Bitter Paradise

by Ross Pennie

  “What you are seeing here are two townhouses in a six-unit row: 2027 and 2029 Elgin Street,” Jesse said. “If I have it right, number 2029 fits Darryl Oxman’s code. And as you can see, it has an attached garage.”

  Bhavjeet hadn’t been able to remember much about the dentist who had extracted his teeth, but he’d told Tasha that her office was in a garage attached to a townhouse. Maybe Jesse was on to something.

  “Looks pretty quiet,” Zol said. “Is that what’s happening now, or was that recorded sometime yesterday?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “Where is this street?”

  “Partway between Cathcart Elementary and Sir John A. High. In Beasley.”

  Before Zol had time to react to what could be fine work on Jesse’s part or just a coincidence, he saw the front door of unit 2029 begin to open and what looked like a man’s foot step through it. Then the screen went black. Jesse hit Fast Forward and said, “Sorry about that, I was just getting the camera set up at the time.”

  “A problem with it?”

  “No, I was afraid the guy was going to spot me fiddling with the Honda. So I stepped between him and the camera and made it look like I was texting.”

  “Like everyone else your age. I get it. Did you get a look at the guy?”

  “Yeah. Thirty-something. Big black moustache. Greek or maybe Italian. A movie-star look about him. Like Javier Bardem. He was in —”

  “I know who you mean. He won an Oscar a few years back. No Country for Old Men. One of my favourites. You think your guy lives in that townhouse?”

  “He has a front-door key.”

  “My barber kind of looks like Bardem. I hope you weren’t spying on him.”

  Jesse patted the top edge of the laptop as if it were a friend. “It’s okay, Dr. Zed. He comes back.”

  “Did you see a woman who might be living or working there?”

  “Sorry. No glimpses of Darryl’s dentist . . . if that’s where she works.”

  “How many hours of footage do you have there?”

  “About eighteen.”

  Zol looked at his watch. “Holy smokes, Jesse. We can’t sit here for eighteen hours.”

  “It’s okay, Dr. Zed. The software automatically makes an abbreviated version containing only segments that show something moving.”

  “You’ve had a look at that?”

  Jesse’s face filled with pride. “I’ve been up since five listing a summary of yesterday’s activity for you.”

  “I’m ready to be impressed, Dr. Jay.”

  The kid’s eyes sparkled as he fanned himself with his notebook. “It’s a quiet street. Not many cars go down it. Lots of people walk by without showing an interest in any of the houses. I don’t think you want to hear about every one of them.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Jesse nodded and continued. “A few cars go by now and then, most of them without stopping or slowing down. None of them park.” Jesse consulted his notes. His printing was surprisingly neat — like calligraphy. “Moustache guy comes back at 13:58, opens the door with a key, and goes inside.”

  “Sounds like he lives there.”

  Jesse tapped the keyboard and brought up a video of a man in his fifties approaching the townhouse from the left of the screen. He was carrying a small duffle bag and wearing an unusual wool hat the shape of an English pork pie. It was beige, soft-sided, and flat on top. The lower edge was rolled.

  “That’s him?” Zol asked “I thought you said your guy was in his thirties. That man is closer to sixty.”

  Jesse hit pause and the man stopped in mid-stride. “Sorry, sometimes this program jumps ahead faster than I’d like. This is a different fellow. He arrived at 15:58. If you don’t mind, I’ll run the clip and see what you think of him.”

  Jesse tapped the keyboard and the man continued walking toward the townhouse. He went straight to the left side of the garage and began knocking. The camera angle didn’t show what he was knocking on. It could have been a door, a window, or the exterior wall. When no one answered him, he put down his duffle bag, looked at his watch, and shook his head as if puzzled by the lack of response. He knocked again. A person must have finally come to the door, because the video showed the man lifting his duffle bag and talking with someone unseen. In the course of the conversation, he shrugged as if in resignation, then pulled a plastic grocery bag from the duffle and coaxed the person at the door to take it. A moment later, he received something in return — an envelope or perhaps a few bills — then gave a friendly wave and walked in the direction from which he’d come.

  “What was that about?” Zol asked. “It certainly wasn’t a dental appointment. What was he selling?”

  “I Googled the hat,” Jesse said. “It’s called a pakol. Worn by Afghani tribesmen, especially in the cooler months.”

  “So what’s an Afghani tribesman selling door-to-door at an address that Darryl Oxman wrote in secret code? You seemed to have cracked the cipher, but I’m not sure you’re on the right track here, Jesse.”

  “Please, Dr. Zed. Can I show you a couple more highlights?”

  “Only if you think they’re significant to our investigation.”

  With a few keystrokes, Jesse brought up a clip showing a black Lexus SUV. The driver was wearing a ball cap and aviator sunglasses. He slowed to walking speed as he passed unit 2029. It looked like he might stop, but he didn’t.

  “I have four clips just like that,” Jesse said.

  “Same vehicle?”

  “And driver.”

  “When was that?”

  Jesse pointed to the date and time stamp on the screen. “That was at 17:01. The other three are within half an hour of it.”

