But it took me longer than anticipated. I took a wrong turn then several more minutes to realize my mistake. I’d also felt dizzy and had sat down on the curb until it passed. By the time I arrived at Monique’s corner, it was after ten thirty.
The skinny bleached blonde with thigh-high leather boots and mini skirt that barely covered her scrawny bum turned out not to be Monique. Apparently Monique’s station was the opposite corner, but she’d just left with a client and wouldn’t be back for another thirty minutes or so.
“But you ain’t gonna wait here, are ya?” The woman eyed me with suspicion. Under a streetlight’s harsh light, I realized that though she stared at me through world-weary eyes, she couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen. I couldn’t help but wonder what could have gone so wrong in her short life to force her into such a demeaning and potentially dangerous business. No doubt drugs were part of it.
A passing car slowed and the male occupant gave this young woman a thorough once over before speeding up.
She cast me an angry glance. “These here are our corners, eh? Ya can’t take ’em.”
It took me a few seconds to realize what she was referring to. I laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t provide you with any competition. I just want to talk to Monique, that’s all.”
“If ya gonna wait for her, ya can’t stand here. Omar’ll get mad.”
“Whose he?”
“My pimp. He’ll be coming around soon to check up on me.”
Another car slowed down, but the man, this one bald with several double chins, rather than nodding in her direction, rolled down his window and leered at me.
Yikes, she was right. I vehemently shook my head and backed away from the curb. He sped up through the light and stopped further along the road, where a woman with more curves than Pamela Anderson hopped into the passenger seat.
“Get the fuck outta here. You’re takin’ away my business,” the young prostitute hissed, scanning the passing parade of cars. She’d plastered an awkward come-hither smile on her face that looked more pitiful than sexy.
“Okay, I will, but before I go I just want to ask if you knew Becky Wapachee?”
“She the one that got killed, eh?”
“She’s a friend of Monique’s. Maybe you knew her too?”
A car glided to a stop beside us. A grey-haired man that appeared old enough to be my grandfather and her great-grandfather flicked his head for her to get into his vehicle without cracking a smile.
“Yeah, I knew Becky,” she yelled as she ran behind the car to the passenger side. “She got what she deserved.”
“Why do you say that?” I shouted back.
“She hung out with —” Her words were cut off by a sudden blast of a horn from across the street.
Before I had a chance to ask again, the door slammed shut and the car sped off.
I hoped Monique could finish the sentence. But after waiting more than a half-hour, most of that lurking as far out of the sightline of the trolling cars as possible — although I did have one unnerving encounter with a john who refused to take “no” for an answer — Monique failed to show up.
It was well after the time I was to meet the bistro waiter at O’Flaherty’s. I could only hope that Monique would be here when I returned.
Chapter
Twenty—Five
For several anxious minutes I thought I’d missed the waiter and his girlfriend. But after squeezing through the throng of drinkers, I finally found them tucked into a back corner of the dark pub, their heads bent towards each other, the one curly and dark-haired, the other willowy blonde, their eyes locked in dreamy-eyed courting mode. Feeling somewhat embarrassed at interrupting such love-struck communing, I hovered over their table, hoping they would notice me. But when they didn’t, I was forced to intrude.
Neither showed the least annoyance at the interruption, and they graciously invited me to join them, though I did notice that their hands remained interlocked. I quickly learned Sean’s girlfriend was named Julienne and that Sean was in his last year of undergraduate biochemistry. In fact, this was his last week working at the Dreamcatcher Bistro. A week later, and I would’ve missed him. Julienne, on the other hand, would continue her summer job on a part-time basis, while she started her doctorate in child psychology.
“Have you seen the man Fleur was with?” I asked Sean. Despite the dreamy glaze in his soft green eyes, his boyish eagerness shone through. Without his waiter togs, his athletic build was more obvious.
“Not yet,” he said, which did make me wonder how he could be so certain, since his focus seemed to be entirely on his girlfriend. He did, however, offer to do another tour of the room.
While he was gone, Julienne and I attempted to converse above the din of the crowded room and the Irish music blaring out of nearby speakers. But first I ordered a round of beer. I figured I’d fallen so far off the wagon, there was no point in trying to climb back on.
I learned that Julienne had also seen Fleur with this man.
“She was so pretty,” she said almost wistfully as she shoved a wavy length of blonde hair behind her ear.
She was rather pretty herself, in a tall, lanky way, with long-lashed grey eyes and a dimple that emerged when she smiled.
“But I couldn’t understand why she would be with such a man,” she continued.
“What was wrong with him?”
“He was old, too old for her.”
“How old?”
“Late thirties, maybe forties.” Then as if suddenly realizing what she’d said, she blushed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I, ah … didn’t mean to …”
“Don’t worry. At your age I thought anyone over thirty had one foot in the grave.”
She had a sweet, almost endearing smile that would make any man fall in love with her.
“He didn’t treat her very nicely,” she added.
“What did he do?”
