Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  The receptionist, who never looked up, did just that and said nothing. Before the Italian could say another word, he pulled out a can of bug spray and put it on the counter in front of him.

  The Italian picked it up. Standing there with his top off, he looked at it and said, “This is for roaches, not bed bugs.”

  Without looking up, the receptionist brought out another can, a different color from the first. The Italian took it and kept the other and called out as he walked away, “You need to find me another room.”

  He reached his room again, hobbling all the way, lifted the sheets, and sprayed both cans onto the mattress until both were empty. Then with the smell and taste of the insecticide in his mouth and lungs, he opened the window. The night air came in through the bloodstained curtain. He looked out and felt the cool air on his face and forehead. He was still hot, too hot. He went to the bathroom and put his head under the tap for a moment—the cold water helping, but not for long. It was time for a shower again, he thought, as he turned on the taps, hoping the hot water would be there this time. Giving up again, he got back in and felt the cold water like ice on his boiling body, then getting out, he reached for the towel that didn’t exist.

  Fuck he should have got one when he was down there, and some soap, he thought as he hobbled now angry and naked to the door. Opening it he screamed out down the corridor towards the stairs, “Towels—get some fucking towels and soap up here.”

  He closed the door and felt his head spin as he did and with just the one leg working properly he wondered if he’d be able to stay up. He held onto the door, then the wall, then the bed, and lay down again and with his head spinning, passed out.

  ************

  It was almost midnight when the power bar on Carl’s phone went red. It had been ringing with calls from his wife and guys from the towing depot all evening, but none from the guy who could drink a pint of beer with another balancing on the top of his head.

  He was cold and wished he had the dirty fluorescent jacket he kept behind the driver’s seat of his tow truck—that, and his charger.

  They could trace his phone, he knew that, but they hadn’t. They had his rig, but that was that fuckhead who was supposed to be dead. But he wasn’t, he was alive and well and had been sitting in McDonald’s with some homo and four chicks eating his food. Fuck, he was hungry.

  He looked along the road on Robson Street, which was now blocked for pedestrian use and remembered towing a vehicle that had stopped for a moment right next to the Art Gallery. The guy had chased him all the way to Georgia Street on foot and he’d lost him at the lights and left him in a cloud of diesel fumes after he’d heard the guy screaming.

  How long had it been now? he thought. All day, all night it seemed, and all he’d had was a Subway sandwich. Then just as the last bars of power began to disappear, his phone went and a voice simply said, “Go stand on the corner of Burrard and Robson,” and hung up.

  That was two blocks to the west. He knew the area well because it was full of cars every afternoon after three when the parking law changed. He moved off, waddling his ass as he did and hit the corner just as a farm vehicle with blacked out windows in the rear pulled up on the other side of the road.

  He crossed over, and as he reached the passenger side, the door opened and Suzy’s husband let him in.

  They pulled away, with no one speaking. Carl recognizing the guy at the wheel and wanting to chat. The husband saying nothing, except, “Go sit in the back,” as he handed him a hood.

  Big Carl, the tow truck driver who wanted to be a gangster, moved through to the back, squeezing his fat gut between the seats, and saw six other hooded people sitting on the floor—two of whom had to be children. He sat down. Then from the front of the van he heard Suzy’s husband call out to him again for him to hood up or get out.

  He travelled south straight down Burrard with the hood on his head, feeling every bump on his ass through the hard metal floor. Then from what he could judge, they took a left and a right and found Granville then they stayed on it heading south again until he could hear through the open window planes coming in to land at the airport. From there, they hit the highway and carried on further south for twenty minutes or so, then he felt the vehicle slow and take a turn, then a sharp right and then left and carry on, stopping every thirty seconds or so. They had to be on Zero Ave or close, he thought, as he felt the vehicle pull away and then slow and start up again, over and over.

  Another thirty minutes passed. Then he felt them turn, hit gravel for ten seconds and come to an idle as the driver got out and got back in again and drove them inside some kind of building.

  Moments later, he heard the back open and the man who’s face he couldn’t place say, “Keep the hoods on and get out.”

  Looking at the ground, the tow truck driver shuffled his way along the metal flooring of the van and wondered if all this nonsense was worth it. He heard one of the kids begin to cry and then the mother scold him to silence in a language he could not place. Then he got out and stood looking down at his big greasy work boots with their steel toecaps.

  A hand grabbed his and placed it onto what must have been someone else’s shoulder and then he felt someone touch his and hold on. They started moving like cattle down a slope as the air became stale. Fans started and as they kept walking downwards the air became cold. There was water on the compacted gravel floor. They reached the bottom and he felt the downward slope change and begin to rise. Slowly they carried on in a line—the kids sniveling, foreign words coming from in front and behind. They reached the top as the temperature changed again and the dampness left the air. Then there were some steps—they climbed them, passed through another doorway and entered into another big building with dust on the floor.

  He heard the back of a van open up, as the door clonked, and drew a breath of relief as he saw the bumper and U.S., Washington State license plate briefly as he climbed into the back. He settled down as the doors closed and he heard other larger one’s open. Then the new vehicle started and pulled away, stopped, then started again as the wheels crushed the gravel beneath them as they carried on along a track.

