by Paul Slatter
******
Archall Diamond stood above Charles Chuck Chendrill and pulled the trigger, sending another pulse of incapacitating electricity down the gun’s wires and into the dart electrodes that had pierced his clothing and attached themselves to his skin and thought, that’ll do it.
The big ape was now out cold on the ground. Quickly, he slid the two heavy wooden planks out of the back of the truck, attached them, and reached into the back, pulling the hook and wire from the winch and attaching it to Chendrill’s thick leather belt. He hit the switch at the end of the control cord and dragged the big man off the road and up the planks into the rear of his canopied truck, with its big fuck-you wheels, picked up the priest he carried for fishing—so he could administer their last rights—and cracked Chendrill across the back of the head before closing the hatch down.
Taking it easy as he pulled away from the curb, Archall drove for a minute through Burnaby, passing houses and cops and people on their way home from nights out or whatever it was they were doing, getting on with their lives. Archall Diamond was getting on with his. He reached a quiet strip mall and parked up with the rear of his truck against the wall and got out. From what he could tell, it had only been about three minutes since he’d given the big ape a blast and a smack around the head to keep him quiet.
Walking around the back, he looked in, putting his face against the blacked out rear window. Chendrill was still out—at least he hoped. Opening the back slightly, he snuck his hand in and pulled the trigger to the Taser gun he’d left by the door again and watched Chendrill’s body spasm as the current shot down the gun’s thin electrical cables and into his body.
He was out now for certain. Opening up the hatch, he jumped up and climbed in and sat on the wheel well looking at the big guy laying there all fucked up, saying to no one but himself, “You used to be a big man, didn’t you?”
Then he got to work with the first inner tube, pulling its thick rubber over Chendrill’s head, threading his arms through and tucking it up under his armpits. Then he grabbed a chain he’d bought at the store and wrapped it around his ankles tight, fastened it all with tape, added the second inner tube to his feet to stop the chain snagging in the shallows and pulled out an electric battery powered pump. He hit the switch and blew them both up nice and tight, one after the other.
The big ape was ready to go swimming in the swimsuit he’d bought for the dentist to wear, Archall thought as he drove his way out to a quiet spot he knew in the Fraser River. The big man, who’d been going around town asking personal questions about the Diamond, checking him out to see if he was a killer—well guess what, he was. Yeah, he was a killer, a fucking badass motherfucking killer, Archall Di – A – Mond. The man wit his mind on, gonna take you down, make you drown, if you mess with the man in his town. Yeah, he liked that one, he thought, wishing he had a piece of paper to write the words on. But he’d leave out the words drown—didn’t need to leave any clues as to how the Diamond operated, even though he went around telling anyone who cared to listen how they were gonna get floated, but what did that mean? Could be he put them in a balloon, sent them off into the sky. But still, ‘drown’ was no good for a rap, it needed to be something else—maybe to ‘frown’. Maybe.
He stopped at the lights and opened the rear window that connected the driver’s cab to the back of the truck and looked at Chendrill all trussed up like a pig on the way to market with a camo net on its head. Archall stretched his arm through giving him another wallop with the Taser. How many had that been now, he thought. Too many, but what the fuck difference did that make?
He reached the river and crossed it on the Alex Fraser Bridge, swinging north again towards River Road and wondering about the time. He could see the river lit up by the lights from the bridge now—its surface looking calm. The tide out there on the Strait of Georgia was beginning to turn, just around midnight. He looked at the clock on his dashboard illuminated in green—11:50 p.m.
Not yet, he thought, give it half hour to let the rip build at the river’s mouth, then it can drag him south for a while until the air’s all gone from the tube.
He kept on going, heading west along the riverbank, the water to his right, passing the occasional car driving the other way before he snuck into one of the sidings he’d researched a year or so back when he had been thinking of seeing if Rasheed could swim. Checking his mirrors, he turned off the truck’s lights and reversed right to the edge of the river bank and looked at his clock. It was just after midnight. The water was passing him now, fast and strong, heading out towards the ocean.
