolved to look up Father Lapierre as soon as Jackie Caldwell was securely behind bars.
The cot was too small for him to lie comfortably, and Hound drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. Outside, a crescent moon rose high in the night sky, sending shafts of silvery light down through the conifers.
He was woken by the myriad sounds of chirping birds, chattering chipmunks and scolding squirrels, and a feeling that he was being watched. He struggled to sit up, and there was Matthew Simon, sitting cross-legged against the shack wall. Hound swung his legs over the side of the cot and grinned at him. How long had Matthew been sitting there?
Flexing his cramped shoulders, Hound yawned. “Great to see you again, Matthew.”
The sight of Matthew’s eyes widening slightly told Hound that he’d been welcomed.
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, October 1, 2007
Jackie stood outside the stainless-steel doors leading to Stargate Developments. It was 8:00 in the evening, and all was silent. Uncertain what to do, she squinted through the frosted glass pane, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kingsley. Ten agonizing minutes passed, with no sign of movement. Just as she was about to turn and go, she heard faint voices heading her way. Seconds later, two fuzzy shapes appeared in a hallway leading to the reception area. One was huge, the other small and skinny. They could only be Mario and Kingsley.
Jackie dashed around the corner, ran to the elevators and pressed the button to call them. As the elevator arrived, she heard Kingsley’s high, whining voice coming from the Stargate office. She hopped inside and hit the ground floor button, pushing her finger hard against it until the door closed. She breathed out and tried to compose herself in the few seconds before the door opened at the bottom. She bolted from the elevator, sending a thumbs-up to the receptionist.
“Got it!” Jackie said. “He’s coming down now. Please don’t say anything.”
“You can count on that,” the woman said. “I sure as heck won’t be admitting I let you in without security clearance. What should I say if he asks about you?”
“I doubt he’ll mention it,” Jackie yelled over her shoulder. She hurried to the garage elevator and jumped inside. At the parking level, she ran to her truck and drove to a dark corner where she had a clear view of the limo. If her luck held, Kingsley would head out with Mario. Then she could follow them, and maybe discover where Kingsley lived. She would be able to get hold of him tonight and make him give her another vehicle to use. He would have to do whatever she demanded — she would make sure he knew that she’d kill him if he refused.
Kingsley and Mario came into view, both strutting like a couple of peacocks. Mario gave the garage a cursory scan, making Jackie duck low in her seat. With Kingsley beside him, Mario got into the driver’s seat and backed the limo out of the parking lot, Jackie following at a safe distance. With few cars on the road, she had to hang back to avoid being spotted. She hoped they wouldn’t stop off for dinner. Every second of delay was pulling her overstretched nerves even tighter.
Mario steered into a swanky condo complex and dropped Kingsley off at a gated entrance manned by an armed security guard.
Chapter Twenty
Monday, October 1, 2007
Jackie sat dejectedly in her truck a short distance from the complex. At least she had his work address now. She was about to give up and go back to the rented apartment when she realized that the limo was waiting outside the security gate with the engine running. Jackie continued to wait, and sure enough, Kingsley, wearing a crisply pressed suit, was back. She started up and trailed the men again, as far as the outskirts of Hamilton where they slowed down outside a steakhouse. The limo cruised past the restaurant entrance and pulled into a reserved spot.
The parking area was vast, so Jackie followed them in. Giving the limo a wide berth, she pulled up in a distant corner of the half-full lot. Hoping no one had noticed her, she peered through the truck window, watching a uniformed staffer hurry out of the restaurant to greet Mario, who remained inside the car. He had the cell phone pasted to his ear again. Kingsley waited until he ended his call, whereupon the staffer opened the driver’s door. Mario got out without a backward glance. He obviously felt safe here. Maybe there were bodyguards nearby. She pulled her loaded rifle closer.
Kingsley emerged from the limo and sauntered into the restaurant, while Mario lingered outside to make yet another call. Jackie pictured herself aiming her rifle at him and shooting the phone out of his hand. All these stupid calls, just to make himself look important. Finally, Mario nodded curtly at the doorman, who held the door open for him as he swaggered inside.
Really impatient now, Jackie was tempted to rush into the restaurant and capture Kingsley there and then, although she wouldn’t get far, dressed as she was and with a rifle in her hands. How could she force Kingsley to leave there with her? She didn’t relish sitting outside in the exposed lot for hours. Someone might see her, and her plan to abduct Kingsley tonight would go up in smoke.
In the end, she hunkered down in the truck and waited for Kingsley to finish his meal. The doorman had scurried into the restaurant behind Mario without even a glance into the lot, nevertheless she kept straining her eyes to catch sight of any bodyguards. There were none as far as she could tell, and no one came out of the restaurant to check on her. If they did, her rifle was primed and ready for use.
