Smoked

by Garry Ryan

  Lane looked across at the lrt cars traveling at the same speed as their Chev. One male passenger looked down on them from a superior height. The train gently swayed. The man closed his eyes.

  “Nitrous oxide leaves the body very quickly and is difficult to trace. Numerous avenues have been explored to determine the exact precursor to Ms. Tower’s death, but the only certainties are unconsciousness, suffocation, and death. Nitrous oxide, resulting in unconsciousness, is a working theory fitting the outcome. All other reasonable conclusions have been entirely eliminated,” Fibre said.

  Lane waited, watched the lrt slow for Dalhousie Station. “Anything on the most recent message from Kensington?”

  “The paint matches the samples taken from the others. The style also suggests it was done by the same individual.”

  “Thanks,” Lane said.

  “Anything else I can do?” There was emotion in Fibre’s voice.

  Ever since he insulted my niece, Fibre can’t do enough for us. “If I think of anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Good. And about your niece…” Fibre began, hesitated, and then hung up.

  A change in tone is something Fibre’s never done before. I may have been wrong about him. Maybe he does have feelings. Lane closed his phone.

  “What’s up?” Harper asked.

  “Fibre still thinks Jennifer died from an overdose of nitrous oxide, but can’t prove it.” Lane tucked the phone in his pocket.

  “So, we know where to keep looking.”

  “Head into Kensington. Do you have the home address for Jones?” Lane asked.

  ×

  Maddy adjusted the book bag on her shoulder. It’s nice having one class off. She savoured the unaccustomed freedom while sniffing the back alley mélange of garbage and tantalizing odours exhaled through restaurant kitchen fans. She turned left out of the alley and onto Oxford Street.

  Ahead, two men in sports coats and black shoes got out of a grey four-door Chevrolet. The driver wore a mustache and was taller than the other one, who exited from the passenger side. The passenger adjusted something on his hip.

  “Shit!” Maddy recognized the shorter detective from the other night in the alley. She stepped behind a shrub on the boulevard, then leaned to look around it. Her nose filled with the purple-sweet scent of lilacs.

  The officers looked down the sidewalk and past her. One pointed at something above and behind Maddy. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the terrace of the coffee shop.

  They turned to walk to the front door of her house. She waited until they returned to the car. She heard the engine start and realized they would spot her if they drove to the end of the street to turn around.

  The car moved toward her.

  She stepped sideways to keep the budding foliage between her and the unmarked police car.

  As the car moved across from her, she looked through the bush and inside the car. The detective who had talked with her the other night was looking directly at her.

  She ran back down the sidewalk, through the green metal gate, and down the alley.

  Maddy heard the scrubbing sound of tires stopping suddenly. A car door slammed. Running footsteps followed her. The car engine roared and receded.

  She ran down the alley, through a parking lot and, without looking for traffic, across Kensington Road. The driver of a white pickup truck sounded his horn and hit the brakes. The truck’s rear wheels locked. It skidded sideways in a howl of off-road rubber.

  Maddy held onto her book bag with her right hand and pushed off from the truck’s hood with her left. She sprinted east, then took a sharp right toward the river. Behind her, she heard the wail of a siren.

  ×

  Lane skidded on a patch of pea-sized gravel when he rounded the corner of the parking lot. After getting his feet back under him, he heard the pickup truck lock its brakes and skid. Lane checked left and right before stepping between two cars and onto Kensington Road. His attention was focused on Maddy. He was certain she would fall under the truck’s front wheels. Instead, she used her left arm to push off from the truck and sidestep nimbly across the street. He watched her dance away as he stepped out into traffic.

  The truck’s momentum carried it forward. Lane and the truck promptly ran into one another. Lane found himself bouncing off the truck’s front fender before being thrown with a thump into the side of a parked car. He lay there, next to the truck’s exhaust pipe, inhaling its fumes, and thought, My feet are okay, my ankles and my calves.

  A siren wailed. Brakes screamed.

  My legs? Nothing broken there.

  “Buddy, you okay?” someone asked.

  “Lane!”

