We walked up to the bar.
“I’ll have a virgin Caesar,” Dean said.
“Virgin?” I cried. “Fuck that. No virgin anything for Dean today.”
Dean smiled and reached into his pocket and took out his keys. He had a funny looking plastic key chain.
“Five years buddy,” he said.
“Five years what?” I replied, stupidly, and then I said: “Oh! You’re clean?”
“Yep.”
“Not just the …”
“Not just that. Everything.”
“Whoa. Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Not as extreme as it was before,” he said.
I couldn’t disagree with that.
“The rule is I can have wine, but only at home,” Dean said “And I never have three bottles in my house.”
“Well, congrats buddy! I was really worried about you.”
“Yeah well,” he said, smiling, “I pulled through. With the help of a good woman.”
“Who is this woman?”
“Someone you know.”
“Really? Who?”
“Come over for dinner on Saturday,” Dean said. “You can meet her.”
“All right,” I said.
“What’s your number?” Dean asked.
I gave him both, my Blackberry and my iPhone.
“Two-phone Terrell?” Dean asked, smiling.
“I got the Blackberry through work right after I signed a three year contract,” I complained.
The bartender set his drink down and Dean picked it up. For a moment I caught sight of one of his tattoos on his wrist, and then it was gone.
“Oh,” Dean said. “I know I probably don’t have to tell you this, so don’t get offended or anything. But ix-nay on the Industry–hay.”
“C’mon son,” I said.
We clinked his glass to my bottle and made our way over to his table.
“Hey everybody,” Dean said. “This is my friend Terrell from California.”
All of the students smiled and waved.
“Hey!” I said.
“How do you know Dean?” one of the girls asked.
“We worked together,” I said, and then thought: shit.
“Doing what?” she asked.
I hesitated, and then said: “Construction.”
“I thought you worked in a bank,” the blond guy asked, the one who had spotted me. Up close, he looked like an albino satyr; there was a twinkle of mischief in his eye.
“It was just a temporary thing,” Dean said.
The satyr nodded.
“And now what do you do?” the girl asked.
“I’m a private detective,” I said.
Everyone made appreciative noises. Being a private investigator sounds more glamorous than it is, unless the person you’re talking to is in a union.
The topic changed to the Leafs’ chances. Dean and I didn’t say much, we couldn’t talk in front of everyone, and after a few minutes he looked at his watch and smiled at me.
“Gotta run,” he said. “I have to go help with the kids.”
“Kids?” I exclaimed. “As in more than one?”
“See you Saturday,” he said. “Look me up online and send me an e-mail.”
“Hold on,” I said, “I’ll come with you.”
Unfortunately, getting off the bench involved pulling my legs from under the table and with my belly I ran into a little difficulty.
Dean watched me with amusement.
“Dude,” he said. “You got fat.”
On the way to the exit we passed Mikey and his buddies. Mikey waved and a girl sitting at his table turned around to look at us. It was Desiree.
“Be right with you,” I said. “I’m just saying goodbye to my buddy.”
I turned to Dean to shake his hand but to my surprise he looked really upset. Shocked, like he’d seen a ghost. And then it struck me that Desiree looked a little like Tanya. Not like they were twins or anything, but similar. The hair mostly.
Dean noticed me looking at him and he tried to smile, but I could tell he was a little shaken up.
“Do you think of her often?” I asked.
“No, no,” he said. “Just right after seeing you, you know.”
“Right,” I said.
We hugged and he left.
Then I sat down with Mikey and his buds. And we drank, a lot. It was one of those nights that just get away from you. We stayed on that patio until they were closing, at one in the morning, and then Mikey, visibly weaving on his feet and waving his hands like he was conducting an invisible orchestra, started trying to rally everyone over to the Brant House.
Now the Brant House sucks even harder than the Duke. It’s one of those clubs where they charge a ten-dollar cover and won’t let you in if you’re wearing the wrong shoes, and then you get in, and you’re like, this is it? This is a dark, noisy cave. But I was pretty drunk and I had my eye on a girl who’d joined us. Only girl was stretching it. She was older than me and a divorcee. Ridden hard and put away wet, you might say. But I’ve never been a picky man, not even back when I could afford to be. And this lady was funny, and cynical, and she had a big personality.
We sat across from one another and talked a long time. I had her laughing and everything. She even started touching my knee under the table. I was ready to close the deal right there, but she wanted to dance. To dance! So what was a brother to do?
At the Brant House, who should I run into but the blond satyr. I couldn’t say I was surprised; he hadn’t struck me as the type to go to bed early. His name was Matty. We shouted at each other over the driving bass.
“Any friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine,” he said.
“Likewise.” I said.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“I’m worried you’ll get offended.”
“Is it racist?”
“No. Well, maybe.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not racist but it might be insensitive.”
“I don’t know dude.”
“All right, I’m going to ask, but before you get mad, remember I’m from Newfoundland and I don’t know any better.”
I laughed.
“Have you ever been in a porno?”
I assumed an amused expression.
“No man,” I said. “I can’t act in porno. I can’t get insured. My dick’s too big.”
