Fleeting Visions

by Rene Natan

  “Come with me,” the guard said. “Mr. Estorbar can give you a few minutes of his time, but has an appointment in half an hour.”

  Charles followed the man to a large room furnished with exotic taste. He stood in front of the patio door, wondering if what he’d prepared to say was adequate for the occasion.

  A voice from behind startled him. “How did you find this place?” Camilo stood a few feet from him, his expression wavering between angry and surprised.

  Charles didn’t want to admit he’d followed the man. “I have my ways of finding out,” he said. Camilo was definitely ugly; short and fat, with drooping lips, slit eyes and a big nose. He wore a pair of dressy beige pants and an orange sweatshirt that hung down past his waist.

  “What do you want?”

  “A Mexican girl is here. Her name is Helenita. She has blond, curly hair and green eyes. I want to take her away.”

  Camilo’s expression somewhat softened. “How do you know she’s here?”

  “I just know.”

  Camilo gestured Charles to move close to the coffee table and the upholstered armchairs that filled a nook of the big room. He invited Charles to sit. “Suppose the girl is here. How much will you offer for her?”

  Charles hesitated. He’d gathered all the cash he could put his hands on without raising suspicion. “Seven thousand now, more later.”

  “Later? What do you mean?”

  “I could make monthly payments, a few thousands each time.”

  “The girl is worth a lot of money. One hundred thousand would be a giveaway.”

  Charles wiggled in his chair. “I can’t come up with that kind of money.”

  “She can make you that much money in a year!”

  “I don’t want her for…whatever you make her do. I want her—”

  “For yourself?” Charles nodded, and Camilo continued, “Then you have to be ready to pay.”

  “I can’t, all at once. I’m married.”

  Camilo shrugged and rose.

  Charles was out of arguments. The man was a callous criminal. He should be in jail. All of a sudden, he felt enraged, a burst of heat racing in his body. “What you do is despicable and would get you in jail in no time flat. I came here to strike a bargain that can be advantageous for both of us, and you dismiss my good intentions. When I get out of here I’ll go straight to the police. Helenita is my daughter.” He rose and marched out of the building.

  He began walking toward his car when he heard some commotion behind him. He turned around, in time to see the guard pointing a long rifle at him.

  ***

  Vicente Perdiz, aka Alvaro Luzardo, The Adjuster had driven leisurely through the United States to Falcon Lake. He’d decided to spend a few weeks in Laredo and lodge at the safe house where he’d stayed with the three Mexican girls. He’d severed all links with Charles MacMillan and Camilo Estorbar. He’d failed to find his missing sister, and that failure ate at his mind and heart. He was convinced he’d never find her. He’d spent over two years looking, earning only a bit of money, and never got the smallest clue of where his sister could be. He was at a crossroads in his life. At thirty-five, he had to think about his future and his parents. His parents had hoped the search would be short. His mother, especially, always expressed the desire to have him close.

  The chase was over. He needed a stable job that would allow him to visit his family and spend time with them.

  He had to decide whether he should look for a job in the States or in Mexico.

  He went to see his host, Pedro, and chat with him. Pedro would brief him about the events taking place across the border. There had been only a bit of smuggling last week; just drugs, no people. No use sticking around. He spent his time between fishing and working on his vehicle. Pedro had a shop close to the house where Vicente had found everything he needed to give his old Volkswagen Crafter ambulance a fresh look. With a new set of tires, he could cross the continent one more time.

  Today he’d go into town for the tires. Tomorrow, he’d leave.

  While the garage was looking after his vehicle, Vicente wandered from shop to shop, admiring how the American culture had blended with the Mexican. There were sombreros on sale near blue jeans, a shack selling hot dogs beside carne asada tacos. He reached a shop that sold computers, advertising the new iPad. He entered, browsed, and the vendor convinced him to try one. He took Vicente in a corner with a table and a few chairs. Vicente started tapping on a few images and soon ended up on a website providing the latest world news. Curious to know what was happening in Ontario, he clicked on CBC news, and the main event popped up. A Toronto businessman had been murdered, his corpse found in a red Corvette abandoned in a field near Arva. Vicente stared. The name hadn’t been released, but Vicente immediately knew the victim was Charles MacMillan.

