by Easton, Don
“Well, I’ve never really thought of accountants as being party animals. I bet Potter is some shy guy who lives at home with his mom.”
“We can only hope.”
“Serve these clients up some of your olive soup.” Willy grinned. “They would never forget you.”
“I don’t know,” replied Jack. “Seems to me your memory wasn’t so good after a few martinis.”
At three o’clock in the afternoon, Willy’s initial background check of Stewart Potter left Jack feeling apprehensive.
Potter was thirty-five years old and had spent the last six years working as a forensic accountant for a large accounting firm. Prior to that, he had worked in various African countries for the Red Cross.
“So much for him being a shy guy living with his mother,” said Jack.
“Yeah, guess I was wrong about that,” admitted Willy. “He is married and has four children. Two adopted seven-year-old twin boys from Somalia, one four-year-old daughter with Down Syndrome, and another six-year-old daughter.”
Jack saw the glum look on Willy’s face and felt the same way. The idea of Potter being set up for murder sickened them. Jack knew he could not knowingly risk Potter’s life.
Jack thought about the victims who had already been murdered, starting with Jennings who had his throat rammed into the broken glass shards of a window before Christmas eight years ago. Another killed while scuba-diving. Other unidentified victims not yet discovered, up to Lorne Welsh’s violent death in a hotel room in Moscow … and the family he left behind.
Jack glanced at his watch and saw that he had less than an hour before returning to the Corporate Asset.
I have to win out over Potter. There is simply no other option …
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack trailed behind another man as they walked down the pier to where the Corporate Asset was moored. When he arrived, he discovered that the man in front of him was Stewart Potter.
Oskar was on hand and introduced the two of them. Potter was a short man with a horseshoe pattern of brown hair around his prematurely balding head. His body looked skinny except for a rotund stomach. He gave Jack a big smile and a hearty handshake.
“My competition, eh!” he said, grinning. “Don’t get too close to the edge of the pier or I might push you in.”
“Actually I was contemplating breaking your leg.” Jack chuckled.
Oskar passed each of them an envelope and said, “There’s five hundred dollars cash for each of you. I want receipts. If more is needed, let me know. Otherwise, come Monday morning, I will speak to each of you alone and let you know who I have selected. Jack, meet me down here at nine o’clock Monday. Stew, come at ten.”
Oskar then took them into the galley and introduced them to three other men. The first man, Mr. Yu, was wearing a black suit, black tie, and a white shirt. He had all black hair, but Jack guessed his age at about sixty and knew the hair was dyed. Jack noticed that Oskar had not told Mr. Yu to remove his shoes.
The second man, John Barfoot, was dressed similar to Jack in a golf shirt and slacks. He was a large man and had a full head of wavy silver hair that made his bright blue eyes sparkle. Jack guessed that he was in his mid-sixties.
Upon introduction, Barfoot’s hand engulfed Jack’s as he gave a firm handshake. Along with the handshake, Barfoot gave a small smile that said he was sympathetic to the competition that Jack and Potter were going through.
The third man, Len Stein, was small in stature and in his early forties. He wore an open white silk shirt to expose a heavy gold chain over a waxed chest. His black hair was slicked back into a short ponytail, which did little to hide the bald spot on the top of his head. Two gold loops adorned one of his ears.
“Yeah, hi.” Stein frowned when Jack stuck out his hand, before giving Jack’s fingers a quick shake with his thumb and the tips of his fingers.
“So gentlemen,” said Oskar, “I thought we would socialize on board for a couple of hours. I’ve made reservations at Milestones here on the harbour at seven, so until then, let’s enjoy ourselves and get to know each other. Everyone help themselves to whatever you would like to drink. There is beer and a pitcher of margaritas in the fridge and liquor in the cupboard. Don’t be shy.”
Jack and Stewart saw that everyone else had a drink, so they went to the fridge.
“What’s your poison?” asked Stewart, as he opened the fridge.
“Just a beer, thanks,” replied Jack.
