by Mike Cranny
“First, tell me about your case, about what you’ve learned. It’s obviously on your mind.”
“I can’t talk about it, Streya.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“I’d rather not think about my work right now.”
She moved her head on his shoulder and he could feel her sweet, hot breath on his neck. She persisted.
“I’d really like to know.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You must have found something interesting?”
“Like what?”
“Whatever Nick was up to that got him killed. What evidence have you found?”
“We didn’t find anything you need know about.”
“It’s just a girlfriend’s curiosity, Archie.”
“I still can’t discuss it.”
“Suit yourself.”
He had made her angry. He couldn’t think of anything to say and so he looked off out the window toward the lights of town. The change in her mood made him wonder if he’d been stupid to visit her, to let her get inside his defences.
He decided it might indeed be better if he left; he set the glass down on the coloured tiles of the coffee table, and started to get up. His move seemed to take her by surprise but she moved quickly. She brushed her wine glass with the tips of her fingers. It fell on the hardwood floor and shattered. The red wine splashed across his feet.
“Oh damn, sorry.”
“Why did you do that Streya?”
“You’re going to leave and I don’t want you to.”
He mumbled a protest but he let her push him back into his seat on the couch, forced now to wait while she ran to get a cloth. When she came back, she kneeled at his feet and peeled off his wet socks, patted the wine away.
“Forget I asked about your work okay? Let’s just have a nice evening for old time’s sake, please?”
She smiled at him, looked up at him from under her brows — aggressive or submissive, he couldn’t tell. Lascivious, certainly. His resolve disintegrated. She ran her hands under his jeans’ legs up his calves, withdrew them, placed them on his thighs and worked her way up. It seemed natural to take her hands and to draw her to him, to bring her lips to his.
She unbuttoned her blouse slowly and then lifted her arms so that he could pull it off over her head. He leaned into her warmth, into the sweet scent of her, close enough to feel her nipples tighten and stiffen under his breath. She ran her fingers through his hair.
He hesitated. She nuzzled into him and started to unbutton his shirt. He let her tug the tails of his shirt out of his pants. She unbuckled his belt and pushed herself away from him. She posed for him, drew an invisible and complex pattern on her naked breasts with the tips of her fingernails. Then she undid the tie on her silk trousers and they slipped to the floor with a soft hiss of fabric on skin.
“Stay with me?”
He couldn’t say no, not anymore, not against her. Anyway, he had no will to truly resist, no desire to stop the momentum of it — too far gone for that. He lifted her easily, carried her to the bedroom, deposited her on the bed. She helped him struggle out of his clothes, and he rose up onto her, crooked her legs with his arms and entered her.
Later, lying in the angle of his arm, she ran a finger down his belly, as interrogative as a gesture could be and he knew that she still had her agenda.
“Will you tell me about your investigation?”
The unusual curiosity again, out of place, insulting. It was as if a transaction had occurred and he was supposed to pay for the sex with information. He didn’t answer. She persisted.
“Why is it such a secret? Why won’t you tell me?”
She couldn’t seem to help herself, like she had a job to do, and couldn’t rest until it was completed. He sat up slowly, eased her off him.
“Forget my work. I don’t want to talk about it. How many times do I have to say it?”
That made her angry. She sat up half-draped, pulled her knees up to her chin.
“Get the fuck out then.”
“There’s no reason for this.”
“You’re such a bastard.”
He had nothing to say to that — maybe he was. He pulled on his jeans, put on and buttoned his shirt. Then he went looking for his boots. She followed him, leaned against the wall, arms folded. She watched while he pulled his boots on.
“Archie?”
“What?”
“I still want you, Archie. I want us to be the way we were.”
“Yeah, sure you do.”
“I mean it. We had a good time tonight — mostly. Let’s go somewhere, have a picnic, get out of this stupid town, even for a few hours.”
“What would that do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve made you angry. I really would like to spend some time together, like we used to. I can make the picnic — the food you like. Please?”
He thought about it.
“Where would we go?”
She seemed happier, stood on her toes and kissed him. She paused to think about it, so that it was as if the idea had just popped into her head.
“How about we go out to the islands, maybe to Cat’s Cradle Island?”
“I can’t go tomorrow,” he said.
“Can we still do the picnic soon?”
“Sure.”
“Come back to bed, please. I won’t ask you any more questions and I won’t be jealous.”
She convinced him. When he left her place early in the morning, he still wasn’t sure what was going on, just that Streya had decided not to ask any more questions. There was something to be said for not over-thinking the situation, for just going with the flow, for not seeing enemies and complications everywhere — his fallback position these days. Probably, it was like she said. She was curious, and no more than were half the people in the town. What bothered him more was that, a few times, he thought about Patsy Kydd when he was making love to Streya Wainright.
CHAPTER 1 6
When Archie phoned the police department in Empire City, he was routed to a detective named Doug Dolan. Dolan was the cop who thought he’d seen Robbie, twice — once two days or so before at a sandwich shop and then, more recently, at a café called the Sunburst in the center of town. Both times, Robbie had been with a middle-aged Asian woman — not bad looking, Dolan said, but not the kind of girl most guys would take home to meet mother. They’d had lunch in the sandwich shop and had not lingered. It was a different story at the Sunburst where they had stayed for quite awhile. He told Archie what he had seen.