He laughed hysterically, but fuck me, he was getting out his iPhone.
“But I saw this video,” he said, “and the guy looks just like you.”
So I crowded around to look, thankful it was just the two of us, and of course, there I was, considerably trimmer, pumping away, that focused, constipated look on my face. Fortunately, I was rarely on the screen. The camera mainly focused on the girl (Lily she’d called herself) as she assumed a variety of poses that were a lot less erotic to perform than they were to look at.
“He does look like you!” he said. “He does!”
“Well Matty,” I said, “I guess we all look the same to a Newfie like you.”
My date was off dancing. Every now and then she looked over at me and waved. After Matty wandered off to get us some shots, I waved back at her.
When she turned away I went outside and headed east on King, passed all the crowds lined up at the entrances to the clubs. When I hit University I turned north to Adelaide and went to Smokes. I ordered a large pulled pork poutine and ate it outside, watching the girls walk by in their shiny miniskirts, tottering on their high heels. Just another night out in the city.
4
Normally poutine really does the trick for me, hangover-wise, but when I woke up Friday morning, I felt like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. Fortunately, I had nothing to do but type up a report for the Cole thing. I spent the day in my office with the door closed, alternating between the report and my fantasy football team, until my boss barged in without knocking. His name was Alan King, and he was a tall, skinny ex-co
p with a moustache who always reminded me of J. Jonah Jameson from Spider-man.
“Change of plans,” Alan said.
“What plans?”
“Whatever your plans were five seconds ago,” Alan said. “Here is your new plan. Go downtown and see Jay Goldstein.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Jay Goldstein. Corporate lawyer with Stewart Brubaker Phillips. Very, very prominent corporate lawyer. Top ten in Canada. Called me and asked for you specifically. So you will go.”
“What the fuck? It’s Friday at 4 o’clock.”
“I know, my beloved apprentice, but Stewarts is the richest and most expensive firm in the country, so if they had asked me for the tip of your dick, we’d be sending it down via same-day courier. You should be thankful they asked for you to come in person.”
“What do they want with me?” I asked.
“Who knows? Like I said, Goldstein’s not a litigator. Maybe it’s personal? Who the hell cares? Just get down there.”
“Come on, Alan,” I said.
“No, you come on! You gotta admit this is a big one. You bring in SB fucking P as a client for this firm, you’re a fucking rainmaker. It’ll be King and Delacroix on the door!”
“Suck my dick,” I said. Or words to that effect. Still, you couldn’t say no to Alan. He took me on as an office boy before I was even a permanent resident. He was the boss.
Stewarts’ lobby wasn’t as nice as you’d expect for such a fancy, rich firm. Beige walls and bland abstract art. The receptionist was old with orange hair. She smiled at me as I came up, and then said that I should take a seat, someone would come up for me shortly.
I amused myself with the newspaper and with the view (Stewarts was on the 44th floor of First Canadian Place) until a woman came up the spiral staircase and brought me down to meet the great man himself.
Jay looked to be closing in on sixty. He was a husky guy, stooped at the shoulders, with an infectious, shy smile. You couldn’t tell how smart he was by talking to him, and I mean that as a compliment. He never used a ten dollar word where a two dollar one would do.
The office was lined with knickknacks, crazy things. Lots of action figures of superheroes, including a big plastic Aquaman, and also pictures of his family. Looked like it was just him, his wife, and his boy. A picture of the three of them in the autumn sat prominently on his desk.
I shook his hand. His grip was gentle.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Delacroix,” he said.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Goldstein,” I said.
“How’s your week been?”
“Pretty good,” I said. “I’m working on an insurance case, personal injury. Yesterday I busted this guy who said he could barely walk. He was on a Slip ‘n Slide.”
I laughed, but Jay just smiled. I noticed how wan he looked, how tired.
“Well,” Jay said, “you’ll eventually see everything in this business.”
There was a knock at the door and Dean came inside.
“Hey Jay,” he began, and then he caught sight of me. The expression on his face was clear: what the fuck did you do?
“Come in, shut the door,” Jay said. “You’re not in trouble.”
Dean did as he was asked.
“I heard about how Mr. Delacroix met the students last night,” Jay said, “and I was about to hire a private detective anyway.”
Now Dean looked unnaturally still. I knew that look. He had figured out what was going on. I still had no idea.
“Terrell,” Jay said to me, “you should know that a couple of weeks ago my son died.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
He lowered his head, accepting my sympathy, and went on.
“He fell off Glen Road Bridge, near our home, around Mount Pleasant and Bloor. The police investigated and the detective wanted to rule it suicide. I had a little trouble accepting that. I don’t believe he could have been suicidal without me knowing about it.”
He paused as if I would say something, but I didn’t. So he went on.
“Anyway, the detective and I had a disagreement about it. It ended up staying a suspicious death. Just a few days ago I got some credit card bills, for my son. His mail is still coming, you know. So I opened them, I have to, I have to open all his mail now, and I saw that he’d run up 25 thousand dollars in credit card debt. And there were all these charges I didn’t understand. And I’m tired of dealing with the police on this. I think they’re tired of me too. So I’d like to hire you to look into it for me.”