“Good thinking,” said Potter, handing Jack a beer and taking one for himself. “Two margaritas for me and I’m liable to do a face-plant on the dock.” He then raised an eyebrow at Jack. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to pour you a pitcher of them for yourself?”
Jack smiled. “What do you go by? Stew, Stewart, or Mr. Potter?”
“Please, no Mr. Potter stuff,” he replied. “And no jokes about whether or not I’m related to Harry. I think I’ve heard them all.”
Jack smiled and nodded.
“Most of my friends call me Stew or Stew Pot. You can call me anything you like as long as it’s not late for dinner,” he said, patting his stomach for emphasis.
“Stew Pot it is,” said Jack.
Over the next few hours, Jack mingled as best he could with everyone on board. The conversation was fairly light, with a smattering of talk in regard to world economics.
At seven o’clock, they walked the short distance to Milestones for dinner and then returned to the Corporate Asset for more drinks.
Once back on the boat, Barfoot sidled over to Jack and said, “So, I understand that you’re stuck babysitting me on Sunday.”
Jack smiled. “I wouldn’t call it babysitting. Oskar is picking up the entire tab and has told us to have a good time.”
“Tough for you to have a good time when you know you’re getting graded,” replied Barfoot. “Not to mention, I’m almost twice your age. I’m sure you would rather be home with your family.”
“Not really,” replied Jack. “I’m divorced.”
“Kids?”
“Yes, two boys, aged two and three.”
Barfoot frowned. “I am really sorry to hear you’re divorced. It’s tough on kids to grow up without a father.”
“I try to see them every chance I get. Maybe things will work out.”
“Oh? I don’t want to get personal, but is there any chance of reconciliation?”
“Possible. She lives in Vancouver, but often brings the boys over for a visit.”
“Well, if you’re willing to listen to an old guy like me, I can pass on some advice.”
“I’m all ears,” said Jack.
“I don’t have any children and my wife passed away a couple of years ago. I spent a lifetime accumulating wealth. Currently I have a bungalow in Belize, an apartment in Tuscany, and my main home is in Malaysia. The house has a pool, is right on the ocean and has live-in servants. I’ve also have a power boat moored out front.”
“Sounds great,” replied Jack, but he sensed frustration and could feel the man’s loneliness.
“Yeah, it sounds great, but I can tell you, it means nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with. I would trade it all to have a family. My advice to you is that the most important stuff in life is not stuff.”
“I appreciate what you are saying,” said Jack, “and I do believe in family values.”
Barfoot stared solemnly at Jack.
“Really I do,” emphasized Jack. Wrong guy to tell I’m divorced …
“I hope so, son, I hope so. Right now you are young, strong, and full of vitality. But the years go by fast. Don’t lose sight of what is really important. I eat in the finest restaurants all over the world. I travel first-class and drink one-hundred-dollar bottles of wine, but would trade it all to live in a tent, if it was with a real family.”
Barfoot eyed Jack to see his reaction, but he only nodded in response.
“Don’t measure success in money,” continued Barfoot. “Measure it in the amo
unt of laughs you have as you go through life.”
“It is also easier to laugh on a full stomach,” replied Jack, “but I do understand what you are saying.”
Barfoot smiled. “Guess that’s enough babble from an old man. What plans do you have on Sunday when it’s your turn to babysit me? And don’t give me any guff that it’s not babysitting. I may not wear diapers yet, but I am sure those days are coming.”
Jack grinned. “I’m open to do whatever you would like. I could give you a tour of the city. Perhaps Butchart Gardens or —”
“Been there, done that,” said Barfoot, with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been to Victoria several times in the past. What would you do if you weren’t looking after me?”
Time to bring on the family atmosphere … “Well, I would probably go out to my favourite golf course and spend the day screaming ‘fore’ until my throat was hoarse.”
“That sounds good to me.” Barfoot chuckled. “I’m a duffer myself. I’ve done a few of the local courses. Bear Mountain, Olympic View.”