  The man had been foolish enough to confront Camilo about Helenita—and had paid the price.

  He returned the iPad to the main counter, exited the shop, and strolled a bit more, his thoughts still focused on Charles. The man had been irresponsible and gutless. He hadn’t taken responsibility for his actions, and had cheated on his wife, but he didn’t deserve the fate he’d encountered. Neither did the girls who worked at the whorehouse, Vicente thought with sadness. He kicked a stone loose on the asphalt, but he’d have to go to a quarry to release his anger by kicking stones. Maybe he should think of a way to send Camilo to jail without compromising himself. It wouldn’t be easy. After all, he’d been one of Camilo’s most active accomplices.

  His old Volkswagen taken care of, Vicente returned to Pedro’s house. He needed a quiet place where to do some thinking. He picked up his fishing gear and descended to the lake’s shore. There was a spot where the rock formed a makeshift seat under the shade of a big willow. A perfect place for casting bait and waiting for the fish to bite.

  Charles’ death had stirred up a lot of the emotions he’d kept at bay for a long time. He thought of all the girls who were abused in a very brutal way. At least Charles had tried to do something about his daughter. He wondered if there was a way to send the law to rescue the girls without exposing himself. How would Mrs. Abigail MacMillan react if she knew Charles had fathered a child with a Mexican woman? Helenita was born before Charles married her. Would she alert the authorities, or be so upset she wouldn’t care about the child’s fate? He’d never met Abigail and couldn’t make an educated guess about her reaction.

  Immersed in these thoughts, he hadn’t seen that the float had disappeared under water. Now the line pulled, and Vicente started to release it. The float emerged a couple of times then went under again, calling for more line. He could be a big one, Vicente thought. He rose and started to reel in slowly, as he wanted to be sure the fish wouldn’t pull away with a sudden jolt. The struggle lasted a good quarter of an hour, after which Vicente finally scooped a sizable fish in the net. He weighed it; over five pounds, he noticed with satisfaction. Unfortunately, it was a carp. Carps seemed to live anywhere and at any latitude. He put his catch in the canister, cleaned the lure and went back to his thinking. Should he alert Charles’ wife? He considered the means available for doing so. A letter would be the most suitable because she could show it to police. However… nowadays, crime analysts could analyze handwriting, pick up fingerprints or DNA from a stamp. They had all sorts of ways to detect the sender’s identity.

  Still weighing his options, he took his catch to Pedro. His cats would have a feast.

  Forty-one

  The man they caught at the farmhouse, Fred Barino, had provided little information on Estorbar’s activities. He’d come to Canada only a week earlier, and had met Camilo in his office in London. What the Task Force needed was the new location of Camilo’s brothel. Fred didn’t know anything about it. The man had admitted looking for Louis Saura, but, in the official deposition, denied he had any intention to harm him. A lawyer sat with him now, which meant they probably wouldn’t get much else out of him.

  The law will take ca
re of Fred, Stevenson thought. They’d charged him with possession of an illegal weapon and threatening a police officer. Fred had given up the name of his companion, Paul Finsey, but denied knowing much about him.

  It was expected, Stevenson thought, but he hoped digging in Fred’s past would reveal something else that could, at the end, keep him in jail for a long time.

  What bothered Stevenson was that a killer was still at large and, clearly, with the order to go after Louis. Worst of all, there had been no clue about where Louis could be.

  Enough thinking about work. There was something good in store for him; he and Jocelyn were going to Silver City. They were playing Il Ballo in Maschera, previously taped at The Metropolitan.