  Then the vehicle came to a sharp stop in the gravel and there was noise. Gunfire, men screaming, women and children screaming also. He heard the driver’s voice shouting, “No! No! No!”

  Dogs began barking and in a matter of seconds, the rear door was open again and someone had hold of his boots and he was being dragged out feet first onto a dirt track where he landed face first in the dirt.

  **************

  Basil stood and felt the oil between his toes as he wiggled them in his shoes in the darkness. What an operation it had all become—him up there in Vancouver working tirelessly digging deep to find the guy who’d stolen their border vehicle and headed north bouncing across the border in it. Basil out there, working alone undercover in a foreign country, hunting day and night, putting in huge overtime until he unearthed the secret that now culminated in busting up a massive border breach and the uncovering of a highly sophisticated tunnel system.

  At least that’s what he’d be telling them and what his time sheets reflected.

  But what the hell, no one could take away from him what he’d achieved even if all he’d done was take a call from Chendrill that same evening and been told to get his ass down to Zero Ave and to watch two particular addresses for activity—one being on the Canadian side and the other on the U.S. side. It was simple, if you see a farm vehicle hit the one on the Canadian side, then get ready on the other because like rabbits they’ll be coming out the hole on the other side—and they’ll be moving fast.

  And that’s what he’d done so far that evening—that, and get his feet rubbed by Maio. His new girl there earlier with her little bottle of massage oil with its squirty top and her little stick, Basil with his eyes closed and a smile. Then he’d gotten the call from Chendrill; and with no time to slide his socks on, he was out the door.

  He’d passed Suzy
’s husband driving the farm vehicle—with half a dozen illegal immigrants and one tow truck driver in the back and Williams on its tail. Basil driving so fast on the highway as he headed south that he hadn’t noticed either. Then he’d tucked himself away on Zero Ave, sitting there with his hands on the steering wheel in his car, nervously wiggling his oily toes and feeling his heart pump in his chest. Unconsciously sinking his head down into his shoulders like a turtle as he waited until the van eventually came and disappeared though a side lane into the correct barn—just as Chendrill had told him it would.

  Then a minute later, with his oily feet slipping in his sockless shoes he’d rushed out the car and jumped the border himself and alerted his colleagues at the border security services as they arrived all pumped up with their guns out to arrest him. Basil waving his ID, pointing, and shouting as he battled to keep his shoes on his feet.

  “I’m an intelligence officer—U.S. Customs and Border Protection—get the fuck out of my way! There’s a breach! They’re going through a tunnel—call me a SWAT team and take me to that farm, right the fuck now!”

  For Basil, who so far had done pretty much nothing exciting in his life, it didn’t get much better than that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charles Chuck Chendrill put down the phone after calling Basil and sat on the sofa at Dan’s new place, which used to be Mazzi Hegan’s and stared at the Korean girls’ asses as they revolved slowly around and around to the music. Dan mesmerized, sitting there with him, both with their hands on their knees as if it was a Sunday morning at the launderette.

  “I don’t think they are ever going to stop,” Dan said.

  Chendrill hoped they wouldn’t. He said, “Are they always like this?” They were, dance practice went on at all hours, and in between they ate and took turns flirting with Dan. But now there was another man in the house, and he was older and sexy.

  So, it was time to tease and the girls were having fun with it.

  Chendrill asked, “Do they each have their own room?”

  Dan smiled and said, “Yeah kind of, but so far they’ve been all sleeping with me in mine.”

  Chendrill broke away from the girls’ hypnotic revolutions. “Really?” he asked.

  Dan smiled and said straight back, “Yeah I think they like looking at Mazzi’s erotic art on the ceiling.”

  “Oh?” said Chendrill and wondered what the art was and why he’d never in his life been as lucky.

  Then Dan said, “But they won’t let me fuck them. They just cuddle and then sleep. And when they do, they snore—especially Myuki.”

  “Oh?” said Chendrill as he got it. He said, “So, that’s nice they’ve friend zoned you then—in a big way?”

  Dan smiled, he hadn’t really given it much thought—as he was having so much fun. But as always, the big guy wasn’t wrong. “Not for long, I hope. You see, Myuki keeps looking at me, I got the feeling,” he said.

  He’s got the feeling, Chendrill thought. The guy who only a little over a month ago was knocking one out into his mother’s socks now had a feeling and was sleeping in a boudoir designed by a gay man with a troupe of Korean dancers Sebastian had somehow found just so he could shame Rock Mason.

  Fuck, he wished he was Dan’s age again, and said, “I’d better go.”

  Dan said, “Yeah you’d better before Mum comes around and you get shot again.”

  Oh yeah, that, Chendrill thought, as he felt the sting in his shoulder and remembered the Italian pulling the gun on him.

  He said, “Yeah and I doubt she’d fuck it up either.”

  Still making light of the incident when deep down he knew he’d been lucky twice now, Chendrill stretched and stood, felt the pain in his shoulder worsen, and wondered if the wound was bleeding under the bandage.