They talked about Robbie and discussed what he might be doing in Empire City, keeping the company he was keeping. Dolan said he had theories. He suggested that Archie come down to talk to him; he thought he might be able to help, to put Archie in touch with people who might be useful. The conversation ended abruptly when Dolan had to take another call.
When Archie called back, Dolan’s superior, a lieutenant named Emile Pared, said that Dolan had already gone home and that he’d be gone from the office for a couple of weeks on a pre-planned holiday. Pared said he wasn’t about to give Archie Dolan’s home number. He said he hadn’t heard anything about John Robbie from Dolan, but when Archie pressed, he said he’d do a meeting. Archie had to be satisfied with that. He knew of Pared by reputation but that didn’t reassure him.
He drove into Empire City early the next morning. He wanted to check the sandwich shop first and then, most importantly, to find the Sunburst Café where Robbie and Bonnie Tran had spent time. There was a chance that he might spot Robbie there, since Dolan thought the owner and Robbie knew each other.
The sandwich shop was on a main avenue and very busy. Archie couldn’t see any reason why Robbie would do anything at such a place other than eat. It was too public. The Sunburst, on the other hand, was on a side street, almost an alley, in an area that was becoming gentrified. It was almost empty of customers.
He parked, went inside, bought a coffee, tried to find out from the l
onghaired youngish manager if Robbie had been there. The manager, whose name was Parker — according to the embroidery over the pocket on his white restaurant jacket — shook his head. He said he didn’t work evenings but that Archie could ask his partner who did. Archie said thanks, took a newspaper from the counter and went to a booth that gave him a view of the front door. Not that it mattered. Aside from the owner and, he assumed, a fry cook in the back, he was alone. Nobody came through the door while he was there. It might be that the real breakfast crowd would start arriving at nine or so, long after he had gone, but he doubted it. He’d never seen a business that looked more like a front than the Sunburst. Robbie would not feel out of place there. Archie finished reading the paper and headed out for his meeting with Pared. He could check back with the partner later — if there was such a beast.
Empire City Central office was housed in a newer three-story building that tried very hard to pretend it was anything but a cop shop. It even had commissioned art in the lobby, a sculpture that featured a strangely shaped block of stone propped up by shrouded metal figures. Neither the sculpture, nor the layout, made much sense to Archie. He checked in at the desk, took a seat on an uncomfortable designer chair in the lobby, and waited.
Emile Pared came from behind an imposing wall of frosted glass decorated with swimming salmon. He had a linebacker’s build and he seemed vaguely familiar. He dressed well too. His overt friendliness belied his reputation as a hard, sadistic officer.
Pared smiled like a banker, made small talk, and then guided Archie through to the elevator that took them up to the third floor. Pared’s office had a good view of the harbour but had a functional blandness to it that didn’t give away much about the man. He had a small, colourful painting on one wall that reminded Archie of Streya Wainright’s work. This one suggested a religious theme, but what that theme might be, Archie could not tell.
Pared motioned him to a table where he had laid out mug shots ready for viewing. Archie glanced through them, saw nobody that even half resembled John Robbie and said so. Pared said he didn’t know much about Robbie — Robbie didn’t usually spend time in Empire City, he thought. Dolan knew him from years back.
Pared asked what Dolan had said he’d seen. Archie said that Dolan had thought that he had spotted John Robbie at a sandwich shop in the east end of the city and at the Sunburst Cafe, with three guys who could have been Vietnamese. Dolan had thought that one of the Vietnamese looked like Bill Tran.
Pared seemed to think that was funny. He said that Bill Tran seemed to be everywhere these days, according to Dolan. Archie said that he had heard that Tran was affiliated with the Four Winds Triad that was trying to establish a presence on the coast; that might mean that Tran was doing some consolidation but Pared dismissed that idea as well.
Archie, now wondering if Pared had his own agenda, said that Dolan had sounded certain, that he came across as a good, very observant cop. Pared acknowledged that Dolan was observant but figured that he had gangs on the brain. That coloured his thinking. On his own, he had decided that Robbie was up to triad stuff, speculating about arranging a robbery or even a hit with Tran. Big things. Pared said it was nonsense.
“I doubt that scenario myself,” Archie said. He decided to play his cards close. “John’s too old. If he was meeting Tran it would more likely have something to do with a little dope smuggling.”
Pared caught his jaw between his fingers. He ran squared fingers over the stubble shadow on his cheeks, the rasp of it clearly audible. He seemed to be considering his next move.
“In that case, we’d better follow up,” he said.
Pared then said that he would have patrols check the east side for anyone resembling Robbie. He knew that Tran had had his muscle there, a couple of ex-bikers named Scorpion and Jumbo.
“Scorpion and Jumbo?”
“Walter Bertram King and Daniel Yip.”