  Stevenson went home, showered, and made himself presentable with a pair of light trousers and a striped white-and-gray polo shirt. He took a sweater in case the air conditioning overpowered, often the case on a summer night as hot as this one.

  Excited, he drove to Jocelyn’s condo.

  Jocelyn had an aperitif ready for the occasion, and served it with Cheez-Its and peanuts. She’d spent time to doll herself up, Stevenson noticed with pleasure. Her hair was made up in small tresses; loose ringlets fell on the forehead. She wore lipstick and a touch of brown eye shadow, which made her brown eyes look deeper. A little pendant with a coral gem adorned her neck; a shawl lay on top of the shoulder-strapped dress. The dress’ light fabric swirled around her breasts and hips as she poured the vermouth.

  They sat at a table in front of the kitchen window.

  “You look wonderful,” Gordon said. “We should stay home and let me spend the evening looking at you.”

  Jocelyn shot him a teasing glance as she gave him a glass. “You’d do more than look, I know.”

  “You say that because you have a dirty mind.”

  She cocked her head. “Could it be that I read yours?”

  He let out a soft laugh. Jocelyn was a straight shooter.

  “So, as you suggested, I studied the plot of the opera, and looked up the most famous arias.”

  “Oh, great,” Gordon said as he grabbed a handful of peanuts.

  “Listen, then.” Jocelyn began reading from her notes.

  There were several versions of Un Ballo in Maschera. The first version Giuseppe Verdi wanted to adopt didn’t meet the approval of the authorities. Verdi faced several censorial roadblocks while composing this opera. We speak of the 1856-1858 years, which were times of social unrest and brutal repressions.

  In 1859, Verdi finally got permission to present it in a Roman theater.

  Listen now to the plot of the version that portrays Gustav III of Sweden.

  King-to-be Gustav is in love with Amelia, the wife of his close friend, Count Anckarström. Amelia secretly reciprocates his feelings, but doesn’t betray her marriage vows. When Gustav appears on stage he sings the famous aria, “With rapture I shall look upon her.” Then Gustav is elected king. To celebrate the event there is a masked ball at the royal palace. King Gustav wears a secret costume: a black cloak festooned with a red ribbon. Only his servant knows of it and passes this information to the count. A fortune-teller predicts Gustav’s assassination by singing “King of the abyss make haste.”

  There is another well-known aria about the king’s passion for Amelia; other arias illustrate the old friendship between Gustav and Count Anckarström and the anger of the count, Amelia’s husband, who suspects adultery. One more time there is a song about the pure, impossible love between the king and Amelia.

  At the ball, all emotions explode.

  The count shoots Gustav III and Amelia.

  As in many operas, the finale is surprising and dramatic; in Un Ballo in Maschera the drama reaches his climax when the dying monarch pardons Count Anckarström, the once-upon-the-time friend who had betrayed him politically and shot him to death.

  Finally Amelia sings “I shall die—but one last wish” asking to embrace her son one last time before dying.

  “Great. Now we know it all. We don’t have to see it,” Gordon joked.

  “We don’t go only to see, we go to see and listen.” Jocelyn tinkled her glass with Gordon’s. “To the success of the Task Force.”

  Gordon rose and brushed his lips with hers. “To the beautiful woman who is standing in front of me. Happiness and good health.”

  ***

  It was late when Gordon took Jocelyn home, happier than he’d felt for a long time. The show had exceeded his expectations. The tenor’s crystal clear voice vibrated with sentiment, and the passionate invocation of dying Amelia was superb. Finally the pardon song the king addressed to his killer contained a sublime message of forgiveness—so often neglected in modern society. Yes, the show had been great, and Jocelyn’s company very pleasant.

  As his house drifted into sight, Gordon slowed down, clicked the remote to open the garage door, and parked his car. The overhead light came on automatically, and Gordon walked to the door that would take him to the kitchen.