  Seeing movement behind them from the reflection in the windows as the girls looked out at the view from the penthouse, the girls stopped their dance rehearsal and came over to Chendrill as he made for the door and smelled their sweetness and looked at their painted toenails as each one waited in line to kiss his cheek.

  Yeah, he wished he was Dan’s age again.

  ***********

  Chendrill drove back towards Dan’s mother’s home and wondered how things would have panned out had the Italian not got his aim wrong or if he’d been a real pro and shot the woman with the stretched panties who somehow scared him off. They’d be another meeting at Slave no doubt, but he had no will so what would have happened with all his new money that he had yet to see?

  He hit 12th Street, headed east, and called Williams with his right hand as he sat at a red. Williams sitting there happy and excited as he answered and the first thing he said was, “God, I wish I could have crossed the border and been there when the shit hit the fan. How the fuck did you know?”

  It hadn’t been hard; in fact, truth was it really couldn’t have been easier, and the suspicion had been there for Chendrill for a while now—ever since Suzy’s husband had blurted out that he’d left the door open on Zero Ave. Then after when Suzy had said he had a job going down to the States. In the end, though, the woman had gifted the little fucker of a husband’s illegal activity to Chendrill anyway as they’d sat on the bench by the water. After all, in Suzy’s eyes, it was what the man deserved after getting his kicks out of watching strangers rape her ass.

  He said to Williams, “You just have to listen.”

  Williams out there working for free all day on his day off and loving every minute of it as he’d cruised about in his own vehicle and on his own time, picking the tow truck driver up in his sights as he’d left the yard on McGill and headed towards the highway. The young cop who wanted to be legendary like Chendrill letting his idol know that the guy was about to make his neck bigger as he’d settled down in Micky D’s for some lunch. Then, on Chendrill’s instructions, Williams had arranged a tow.

  Following the guy after, Williams had called Chendrill again with updates as the man wandered around the city like a lost puppy and eventually sat in Robson Square before getting in a farm produce van and headed south.

  That’s when he’d made the call and sent Basil with his feet covered in oil flying out of his favorite foot massage chair.

  Chendrill hit the road that he’d used so many times when he’d been to see Dennis. What he would do, Chendrill thought, as he headed east in the darkness and looked at the road, was contact Dennis again, see how his wife was and see whether she’d skipped town. He knew the woman would—but would she if Dennis was now a partner in a huge dentistry? Chendrill doubted it. But he’d do that, he thought as he drove. He’d call Dennis in the morning and offer him just that and then he’d have a word with Samuel about the man’s license and see how the people who took it away from him could handle a law firm with seemingly unlimited funds.

  He made it back and let himself into Dan’s mother’s place and was met in the corridor with a hug and another kiss on the cheek. Tricia said, “I thought you would never come home.”

  It was a good point. He said, “I was with Dan.”

  Tricia said back, “I know, sometimes I wonder what the two of you have in common.”

  It was around 8 a.m. when Chendrill woke to find Dan’s mother messing with his dressing.

  She said, “I’m sorry, but it’s bleeding.” It was and quite badly. She carried on saying, “You should have stayed in hospital instead of stealing food and looking at chick’s asses.”

  Fucking Dan, Chendrill thought, as he sat up and looked at the sheets that would need to be thrown out unless the washing detergent could live up to its promise.

  “Really?” he said.

  “Like I said yesterday, you need to grow up, Chuck.”

  He did. He said, “Then I’d be boring.”

  And Trish said straight back, “You’ve got a fortune in the bank to keep you from being that. Make sure you’re here to enjoy it instead of pretending to live some weird superhero life.”

  Chendrill thought about that one. He�
�d been called a few things in his day but a superhero… he wasn’t that. He said, “Okay, you win, I’m staying put and house hunting with you until I’m better.”

  But almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, his phone rang and it was Basil from the CBP telling him he had a couple of other interesting people in the van along with the husband and this guy with the fat neck. And then moments after he'd put down the phone, Suzy called.

  Chendrill pulled the Aston up outside the house that Sebastian had bought for his old friend whom he used to like to chat with at parties.

  They sat at a table next to the new bay window—the framework looking better now since it had been fixed up. Suzy sitting there all emotional in her loose top feeling guilty, crying tears of frustration more than of upset for her husband, who she’d just discovered was sitting behind bars in a U.S. Federal remand center.

  “The guy rarely worked, you know, but when he did, he’d say it was tunnel work, but I didn’t know he was doing this. I took it for granted it was at the docks just as it has always been,” she said.

  Chendrill stayed quiet. Given that the woman had been the one to give her husband’s nighttime activities up to him only the last time they had met, it was an odd thing to say, but women could be like that. Especially if their kids were in ear shot. Say one thing one minute, completely deny it the next. He’d seen it years before whilst dealing with domestic abuse, when often the women had called because her husband was beating the shit out of her and then denied he’d done just that when the police arrived and the kids were there. It was shitty, but it was life and he understood. Chendrill said, “He knew what he was doing, and besides I have to tell you, I was involved in instigating this investigation into the tunnel they were using.”

  Suzy looked to him for a moment, taking in what the man in the loud shirt was telling her. Then she said, “I knew you’d look into him after what he’d had the kids do to Sebastian.”