Last of the Independents

by Sam Wiebe

  I ate my sandwich standing by the counter. Undercooked but not half bad. I stood the ketchup bottle on its head for a solid minute and couldn’t get anything out.

  “Maybe you sensed they were going to make a move,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Grayson said. “Hallowe’en does tend to bring the fruitcakes out of the woodwork. Closing time, people try all kinds of scams they’d never have the nerve for mid-day. Still, when I think back on them sitting there, me making a racket putting up chairs, hoping they’ll take the hint, I can’t help think to myself, why didn’t you just tell them, ‘Hey assholes, we close at half past one?’”

  I had some of the slaw to be polite but left the pickle.

  “You probably did yourself a favor,” I said. “Those aren’t two guys I’d start a fight with, I could help it.” According to Katherine and McEachern, I thought, I’d done just that.

  “Was that your car?” Grayson asked me. I nodded. “You think those two torched it?”

  I tossed the plate. “More than possible.”

  I saw Ben walk up from the bus stop and enter my door. I crossed the street and found him at the top of the staircase catching his breath. I unlocked the door and let him inside. As usual he took the client’s chair and let his eyes settle on the Loeb file. Every time he did so it seemed to take him longer to find his way back to the present business.

  “I heard about the fire,” he said eventually.

  “From the cops?”

  “Yeah but don’t worry, I alibi’d for you.”

  I poured us each a cup of tea. “You told Eager the truth,” I said.

  “I told him I was with you all night.”

  “Great thinking,” I said. “I told him I was with you till I went home. Which is what happened. Which is what I expected you to tell them.”

  “But then they’d suspect you, since for part of the evening you were alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  “Oh.” A grin breaking out on his face. “You patched things up with Yeats?”

  “Who was gone when I got up this afternoon.” I sat in my chair but didn’t tip it back. I wasn’t yet sure the grilled cheese would keep down, and I wanted as direct a course to the washroom as possible should my stomach reject it.

  “Are you going to phone her?”

  “I was thinking I would.” I spun the phone around so the receiver was within Ben’s reach. “First, though, you’re going to phone Eager and straighten out your story.”

  While he did that I checked the messages on the office line. Nothing from Yeats. One from a number I didn’t know. No text or voicemail, just a phone call and the sound of hanging up. Time: 12:38 a.m.

  I dialed the mystery number. On the first ring someone picked up. “Landmark Logistix?”

  The warehouse where Theo Atero worked. I asked for him.

  “Theo’s out for the day. I could take a message or I could pass you along to the assistant floor manager.”

  “Message,” I said. “Tell him I have proof he and his brother torched my car. Tell him not only will the police be given copies of the proof to aid their investigation, but I’ll also be sending copies to the Better Business Bureau, Workplace Safety, Customs and Border Patrol. Not to mention all major news outlets in the Lower Mainland. Tell him starting tomorrow his place of business will be under more scrutiny than the Zapruder film. That’s all.”

  “Are you saying Theo was involved in some sort of crime?”

  “Search his brother Zak’s name in the news and you’ll see what sort of person Theo is.”

  I hung up. Ben was emptying sugar packets into his tea. “You don’t have proof,” he said.

  “Nope.”

  “And you probably just cost him his job. Even if he was squeaky clean I wouldn’t keep him on after that.”

  “It won’t make a dent in his income, losing that job, but it’s taxable. He’ll have to find another way to declare the money he makes. It’s a nuisance, anyway.”

  “Is that what you want to do to the guy?” Ben asked. “Be a nuisance?”

  “I’m not going to burn one of his cars in retaliation.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Ben said.

  At three a tired and disheveled Katherine, still in her goth attire, appeared on the stairwell monitor. “I left my clothes here,” she explained. “I was going to change before going home.”

  “Your parents don’t know you’re a — ” Ben searched for the right phrase, “— Bride of Lugosi?”

  “They know,” she said. “It makes things easier if they don’t have to see it. How’s any of that your problem?”

