by Bev Robitai
She hauled herself back onto the dock and sat down to think while water pooled around her on the sun-baked timber. Her heated pursuit of Colwyn Symons was turning out to be a lot harder on her than it was on him, and that wasn’t part of the plan. Her goal was to make his life miserable, not hers.
As she squelched back to her shabby hotel, she began to see that perhaps she could take a different line of attack. A subtle and devious approach might have more long-term impact than an outright fight.
Once in dry clothes, she pulled pen and paper towards her and began to plot her campaign, but after a few minutes she realised she needed someone to bounce ideas off. She picked up the phone and dialled the international code for New Zealand, the area code for the South Island, and the number at the farm. Pete would have a few suggestions, she was sure.
He answered after some time, sounding very sleepy.
‘Yeah? Pete here.’
‘Whoops, sorry Pete, did I wake you up? What time is it over there?’
‘Robyn? Is everything all right? Where are you?’
‘In Toronto. Yes, everything’s fine. How are you?’
‘Bloody tired! It’s two o’clock in the bloody morning here, girl!’
‘Is it? Hell, sorry bro - do you want me to hang up so you can go back to sleep?’
‘Nah, you’ve woken me up now, and it’s really good to hear from you. Tell me what’s been going on - have you tracked the bastard down?’
‘Yeah, sort of. I’ve found where he keeps his boat, and I’ve seen him in the distance. He got away on me today though and I couldn’t get my hands on him.’
‘So you haven’t talked to him yet?’
‘No, but I’m working on some new ideas. See what you think. I reckon I can really get to him if I’m a bit clever about it. I’ll have to meet him at the marina, because that’s the only place I can find him. I was thinking I could volunteer to be cabin boy on his boat so that I can get close to him, then I can…’ She stopped as Pete snorted with derision.
‘Robyn! Think about it - it’s not a square-rigged pirate ship, it’s a modern launch! He doesn’t need a cabin boy, even if you could maintain the deception for more than two minutes! No, you’ll have to do better than that, sis.’
‘Damn! I could see it so clearly! I’d get my hair cut like a boy, and wear baggy white shorts to look the part - it would be so cool!’
‘What about your, er…’
‘Tits? Oh come on, Pete, my boobs aren’t that big. With a flat sports bra and a big T-shirt you’d never notice them.’
‘No, I meant what about your voice. He’d spot you as a Kiwi and a female as soon as you opened your mouth.’
‘OK, I see what you mean. Not a great idea then. What else? Got any suggestions?’
‘You could sink his boat. Swim up to it under cover when nobody’s watching.’
‘Ooh, I like that. Drill a couple of holes below the waterline and let her fill up, and dive, dive, dive!’
‘Of course, it probably wouldn’t bother him all that much, he’d just get the insurance to sort it out.’
‘Aw Pete, you’re taking all the fun out of this!’
‘Sorry, Rob, just trying to help.’
‘What if I pose as a rich investor? He’d have to wine me and dine me and be really nice and then I’d kick him hard in the balls and tell him what a prick he is.’
‘That’s got possibilities. Yeah, I can see you doing that. How are you going to look rich, though. You didn’t pack your mink coat or diamond earrings, did you?’ He chuckled, knowing the flashest thing in his sister’s wardrobe was a brand new bush shirt.
‘Damn, I knew I’d need them if I didn’t bring them! No, you’re right again, smartarse. Well I guess I’ll just follow him at a distance and harass him for now - I’ve got plenty of ideas for that. Some really good ones, too!’
‘Just don’t do anything you could be arrested for, will you. I told you, it’s too far to come to bail you out. And don’t do anything he could sue you for - we don’t want him getting his hands on any more of the family finances, do we?’
‘OK Pete, I’ll be careful. Better go, this call will be costing us heaps. I’ll give you a shout and let you know how it goes. See ya!’
She hung up the phone feeling much happier. Pete was good to bounce ideas off, and although he might be a bit over-cautious, at least she knew he was on her side.
