by E. C. Bell
“So, what’s going on?” Farley asked. He looked around the underground parking garage. “Are we still at the cop shop?”
“Do you want to talk, James?” I asked.
James pulled the keys from his pocket, and shrugged. “I thought none of it was my business,” he replied. “Isn’t that what you said?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I guess since Arnie tried to burn down your place, some of my business is now your business. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, and unlocked my door, even holding it open for me. “So where do you want to go to have this talk?”
“I don’t know.” I unlocked his door. As he climbed in, my throat tightened dangerously, but I pulled myself together. Crying time was definitely over. “I’m not going back to Jasmine’s until they catch Arnie, and I don’t have a penny to my name. So I don’t know.”
“Well, we can’t go to my place,” he said, rather unhelpfully. “What about a restaurant?”
“You could go to Jimmy Boy’s office.” Farley said. “Because I don’t want to spend the next nine hours or whatever down here while you two try to make up your minds.”
I glanced back at him, surprised. That was a good idea. We needed a quiet place to talk, and the office was definitely quiet. I looked at James.
“Do you want to—” I started.
“Well, you know,” he said at the same time, then we both stopped and then did the politeness stammer.
“You go first,” James said.
“No, you go first,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “Please.”
“What the hell is up with you two?” Farley barked. “Make up your frigging minds!”
“I was going to say maybe we could go to my uncle’s office,” James said. “We can talk there. What were you going to say?”
“The same thing,” I admitted, and felt the heat of a blush touch my cheeks.
“All right, we’ll go there, then.”
But he didn’t start the car. He glanced at me, and he looked like he had more to say. I looked down at my hands, waiting for the yelling to start again.
I wouldn’t have blamed him. If he’d known about Arnie, he could have gotten away from me. Protected himself. Then his place wouldn’t have been burned down.
“Look,” he finally stammered, “I’m sorry about everything I said in the Sergeant’s office. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”
Oh. That was definitely not what I had expected. “Don’t worry about it,” I said cautiously.
I felt Farley’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “What the hell went on?”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” James said. “I understand that. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Thanks, James,” I said. “I appreciate it. The police will catch Arnie, and they’ll figure out the rest of it. I think we’ll both be all right.”
“I wasn’t really talking about your ex-boyfriend or Carruthers,” he said. “There’s more you’re not telling me, but I can wait.”
I sighed. Even if he hadn’t run away when he found out about Arnie, I knew he’d run away when he learned the rest. I wanted to put this off until I felt stronger.
“You know most of my dirty little secrets now, James. Can that be enough for a while? Please?”
I tried to keep my voice light, but the pleading was there. Even James sensed it. And he left it alone, gentleman that he was.
He nodded and started the car, pulling carefully out to 98th Street. We were only about three blocks from the office.
“Do me a favour,” he said, as he waited for the traffic to give him sufficient room to make the turn. “Get my parking pass out of the glove box, would you? It’s an orange tag.”
I flipped open the glove box and started digging through the paper and bits of crap that always seem to collect in glove boxes everywhere. “I don’t see it,” I finally said.
James maneuvered the turn, then glanced at me. “Keep searching. It’s in there somewhere. I don’t want to get a ticket.”
I dove back into the junk-filled glove box one more time, and James watched me do it. Wasn’t the best thing for him to do, focussing on the inside of the vehicle like that.
“Son of a gun!” he cried, and slammed on the brakes, nearly driving me into the glove box. I looked up. He’d nearly rear-ended the vehicle ahead of him that had stopped for a pedestrian. A truck following us squealed its tires mightily, and I braced for impact.
Somehow the truck missed us and pulled into the lane adjacent. I scrambled back into the seat and looked out at the vehicle that had almost hit us. I was honestly going to wave apologetically or something, but what I saw froze me. Absolutely froze me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “It’s Arnie.”
Arnie was not pleased at being spotted. He began cursing a blue streak, and digging around under his seat for something that had evidently fallen to the floor.
“That’s Arnie?” James asked. “What’s he doing here?”
“What do you think he’s doing? He’s following me,” I gasped. I couldn’t stop staring at Arnie, who stopped digging under his seat when he felt my eyes on him. He looked up, with his crazy, crazy eyes, and I shuddered. He had definitely gone from stalker to psycho.
“We have to get away from him!” I cried.
James shut his mouth, and nodded once, glancing around for some place to go.
Arnie was back digging under his seat, and hadn’t been paying attention to an old guy toddling across the street, so when traffic began to move again, James took advantage, pulling in front of him with shrieking tires.
I did some shrieking of my own, then quieted down when it became apparent that we weren’t going to die in the first few seconds. I started again when James managed to almost get the Volvo up on two wheels going around the corner onto Jasper Avenue, and then again when he made an illegal left hand turn in front of about two tons of traffic down the hill by the MacDonald Hotel.
“Where are you going?” I yelled, clutching the dash for dear life as we weaved through the traffic on their way down the hill.