“Okay,” I said. “Can I be honest? This is not what I normally do. You remember the Slip ‘n Slide thing I just told you about?”
“Well,” Jay said. “You’d be doing it with Dean. Just like you did back in California.”
I looked at Dean and he looked back at me. I don’t know what he was thinking. To be honest, I didn’t even know what I was thinking. Other than: this is fucked up.
“Dean told me a bit about it when we hired him,” Jay said.
“Okay Jay,” Dean said. “How do I square it with work?”
“I’m going to set up a file here,” Jay said. “Bill your time to that. I’ll do the same thing with Terrell’s fees.”
“Is Arthur okay with that?” Dean said.
“I’ll take care of Arthur,” Jay said. “And I’ll take care of you too. I don’t want you to be worried about the time this takes.”
Dean nodded.
“Want us to come over tomorrow maybe?” Dean said. “To check out where it happened, see his room? Get some of the details from you?”
“Sure,” Jay said. “You know where I live.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “If it’s what you want, Jay, we’ll do it.”
Jay nodded.
“Thank you. I know this wasn’t a suicide. I think you’ll see.”
“There are some forms you have to sign,” I started, but Dean gave me an annoyed look and waved his hand.
“We’ll take care of all that,” Jay said.
“Okay,” Dean said. “See you tomorrow at one.”
We stood up to go. Before we left, Jay said:
“What was the story again with the murder in California?”
Dean didn’t say anything for a while. I sure as shit wasn’t going to answer.
“It was in Nevada, actually,” Dean said. “Near Vegas.”
“And you never found out who did it?”
“No,” Dean said. “We could never prove it.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Sure it is,” Dean said. “If we couldn’t prove it, then by definition, we didn’t know.”
Dean waited for the briefest moment for Jay to ask another question, and then brushed out of the room. I followed him.
After we were a few steps down the hall he looked back at me and smiled, that good old Dean smile, so genuine and kind, even though it looked like a quick wince of pain.
“Can you believe this shit?” he asked.
“I’m sorry Dean,” I said.
“Ah, well, for what?” he said. “It’ll be great. Just like old times.”
I didn’t say: that’s what I’m afraid of.
5
Jay lived on a quiet street just a short jaunt from Bloor. The house was clearly pretty old, made of big gray stones, but it had been extensively renovated with long, angular windows and a skylight. The doorbell played a piece of classical music.
“Espresso?” Jay asked as he let us in.
We sat on leather couches in the solarium and looked out on the magnificent yard through a wall of clear glass. A couple of cardboard boxes sat on the coffee table along with a pile of letters that had been opened and then put back in their envelopes.
“So,” Dean asked, “I can get the basic story from the cop, hopefully, when we call him up. But if you don’t mind …”
“Not at all, “Jay said.
He ran through the story for us. Brucie had been very happy. He was going to go to school at Georget
own in the fall. Towards the end of August he got very upset. Wouldn’t leave his room, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t change his clothes, but wouldn’t say why. The morning of August 26, Jay and his wife woke up and ate breakfast and then Jay left for work. His wife, Susan, went up to knock on Brucie’s door and he wasn’t there. She called his phone but no one answered. When she saw the commotion down the street, she realized what was going on.
“I wouldn’t say the detective did a bad job,” Jay said. “His name was Aston. Little guy, really muscular. He went up and down the block asking questions. No one had seen or heard anything. He went through Brucie’s stuff, didn’t see anything. No note. He talked to Susan and me. When the report came back from the autopsy that there was no sign of a struggle, he wanted to rule it a suicide. And it was only then that I really had a problem.”
“Okay,” Dean said.
“Now we’re opening the mail that was comes in for Brucie. It looks like he has 25 thousand dollars in credit card debt. On four different cards.”
“Wow,” Dean said, as he browsed through the mail.
“There’s a lot of charges on it I don’t understand,” Jay said. “Looks like they’re to a Moneris machine licensed to an individual. I disputed the charges. Haven’t heard back from anyone yet.”
“Did you take these statements to the cop?” I asked.
“No,” Jay said. “My relationship with Detective Aston was not good. He’s stubborn, and I was very emotional. I thought I could do this on my own. But, ah, I think I realized I couldn’t.”
His voice was breaking a bit.
“Ah, also, you should know. My wife doesn’t know I’m doing this. She’s in Florida right now. It was very hard on her too. I guess, Terrell, you might not know, Brucie was our only child. It’s kind of hard to deal with”
“Of course,” I said
“So when I found this, I got very excited. I was talking to her about it. And she got very upset. She just wants this to be over. But I can’t, I just can’t.”
I nodded.
“Anyway, that’s where things are at.” Jay said.
“What’s in the boxes?” Dean asked.
“Some things Brucie had on him when he died. His phone, his wallet. They also found something very odd in his room. A bug. Not like an insect. An electronic tracking device. An old one.”
The Black Box: A novel Page 2