  “Impressive,” Zol said. “Your camera’s so good it picks up the plate number.”

  Jesse smiled. “Wouldn’t you love to know who owns that vehicle?”

  “We’d have to get permission, and I have no idea how to do that. A warrant from a judge, I suppose.” Zol shook his head. “Forget it. If there was a dentist operating out of that garage, you’d have captured people coming and going at regular intervals. There was only that one man, right? In the hat?”

  Jesse wasn’t listening. He was clicking away at the keyboard. A second later, a mugshot filled the screen.

  “Who’s that?” Zol said.

  “The vehicle owner. Charged with extortion last year but quickly released because of lack of evidence.”

  “How do you . . . ?” Zol held up his hands. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. And as an employee of the Health Unit, you shouldn’t . . .”

  “His name is Andrea Scarpellino.”

  The family had been all over the papers lately. “Two Scarpellino brothers were recently gunned down at close range,” Zol said. “Am I right?”

  Jesse smiled. “In a turf war with the Michelinis.”

  “You’d better retrieve your camera. If they find out you’ve been spying . . . Shit, Jesse. I should never have —”

  The kid was clicking again. “Before we pull the plug, let me show you the guy who looks like Javier Bardem.”

  The time stamp was dated yesterday at 13:58. A tallish man with a bushy moustache was walking along the sidewalk toward the townhouses. When he got to unit 2029, he inserted a key in the front-door lock. Before opening the door, he turned around as if checking to see if he’d been followed. He looked straight into the lens of Jesse’s camera.

  The room began to spin.

  Zol felt Jesse’s hand grip his shoulder. “Dr. Zed, are you okay? I think you need a glass of water.”

  “My God, Jesse, that is my barber.”

  Chapter 47

  On Thursday afternoon Max and Travis were in the kitchen guzzling their after-school dose of OJ when Max’s dad called from work.

  “Hi Dad,” Ma
x said. “What’s up?

  “I . . . I just want to be sure you’re not planning to go back to the barbershop for a while.”

  “If you mean the one where Hosam works, it doesn’t matter if they haven’t cleaned the place up perfectly. We don’t mind a little blood.”

  “I don’t care in the least how clean it is, Max. You’re not going.”

  Max rubbed a hand across the back of his scalp. His fade needed a trim, and badly. “But I need a haircut. Hosam only did Trav’s hair before those guys . . . Well, when can I go back?”

  “Maybe never.”

  Max’s heart rate jumped from zero to sixty. Had Dad found out that Marwan’s killing wasn’t a one-off personal vendetta? Had he found out about the Caliph and his gang? Was he going to force Travis and him to go to the police and tell them what they suspected? “Why, Dad?”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “What kitchen?”

  “Da-ad — you called me on our landline. You know what kitchen I’m in. Are you okay? You don’t sound right.”

  “Is Travis there with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No. What’s this —”

  “Put the phone on speaker. I want you both to hear this because I’m only going to say it once. Got it?”

  Max pressed the speakerphone button and handed the phone to Travis, who made a show of setting the device carefully between them in the middle of the table.

  “Okay, Dad. We’re listening. Both of us.”

  “I . . . I have reason to believe that the barber’s murder had something to . . . well, something to do with a turf war between two families, the Scarpellinos and the Michelinis. Do you know what a turf war is?”

  The boys looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “You mean,” said Max, “it was an Italian mob hit?”

  “Well . . . I guess . . . yes. That is what I mean.”

  Max leaned back in his chair. Clearly, his dad didn’t have access to the same insider facts that he and Travis did via Omar. If Dad thought the Italians were involved, then he had no idea about Hosam’s threatening notes from the Caliph. Dad was fingering the wrong mob. Max knew a lot more about the local mobster scene than his dad imagined. He and Travis had a student in their class, Joey Scarpellino, who’d recently missed school after two of his uncles got shot through the head. Joey bragged that a thousand people filled the cathedral for each funeral Mass and that his family was preparing to get revenge on the Michelinis.

  “I want you boys to give Paradise Barbers a miss for the time being.”

  “Okay, Dad,” said Max. It wasn’t the Italians he and Travis were afraid of, but Dad was right. They did need to give Paradise Barbers a wide berth. “But I’m not going back to that barber on Garth Street. His breath stinks.”

  “So we’re good, Max?”

  There was a ping on Max’s laptop. Omar. Hosam still wasn’t letting him go to school, so the kid was bored. These days, he was messaging them as soon as he figured they’d be home from school and ready for a game of Fortnite. He was bursting to hit another dub, but lately his game had been off and his kill counts were down.

  “Max?” Zol said. “We’re good?”

  “Yeah, Dad. Gotta go. See you at supper.”

  KB. you home from school?

  We’re here. Me and Travman. How’s it going, Omar?

  terrible.

  lady from the health place call today. she speak to me first

  then my dad. he home early from werk because no one coming

  to barbershop after murder.

  What did the lady say?

  my blood test is bad. my dad say i get polio if i go in my mother garage.

  What blood test?

  i think she say zeeka. from my mosquito bites.