“I don’t know!” he yelled back, lurching into the right lane, and cutting off a number of vehicles in the process. “I’m trying to get away!”
He blasted down and around, looping back and forth in the maze that is the river valley. I always hated trying to get anywhere down there, but he seemed to have a good handle on where he was going.
“Is he still following us?” he bellowed.
I chanced a backward glance. “Yes.”
“Son of a gun!” He found another gear, and blew down Victoria Trail, weaving through traffic like it was standing still.
We went past the Royal Mayfair Golf Club and caused the first accident as a Jaguar that was leaving the parking lot lurched to a stop in order not to be crushed by us, and was promptly rear-ended by the Lexus behind it. Horns started to blow, which caused gawkers driving in the other lane to slow down and stare. This caused the second accident.
James didn’t falter, didn’t stop and do what was right. He kept blasting hell bent for leather, toward the Groat Road exit, with Arnie rapidly gaining on us.
We got pulled over just past the golf course proper, at a Check Stop. A cop jumped out in front of the car to direct it into the parking lot.
“Son of a gun!” James yelled. The car slewed side to side as he fought to bring it under control. The cop leaped out of the way even though we weren’t that close, just seemed that way, the speed we were going—and glared mightily as we pulled to a sliding stop near the other cop cars. It didn’t take the police long to pull James out of the car and throw him face down on the ground.
“We were being chased!” I yelled as the cops helped me, a lot more gently, from my seat. I tried to pull loose, so I could point at the big black Ram three quarter ton flying down the street.
“Get him! It’s him!” I screamed. I kept screaming and pointing as we
all watched the black truck as it slowed down and toddled past the parking lot as though out for a leisurely stroll.
“Son of a gun,” James moaned into the gravel as the cops again turned their unwanted attention back to him. “Son of a gun.”
Marie:
The Drive to the Office, Part Two
It took us a long time to talk our way out of that one. Actually, it was Sergeant Worth who saved us.
“Talk to Sergeant Sylvia Worth,” James kept saying, as the police roughed him up. “She knows us. She knows what’s going on.”
One of the officers got her on his radio phone, and after that, a couple of the officers who had been lounging around watching us get beat up sped off in their vehicles to see if maybe, maybe, they could track down Arnie’s truck that we had all watched scoot merrily away.
James got the ticket, of course, but the police quit threatening him with hauling him downtown to charge him with trying to run down a police officer. One of them even helped him brush the gravel dust off his clothes before they let him back into his car and out on the road again. I for one was glad Sergeant Worth pulled so much weight.
We didn’t speak until we were back on the road again.
“Are you all right?” I asked. I was afraid to ask it. He had not been treated kindly, and it was because of me. “I guess we were kind of lucky the police were there. Kind of.”
“I knew they were there.” James’ jaw worked as he maneuvered through the traffic heading back downtown. “I heard it on the radio earlier this evening. I was hoping they’d stayed.”
“I’m impressed.” And I was. That was quick thinking on his part. “That could’ve gotten messy.”
“Yeah.” James sighed the word, and I could tell that as far as he was concerned, that had been messy enough. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want something?”
“Sure.”
He pulled into a convenience store parking lot and stopped the car. Gravel rained out of the turned-up cuff of his pants as he got out.
“What would you like to drink? Pop or something?”
“Something stronger.” I pointed to the liquor store next door, and tried to smile.
“Scotch, right?”
“Yes.” I watched as he entered the convenience store, then turned to Farley.
“Jesus, Farley, he almost caught us. I was so scared . . .”
“He didn’t, though. Jimmy boy really came through.”
“He did, didn’t he?”
“You know he’s going to want an explanation, Marie. That freak wasn’t after him. He was after you. Now you got him in the middle of this.”
“He’s already in the middle of this, Farley. I think Arnie caused the fire at his place.” I leaned back, and felt truly miserable. I’d brought nothing but trouble down on James, and he was still buying me treats. Why couldn’t I be nice to him, at least?
“And he still doesn’t know what the hell’s going on with me?”
“No. What can I tell him?”
“Tell him as much as you trust him to know.”
That was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear. I covered my face with my hands, as though that would block the thought from my head. It did no good, of course. Thoughts like that can leak through lead.
“I don’t know if I trust him enough to tell him anything.”
“He keeps saving your life, Marie. Hasn’t he earned a bit of trust?”
“It’s not that. Yeah, he’s a good, honourable guy, but that doesn’t mean much in the long haul.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, they always leave, don’t they?” My voice had taken on a shiny, bitter tone, like the ring of a coin that had been polished in acid. I could hear it. It always sounded that way when I talked about my dad.
“They don’t always leave.”
“Sure they do. You did.” I could still hear the bitter tone, and knew, in my heart I knew I was attacking Farley so I didn’t have to think about my dad, but couldn’t stop myself. “You left your family, didn’t you Farley?”
