by Garry Ryan
They heard her before she spoke. The three-inch heels of her red leather knee-high boots announced her arrival like a drum beat on the plank floor. “There you are!” Lola put her hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He stood and gave her a hug. Lola’s husband John shook hands with Lane. Dan and Christine remained seated. Lane saw that Lola wore red pants, a red blouse and a white leather coat. Her hair and eyebrows had been dyed blonde. Someone had applied her makeup. Her lipstick was a glossier shade than her red blouse.
Lane felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hello there, I’m Linda.” He turned to his right and saw a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She was as tall as Dan and had her father’s gentle green eyes, auburn hair and perfect teeth; she also had a broad smile. She held out her arms. He got a pleasing whiff of subtle floral perfume and raspberry-scented shampoo. Lane stood, and Linda hugged him as he introduced Arthur. She released Lane and waited for Arthur. Linda hugged then released Arthur before reaching for Christine, Indiana and her brother. The siblings exchanged a genuine embrace. Linda walked around the table and sat next to her brother.
The waiter wore a white shirt and black pants, and his black hair was slicked back. “Would you like to order some drinks?”
After he left with their drink orders, Christine got up to carry Indiana over to the glass separating the wood oven from the patrons. Indiana watched the flames inside the oven then locked onto the restored Vespa parked nearby.
Linda leaned closer to Dan and made eye contact with Lane. “It’s good to finally meet you. I was working in the States when the wedding happened and try as I might, there was no way the company I was working for would allow me to visit Cuba — they are, after all, ardent capitalists. Now I work for another investment firm and that means I travel from place to place checking out companies and countries they want to invest with, including Cuba.” She pointed at Lane. “I insist on buying dinner, so order whatever you feel like. I head out tomorrow. I hear you’re headed to Mexico on Monday.”
Arthur said, “Just the two of us.”
Christine sat back down. Lane gazed at Indiana’s round face, close-cropped hair and two front teeth and felt a longing he couldn’t contain. He reached out. Indiana smiled and extended his arms. Lane stood up, moved closer to Christine and waited. She waited several seconds before handing the toddler to Lane. Indiana tucked his head into Lane’s neck, sniffed, farted and touched the stubble on Lane’s face. Lane smiled and sat down. Minutes later Indiana was asleep, and Lane felt a warm sense of calm. He watched Christine, who continued to avoid eye contact. Still, he felt her glance at him once or twice when he was looking away.
Marco the waiter returned with their drinks. After each beverage was in place he asked, “Ready to order?”
After Marco left again, Lane studied the interactions around him. He noted the easy way Linda chatted with her brother. Lola perched, interrupting them with questions answered with one or two words before the siblings continued their catching up. Christine leaned into Dan. Arthur and Matt commented on the illuminated black-and-white photographs on the wall, discussing possible stories behind the portraits.
“Indiana sure seems to like you.” Linda raised a glass of wine and saluted the detective. She turned to Christine. “How do you like the new place?”
Christine leaned forward. “It’s nice to have our own space.”
Lola said, “We’re giving it to them rent free!”
Linda looked at her mother. Dan blushed as he looked at his father and then at Indiana.
Lola said, “We’re helping out. They were living with Arthur and Lane. It was a little crowded.”
Lane heard the condescension in Lola’s tone.
Linda turned to her mother. “What exactly are you saying, Mother?”
Lola looked at John, then at her son. “Just sharing some information with family, that’s all.” She lifted her hands palms up as if in hurt surrender. She looked to John for sympathy.
Matt coughed and looked at Christine, whose eyes went black as she gazed over Lane’s head.
The waiter arrived with a pizza and a calzone. He set them down in front of Lola and Linda. The other pizzas and calzones arrived moments later. Lola used a knife to quarter her pizza.
Lane used his right hand to cut off the crusty end of his calzone, then dripped some chili oil on the bread. Arthur leaned over and cut a couple of bite-sized strips from Lane’s calzone. Lane balanced Indiana and listened to his deep breathing. He speared a sliver of calzone, saw it ooze mozzarella, tomato sauce, olive oil and meat. The scent made him drool. He put the first bite in his mouth, closed his eyes and leaned his head so that his chin touched Indiana. I’ve really missed you, little one.
Lola waved at the waiter. “This is not what I ordered!”
The waiter came over. “I’m sorry, madam. What did you order?”
“The calzone.” Lola pointed at Matt’s plate.
Matt blushed as he chewed.
The waiter picked up Lola’s pizza. “I’ll be right back with your calzone.”
“You ordered a pizza, Mom,” Dan said.
Lola glared at him. “I ordered a calzone!”
Linda looked at Christine, then back at Lane. She leaned forward to confide in Lane. “I heard you are the hero who saved four lives and tracked down a pair of serial killers.”
Lane felt the eyes of the others on him and looked again at the picture of the woman reluctantly accepting a kiss. Linda’s asking you a question. He lowered his eyes, chewed and swallowed. “I did my job.”
Linda continued to study Christine. “Dan said you and Christine were very close up until about a month before they moved into the condo.”
There’s no artifice to Linda. And there’s a tension between her and her Lola. This might get interesting.