  “It’s not,” Ben said, “but it’s a silly subculture. And the music is awful. I can see Scott going for it because he’s a dolt, but you, I thought, were smarter than that.”

  “Guess not,” Katherine said. “My first choice was to lie around in my underwear all day playing Xbox and not getting laid, but I just wasn’t up to the high standards you set for yourself. And as for music you’re one to talk, Mr. Last-Concert-I-Went-To-Was-A-Symphony-Orchestra-Playing-Music-From-Zelda.”

  I told them both to shut up. Theo and Zak Atero and Zak’s Asian partner had appeared on the monitor.

  “Hide in the washroom,” I told Ben and Katherine. Neither of them moved. I wasn’t sure if that was loyalty or they disliked the idea of being trapped together in a confined space. I nodded to Ben to open the door for the Ateros. He did, and came back to stand next to me behind the table.

  “I should throw you off the balcony for what you said to my boss,” Theo said. “You know I’m suspended without pay?”

  “Tough break. Clear your arson schedule and you could maybe find a night shift position.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t see it,” Theo said. “Next time I’ll call you so you can watch from your office. Then you can jump off that balcony, doing me and my brother a huge favor.”

  “That’s two balcony threats,” Ben said to me and Katherine.

  “You’re keeping track?” Theo asked Ben.

  “Counting to two isn’t a full-time occupation for some of us.”

  Zak and his partner lingered by the door. Zak’s foot was wedged against the frame as if to guarantee he’d have an exit. No one had weapons in their hands, although all three wore heavy enough jackets that something could be concealed beneath them. My Glock was within reach, but I had a feeling this could be solved without firearms.

  Theo looked from Ben to me. “Your butt buddy thinks it’s all right insulting me. Obviously he’s not taking into account I’m on an extremely short tether since my brother’s face ended up on the CBC.”

  I asked Zak, “Do you think you got a raw deal?”

  Zak shuffled foot to foot and shrugged.

  “Leave him out of things,” Theo said, inches from the table. I stood up, came around to stand eye to eye. I saw Katherine unplug and pocket my cell.

  I was glad of the height advantage, but Theo seemed comfortable staring down people taller than him.

  I said, “That’s the last order you give me in that tone of voice.”

  “There an ‘or else’ attached to that?”

  “How stupid can this guy be?” Ben said. Theo turned his head towards him. “Since you’ve met Mike you’ve lost a job, your brother’s become a media star, and you’ve found out your boss won’t back you in a fight. And Mike hasn’t broken a sweat. How much worse do things have to get for you to back off?”

  “I do my own fighting,” Theo said. “I don’t need Lloyd’s permission. How ’bout you? Comfortable standing behind your friend’s back?”

  “Of course,” Ben said. “I’ve got a great view for when he kicks your ass.”

  “You’re a fat-titted schoolboy.”

  “Better than an unemployed Dennis Franz lookalike.”

  Theo’s eyes met mine. When he spoke again it was at half the volume, like an exasperated teacher trying not to yell at a lazy dunce.

  “My mistake was in treating you like a
man,” he said to me. “I thought a warning might be enough. All you had to do was back up politely and let me and my brother alone.”

  “Leave,” I said to Zak and his partner. Zak looked to Theo, who nodded. Zak took a few cautious steps out the door. We listened to his footfalls on the stairs. His partner lingered for a few seconds before following Zak out.

  “What does the Pacific Northwest Dennis Franz Lookalike Society charge in yearly dues?” Ben asked Theo.

  “Shut up,” I said to Ben.

  Theo smiled and nodded. He turned to Ben. “Your friend’s giving you good advice.”

  “I don’t want to see you again,” I said to Theo. “And if you answer me with another empty threat I’ll send you to the emergency room at St. Paul’s. Understand?”

  I took a step towards him and he backpedaled towards the door. “I was you,” he said, “before I ran my mouth, I’d take out life insurance.” We took another collective step toward the door. His hand grazed the knob. He was still talking. With my good hand I grabbed the first object off the table, a three-hole punch, and buffaloed him across the forehead. Theo fell backwards into the door. I dropped the hole punch and shoved him hard down the stairs.