  Fingers? Yes, they’re moving just fine. Lane flexed them just to make sure. That’s strange. My left hand is tingling.

  “Lane? Are you all right?”

  Lane turned his head, feeling no stiffness in his neck. He opened his eyes. I know those shoes.

  “Lane?”

  The familiar black shoes became knees and then a face with its left cheek flattened by the pavement.

  “What are you doing there?” Lane asked.

  “Are you okay?” Harper asked.

  Lane wiggled the fingers of his left hand. “Are they moving?”

  Harper looked at the hand. “Yes, they’re working.”

  “How the hell did the cops get here so fast?” someone asked.

  Who’s that? Lane thought.

  Harper looked over his shoulder to talk to the driver of the truck. “He’s my partner.”

  “Oh,” the voice said.

  “Shut off the engine! Christ, we’re gonna suffocate here!” Harper said.

  This is very strange. Lane tried to sit up.

  “Stay still.” Harper put his hand on Lane’s shoulder.

  “I feel fine,” Lane said.

  “I’m calling an ambulance.” Harper held his partner down with his left hand. With his right, he pressed three buttons on a cell phone. “You’re not moving ‘til it gets here.”

  ×

  Maddy doubled back. She saw the traffic lined up along either side of Kensington Road. Further east, she saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser. She waited to cross at the crosswalk. An ambulance and a blue and white police car howled down the back alley to get to the scene.

  In five minutes she was back home. As she opened the back door, Lane’s card fell from where it had been wedged between the door and the jamb. She picked up the card and stuffed it her bag. Then she found her mother’s credit cards and the keys to the Mercedes.

  ×

  “Whoaaaaaaaa!” The cry came from the woman in the adjacent bed in the emergency room.

  She must be drying out, Lane thought. He stared at the ceiling. His left elbow throbbed, keeping time to the beat of his heart.

  “Watch out!” the woman said.

  Lane looked at the curtain separating them. The woman sat up. A silhouette appeared against the blue fabric.

  “Hey baby!”

  Lane thought, This is worse than being hit by the truck. The curtain bulged toward him as the woman pawed at it.

  “Look out for the train!” The woman shadowboxed with the curtain separating them.

  “Uncle?” Christine asked.

  Lane looked at the faces at the foot of the bed. Christine had been crying. Arthur looked like someone other than Roz had crapped in his garden. Alexandra stood back with a puzzled expression.

  Harper came up behind them. “Reinforcements have arrived. The good news is nothing’s broken and the truck sustained minor damage. The better news is Lane’s supposed to take the rest of the week off.”

  Arthur asked, “Really?”

  The woman in the next bed said, “Fat chance!”

  “Where’s Matt?” Lane asked.

  “He’s been suspended. I have to go there next,” Arthur said.

  “Smith is threatening to kick him out of the play,” Christine said.

  Lane closed his eyes. Even his eye
lids were beginning to feel bruised. He said, “I’m going with you.”

  ×

  The Mercedes’ tires scrubbed against the curb. Maddy pulled the wheel to the left ‘til the sound stopped. She dropped the sedan into park and shut the engine off. The car rocked back and forth a couple of times. Maddy looked to her right at the playground and parking lot. She opened the door, stepped out, and looked into the back seat, where Andrea’s clothes and favourite stuffed animals gazed vacantly back at her.

  Maddy fiddled with the key until the doors locked. She looked across the parking lot to the front of the school, where buses and various other vehicles waited to pick up children. She walked through the front door of the school, rehearsing what she was going to say.

  “Good afternoon, Madeline.”

  Maddy looked up. The principal and Maddy’s stepfather stood side by side. Both gave their best impressions of a tv guru’s self-help smile.

  “Hello.” Maddy managed a smile. “So, this is a surprise.” She played the game of artificial bonhomie that her family played at relatives’ houses, parent-teacher interviews, and surprise meetings like this one.

  The principal, a fiftyish woman who always wore a skirt, pashmina scarf, and vest said, “Here comes Andrea.”