“Those are nice courses,” said Jack, “but my favourite is the Metchosin Golf Club.”
“I’m not familiar with it,” said Barfoot.
“It’s a family run golf course. Owned by Grant and Sue and usually managed by their daughters, Shannon and Kate. The golfers there are generally more, uh, mature in age and —”
“You mean old,” said Barfoot.
“Not necessarily,” Jack said with a light laugh. “I meant less of the young drunken sots who sometimes show up at courses and spoil the game for others. Also, the golf course itself has fairly wide fairways, so it’s forgiving, although most of the greens are challenging. The atmosphere is friendly and people frequently play off the wrong fairways to get back on their own.”
“Sounds like my kind of golf,” replied Barfoot. “How about giving me some time on my own Sunday morning and pick me up right after lunch? Say one o’clock?”
“No problem,” said Jack. “I’ll book a tee time for two o’clock.”
Stew and Mr. Yu had left the boat an hour earlier on Stew’s suggestion that they go for a walk over to the Parliament buildings that faced the marina. The buildings were decorated with thousands of lights and were a popular nighttime tourist attraction.
Upon their return, Mr. Yu told Oskar that he was tired and wished to go to bed soon. Oskar relayed the information to Jack, cautioning him that he had little time left to impress Mr. Yu.
“Go ahead,” said Barfoot. “You’ll have lots of time to impress me on Sunday.”
“It won’t be with my golfing abilities,” replied Jack.
Barfoot smiled and said, “If you later suggest we place wagers on the game, I’ll know you’re hustling me.”
Jack spoke with Mr. Yu and asked, “Are you interested in art, such as sculptures?”
“Yes, I have much art in my home in Shanghai,” said Mr. Yu.
“I realize that there is a fifteen-hour time difference between here and Shanghai. I am sure you are tired. I know I would be.”
Mr. Yu smiled apologetically and nodded.
“The Empress has an impressive collection of art for sale. How would it be if I walked you back to your hotel? We could view some of the art and it would give us an opportunity to talk before you head up to your room?”
Mr. Yu liked the idea and Jack spent the next half hour alone with him. Unfortunately, it was clear that Mr. Yu was exhausted and not open to conversation.
Jack bade him goodnight and returned to the Corporate Asset. As he stepped back on board to go downstairs into the galley, he saw Len Stein coming up the stairs so he stood back and waited.
Stein was carrying a margarita and stumbled to one side on the stairs, spilling half his drink. Jack reached out his hand to assist him.
“What the fuck? I don’t need your help,” said Stein, looking indignant. “If you weren’t standing there blocking the light, I could see better.”
“Sorry,” said Jack, stepping back again.
“Ah, this is better,” said Stein as he reached the stern. “Needed some fresh air. Gotta admit, the air here is better than in the Big Apple.”
“Oh, so you’re from New York,” said Jack, trying to be friendly.
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“I guess you did,” admitted Jack.
“I hear you’re looking after my entertainment tomorrow,” Stein said, in a voice that sounded argumentive as he stared up at Jack’s face. “Hope you’re not going to repeat everything I say,” he added, with a sarcastic laugh.
“Sorry, guess I’m a little nervous,” said Jack. Small-man complex coupled with a desire to bully. You poor, pathetic little man …
“Yeah, well, treat me good and I’ll put in the right word for you.”
“Thanks.”
“This is my first time out to the sticks. What do you do for entertainment? My wife said she wants me to bring her back a picture of me feeding a grizzly bear.” Stein laughed.
I’d like to feed you to a grizzly bear. “Victoria is a beautiful city. There are many spots I could take you to see,” suggested Jack. “Some great restaurants.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see her beautiful spot and eat there,” said Stein, pointing to a teenaged girl who had ventured out onto the deck of a nearby boat. “Hey, honey!” he yelled. “How about coming over here for a party?”
The girl headed below deck and a moment later the girl’s father stuck his head out and scowled at Stein.
“Fuck him,” said Stein, turning to face Jack again, before gulping down the rest of his drink. He then handed Jack the glass. “Get me another one.”