Now it was time for some real skirmishing. Guerrilla tactics were what she needed, make some lightning raids here and there then head for the hills. That would keep her target off-balance, and would effectively stop his enjoyment of his stolen lifestyle.
She rummaged in her pack for a few key items, regretfully setting aside the lamb docker for the moment, and made a list of other things she’d need to obtain. Then she set forth to equip herself with weapons and ammunition ready to do battle with the enemy.
Her first purchase was a pair of small plastic water pistols, followed by a little tin of white enamel paint and another of black. From the same toy-shop, she picked up a light peashooter which would fit discreetly in her hand. At a supermarket she bought bleach, a few items of food, some scissors, and a temporary hair dye. From a cheap souvenir stall she got a Blue Jays cap and a Maple Leaf T-shirt, figuring that they would help her to blend in to the local scene without being too noticeable. Then she went back to the hotel to assemble her purchases into weapons of - perhaps not mass destruction, but at least severe harassment.
One water pistol was loaded with the white paint and a dash of black, while the other was carefully filled with bleach. She put a plastic cap on the end of the peashooter and found a bag it would fit into. She put on the T-shirt and cap, then emptied most of the camera gear from her camera bag and loaded it up with the equipment she’d bought.
She looked in the fly-speckled mirror and smiled grimly. Time to kick some ass! When Mr. Symons came back from his boat trip, she’d be waiting for him, tucked away out of sight so she could follow him home and find out where he lived. But somehow she didn’t think he’d reach home in quite the same immaculate condition as he’d set out.
The heat of the day was subsiding as Robyn walked back to the marina, though the air was still warm. Towards the lakefront people were sitting at tables outside restaurants, enjoying the summer evening. Snatches of music mingled with laughter and clinks of glasses, drowned out by the roar of traffic as Robyn walked under the expressway overpass. A soft orange light played across the lake and a cool breeze felt good against her skin. She reached the marina gates, and started down the dock towards berth 217.
Before she’d gone more than a few steps, she saw Colwyn Symons coming the other way, accompanied by an older couple. The woman was laughing and patting him on the arm, while the man smiled and feigned a punch to his jaw. Robyn turned around quickly and hurried across to the next dock, where she positioned herself out of view behind a boat and waited with pounding heart for the group to pass by. At last, after many cheerful quips, they shook hands and parted company.
Robyn slipped away from her hiding place and followed Colwyn Symons at a safe distance until he was on a busier street downtown. Then she edged nearer, and pulled the paint-loaded water pistol from her bag. As a flock of seagulls flew overhead, she took aim and landed a splash of paint on his right shoulder, then ducked back into the crowd. She watched with glee as he looked skyward, then pulled out a crisp white handkerchief and dabbed ineffectually at the stain.
‘Love is Armani-splendored thing…’ she trilled, savouring the moment. Score one for a hefty dry-cleaning bill. She twisted the cap on her head until it faced backwards to change her appearance in case she’d been noticed. It was time to look for some other ammunition. Eyes glued to the sidewalk, she hunted until she spotted a dog turd that was just slightly dry but would do the job. Swiftly she bent and dipped the end of the peashooter in it and walked on. Then she moved closer to Colwyn again, closing in until she was within range. She carefully aimed for a spot on t
he back of his collar, and fired. The brown speck stuck fast. After a few moments, she saw him look around, sniffing disdainfully. Then he checked the bottom of his shoes. He walked on but she could see that every time he passed someone the eddy of air brought the smell to his nose again. It was a pity that it was relatively late in the day, she thought. Having an unidentifiable and unlocatable smell hanging round for the whole day would have been so much more annoying for him.
She dropped the peashooter into a rubbish bin and tried to keep the grin off her face. Score now two to nil. But perhaps she should allow Colwyn one point since she’d fallen into the lake while chasing him. OK, say two to one - she was still in the lead.