  “I’ve come to take you both out for dinner.” Jones smiled to reveal all of his carefully whitened front teeth.

  “What great news, Daddy!” Maddy was unsuccessful at hiding her sarcasm. Dr. Jones grabbed her elbow.

  He turned to the principal. “Thank you.” He took Andrea’s hand, and led the way out and down the front steps.

  “Where are we going?” Maddy asked.

  “It’s a surprise,” her stepfather said.

  ×

  Lane recognized the emotion behind Matt’s eyes. His nephew sat in a chair in the main office.

  Lane thought, You figure you’re beat, again. When will you start to believe that we’ll stick by you? “What happened?” he asked.

  The secretary glanced at them from behind her desk and computer.

  Matt shook his head. “One of the grade tens was being beaten up. A grade eleven head-butted him into the chain link fence. Another kicked him when he fell to the ground.”

  “Where is he?” Arthur sat down on the other side.

  “His parents came and took him to the hospital. It looks like he broke some ribs.” Matt looked at the clock on the wall with a thousand-metre stare. “I’m missing rehearsal. Smith says I’m gonna be suspended. So I won’t be in the play.”

  Lane almost said, What did you do? Instead he said, “How were you involved?”

  “I picked the kid up off the ground. Mr. Smith came along and suspended us all because he said we were fighting.” Matt shrugged.

  Lane looked at Arthur, who nodded, indicating Lane should continue the conversation. “How did it start?”

  “The kid was wearing a pink sweater.” Matt turned to look at Lane.

  “And you helped him up?” Arthur asked.

  “Yep,” Matt said.

  “How come you got involved?” Lane asked.

  “They were calling the kid a fag. It made me mad.”

  Lane heard the sharp intake of Arthur’s breath. He stood up and walked over to the secretary. “We would like to see the principal, please.”

  The secretary smiled. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

  The door to the office swung open, banged against the wall, rebounded, and hit the back of a hard-shelled orange costume with black dots. A voice came from somewhere inside the black insect head of the costume. “I wanna see the principal!” One of the ladybug’s gloved black hands had a young man by the arm. The boy was dressed in a blue nylon jacket. His look of pure bewilderment was accented by his unruly red hair.

  “Hey, Fergus,” Matt said.

  Fergus looked in Matt’s direction and gave a quick wave before being dragged up to the secretary’s desk.

  The bug said, “I’m tired of being assaulted by kids from this school. They think it’s funny to shove me on my back and watch me try to get back up!”

  “You work for the flower shop across the street?” the secretary asked.

  “That’s right. I work for Ladybug’s Flowers,” the voice said.

  The secretary said, “You’re next after them.” She nodded in the direction of Lane, Arthur, and Matt.

  Lane looked closely at the bug, which appeared to be over nine feet tall. One of the black dots on the ladybug’s chest, near the neck, was made of a fine mesh. A pair of eyes, a nose, and a mustache were visible behind the mesh.

  “Mr. Lane and Mr. Merali, how are you?” Fergus asked as he pulled free of the ladybug and sat down one seat away from Lane. The ladybug perched on the edge of a chair on the far side of Fergus.

  Arthur took a deep breath. “In a bit of a predicament, I’m afraid.”

  Fergus smiled and cocked his head in the direction of the ladybug. “Me too.”

  Lane began to laugh, followed by Matt and the secretary.

  The bug said, “What’s so damned funny? This is serious!”

  Arthur looked at Fergus’ quizzical expression and began to laugh.

  “This isn’t funny!” The ladybug roared.

  Lane’s ribs and back ached, but he couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Hello.” A hand appeared in front of Lane’s face. Lane looked up to see the hand was attached to a slender man of over six feet who had a smile and full head of blond hair. “Jim Baldwin.”

  “Lane. This is Arthur and Matt.” Lane watched the principal shake their hands.

  “I hear great things about your performance in the upcoming play,” Baldwin said as he shook hands with Matt. “Let’s talk.” Baldwin led them into his office, where he closed the door behind them.

  They all sat around a table across from Baldwin’s desk.