Pared reached for a file, a sheet on Walter Bertram King. Archie noted the conviction for murder and others for assault and armed robbery, the pitifully short incarceration in juvenile detention. Jumbo’s sheet told a similar story: a local boy, from a good home, then gang membership, then some nasty stuff with weapons, drugs, extortion and home invasion — two arrests and no convictions. Pared interpreted Archie’s look as a political comment.
“Products of our criminal justice system. Great, isn’t it?”
Archie didn’t reply. He was thinking about Robbie, what he might be doing talking to guys like Scorpion and Jumbo.
“Robbie had some biker connections in the past. There must be more to it. Where are these guys now?”
Pared shrugged, scratched his forehead. His smile was warm and collegial.
“Dolan didn’t arrest anyone so there wasn’t any follow-up.”
“I’d like to know if these two guys turn up again.”
Pared said he would keep Archie informed. He seemed to going out of his way to be helpful and accommodating; it made for a nice change, compared to what Archie was used to in Harsley.
Pared also gave Archie a complete tour of Central Office, of the large and spotless labs, the warren of offices, even the firing range, trying his best either to make Archie feel welcome, or to make the point that Archie was from a hick police station — likely the latter. Archie decided that the purpose of the whole exercise was to let him know that there was nothing more he should do, or that he need do, in Empire City; Pared had everything under control.
“I’d like to go talk to Dolan,” Archie said. “I’ll need his phone number.”
Pared seemed surprised, irritated even.
“I’m not even sure he’s in town. He won’t be able to tell you anything anyway.”
“I’d still like to get Dolan’s number.”
Pared leaned against his file cabinets, rubbed his forehead with the tip of his second finger. When it was obvious that Archie was not going away, he relented and wrote the number on a page of his desk pad. He tore off the page and slapped it down on the desktop.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said.
Archie picked up the phone number.
“Likely, but it’s mine to waste. Appreciate your giving me the tour. It’s nice to see how things are done here.”
Pared almost glared at him.
“Think you can find your way out?” he said.
“I think so.”
“Good. I got work to do.”
Archie gave him a nod. He turned away and headed down the hall for the elevators and the exit. He heard Pared move in his office and was certain that the man was watching him, but he didn’t look back. He had made the call before he got to the ground floor. Surprisingly, Dolan seemed to want to talk. Archie paused to jot down the directions to Dolan’s house, walked through the spotless lobby to the doors and then out into a thickening drizzle that hadn’t been in the forecast.
CHAPTER 1 7
Dolan’s house was in a pocket of undeveloped forest, at the edge of a new and upscale subdivision. The tidy wartime bungalow was of the type that a developer would buy to tear down to make way for something larger. The new For Sale sign on the trimmed front lawn spoke volumes. Archie parked in the driveway behind a big three-quarter ton attached to a trailer carrying a newer cabin cruiser. He walked up the carefully-edged path to the front door, which Dolan opened before Archie had a chance to knock. Archie, not knowing what to expect after meeting Pared, stretched out a hand and introduced himself.
Dolan brushed the remains of his lunch off the front of a freshly pressed shirt and shook Archie’s hand. Archie thanked him for agreeing to meet.
“No problem at all,” Dolan said. “I’m heading out on holidays in the morning but I’ve got time right now.”
He ushered Archie into his house. As expected, the interior was as neat and tidy as the outside, although Dolan had the face of a hard drinker. Archie stopped and pulled off his cowboy boots, set them on the small Persian rug that protected the hardwood. Dolan waited and watched until Archie
clued in and lined his boots up military-style and then led the way into the kitchen. He seemed to have anticipated Archie’s unstated question.
“If you’re interested in buying a house for a coupla hundred grand over what it’s worth, you can have this one,” he said.
“I’ll think on it.”
“I bought out here about twenty years ago and development caught up with me. Now I’m holding out until I get my price. These aren’t my kind of folks here now. But just because the place is going to be knocked down, I’m not living in no pigsty.”
Archie didn’t know how to respond to that. Do you compliment the guy on his housekeeping, or on his foresight in buying the place? In the end, he said nothing. Dolan motioned Archie to a chair at a 50’s vintage table and took a seat himself. Archie eased onto the yellow vinyl, rested a hand on the chrome-edged melamine tabletop. Dolan settled in across from him. “You want to know about John Robbie.”
“And Tran if you have anything you think might help.”
“I know Tran. I know Robbie from being up your way. I’m sure that it was him that came to a meet they had on the west side. He’s a tough little fucker. Then I seen him again downtown at the Sunburst. He had that Vietnamese chick with him that he used to hang with. She’s tough too — still good-looking though. I think she was connected with Bill Tran in some way.”
“She’s his sister.”
“Right — I remember now. But Tran’s not part of what you’re doing is he? Robbie’s the prime in a murder case you got up in Harsley?”
“He’s definitely a person of interest. I’d bring him in if I could find him. There was the thought he might have been hit but you saw him...”
“He’s alive. I’m sure of it. You couldn’t kill that little prick.”
“Your guy Pared seemed to think I was wasting my time.”
“He would. He doesn’t like cops from out of town working his beat.”
