by R. D. Cain
Carscadden paid no attention to him; he was madly yanking on the boards.
Nastos joined him near the window. Carscadden said, “They could be in there — we should go in.”
Nastos grabbed his arm. “If we open a door or window, we feed the flame. This is going to hurt, but we have to just wait.”
Carscadden pushed him off. “Are you crazy? If she’s inside — the sooner we get her out, the better.” Nastos grabbed him around the chest and pulled him away. “Don’t make it worse. The only way to help is to let the pros handle it.” Reluctantly, Carscadden relented.
There was another squeal from the kids playing in the backyard next door. This time it wasn’t because they were having fun — it was fear.
Nastos called over to them. “Get in your house! It’s not safe here.”
As the girls ran into their back door, he and Carscadden ran around to the front door. Empty beer cases — Moosehead — littered the cement staircase.
Nastos began pounding. “They have to evacuate.”
“Good idea.” Carscadden held a thousand-yard stare in the direction of the house.
A man answered the door. He was maybe forty, with skin like peeled paint and a three-day, prickly scruff on his baby face.
“Help you?”
Nastos noted the beer on his breath.
“There’s a meth lab on fire next door. They’re explosive. You’re going to want to get your kids out of here.”
The man cast a sideways glance at the house. His eyes opened wide when he saw the flames. He turned his head back. “Julie. Julie, get the kids, the house next door is on fire!” He fumbled as he put his beer down.
Nastos remembered the suspicious vehicle described in the reports. “Hey, you see an old shit-box van here?” He thumbed in the direction of the meth house.
The man grabbed a coat from the rack to his right. “An eighty-nine Dodge Caravan, sure. Something written on the side.”
Nastos asked, “What did the writing say?”
“Don’t know. I think it was a company name, but it’s all peeled off.”
“You see who was driving it?”
The man turned away, “Hey! I said grab your stuff — we’re getting out of here!”
Nastos grabbed the man by the arm, “Come on, it’s important.”
There was commotion inside the man’s house. Looking behind him, he shouted at Nastos, “I don’t know!”
The man pulled his arm away and stormed off to get his family.
Nastos let the screen door shut. “Hey, thanks for your time, pal.”
They left the man’s house and headed back in their car, Carscadden never taking his eyes from the house. “If she’s in there, I’ll kill him.”
Carscadden moved their car to the other side of the road, pulling back a few houses to make room for the fire trucks. It was maddening to watch the fire spread, flames shooting through the roof, windows bursting out from the heat, and to think that Hopkins, Lindsay or someone else might be in there. The heat from the fire could be felt through the glass, inside the car.
Nastos watched as Carscadden stared at the flames. Carscadden said, “When someone tells you to burn in hell, it’s for a reason. Burns hurt like crazy. I’d rather drown, be shot or be hit by a train than burn to death.”
Nastos didn’t say anything.
They were waiting in front of the house when the fire trucks screeched to a halt, the air brakes hissing. The driver of the pumper truck jumped from the cab, took a stride as he reached to a hand hold and leapt up into the landing behind the cab, where he began operating the controls while another firefighter raced around the rig and dragged the four-inch-thick, reddish hose to the hydrant. He unscrewed one of the caps at the side and attached a bar to the top square bolt. The firefighter twisted the top with an aggressive crank and when the water pouring out ran clear, he closed the faucet back up and twisted the hose on. This time when he cracked the faucet, the hose expanded with the force of the water and the pumper truck’s engine throttled down under the load.
Two firemen dragged the hose from the other side of the truck and ran toward the fire. Nastos grabbed a hold, trying to help.
The firefighter in the front passenger seat wore a beige turnout coat and a white hat that Nastos understood to mean that he was the boss.
Nastos shouted over the pumper truck’s engine. “I’m a private investigator. I came here to look for a deadbeat dad. We’ve got reason to believe that there may be two women in there. Then I caught the smell — I think it’s a drug lab.”
The fire captain asked, “What started the fire?”
Nastos shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
The captain didn’t appear convinced by Nastos’ answer. He turned and spoke into his radio. “Dispatch, we’re going to need to another pumper here, please. Looks like a drug lab. We’ll need a Hazmat truck and the police.” The captain waved two of his guys over from the second truck, a rescue van. “Five houses in each direction.” They turned to execute his evacuation order.
He let his radio drop. The two firefighters sprayed water all over the exterior of the house, then stopped. They waved back to the pump operator, who flipped a switch. The water from the house became thick and white and then switched to a foam fire suppressant.
Two cruisers pulled up. The cops conferenced with the fire captain.
The shorter cop asked, “So what’s the deal? It’s a lab?”
The captain appraised the mixed colour of the smoke and the acrid smell. “Yeah, it might be. My guys are clearing five houses to either side if you want to shut the street down. And our Hazmat truck is already coming in from downtown, so maybe you guys can move your cruisers farther down.”
The fire’s heat that had been apparent from inside their car was becoming unbearable from the sidewalk. The fire captain gestured for Carscadden and Nastos to join him by the pumper truck, using it as a heat shield. “It gets hot even in our coats. Unless you guys have anything more to add, you’re going to have to get back behind the perimeter.”
By the look on his face, he knew they weren’t going anywhere. He shrugged and climbed the platform to stand next to the pump operator. He shouted down. “Suit yourself. Sooner or later it’s going to become overwhelming.” The man adjusted the heat-resistant balaclava tighter around his face then became involved in a conversation to his crew over his portable radio.
Carscadden peeked out to anxiously watch as a team of two firemen kicked their way into the burning house through the front door. The heat scorched his face like an instant sunburn. Another two-man team raced around the back and out of view, presumably entering through the rear.