She waited, growing increasingly miserable as the heady aroma of sizzling steak and oven-baked potatoes seeped into the truck. She hadn’t eaten since dawn. She sank deeper into the seat, her eyes glued on the restaurant door. Time passed slowly. Why did she love Kingsley so much? It didn’t make sense. Maybe love never did. Kingsley had never done anything nice for her or shown her the slightest affection. No surprise flowers or chocolates, no weekend trips to romantic spots. He’d kept their affair secret for as long as possible. Most of the time she just seemed to irritate him. She had ignored his nasty streak and his miserliness, believing he would grow to love her, eventually. How could he not, when she wanted him so much? Now she realized that all he really wanted was her gold mine, and she’d known it all along. She asked herself what he would have done if she had transferred most of her shares to him, which she would have if he’d agreed to marry her. The answer was clear — he’d have paid someone to kill her. Se
cretive, cowardly and cautious, that was Kingsley McBride. But also greedy, ambitious and dangerous.
She had known for a long time that Kingsley was a cold-hearted and ruthless bastard. After all, it was his clever, devious mind that had drawn her to him in the first place. She had never considered the possibility that he might turn against her, until he betrayed her to the police in a desperate attempt to save his own precious skin.
So how she could even begin to love a man like that? But in spite of everything, she still did. Everything she had done for him lay in ruins, and there were so many dead bodies along the way. All for nothing. She would remain a fugitive, hunted mercilessly until the police got to her, and then they’d kill her, because she would fight them to her last breath. And that would suit Kingsley just fine. He’d go on living high off the hog with his new buddies, scum who extorted money from vulnerable people and forced young girls into drugs and prostitution, men who sent killers after those they chose to eliminate, like Kingsley had done with her. And he would try again, no matter what he said when she eventually cornered him.
Jackie clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. At least she knew how to take care of lowlifes like Mario and his henchmen. She resolved that before she left Hamilton, she would leave Kingsley’s new pals with a reminder of how deadly she could be. She sat on, savouring the notion, her eyes half shut but still watching the comings and goings at the restaurant door. Her fingers slowly uncurled, and she caressed the barrel of her rifle.
* * *
Kingsley scrambled to his feet as soon as he saw the huge bear-like figure of Mario amble to the corner booth where he was seated. Mario ranked even higher in the syndicate than Tony, and he was a whole lot smarter than his deceased cousin, Guido. Kingsley intended to insinuate himself into Mario’s tight circle. Then his safety would be assured.
Mario eased into a black leather chair opposite Kingsley, and scowled at him. “Took me long enough to finish things up this evening, McBride. Bloody paperwork. Lots more since you took over the books.”
Kingsley had been told that someday this man would head up the entire Canadian syndicate. He had to tread carefully. He remained silent, his stomach churning. Mario made the decisions on bodyguards, as well as hitmen. People lived or died at his command. “Tony said he promised you protection, McBride. Well, we’ve already lost one man trying to do just that. Not one of our best, mind you. Actually, he was a first-class idiot. Should’ve got rid of him years ago.” He smiled faintly. “So, what are we dealing with here?”
Kingsley swallowed. Damn. His asthma threatened, and he didn’t want to have to use his inhaler. He didn’t want to show any weakness at this crucial moment.
“She’s really dangerous, Mr. Daglioni. She’s a crack shot with a rifle, as good as a military sniper, and she won’t hesitate to kill.”
“It’s embarrassing, McBride. No, dammit, it’s worse than that.” Mario’s voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “Six days ago, one of our guys was snuffed by a fuckin’ librarian. A librarian, McBride. We can’t let this kind of thing happen. We depend on fear for our survival, people have to respect us. Even the bikers are laughing at us, get what I mean?” His yellowish eyes bored into Kingsley’s. This wasn’t just a crucial moment, it was a death threat.
“Believe me, Mr. Daglioni, what I’ve told you is true. We can’t hold back on this one. Jackie will come for me, sooner or later, and she’ll kill any of your — I mean our — people who get in her way. I need protection, we both do. We have to take her out now. Send more men after her, two minimum, three or four would be wiser. Make sure they’re the best you’ve got. I’ll brief them in advance. Forget about her being a librarian and think of her as a big-game hunter. Trust me, she’ll have the entire organization in her crosshairs right now. We’re all in grave danger.” Kingsley searched Mario’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was the turning point. Mario could have him killed. Or he could bring him deeper into the fold.
Mario leaned back and studied Kingsley for a long time, his expression impassive. Then he thrust his head forward, inches from Kingsley’s face.
“McBride. We’re either working together, and I mean ‘together,’ or we’re not. If we’re not, you’re toast. Understand?”
Trying not to squeak, Kingsley brought out his rehearsed speech. “I know I’m not in your favour, Mr. Daglioni. I’m sure you wish you’d never set eyes on me. But I’m the best accountant you’ll find anywhere, and I’m loyal. Just bring me in and protect me. You’ll never regret it. The syndicate is where I want to be.” Kingsley stared hard at Mario, willing him to concede.
Mario returned the stare. Kingsley lost all track of time, but he refused to lower his eyes. Finally, Mario’s face split into a wide smile. He raised an arm to call a waiter, and one immediately materialized and stood at attention beside the table.
“Bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue,” Mario commanded. “Okay, McBride. You’re mine now. You can call me Mario from here on.”
Kingsley drew in a ragged breath. He’d survived for now, at a price. He nodded.
“Even if you have to betray Tony Albertini.” Mario smiled evilly, unveiling a row of very large white teeth. “And someday you will. The prick talked me into sending a hit man after your sniper lady, and now he’s dead. Nobody does that to me without paying a price.” His expression darkened. “Get what I’m saying, McBride?”
Another nod.
“Right. It’s signed and sealed then. When we leave this place, a driver will be waiting outside for you. The Caldwell woman better not mess with that one.” Mario snorted. “But forget that for now. We have some serious drinking to do.” He reached across the table and shook Kingsley’s arthritic hand.
Kingsley stifled a cry of pain, groaning inwardly. He wasn’t a drinker. Before this night was over, he would be on his knees, bent over a toilet bowl, he just knew it. Still, it was a small price to pay for what he’d just accomplished. And as for Tony, well, it was a shame, but kinship didn’t really mean very much, did it?
Chapter Twenty-One
Monday, October 1, 2007
The temperature plummeted as the evening wore on. Chilled to the bone, Jackie didn’t dare fire the truck motor to warm the air. She rubbed her arms and cursed Kingsley for taking so long. Surely he’d finish soon.
Dozens of cars drove in and out of the parking lot, while Kingsley remained inside. Jackie watched a black sedan cruise into the lot and roll to a stop at the front door, where it remained with its engine running. A few minutes later, Kingsley emerged, staggering. The chauffeur scrambled from the car to hold the rear door open, and Kingsley pitched in, head first. The chauffeur shut the door and surveyed the parking lot, while Jackie crouched low in her seat. Then he got in and drove off.
Jackie followed. They were heading in the direction of Kingsley’s condo. The chauffeur’s alert gaze had set her on edge. Would she, once again, have to postpone her attempt to waylay Kingsley?
* * *
“Just call me Enzo, Mr. McBride.” The driver adjusted the rearview mirror so as to get a look at Kingsley, who, even in his debilitated state caught the slight smirk on the young man’s clean-shaven face.
“Mario called me while you were eating,” Enzo continued cheerily. “Told me to take good care of you until that she-devil who’s got you all revved up gets nabbed by the cops.” His eyes turned hard. “Better yet, we find her first and even the score for my dead pal. Mario says she’s a dangerous number, but don’t sweat it, I’ll handle her if she shows her face.”
Kingsley mumbled something incoherent. His thoughts were disjointed, his head was reeling, and his stomach felt like a roller coaster in free fall. He bent forward. “Stop,” he groaned. “Gotta hork.”
Enzo frowned. “Hang on there, Mr. McBride.” Seconds later, he wheeled the sedan into a dirt lane that ended in a large hayfield. Kingsley shouldered his way out of the car, tumbled into the tall grass and proceeded to vomit. So much for the expensive rare steak. En
zo got out and hurried round to the front of the vehicle, away from his puking charge. He lit a thick cigar and leaned against the grill. Clouds of smoke billowed into the crisp night air.
* * *
The sedan unexpectedly swerved off the road and sped towards a field. Taken by surprise, Jackie slowed down and motored past, coming to a halt a hundred yards further down the road. The sedan’s headlights were directed into the field, away from her F-350. Jackie had seen Kingsley stagger, and immediately guessed what was happening. This was an opportunity not to be missed. She grabbed her rifle, clambered from the truck and climbed over a wire fence into the grass. The chauffeur remained in front of the sedan, puffing on a fat cigar, but Jackie wasn’t about to underestimate him. She closed in from behind.
Kingsley’s retching drowned out the sound of Jackie’s movements. The chauffeur stood smoking, right in her sights. When she was forty yards from the sedan, she rose to her feet and aimed. Kingsley had by now stopped puking and was crawling about on his hands and knees, apparently trying to find the car.
Jackie smiled. Gotcha. She squeezed the trigger just as Kingsley’s head popped up out of the grass like a ferret emerging from its hole. He stared at Jackie, his mouth open wide. Jackie’s bullet struck the chauffeur right between the shoulder blades, snapping his spine. He dropped like a fallen tree. Jackie scrambled through the grass and stood over him, ready to put a bullet in his head. It wasn’t necessary. He lay still, face down in a pool of blood.
Jackie allowed herself a few seconds to enjoy the sight, and then turned to Kingsley. It was a while since she’d seen him. She stared at Kingsley’s ravaged face. His greasy hair was plastered across his forehead, and he looked more emaciated than ever. His smart suit was spattered with vomit.
“Jackie,” he croaked, “it’s so wonderful to see you again. I thought you were up north, dearest.” Even in his sorry condition, he was still trying to sweet talk her. Jackie experienced something like a revelation. Until this moment she would have done anything to please him. Now, all she saw was a pathetic worm, desperate to save its poor little life. She kicked him in the face.