  Matt put his hands palms down on the tabletop.

  Arthur said, “Matt defended a student who was being assaulted for wearing a pink sweater. Now he’s being threatened with missing the play.”

  Baldwin looked at each of them in turn.

  Lane watched the man’s eyes as they studied the backs of Matt’s hands.

  No contusions, Lane thought.

  Baldwin looked at Matt’s face.

  No marks there.

  “Our nephew stepped in to help another student and is being punished. Please help me to understand the reasoning behind that decision.” Arthur looked at Lane to see if he had anything to add.

  “I’ve just been made aware of the situation.” Baldwin watched Lane. “Four students were suspended for fighting.”

  Arthur said, “No problem there — but only if Matt was, in fact, fighting. And I have another question.”

  Baldwin turned to Arthur.

  “Why is our nephew being threatened and bullied for defending another student? Especially in an assault that looks like it was motivated by bigotry?” Arthur’s eyes zeroed in on Baldwin. “Also, Mr. Smith has a history of bullying our nephew, and it’s time for that to stop.”

  Lane remembered their last meeting with Smith, and the teacher’s arrogant sarcasm.

  The principal waited a moment before picking up the phone and dialing four numbers. “Mr. Smith? I have Matt, one of the students suspended, and his uncles here. Please join us.”

  Baldwin hung up the phone, stood up, and opened the door.

  Lane took a long breath and looked at Matt, who said, “I told you it would never be over.”

  Arthur took the offensive before Baldwin could shut the door or Smith (wearing a crisp navy blue suit and tie) could sit down. “Why is our nephew being suspended for defending another student? I’m sure the school board does not condone gay bashing.”

  Baldwin sat down.

  Smith sat down next to him.

  Lane watched a faux smile spread across Smith’s narrow face. Smith said, “We have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to fighting. Your nephew was involved, so he was suspended.” Smith kept
his voice low, its tone sweetened with artificial sincerity.

  You remember us, and we remember you Mr. Smith, Lane thought. “Is there any physical evidence to support your theory?”

  Smith looked surprised. “Physical evidence?”

  “Marks on Matt’s face or hands would be physical evidence that he was involved in a fight.” Lane studied Baldwin, who studied him in turn.

  “Ummm…” Smith said.

  “I don’t like it when someone bullies our nephew. And this is not the first time this has happened, Mr. Smith,” Arthur said.

  “It’s policy.” Smith glanced at Baldwin.

  “So, it’s policy for you to bully and threaten our nephew? To threaten him with expulsion when he went to the aid of another student who was being bullied?” Arthur’s tone was low and his face was red.

  Baldwin stood up. “Could I please have a phone number I can reach you at?”

  Lane reached into his pocket, winced at his sore muscles and pulled out his card. “Could I borrow a pen, please?”

  Baldwin handed him one.

  Lane wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card and handed it, and the pen, to the principal.

  Baldwin looked at the card and shook hands with Lane, Arthur, and Matt. “I’ll get back to you before this evening is over.”

  ×

  Lane answered his cell phone as Arthur drove home along John Laurie Boulevard. “Hello?”

  “Jim Baldwin here. Matt’s drama teacher expects him at rehearsal tomorrow night. I explained why your nephew missed rehearsal this evening. I apologize for our mistake.”

  Lane tried to look at his nephew and found he couldn’t turn his neck. “Thank you.”

  “Please ask Matt to come by and see me at eight-thirty tomorrow morning so that I can thank him for coming to the assistance of the student who was being assaulted,” Baldwin said.

  “Thank you for getting back to us so quickly,” Lane said.

  “We were lucky,” Baldwin said.

  “How’s that?” Lane asked.

  “We had two independent witnesses,” Baldwin said.

  “The ladybug and Fergus?” Lane asked.

  “That’s right.” Baldwin laughed and broke the connection.

  ×

  Lane woke at three a.m. Somehow, the nightmare he had just had made the air seem thicker. He could see the child’s body in the garbage can. He could see the dead child in the back of the camper. He could see Jennifer’s body in the dumpster. And he could smell death.