When she looked up she saw that Colwyn was getting ahead of her so she closed the gap, while still allowing several people to walk between them in case he looked round and saw her. Then, peering between the shoulders of a pair of American tourists, she saw him run up a short flight of steps and enter the sliding glass doors of a tall, marble-faced apartment building.
Robyn was momentarily stumped. She couldn’t follow him straight in because he’d see her, and she suspected from the look of the place there might be a doorman who would prevent her from walking in on her own. She paused outside for a moment, giving Colwyn time to go through the lobby, then opened the outer door herself.
‘Hi there, can I help you?’ The doorman looked up from his console.
‘Hi, isn’t it a great day?’ She smiled widely and exuded as much charm and confidence as she could muster. ‘I’m with Colwyn Symons, the guy that just came in. I stopped out there to tie my shoe and he didn’t even notice! Walked right on without me. Great guy, huh?’
She started to walk towards the elevator to see which floor it had stopped at. There was no guarantee that he lived here, he might just be visiting, but if she could get close enough at least she’d see which floor he was on.
‘Would you like to give him a call?’ asked the doorman. ‘Or if you’ll wait one moment, ma’am, I’ll page him for you.’
‘Oh, would you? Thank you.’
Aha! So he definitely did live there, that was worth finding out in itself. Now if she could just see what number the doorman was dialling? She casually wandered back towards the console and tried to see which buttons he was pushing without being too obvious, but it told her nothing.
She looked round the lobby while rapidly trying to think of a way to avoid this unplanned meeting.
‘Um, look, hold on a second - don’t page him right now. I think I’ll go get us a pizza for supper, he likes those. I’ll be back in a few minutes, so don’t disturb him just yet, OK?’
With a small triumphant smile on her lips, she was away down the front steps before the doorman had a chance to answer.
Around the corner, she opened her bag and wrote down the apartment number she had just seen on the lobby mailboxes before she had a chance to forget it. C.Symons, Apartment 1123. Brilliant! Now that she had his address she could find him in two locations. That had to double her chances of doing him some damage.
Exultant as she was, she’d had enough for one day. She was tired now and ready to find her dinner and bed.
By morning the kernel of an idea had sown itself in her brain. It was a daring plan, risky even, but she thought she had a fair chance of getting away with it. It would take a bit of setting up, so she made an early start.
First stop was the Eatons Centre, where she used a ‘print-your-own business card’ machine to produce a professional-looking flyer advertising a ‘Mobile executive grooming and hair care service’. Then she purchased a white clinician’s coat from a surplus store, and a cooling gel eye mask from a drugstore. Combined with her battery-operated shaver, scissors, towel and a few combs, she thought it made a pretty convincing package.
Back in her room, she used a temporary hair dye to change her own appearance, cautiously reading the instructions and following them to the letter. Once she’d rinsed her hair she looked in the mirror and gasped at the transformation from blonde to redhead. It made her feel like a completely different person, one who might just get away with the scam she was about to attempt. She put on her shortest skirt and some high shoes, and packed her useful camera bag with the hair-cutting equipment and the white coat.
On the way to Colwyn’s apartment she found the nearest chemist and asked for a make-up demonstration, explaining that she was trying for a role as hairdresser in a play. By the time the assistant had finished enthusiastically demonstrating mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss and blusher, Robyn was confident that her own brother wouldn’t have recognised her.
She entered the foyer of Colwyn’s apartment building, smiled sweetly at the doorman and picked up the lobby phone. The code for his apartment was handily listed and she punched it in with trembling fingers. He picked up with a crisp ‘Yes?’ and she began her spiel, selling the concept of a home haircut for busy businessmen, and putting on a slight American accent to throw him off the scent.
‘Our view is that a busy executive always needs to look his best, even when he doesn’t have the time to go to a stylist. Our trained operators can have you looking as if you just stepped out of a salon in a fraction of the time it would take to go to one. May we set up an appointment for you?’ She could feel his hesitation. ‘If you book right now, the second visit is free, that’s our special for August.’