  Who called you? Someone from the health department?

  name Miss Charmin. like toilet paper on tv. she sound nice.

  Travis nudged Max’s arm. “He means Tasha.”

  “What?”

  “As in Sharma. You know, Charmin? Sharma?”

  “Good one, Trav.”

  “But don’t tell him we know her.”

  I’m glad she was nice.

  my dad talk to her then hang up.

  my parents get angry. my mother cry.

  tell me not go in garage. if i do i die.

  Don’t worry, Omar. They’re exaggerating to make you listen because they think it’s

  important. They don’t really mean you are going to die.

  exaggerating??? wait. let me check google translate.

  no, i not exaggerating. my parents very serious.

  yesterday they stay hours in garage. cleaning and shouting.

  he say she doing bad werk and making people sick.

  she say she making money to buy food plus my laptop and

  other special things.

  now my father force her to stop working because he say polio

  hiding in garage.

  Did Miss Charmin tell you not to go into the garage?

  !!! no. garage is big secret. nobody know. only clients know.

  my dad say goverment not like it. put my mother in jail.

  “What’s his mother doing in their garage, KB?” Travis said. “She can’t be a mechanic because cars and trucks don’t give you polio. She must be a hooker. That’s why she’s afraid of going to jail for transmitting germs.”

  “You can’t get polio from sex, Trav.”

  “Who knows for sure? Your dad and Tasha both said this kind of polio is different from the kind they had in our grandparents’ day.”

  That got Max thinking. “Holy crap, you could be right. Omar’s mother could be a hooker. She obviously has clients who don’t want anyone to know what they’re up to.”

  “Ask him what she does in the garage. But . . .” Trav’s eyes were huge. “But for shit’s sake, don’t let him know we think his mom’s a hooker.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “What kind of idiot do you —?”

  “I’m just saying . . .”

  “Sometimes I like it better when you don’t say.”

  Travis smacked his good arm. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just go ahead and ask him.”

  What sort of work does your mother do in the garage, Omar?

  big secret. i cannot tell.

  But if your life is in danger, maybe we can help you.

  you help? how?

  “He’s right,” Travis said. “How can we help him? If his parents are frightened about the government, reminding him about your dad being in charge of the Health Unit will scare him off.”

  I’m not sure Omar, but we are your friends. And friends always help friends.

  We’ll think of something. It always helps to talk. That way you know you aren’t alone and things don’t seem so scary.

  you are my real friends? not just fortnite squad friends?

  Yes.

  for sure?

  100 percent.

  promise on grandmother grave to keep garage secret?

  Yes, definitely.

  KB and TRAVMAN? both?

  Both of us.

  promise?

  We promise.

  okay.

  my mother she fix teeth. back home she is dentist.

  Her dental office is in your garage?

  my dad make it for her. extra water pipes. equipment.

  special chair.

  sorry KB. my father coming now. must close laptop.

  Your secret is safe with us, Omar. On our grandmothers’ graves.

  We will think of some way to help you.

  remember friends never break promise.

  Omar logged off.

  “Wh
at do we do now?” Travis said.

  “About what?”

  Max knew perfectly well what Travis was talking about, but he was stalling while his mind spun.

  “Do we tell your dad that Hosam’s wife is doing dental surgery illegally in their garage?”

  “We promised Omar we wouldn’t. On our grandmother’s graves. Between us, that’s four of them in total. And soon I’ll be getting a new grandmother who’s going to die sooner or later and that will be a fifth grandmother’s grave.”

  “Don’t be a smartass, KB. People’s lives are at stake.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. And neither does Hosam. He’s probably overreacting. The polio epidemic has him spooked because he found out his son’s Zika virus test is positive, and he feels guilty that his wife is operating an illegal dental clinic that could get both of them in trouble. Do you actually think we should rat on them?”

  “Doing the right thing is not ratting,” Travis said. “It’s being a good citizen.”

  “As always, you have the theory perfect. But this is personal, Trav. Omar is a lonely kid who has no one but us to talk to. He trusts us to keep his secret — we promised. And Hosam’s a good guy. He took great care of us after that attack, remember. Don’t you think we owe him some major slack?”

  Travis drummed his fingers on the table while he did some serious thinking. Finally, he said, “Can we compromise?”

  “How?”

  “We search Google for anything that connects dentists, polio, and parvoviruses. Your dad told us a parvovirus is playing a crucial role in the polio epidemic, right? If we find no connection between parvo and dentists, we don’t report Hosam and his wife to your dad.”

  “If you insist.”

  Max logged onto Google. Travis gave him the search terms he wanted, and Max typed them in.

  They didn’t get any hits that connected parvoviruses with dentists. There were lots of sites that described parvovirus infections in animals: dogs, parrots, starfish, crickets, and weird-looking cats in Asia called civets. If Omar’s mom was operating an illegal vet clinic, they would have to worry. It seemed it was a good thing she was a dentist.

  “Okay, you win,” Travis said. “We keep quiet.” He returned the OJ carton to the fridge and said in his no-nonsense voice, “For now.”