Christine shrugged, then lifted her napkin and wiped at her eyes. Lane saw two smudges of mascara on the white fabric. He glanced at Lola, who looked away.
Linda looked across the table at Lola. “What have you been up to?”
Lola leaned back in her chair. “Me? Nothing.”
Linda looked at Lane. “What did she do?”
The pause lasted at least twenty seconds and seemed to be reaching toward infinity.
Arthur leaned to his right and glanced at Lola, pointing with his fork at her to underline his words. “You told Paul that you didn’t want your grandson growing up in the home of a killer.”
Lane heard a collective inhalation. He turned to look at Dan, whose eyes were focused on his mother. Then Lane looked at Christine, who was staring back at him.
Christine asked, “She said that to you?”
Lane nodded.
“And you believed it?” Christine’s voice cracked.
“I . . .” Lane shook his head then looked at Linda whose eyes were boring into her mother’s.
Lola put her hands up. “I said no such thing! And I didn’t come here to be accused of something I didn’t do.” She looked at her son. “We gave you a rent-free condo!”
Lane heard an electronic click. He looked at Arthur, who had set a handheld recorder on the table. “How’d you get that?”
Arthur said, “Lori gave it to me. This recording may clarify a few things.”
Matt savoured a mouthful of calzone with a hint of a smile as he watched the drama unfold.
Lola’s voice was the first one they heard on the recording. “John and I have spoken, and we feel that Dan, Christine and Indiana need a place of their own.”
“That’s what you’ve decided?” Lane’s voice asked.
“We offered them one of our condominiums rent free.”
There was a pause; then Lola’s voice continued. “I’ve been concerned for Indiana’s safety because of your work. Matt was kidnapped as a result of your choice of profession and you must agree that Indiana’s safety is a priority. It’s best for them if they have a safe place to raise their family. And I have some very personal concerns.”
“They
are?” Lane’s voice asked.
“My grandson is growing up in the home of a killer. Of course what you did was legal, but I think you will agree, if you look at the situation dispassionately, that Indiana’s psychological needs would be better served in an environment free from the inevitable aftermath of such an event. Besides, he needs a more traditional family environment. Have you anything to say?”
There was the sound of a door opening and Nigel’s voice said, “Sorry.”
Arthur stopped the tape and pocketed the recorder. “That’s it.”
Linda glared at Lola. “You always did say the end justifies the means, Mother.”
Lola sat up straight and leaned her head back. “I did what needed to be done to protect my grandson!”
“My son!” Christine snapped. She turned to Dan. “Our son!” She turned back to Lola. “Cut the bullshit, Lola. You only do what’s good for you!”
Lola pointed a finger at Christine. “It’s always the newest member of a family who causes the problems!”
Lane felt the heat rise toward his forehead then to his hairline.
Linda laughed. “Have another drink of wine, Mother. You’re just trying to shift the blame.”
Lola stood up. Her chair fell backwards. She pointed at Dan, then at Christine. “You’d better get that one under control!”
Lane stood up. Keep your voice low. Your words need to be slow, calculated. “Christine is doing just fine. You’re the one who’s out of control.”
Indiana woke up and began to whimper. Lane rubbed the boy’s back.
Lola poked Lane’s arm with her manicured index finger. “Now look at what you’ve done!” She picked up her purse, turned and swung Gucci over her shoulder. The purse swung wide, forcing the approaching waiter to duck. Lola’s heels pounded over the wooden planks. The sound was magnified by the silence. Her husband took deep a breath and looked around the table, mouthing Sorry at Dan before following his wife.
Christine was watching Lane as he sat back down and rocked Indiana, who slipped back to sleep.
The waiter stood with Lola’s calzone for a moment until Linda said, “Please set it there.” She pointed at Lola’s empty place setting. “Drama can be good for the appetite.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Christine asked.
Lane shrugged.
“He had to shoot that guy,” Matt said. “He had to. He didn’t want to. What else could he have done to stop those killers?”
Linda smiled at the waiter. “Could we take a look at the wine list, please?” She looked at Dan, who was staring at the untouched food on his plate. Linda put her hand on his back. “Let’s get this party started. We both know what she’s like. Now that she’s gone we can relax and enjoy each other’s company. I’ve missed you, brother, and I absolutely adore my nephew and sister-in-law.”
Lane’s phone buzzed as he put it down on the kitchen table. He tapped a button and a message from Nigel filled the screen. Two FOBs dead on Stoney Trail. Shotgun and handgun recovered at the scene. Stolen Mustang recovered fifteen minutes ago in Ramsey. Two holes in vehicle. Blood sample recovered.
Lane leaned against the counter. Harper was right. This could be the beginning of a gang war.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 8
chapter 6
The sun was up. Lane looked through the glass and across the airport apron where a pair of WestJet blue tails pointed at the sky. He looked left at the Fur Trader’s Hut where moccasins, leather jackets, wooden snowshoes, a moose head, a ceramic bear and other assorted authentic Canadiana awaited sale. A black-haired, almond-skinned woman sat behind the till and spoke on her cell phone. “What do you want me to do? I’m at work. The chai is on the shelf above the stove!”