‘Oh all right, you’ve talked me into it. I guess I’m due for a haircut, and today’s pretty quiet –could you get here this morning?’
‘I’ll send one of our top operators over immediately, sir. We’re based downtown so it will only take a few minutes.’
She retreated to a nearby coffee shop to wait for the few minutes, allowing her nerves to subside. After downing the last of her cup of tea, she returned to the apartment building and buzzed him again, trying to alter her voice as she announced herself.
He opened the door when she knocked, seemed to accept her appearance as being appropriate to her trade, and invited her in. Her heart raced as she walked past him into the apartment, and it was all she could do not to gasp at the luxurious surroundings. The view over the lake was spectacular, prompting her to wonder bitterly if Colwyn was paying the rent for this little slice of paradise with the money he’d stolen from her father.
Barely suppressing her natural urge to strangle him, Robyn sat him down in front of the vanity unit in the bathroom and clipped a towel round his shoulders. Then she pulled the eye mask from her bag and settled it gently on his face, covering his eyes completely.
‘We like to give our clients a chance to relax, since you have to sit still anyway sir. Just let yourself go while I take care of everything.’
Nervousness made her voice go high, but it was appropriately squeaky for the bimbo role she was trying to play, and she managed to keep up the accent for the little she said to him. It took great self-control to steady her hands, and to refrain from squeezing them round his throat now that she finally had him in front of her. But the revenge she had in mind would be longer-lasting than a few moments of common assault.
She ran a comb through his hair and got to work with the scissors, taking time to get both sides even. She’d had plenty of practice cutting Pete’s hair and her father’s, and she was no slouch in the shearing shed either.
Once the cut was finished, she looked around furtively then took out some permanent dyes from her bag. Under the guise of giving Colwyn a scalp massage, she painted a large erect penis on the back of his head in indelible purple ink. It rose majestically up to his crown, counter-pointed by two bright green testicles at the base just above his shirt collar. When her artwork was complete, she got out her razor and shaved his neck, checking to see how relaxed he was. As he was paying no attention, she shaved lightly around the coloured area as well so that it stood out in proud relief to complete the effect.
‘Just wait there, Mr. Symons,’ she murmured soothingly. ‘I’ll get the mirror so you can check the back.’
She qu
ietly gathered her things and moved towards the bathroom door, edged it gently closed behind her, then sprinted like a mad-woman out of the apartment and towards the elevator. She thumbed the button as a diversion, then dived through the stairwell door and clattered down two flights where she paused to remove the white coat and stuff it into her bag. By the time she reached the lobby her knees were trembling from the strain, but she forced herself to walk casually towards the front door. As she reached the security desk she managed to squeak out ‘Bye bye, now,’ in her best bimbo voice, and was rewarded with a knowing leer from both the doorman and a swarthy egg-shaped man who was hanging around the front desk.
The outer door opened with a blast of warm air and she was down the steps and onto the sidewalk, intent on putting as much distance between herself and Colwyn Symons as possible.
Moments later the doorman appeared at the top of the steps, looking up and down the street. Seeing no sign of a woman in a white coat, he shook his head and disappeared back inside.
Back in her hotel room, Robyn rinsed out the hair dye, and scrubbed the make-up off her face, shuddering as the lurid blue eye shadow mingled with streaks of mascara in the cracked basin.
‘God, how do people wear this muck?’
A wicked grin lit her squeaky clean face in the mirror.
‘Hey, that was FUN! If only I could see his face when he saw that piece of artwork! Now he’s a dick-head for all the world to see!’ She hooted joyfully, picturing the embarrassment that awaited him when he had to go to a real hair salon to repair the damage. ‘That’ll stop his business meetings in their tracks for a while!’
Once her clean-up was complete, she became aware that she was suddenly ravenously hungry again, and that lunch was long overdue. She checked her money, decided reluctantly that it would have to be hamburgers once more, and set off for the nearest burger bar.