  He didn’t fall the entire flight, only about two-thirds. A scream of shock issued from him in the brief instant he was in mid-air. Then he landed on his side, heavily, moaning and uttering curses under laboured breathing.

  I walked down to where he lay and grabbed a handful of hair, raising his head off the step. When I dropped his head his jaw clicked shut. I walked to the bottom and locked the street-level door. Zak and his partner stood by Theo’s Mustang, passing a joint between them.

  “Up we go,” I said, seizing Theo by his collar and belt. I dragged him up, counting the stairs he’d fallen. Nine counting the top. There were sixteen in total. Theo didn’t struggle as we climbed.

  I propped him up against the door at the top of the stairs. He’d started to sweat. Ben and Katherine were whispering behind me.

  “I hope that hurt,” I said. “If it didn’t I’ll have to do it again. I don’t want to, but I can’t have you threatening me.”

  “Break your other arm,” he said. “Fuck you up royally.”

  “That’s exactly what has to stop,” I said. I helped him to his feet.

  “When you least expect it,” Theo mumbled. “Gonna fuck you up. Gonna —”

  “This is pointless,” I said. I let go of his shirt, grabbed a hank of hair and pitched him back down the stairs.

  He landed awkwardly and rolled almost to the bottom. I followed him down and put the boots to him. I held onto the rail with my casted left arm and kicked at his ribs. When his hands moved to protect his side I kicked him in the face. From the way he thrashed about I could tell he hadn’t broken anything more serious than a rib or a finger. That made me mad. Old Man Kroon flails about in the dark and manages to fracture my arm, while Theo Atero escapes two trips down the stairs unscathed. Well, not quite unscathed.

  I was gripping the rail with both hands now, stomping on him. Most of my blows caught his fleshy parts, thighs and arm. One solid drop of the heel found his ribs and I knew I’d broken at least one. I felt a pair of arms encircle my neck from behind and I shoved them away to deliver one last kick that caught Theo in the groin. He let loose with a howl of pain. I looked behind me, re-orienting myself. The arms had been Katherine’s. I’d shoved her back into the stairs.

  The sight of her and the look of fear on her face calmed me instantly. She looked pale. For a moment I thought I’d hurt her, but then I saw it was the makeup caking on her cheeks. I looked down at Theo Atero, wriggling towards the door. I stepped over him and unlocked it but let him crawl and reach for the knob. Theo spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  Zak and his partner caught sight of Theo. They weren’t the only ones. A long-haired panhandler across the street looked over, as did a young gay couple walking their dog. All six of us regarded the man in the street. Theo crawled to the curb where his brother bent to help him.

  I slammed the door, locked it and headed up to the office, walking past the blood on the stairs and on the wall.

  Ben had positioned himself by the balcony window, watching the Ateros’ car speed away. Katherine emerged from the washroom holding a moistened paper towel to her elbow.

  “Did I hurt you?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “It’s just a scrape.” We were both speaking quietly, using what teachers used to call thirty-centimetre voices.

  “That was ferocious,” Ben said.

  “You’re an idiot.” Katherine flung the towel at him. It bounced off his breast and hit his shoe. “If you’d shut up maybe it wouldn’t’ve come to that.”

  “Like he was going to be reasonable,” Ben said.

  She walked to her desk, picked up a stray napkin and clamped it over the elbow. “I quit,” she said.

  I wanted to tell her not to. I would have, but quitting would put her out of harm’s way. I had no right to meddle with her safety. I wanted to, though.

  I said to Ben, “There’s a squirt bottle of bleach and water beneath the sink. Take it and one of those rags and go over the stairs, especially at the bottom. Keep your back to the door so anyone peering in can’t see what you’re doing. Make sure to disinfect anything that even remotely looks like blood.”

  To Katherine I said, “Could I trouble you to erase the last hour of security cam footage?”

  She nodded.

  “I didn’t mean to shove you,” I said. “I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry about the whole thing.”