“It was mutual. A different thing.” I’d stung him. I could hear it in his voice, and I wished there was a way to take it back, to really explain to him what I meant, but it was not in his best interests—and I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.
“You’re not talking about me, I know you’re not,” he barked. “So who the fuck is it?”
“No-one.” I sighed, as I realized I never should have started this conversation with him. “Never mind.”
He lost it.
“Jesus, you remind me so much of Rose, I could kick you square in the ass!” he bellowed, throwing around ecto goo as he waved his arms angrily. “You give me some vague or impossible trail to follow in the ups and downs of the emotional roller coaster you all seem to love to live on, and then, when I don’t get the hint, you shrug, or sigh, and say, ‘Never mind!’ What is it with you?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer him, because James came back, laden with supplies. As he got into the car, Farley yelled, “That was horse shit, Marie and you know it!” as loudly as he could, and I know he enjoyed it when I flinched away from the noise. Luckily, he settled back, still looking pissed, as we drove back to the office.
I found the parking pass, and watched everywhere for Arnie’s truck, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Farley left as we parked and unloaded the car. I was staggering, I was so tired, but James didn’t seem to notice, just walked ahead of me up the stairs and to his dead uncle’s office.
“I have to call Jasmine,” I said when we were inside. James nodded without looking at me, and wolfed down a sandwich as I sat down in the small secretarial chair that felt like a bit of heaven to my overtaxed muscles, and dialed Jasmine’s number.
I’m lucky to have a friend like her. She wasn’t mad anymore. She kept asking me how I was, and how sorry things had gone the way they had. The police officer was still there, and was watching TV with her.
“He’s cute,” she whispered into the phone. “And he likes kids.”
I promised to talk to her the next day, to see how things were going, and put the phone down. Farley oozed out of the wall in a very disconcerting manner, and stared at me as I tried to get the strength up to get out of the chair.
“Are the kids all right?” he asked.
I nodded, glancing over at James to make sure he wasn’t watching me. He wasn’t, and I felt a pang of something close to dismay. Man, I had to get a grip—or at least some sleep.
“I want to see them again. Soon.”
I looked back at Farley again, surprised. I hadn’t noticed how attached he’d become to Jasmine’s kids, but things had been a bit topsy-turvy for me.
“I’m not kidding.”
I nodded, not knowing if that was the right thing to do, but unable to think of anything else to do at that point. I’d screwed up everything so royally with him, what could one more mess up matter? I’d think it through in the morning. After I’d slept.
“Good.” He faded back against the wall, only his eyes showing where he was.
I hoisted myself out of the chair, imagining this was how it would feel when I was fifty or something. I didn’t like the thought of it. I hurt everywhere, and all I wanted was sleep. James had poured me a small shot of scotch.
“How’s your friend?” he asked, handing me the glass and scooting over on the rollaway cot that he’d pulled from the other room and opened by the window. “She okay?”
“Yes. She sounds all right, anyhow.” I sat down on the cot, and leaned back against the window. “She’s entertaining the police officer that stayed with her.” I tried to smile. “I think she’s in love.”
“Good. That’s good.”
He glanced over at me, and I was certain he was going to start cross-examining me, so I took a big gulp of the scotch, enjoying the burn it made all the way down to my stomach.
“You know that flash drive Sergeant Worth asked you about?” he asked.
I nearly choked on my scotch as I tried to change mental gears. The flash drive holding all the information I’d gathered about Latterson and Carruthers was the last thing I thought he’d mention.
“Yes.”
“I found it in the ambulance after they took you into the hospital. I loaded it on the computer. In case you needed it.”
“Thank you.” Then I glanced at him. “Why didn’t you say something to Sergeant Worth?”
“Because I looked at some of the files, and I don’t think you want her to have all the information you have on that thing. Do you?”
“Not really,” I muttered.
“I get Carruthers’ files. You were trying to link him to Latterson, right? But what was all that stuff about Farley Hewitt?”
It felt like my blood was literally freezing in my veins. I knocked back the last of the scotch. It didn’t help.
“I was trying to figure out whether he’d done the deed himself,” I said. “You know, whether he’d committed suicide.”
“So what about the Three Stages of Acceptance thing?” he asked.
Oh God, he’d looked at a lot more than just a couple of the files. Why had I started that file on Farley? Why oh why?
“Just research,” I said, feeling desperate. “I just wanted to figure it out, James.”
When I glanced at him, he’d pulled one of the blankets up to his chin and was staring off into space.
“And about your mother?” He spoke nonchalantly, as though the words had no meaning. “Sergeant Worth really acted like there was something going on with her.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. I grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured myself another shot.
“Or you do know, and you don’t want to talk about that, either. Right?”
“Right. I really don’t.” I turned toward him, trying to sound courageous and sorry, but sounding as tired as I’d ever sounded. “I know. Lots of secrets. I wish—”
“What do you wish?”
“I wish I was like everybody else,” I whispered. “No secrets. Everything out in the open.”