“He ignored her. Kept talking to his buddies. And when she got up to leave, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the chair, yelling at her to stay put.”
“You’re sure the girl was Fleur?”
“Yeah, when Sean saw that picture you showed him, he recognized her right away. You see, we were kind of worried about her. We were sitting with Sean’s soccer pals a couple of tables away and noticed how unhappy she looked, never smiled, didn’t say a word, even seemed kind of scared. When the guy grabbed her, Sean thought she might be in trouble, so he went over to see if he could help. But that guy, oh he was terrible, he told Sean to eff off and acted like he was going to hit him, so Sean backed off. He went to talk to the manager, but by the time they got back the guy and the girl were gone.”
“Did you let the police know?”
“Sean wanted to, but the manager wouldn’t let him. He said the guy was likely the girl’s pimp, and he’d learned from experience that it was best not to get involved. Besides, he said there wasn’t much the police could do anyways. If the girl is over sixteen and says she wants to be with the guy, there’s nothing they can do. He said the girls usually say everything’s okay.”
But surely Fleur would’ve said otherwise. “Did you ever see her again, either here or in the Market, or anywhere else?”
“No. I’m sorry now we didn’t let the police know. I guess she’s been missing for some time, eh?”
“Since mid-July, about the time you saw her.”
“Oh, that makes me feel terrible.”
“Please don’t feel that way. You did more than most people would.”
At that point Sean returned. After giving his girlfriend a reassuring smile, he sat down and said, “The guy’s not here, but I see some of his buddies. So he might come later.”
“Why don’t you point me in their direction and I’ll ask them about Fleur.”
He glanced at Julienne, who arched her brow in worry. Turning an equally worried glance back to me, he said, “I wouldn’t advise it. They’re a pretty rough bunch.”
&nb
sp; “I’m in a public place, what can they do to me?”
“It’s not what they would do here, but afterwards. They’re bikers.”
When I walked over to their table, I could clearly see the biker patches affixed to the backs of the black leather vests of two of the men, a patch I immediately recognized. It was the same snarling red devil that Fleur’s uncle wore on his T-shirt and vest, with the words “Black Devils” clearly written in French.
Although I’d quaffed a good measure of beer to bolster my courage, I didn’t feel so brave now that I was standing before them. There were three of them sprawled at the table, unlit cigarettes dangling from their lips. They were a cliché dressed in their black leathers with their bulging muscles and beer bellies. One even sported several-days-old stubble on his face while another had a full beard, more grey than brown. The third, the redhead, was clean-shaven. None of them smiled at me.
“Whaddaya want, mama?” the redhead rasped. “If you come for a fuck, you come to the right place.”
His dead eyes surveyed me from head to toe and stopped a little too long at my breasts. I crossed my arms in embarrassment.
He guffawed. “Câlisse, you’re fat and old, but I’m not fussy.”
I almost chickened out but sensed Sean standing behind me.
I wasn’t quite sure how to approach them, so I pulled out the poster of Fleur and asked, “I was wondering if you had seen this girl.”
He yanked the piece of paper from my hand and scanned it without comment before passing it onto the other two. The beard whistled, “Tabernac! Sweet and tender, the way I like ’em,” while the stubble merely shrugged and said, “Nope, I ain’t seen this broad.”
“I think one of your friends might know her.”
“Who?” demanded the beard.
“I don’t know his name, but he comes here sometimes with you guys.”
“Who’s the spy?” he growled back.
I didn’t dare look behind at Sean but was saved from answering.
“Ain’t one of us. We don’t go for Injun meat,” the redhead snarled back, cutting off all further dialogue.
But I persisted. “You may not like Indians, but she happens to be the niece of one of your gang members.”
Redhead jutted out his chin. “Like who?”
“J.P. Lamonte.”
“Never heard of ’im,” came back the too-quick reply, although I thought his eye flickered with recognition.
“Now mama, you get out of our space, unless you want a good fuck.” His thin lips creased into a gap-filled leer.
Sean nudged me from behind and whispered, “Time to go.”
In complete agreement, I turned on my heels and walked as calmly and confidently as I could away from them. I wasn’t going to let them know they had achieved what they’d set out to do, scare me.
As I followed Sean, I suddenly realized that the din of conversation had all but stopped, with many eyes turned in my direction. The conversation only returned to normal once I joined Sean and Julienne at their table. My hands were shaking. I could barely lift the beer mug. But lift it I did and took a very long, slow quaff.
“Where are you going after here?” Sean asked. The boyish eagerness was now completely gone from his face.
“I need to speak to someone. I was going to go look for her.”
“I suggest you go home. You really pissed them off.”
“But I didn’t do anything other than ask them about Fleur.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t like it. I was watching the guy with the beard. He recognized her. In fact, I think they all did, they just didn’t want to admit it.”
“Shit, you sure? I’m afraid my nerves were jangling so much, I couldn’t concentrate on anything.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I think we should leave now. Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it.”