The funniest thing, he thought, as he sat there reaching into the back to give Chendrill one last long electrical taser blast before he got out, was that after the big ape had left the dentist’s, while her husband was in his surgery he’d asked Alla if she’d consider leaving him so as they could be together and she’d looked him in the eye and said, “I can’t make plans until my surgery and that’s a long way now.”
And Diamond had asked, “Why?”
And taking a deep breath and fighting back tears that were real, Alla had said, lying, “Dennis won’t pay for the operation. But yes, when I’ve had it and I can walk again, I’ll be looking to the future.”
And that was all Archall Diamond needed to hear. She was his for certain and all it was going to take was a quick run upstairs to pick up an easy hundred grand off the bed. And all he needed to do then was get a hold of Rann, sell those tablets for… whatever he needed to make and re-coup the loss he’d incurred giving away the first batch as a promotion and then he’d be sorted. He wouldn’t even notice it, and she’d be up on her feet in time for the hockey season to start.
And that’s why he left his Ray-Bans on when he left the house, because the future was looking so God damn bright. Then he saw Chendrill’s Aston, recognizing it because he liked the wheels and that’s all he could see, and he’d waited there for him to come over to say something smart like he had and then zapped the fucker.
He walked to the back of the truck and picked up a stick and threw it in the water and whoosh it was gone—perfect. Turning around, he looked again through the tinted black windows and opened the back, dropping down the short tailgate, and climbed in, staring at Chendrill all ready to set sail, still in his blue Hawaiian. It was a shame to waste a nice shirt like that, but there you go. The fucker had to go, had to get himself floated, get himself demoted, ’cos he couldn’t keep his nose out of the Diamond’s life. Showing up at his girl’s and trying to look cool and being a pain. Then as he reached for the pin and the gaffer tape he knew the ocean would eventually pull off, he ripped off three pieces and poked the three holes in the tube in front of Chendrill’s face, sealed them up along with one across his mouth and moustache for good measure, then he punctured another six at the top of the tube around his feet and covered them with tape before saying out loud, “I hope you’se took them swimming lessons as a kid Mr. Snooper Dooper Super PI man.”
He sat himself with his back to the bulkhead of the truck’s cab, put his feet on top of the camo netting on Chendrill’s head and shoulders, and began to push Chendill out over the tailgate, dropping him—still unconscious—straight down into the fast-flowing water.
******
Dan sat in his bedroom and thought back to the woman who his mother had said was older than her and wondered how long it had taken for the lady to learn to do a trick like that with her mouth. Marsha hadn’t gone near it with hers, and neither had Melisa. The blind girl in the park was about to try—just before her dog attacked him.
He picked up his phone and looked to it—another text from Marsha, ‘wondering how you are?’ to which he replied, ‘absolutely no different.’ And he wasn’t lying, as nothing had happened over the last twenty minutes, apart from him staining one of Chendrill’s socks. Then he got another one. This time from Sebastian. It read:
Daniel, get some sleep. Tomorrow’s seven am call is really important. Be up and running in the morning
first thing—don’t forget. Sebastian.’
Completely ignoring it, he thought, Yeah whatever, and then wondered if maybe older women were the way to go? After all, look at the way the crazy agent from L.A. had reacted in his kitchen, before his mother had kicked her out as well. Maybe it’s just the way they were? No wonder Chuck Chendrill spends so much time here and the baker for that matter, who used to come around at 6:00 a.m. with his tray.
He got up and looked out the window to see if the woman across the road was in her bedroom getting undressed with the curtains open as she often did. No. Then he turned on his computer and typed in Adalia Seychan’s name and watched as a host of information flooded forward. An Oscar, big deal, Golden Globe, another two Oscars, yeah yeah, big deal. He opened the images of her and flipped through Adalia standing there in her gown, statue in hand smiling, then another photo—wow she was hot in the 80s. He recognized her now and remembered his mother crying over some soppy movie she was in when he was a kid, remembering her saying with tears in her eyes as the sun was setting in the sky behind her, ‘You’ll be mine, always be mine.’