  “You would have killed him,” she said.

  “No. But I’m grateful you stopped me.”

  She moved to her desk and called up the camera application on her computer. “Sure about that?” Ben said, carrying the bottle and some stiff-looking rags. “If it was me I’d want a copy of that beating.”

  XXII

  Prosper’s Point

  Monday morning I was up before dawn, packing a travel bag and a Thermos, two sandwiches, a case of water, and the first Mandarin orange of the season. It wasn’t a long trip — half an hour to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal, two or two and a half hours on the water depending on the ferry, add half an hour for loading and unloading, and a ninety-minute drive from Schwartz Bay north to Prosper’s Point. Five hours give or take. If we lucked out we’d be on the last boat back to the Mainland. More likely, though, Fisk and I would be spending the night.

  When I reached the Tsawwassen terminal there was no lineup and the parking lots were practically empty. I pulled up next to Fisk’s F350 in the Premium lot, a stone’s throw from the water’s edge.

  “You know parking is five bucks cheaper over there.” I pointed to the yellow barrier a hundred yards away that marked the start of the Econo lot.

  “I like to leave quickly” was Fisk’s reply.

  We’d decided that since I might stay longer, I’d take the van over and he’d ride with me. Fisk had been in contact with a constable named Delgado who’d agreed to show us around. Fisk described him as “pissy.” I chalked that up to VPD-RCMP police rivalry.

  We were the third car onto the ferry. By seven we were having breakfast in the ship’s cafeteria, watching through the portals as we sliced our way across the Strait of Georgia.

  “Mark Eager told me something funny,” Fisk said as he tucked into a plate of eggs benedict.

  I’d brought tea bags with me, and set one down in a cup of hot water. I didn’t answer. Fisk would get there himself.

  “Some question of where you were the time of the fire,” he said. “Your friend said you were with him all night, then called Mark back to tell him actually you weren’t. He wanted it stated for the record — actual term he used, according to Mark — that you told him to tell the truth. Some people might think you put him up to lying in the first place, then realized we’d see through that.”

  I said, “That makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

  “Just saying, t
here are a few unanswered questions, least in Eager’s mind.”

  “That’s because I set the fire,” I said. “I thought, ‘Shit, I don’t need the car, and wrangling with ICBC claims adjustors for months on end is enjoyable and productive.’ Why wouldn’t I want to do that?”

  “What Mark also said was that you made no mention of your trouble with the Ateros.”

  “He knew their names. I said I knew them.”

  “But you didn’t exactly volunteer the information.” Fisk sopped up hollandaise with a triangle of toast. The beige concoction on his plate looked like it had been created in a laboratory rather than a kitchen. “If the Ateros aren’t involved, who else could be responsible?”

  “My money’s on you,” I said, blocking out the imaginary headline with my hands. “BUNGLING COP OVERCOME BY JEALOUSY, SETS FIRE TO INTREPID PI’S CAR.”

  “That’s how you see me?” Fisk said.

  “No.”

  “That how you see yourself?”

  “Christ, it was a joke,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s early. I’m not a morning person.”

  Then he did something that utterly surprised me — he pulled a book out of his travel bag. I bent my head to look at the title. The Green Hills of Africa, an ancient yellowed paperback edition that looked identical to one I’d bought at MacLeod’s years ago.

  “What?” he said, looking up from the page. “You didn’t think I read?”

  “No, I just took you for more of a Fitzgerald guy.”

  “It was on Mira’s shelf. It’s about hunting. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I must’ve left it at her place.” I wondered what else he might have inherited.

  “It always comes back to that,” Fisk said. “It was almost two years ago. Can’t you let it go?”

  “It was more than two years ago, and I didn’t bring it up.” I finished my tea and fetched my own book, On Boxing by Joyce Carol Oates, which had been sitting on my bookshelf for half a decade. Sometimes you buy a book so that it’s on hand when the moment arrives. But this wasn’t to be that moment.

  Fisk clapped his book shut and dropped it on the table. “Why don’t you get it off your chest.”