Jack glanced at the narrow space between the pier and the boat. Wonder if I could jam his body in there and make it look like he fell in and drowned …
“I meant now, not tomorrow,” prodded Stein.
Jack did as directed. He knew Stein was too drunk to notice that the drink he would make had far more tequila than it should have. Dealing with an obnoxious drunk would not benefit anything and he hoped this next drink would be Stein’s last for the night.
Jack smiled as he returned and handed Stein the drink. “Lots more where that came from.”
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” said Stein, after taking a large slurp. “What say I finish this and we go some place and find some women to party with. I’m also in the mood for a little … you know,” said Stein, touching the end of his nose with his finger and sniffing loudly. “You got some?”
“I don’t do coke,” said Jack. “As a matter of fact, I don’t do any drugs.”
Stein stumbled back a step and said, “Well … listen to you. Mr. Goody Two-shoes.” His face clouded in anger. “Quite frankly I don’t give a fuck if you do or not.” He jabbed his finger in Jack’s chest and added, “But you’re here to look after me. Don’t forget that!”
“I understand,” said Jack. “Tell you what, let me go inside to use the head and I’ll be right back.”
Jack went downstairs on the pretext of going to the bathroom, but instead took Oskar aside and said, “Mr. Stein is wanting me to get him some cocaine. Also wants to go out and party someplace else. He’s pretty drunk.”
Oskar shook his head and said, “I know he can be a little difficult sometimes, but he is a major client. He has a lot of say in the pension-fund investments of one of the largest retail chains in the States. Just do your best,” he added and turned away to talk to Barfoot.
Jack used the washroom and then procrastinated around the bar, where he mixed another powerful margarita for Stein. It wasn’t needed. As he went back up the stairs, he heard Stein vomiting over the side of the boat.
“Fucking airplane food,” said Stein, while wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “I should sue the bastards,” he spluttered, before turning and vomiting again.
Ten minutes later, Jack saw Stein safely back to The Empress and helped him open the door to his room.
“Yeah, I got your number,” belched
Stein. “I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m ready. I need some sleep.”
Jack nodded and left, but as he crossed the street from the hotel to the marina, he saw Stew and Barfoot saying goodnight to each other at the far side of the crosswalk.
“I’ll pick you up at twelve o’clock for lunch then,” confirmed Stew.
“I’ll be ready and waiting in the lobby,” said Barfoot. He saw Jack and said, “And I’ll see you on Sunday.” With a nod toward the hotel he added, “And good luck to you with Stein tomorrow. From what I’ve seen of him, you might need it.”
“Thanks,” replied Jack, feeling slightly relieved as Barfoot crossed the street. At least one person is sympathetic with the asshole I have to deal with.
“Oskar said to tell you that the party is over for tonight,” said Stew.
“Good. Where you taking him tomorrow?” asked Jack with a nod of his head toward Barfoot.
“Yes, I guess it wouldn’t do if we both took him to the same place,” said Stew. “He asked and I said I wanted to surprise him. I’m going to take him to Butchart Gardens for lunch and spend the afternoon checking out the flowers. For dinner I am thinking French cuisine.”
“Sounds nice,” said Jack, smiling to himself. He decided against telling Stew that Barfoot wasn’t interested in seeing Butchart Gardens again. It is, after all, a competition. A competition between life and death …
“How about you?” asked Stew. “What are your plans with him on Sunday?
“I’m taking him out golfing for the afternoon. Not sure about dinner yet.”
“What about Len Stein? What are you going to do with him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know yet. Guess it will depend upon what he wants when he wakes up. Tonight he wanted me to line him up with some powder,” said Jack, pointing to his nose.
“Powder? What do you mean?”
“Cocaine.”
“Oh my God. He does that?”
“Apparently.”
“What did you say?”
“That I don’t do any drugs.”
“Me, either.” Stew looked apprehensively at Jack. “What do you think I should do if he asks me for that when I take him out on Sunday?”