I tried to persuade him that it wasn’t necessary, but he and Julienne were so insistent, I relented. As I walked past the cold stares of the three bikers on our way to the exit, I was very glad I wasn’t alone. And even though my truck was parked on the other side of the Market, a good four blocks away, they escorted me the entire way. Fortunately, the streets were still filled with evening revellers and the odd cop out on patrol. Very thankful for what the two of them had done for a complete stranger, I drove them home.
Afterwards, I headed back across the river to home, but not immediately. Since I had to drive close to the corner, I took a short detour to Cumberland and Murray. For once luck was with me. Monique, a tall, big-breasted native woman with an engaging smile, was standing at her corner. She reluctantly agreed to talk to me until her next john arrived.
But she provided little new information. She’d never met Fleur, although Becky had talked about this new hottie she’d met at the Welcome Centre, which was at least consistent with what I’d learned from others. But the term “hottie” did little to quell my fears. It was hardly a term one would use to describe an innocent like Fleur, unless there was considerably more to the teenager than she cared to admit to her family, like the drugs her mother had found in her bedroom. And Claire had called her a prostitute. Still, I felt I was a good reader of people, and I’d never sensed anything tainted lurking beneath Fleur’s sparkling girl-next-door demeanour.
When Monique told me that Becky’s boyfriend was a biker, it confirmed the worst of my fears. It was likely that Fleur, probably through Becky, was involved with the Black Devils, possibly even being held against her will, otherwise she would’ve called home by now. Unless she really wasn’t the girl we thought she was and wanted nothing to do with her former life. But I didn’t believe that. Even Sean and Julienne had sensed her unhappiness and fear.
Monique, however, left me completely unnerved with her last question. “Does your girl like it rough? Becky liked it rough. I think that’s what got her killed. Me, I stay away from those kinda johns.”
I didn’t bother to ask her what she meant. I had a good inkling. And once again I was left totally flummoxed by this apparent friendship between two girls who had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I would’ve thought Becky was the kind of person Fleur would stay far away from.
I drove off feeling very despondent and very concerned. I would bring up what I’d learned with Will, but without anything firmer than a hooker’s word and a long-ago sighting in a bar, I doubt he would get anywhere with either the Ottawa or Quebec police. I wasn’t about to try to get more solid evidence of Black Devils’ involvement myself, but I knew someone who could, her uncle J.P. — that is if he was as innocent of her disappearance as he made himself out to be.
Chapter
Twenty—Six
I had a terrible night’s sleep. Thirty minutes into the two-hour drive home, I realized I would never make it when I almost drove my truck into a ditch after a near-miss with a porcupine. My hands were shaking so much, I could barely grip the wheel, while it took all my effort to keep my eyelids open. So I parked at a gas station closed for the night and attempted to stretch out on the bench seat of the cab. But the seat was too hard and too short, and I kept colliding with the gearshift and steering wheel. Plus it was cold, and I was only dressed for a warm fall day.
So despite being dead tired with probably less than a couple of hours of sleep and still feeling the effects of the evening’s booze-up, I decided to continue my journey home at five o’clock in the morning. What helped me make up my mind was the cavalcade of motorcycles that had rumbled past five minutes earlier. Fortunately they were travelling in the opposite direction.
A streak of red dawn was lighting up my rear view mirror when I turned onto the Three Deer Point road. Despite knowing every twist and turn of the long, narrow drive to my cottage, I almost drove off the dirt track and into the surrounding forest a couple of times and narrowly missed one large maple that had seen its share of bumpers. I finally braked to a stop at the bottom of my front stairs and clambered up them, very glad to be home.
Too tired to tak
e off my clothes, I crawled into bed and slept the sleep of the dead until the phone’s shrill ring startled me out of a nightmare. Which was just as well. I was lying on a bed, naked, surrounded by the leering grins of a gang of bikers.
It took me a few seconds to orient myself enough to recognize Teht’aa’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Why didn’t you call me back?” she demanded. “I left you two messages last night.”
“I didn’t get back till early this morning. What’s up? Has something happened to Sergei?”
“He’s fine. It’s about Dad. I don’t know where he is.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t he supposed to be coming back from Vancouver sometime this week?”
“That’s what I assumed after he missed the earlier flight. But I’m beginning to think he never went to Vancouver.”
“Why do you say that?”
“National Chief Dan Blackbird called a couple of days ago wanting to speak to Dad, and when I told him he was still in Vancouver, he was really surprised. He hadn’t seen Dad at any of the GCFN Annual General Assembly events.”
“So many people probably attend the AGA that it would be difficult to see who all is there,” I said hopefully.
“That’s what I thought, so I called some of his friends, but they haven’t seen him either. He never checked into the hotel where they were all staying.”
“He could’ve checked into another hotel. Did he ever mention which hotel he was staying at?”
“Nope. I just assumed it was the AGA hotel.”
“You’re sure he was going to Vancouver?”
“That’s what he told me. He said after the canoe trip that he’d be flying from Fort Smith to Calgary for a few days and from there to Vancouver to attend the AGA.”
A Green Place for Dying Page 13