  A soft voice behind him made him turn. “Mr. Stevenson? Mr. Stevenson? It’s me, Louis.” His shadow grazed one of the walls before Louis appeared in person. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know where to go…”

  Gordon sighed. The boy was a pain, but, thank God, he was safe. “Come in,” he said and almost pushed him inside.

  For a moment, Louis stood in silence, a big bag in one hand, a backpack in the other.

  “Take a seat. I’ll go call headquarters. They have to know.” A few minutes later, he was back and told Louis, “Tell me where you’ve been.” He looked at the young man. He had a beard and long hair. His eyes seemed bigger than usual; he looked tired and thinner than before. “When did you come here?”

  “Around six o’clock. I saw you all dressed up when you entered the car and thought you had a party to go to.”

  At least the boy was tactful. He nodded. “Sit down. Have you eaten?”

  “Not much.”

  “Tell me what happened while I warm up some of the stew I have in the fridge.” Gordon poured a glass of orange juice and slid it across the table.

  “When I heard that Jim had been killed, I panicked. I thought they were coming for me. I ran off. I stayed at a farm where I worked weekends. They have a shed near the barn nobody uses. I took a few short rounds at the house where I lived, thinking you’d come to get me.”

  He’d done just that, but too late. The microwave beeped, and Gordon set a dish full of stew in front of Louis. The young man bent over his plate and began eating, one fast forkful after the other.

  The noise of an approaching car made Louis jump and retreat to a corner.

  “No reason to panic. Sit; it’s safe. They said they’d send a cruiser for the night. I’ll go see who’s on duty.” Stevenson strode to the door. He exchanged a few words with the officer assigned to keep an eye on the premises. When he returned, he sat in front of Louis, who had resumed eating.

  “Now, tell me. How did you come here?”

  “I biked to the bus station, left my bike there, and got the first bus for London. I walked to your house.” He paused, uncertain. “If you can lend me a thousand I can take off for the Yukon. I already have more than one thousand on me…I’ll pay you back, guaranteed.”

  “We’ll discuss that tomorrow. Now you need to finish your supper and have a rest.”

  Louis looked at Gordon, his fork in mid-air. “Jim was killed because of me, right?” His pain was reflected in his eyes, in the dark circles underneath and the sunken cheeks.

  For a moment, Gordon considered sparing him the truth, but he couldn’t deceive him. He’d taken a long time to gain his trust. Softly, he said, “It appears that way.”

  ***

  In spite of the late hour, Jocelyn didn’t feel like going to bed. She sat in an easy chair, a glass of wine in her hand. Was she ready for another relationship? The pain she’d suffered when her boyfriend died was still vivid in her memory and heart. Gordon attracted her, and they could probably have some good times
together. There was a problem, though. In his job he often risked his life, and that meant there was a good chance she’d lose him too.

  Should she think so much ahead, or take what was offered to her now?

  While seated close to him at the theater, she felt happy and secure, and thought of the many times they could enjoy together. Now, she relived the moments of intimacy they had. He’d grazed her skin when he picked up her shawl from the floor and put it back on her shoulders; he’d held her by the waist when she tripped on a step because of the high heels; he’d taken her hand in his when the first love song resounded in the air.

  She’d been the center of Gordon’s attention, both in the car and at intermission, when they’d gone for a snack. When he took her home after the show, she’d read desire in his eyes and felt like asking him to come in. Instead, she’d murmured a quick goodnight and got out of the car in a hurry.

  She wanted him, both emotionally and physically. She knew Gordon was waiting for her to give him the green light.

  She sipped her wine, asking herself why she was still as shy and embarrassed as when she was a teenager and discovered that boys had a special hold on her. Afraid of being considered a bad girl? That surely played a part when she was young, but now the role of a woman in society had gained momentum and a woman’s needs were recognized as much as a man’s.

  She finished the wine and looked at her wristwatch. It was past three o’clock in the morning—too late to call Gordon. She’d do so tomorrow. And with that resolution, she finally went to bed.