Arthur tapped Lane’s forearm. “Still full from last night?”
Up to this point, they had been quiet about last night’s dinner conversation. It’s a lot to digest, Lane thought.
A woman said, “I thought it needed to be out there so I put it out there.”
Sharp, cackling laughter erupted from a group sitting two rows away in the departure area. Lane looked over his shoulder. One woman wore a straw cowboy hat with a rolled-up brim. Her mouth was wide and her teeth were unnaturally white. There was a rasp of hard liquor and cigarettes in her laughter. The woman next to her wore a Flames jersey and shoulder-length, black-dyed hair that she pushed back with fluorescent pink nails. After the look-at-me laughter died down, Lane said, “I thought we had a good visit after Lola left. Linda wasn’t what I expected. She sure has Lola figured out.”
“Linda seems determined to keep as much distance as possible from her mother. Dan told me Linda took the job in the States to get some breathing space from Lola. Linda initially talked about living in Australia.” Arthur watched as the luggage was loaded onto their aircraft.
“It was good to see Indiana and Christine again.” Lane remembered how wet the shoulder of his shirt was when he handed the baby back to his mother.
“She actually talked to you. That’s a step in the right direction.”
Lane smiled. “Yes, she asked me, ‘So you listened to her bullshit?’”
Arthur laughed so loud it momentarily drowned out the noise from Straw Hat and Pink Nails. He put his hand on Lane’s knee. “That’s one of the many nice things about our Christine. She always gets right to the point!”
They were alone on the beach. The moon spilled silver onto the black water of the Sea of Cortez and waves crashed white against the sand. The stars were thick in the black when Arthur took Lane’s hand. They turned back to La Luna Cortez, an orange-stuccoed four-storey resort structure in the shape of a U. The open ends pointed at the ocean and the middle of the U shaded a meandering pool framed with palm trees. “When do we get to work?” Arthur asked.
Lane pointed at a gathering of men who sat near the pool where blue-and-white lounge chairs had been pulled into a circle. Nearby, a quartet of bodyguards surveyed the grounds. “Looks like we’ve already started.”
The meandering pathway leading to Arthur and Lane’s main-floor room brought them close to one of the guards. Arthur stepped in front of Lane, who put his hand on his partner’s shoulder.
One of the bodyguards, wearing a black T-shirt, pants and shoes, spotted them and said, “Maricóns!”
All of the others turned to survey Lane and Arthur. There was a flash of teeth then general dismissive laughter before the guards turned away.
It’s likely they will no longer pay us the slightest bit of attention, Lane thought as he caught the spicy aromas of testosterone and Cuban tobacco on the breeze.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 9
chapter 7
Lane sat down near the cappuccino bar in the cavernous lobby of La Luna Cortez. A young woman approached him. She wore a white blouse and black skirt and her black hair was tied back. She squeaked closer on soft soles. “Café?”
Lane read her nametag and asked, “Cappuccino, por favor, Lucy?”
Lucy nodded and walked away.
He opened his laptop, logged onto the hotel’s WiFi and looked out at the bougainvillea, the palm trees and the pool where a pair of young women in bikinis and oversized sombreros were pouring tequila down the throat of a thirsty thirty-ish male in a black Speedo. Lane’s inbox opened up and he saw Christine’s name. He aimed the cursor and read.
Uncle Lane,
I hope you and Arthur are enjoying your holiday.
I thought that maybe by writing you I could tell you how I’ve felt the last few months. Hearing what Lola said to you has made me think about what happened between us and the way you’ve shut yourself off from us.
Actually, I want to scream and say, “How stupid could you be listening to what Lola says?!” Maybe that’s why it’s better for us to communicate this way. I can think before I speak.
Matt and Arthur told me that Lola knows how to spot a scar and scratch at it until it opens up again. I’ve begun to believe it’s true. Linda told me as much last night. We talked in t
he car on the way to her hotel. She said she went to university in Halifax to get away from Lola. She said that after two years of taking some psychology courses, she was able to see her mother for what she is. The words Linda used were “pathetic,” “self-absorbed” and “controlling.” She thinks her mother needs to feel powerful. But the reasons why Lola acts the way she does don’t really matter. Linda also said something very interesting. “My mother can only control you and manipulate you if you let her. Once you become aware of her personality and acquire some objectivity, you realize that she can only have power over you if you let her.”
I think that’s what you and I need to learn. We have allowed Lola to control us, to influence us. To scratch the scars off of old wounds.
What I’m trying to say is that Indiana needs you and so do I. What do you say?
Love,
Christine
Lane walked the beach. He wore knee-length black shorts, a long-sleeved blue shirt, a ball cap and sunglasses. Arthur waited at the side of the pool for Fuentes and his entourage to appear. Lane felt the firm wet sand under his feet. He noted the gold flecks in the white and looked ahead to see a man standing inland on a sand dune. He held a three-metre fishing pole. The line stretched over Lane’s head. The fisherman in the ball cap, red shirt and jeans yanked back on the rod to set the hook, then began to wind the reel. In less than thirty seconds a silver fish with a yellow fin was dangling from the line about a foot below the tip of the rod.