So this was the woman he was doing the photo shoot with tomorrow, but what the fuck for? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. This one Sebastian was getting so hot under the collar about and making such a fuss about him being there real early so as he could sit around again for three hours doing nothing and wait for Adalia Seychan to strut out onto that green stage and lick the sweat off his chest just like Marsha had?
******
Chuck Chendrill came around just as the inner tubes took him floating out into the open water and the larger waves started hitting his face. What the fuck was happening? He was freezing, wet, in complete darkness and barely able to breathe with his whole-body stiff with cramps.
He looked around in blind panic, as another wave hit him in the face, the riptide taking him quickly out to sea. He was in the ocean, floating. With his hands left free, he felt around him as he started to spin in the water, the lights from the shore small and orange, now almost half a mile away, barely visible as he bobbed up and down in the swell.
Reaching up, he began to pull at the camo net around his head, feeling its thin nylon string digging into his eyes—its bottom fastened loosely around the tube. Something was also on his mouth, loosening now from the sea water. He opened his mouth, breaking the tape’s adhesive seal, as another wave hit him hard, stinging his eyes and washing up his nose. Lifting his hand up, he ripped the netting away from his head, and still holding it in his right hand, he looked around properly as he rose up, peaking in the swell.
Nothing was around, no fishing boats, no yachts making a night sail across to the islands, no ferries, just fast-moving water that was taking him south—and he was cold. He looked at his feet lit up by the full moon as they bobbed up and down, the fresh new chain he’d seen hanging up in Archall Diamond’s garage was now wrapped around his ankles holding the other tube just under the water at an upright angle. Something was on top, silver in color, another strip of tape, then he saw a similar strip on the inner tube under his arms keeping his body up.
He moved along in the water, pushing the chain with his legs, trying to free it from his ankles. The rip tide was pulling him down the coast. His body felt solid, hurting and in pain from the tasering and freezing cold. As he spun slowly in the water, he said to himself, “You’re still breathing, you’re still breathing.”
He remembered coming up behind Archall and almost dodging the Taser gun, cussing himself for underestimating the man and thinking he was a fool. He took a deep breath and let the sea air fill his lungs, feeling the drips of salt water pull up inside his nostrils, stinging as they went. Let it out, breathe, he thought as he said to himself again, trying to keep his lips closed as he spoke.
“You’re still alive, you’re still alive.”
He looked to the land, the mouth of the river was nowhere to be seen now, the lights of the mainland distant. He looked to his watch—it was still there, Diamond had not thought to steal it, or just didn’t care. Either way, it was on his wrist and still working despite the salt water.
It was just coming up to twelve thirty now. He’d left Dennis’ before ten and waited till Diamond came out at around eleven—and that was in Burnaby. It was a half hour trip to the coast from there and he still had to prep this shit and get him in the water. Half hour, half hour tops, he’d been in the water, floating.
“I’m still here, still breathing.”
He was out a long way, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been out this far floating, not swimming. It had been about the same time of year, out there with his friends swimming in English Bay when he was a kid, taking it easy with them, cruising out slowly to the freight ships way out there on a hot summer’s day, taking an hour or two to get there floating on their backs in their shorts chatting as the water lapped around them, feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces and chests and the cold of the water the deeper their legs went.
Back then, they would reach the ships, looking up at them from below, painted monoliths of rust-stained steel rising up from the water, and swim to the rudder, hanging on its back with their feet on the propeller tops, climbing and diving from the ship’s coned nose, lounging on it in the sun as they listened to the crew talking above in a foreign tongue as they worked on deck—unseen people from some distant land oblivious to Chendrill and his friends trespassing below.
But that was twenty-five years ago, Chendrill thought, though the water’s temperature was the same give or take a couple of degrees. He hurt, yes, his body was tight and in pain, but he could still move his hands and arms and feet. And he was still alive.
And then as a wave hit him, slapping the tubes and stinging his face, he looked to his feet to see the tape loose now, flapping in the cold sea breeze. He stared at it, then at the one in front of his face with its adhesive beginning to give. Reaching in, he lifted a corner of the tape, peeling it back and instantly heard the hissing of air as he uncovered the first pin prick. Shit, he thought, bad move, bad move. He tried to smooth the tape back down with his fingers then smother it, holding it flat with his palm as he felt the cold of the water splash up across the top of his hand.
He looked to the tube at his feet, getting smaller now as he felt the weight of his legs and the chains begin to shift his position in the water until he could no longer see his legs and felt the colder, deeper water at his feet.
Shit.
He looked to the tape on the tube now only inches from his face and could hear the faint hissing as the air escaped from beneath his palm and he felt the weight of the chain around his legs trying to pull him under. Then another wave hit him fast, sucker punching him from the side, catching him unaware, feeling its stinging cold in his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, forcing its way through his tightly pursed lips into his mouth and down his throat, choking him.
Coughing and wheezing, Chendrill gathered himself, fighting for breath, spitting out sea water, and then finding his breath again. He breathed in a deep lungful of air, smelled rubber and looked to the tape which was now gone. Quickly, he slapped his hand on it and for the first time called out for no one to hear. He kicked as hard as his body could on the chain around his ankles, pulling up and pushing down, feeling the flesh rip from his skin with the force, up down, up down, forward backward, up down, up down. The water lapping around his ears, going up his nose. The air from the tube bubbling around his feet as he slammed his feet up and down and around and around like a cyclist, feeling the tension of the chain differ with every kick, the links shifting with every movement, the inner tube getting softer.
Then watching the air escape under his hands, Chendrill pushed his head forward, covering the holes with his mouth, sealing the pin holed area with his lips, pushing down on the tubes, feeling the salt water in his eyes and running directly up his nose as he kicked and kicked with his feet. His mind racing, as he said to himself over and over, ‘You’re still alive, you’re still alive,
you’re not dead yet.’ Locking his mouth around the tube as it got softer, the chain pulling on the remaining air in the tube, Chendrill bit hard on the tube’s rubber, trying to seal the holes off with his teeth as the riptide carried him along in the water.
He continued to kick as the waves splashing above him covered his head, dipping his face completely under the water, then he stopped kicking, shifted his weight, arched his back and neck, forcing the inner tube up into the crook of his neck, trying to lay on his back with his face against the night sky as he bit into the rubber and held the soft tube against his face. He gripped and squeezed the tube with either side of his mouth, sealing it as best he could with each hand forcing whatever air was left behind him as he hung there in the moving current, feeling its water cold on his face as each swell hit.
Reaching down with one hand, he tried to reach the laces on his boots, pulling his knees up to him as he did, feeling the chain tightening around his legs then his cold fingertips touching the top of his boots, the laces double knotted tight as he always liked to do. Then in frustration he started to kick again with incredible fury, irrespective of pain, he pushed and pulled harder than he thought possible, feeling as though any moment his legs would snap off and drop down to the seabed.
Then just as Chendrill managed to get a full breath of air through his nose, the chain pulled him under, dropping him slowly deeper into the water. He felt the temperature change around his body as he slowly sank down towards the seabed, holding his breath the best he could, the water pressure squeezing his ears as he dropped. Sucking and biting into the rubber with his teeth, opening up a small hole with his incisors and releasing what little air he could through one clasped hand as he reached down with the other, lifting his body, rotating it in the cold dark water, grabbing the chain with his free hand and shaking it as he spun himself around and around, pulling and pulling, trying to feel for the chain’s end as he sucked on the foul-tasting, life-giving air from within the tube. Then he found it with a finger, the chain’s end attached to another piece with a small plastic cable tie already stretched from his determination.