Thick clouds of black and green smoke billowed out of the front door, fuelled by the influx of fresh oxygen. As the thick fog of water filled the room, the smoke greyed and there was an audible hiss like water on a sauna rocks. He turned to Nastos. “If she’s in there, she’s dead, simple as that.”
Nastos watched two firefighters at the pumper truck as they attached infrared cameras to their helmets then charged in through the front door of the house. “I cut up firemen as much as anyone, but this is their big call. They get the chance to be heroes and save someone. Don’t give up hope.”
It was a tense wait for Carscadden that felt like an eternity. He listened to the fire radio transmissions, listened as they cleared one room after another while the smoke grew less and less grey and finally began to dissipate. He tried to feel as if she wasn’t already gone, not ready to hear the word dead and all that it meant. However, instinctively he knew that a wound like this could never heal and that he would live a lonely, broken life, knowing that Tara had suffered because of decisions that he had made.
Feeling weak, he glanced at the pumper truck for a place to sit, then decided to stand. If all he could do was watch helplessly and wait for her lifel
ess, blackened body to be dragged from the mouth of hell, then he would do her the honour of standing. After half an hour, the fire crew had put the fire out. The captain heard something over the radio and shouted down to Nastos. They joined him by the truck. He removed his helmet and wore an expression on his face that couldn’t be read. Nastos asked, “Was anyone inside?”
He shook his head. “No. Looks like a small ecstasy lab. And there were a few pot plants.”
Nastos looked at Carscadden, who was trying to decide whether he should be relieved or not. He asked Nastos, “If she’s not here, where is she?”
Nastos shook his head. “When I went through Anthony’s place, it looked like he had a live-in boyfriend that he didn’t tell the cops about.” He could tell Carscadden thought it was a pretty long shot. But Nastos wanted to provide some hope. Because with each passing moment, Hopkins was less likely to be found.
23
They left the car in the underground parking across from Frankie’s Restaurant. Carscadden tried to ignore the nauseating worry he felt over Hopkins being unaccounted for. Nastos pulled the door open and Carscadden proceeded in the direction of the full bar. He saw the glass shelves, stacked with rum, vodka, and whisky — all would do just fine. Viktor was always well stocked in the best. He told himself, not until Tara was back; he had to keep his head clear.
“Nastos, if she had been in there, she’d be dead.”
“We’re going to find her, safe and sound.”
“At first I was elated. I thought we had her. Then the place caught fire and I thought she was burning to death right before my eyes.” He eyed a bottle of spiced rum on the mirrored wall display. “From dead, she’s back to missing and presumed dead. This is torture. I wish the cops were doing more.”
Nastos looked him in the eye. “That’s the point of this case. Police don’t go door to door looking for missing people. We’re going to find her Kevin, alive. I promise.”
They edged around a table of six obnoxious drunks noisily pounding back beers and shooters in the front dining area. Their behaviour was out of place here. Carscadden knew that there was no way Kalmakov was around tonight; he wouldn’t tolerate that ruckus from anybody, not in his place.
The bartender was one that he had not seen before. She met all of Kalmakov’s physical criteria: a beautiful, young face, large breasts, natural beauty.
“Mr. Carscadden?” she asked, not sure of the name.
“Yes. I need to speak with Viktor; he didn’t answer his cell.”
She was distracted by the drunks. Nastos was looking around. They both noticed that some of the customers, especially one family with two young teens, seemed offended by the behaviour. Nastos made a call on his cell while the barkeep spoke to Carscadden.
“Yeah, he’s not answering for me either. I sent a text too. Nothing.” She eyed the drunks again. They were toasting each other like they’d all won some corporate lottery, dressed like business executives, with matching haircuts and expensive watches. One guy, the ringleader, stood to go to the bathroom and careened into his buddy, elbowing him in the face. Buddy tipped sideways in his chair, spilling onto the floor. The drinkers became quiet, stopping mid-drink, and Carscadden thought it was going turn into a brawl. Then the guy sprang to his feet and said “Ta-da!” to the applause and cheers of the other drunks.
The bartender was frozen in place watching them, too scared to suggest they take the party elsewhere. Nastos hung up his phone and kept his eyes in the direction of the back washroom as the drunk weaved his way through the tables. Carscadden could tell that Nastos was going to start a confrontation when the guy came back.
The bartender said, “Before Viktor left he said that he’d be here by now, and he’s always on time.”
Nastos grabbed a menu and passed one to Carscadden. “Here. It’s going to be a long night — you should eat something now.” Nastos scanned the page then put it down.
When he saw the drunk coming back from the washroom, he said to Carscadden and the bartender, “Order me the burger. I’m going to deal with these guys.”
Carscadden touched his elbow, but Nastos pulled away and made a hand motion to say he’d be fine. Nastos didn’t have much of a reputation for taking crap from people. He was concerned about the drunk and his friends and the interior of the restaurant, not to mention the first few emergency responders if the situation escalated.
Nastos extended his hand to the man and put on a big smile. The man, in his early thirties, seemed threatened and defensive. “What?”
“Listen, I’m the night manager here. I’d like to buy you guys a round of drinks.”
“Really?” He was surprised.
“Yes, really.” Nastos continued, “What are you guys celebrating?”
“Oh, we closed a big deal — commissions all around.”
Nastos smiled like he couldn’t be happier. “Okay, now, this is the deal. Frankie’s is a family place and you guys are a little loud. Let’s go get your buddies’ drink orders; the last round is on the house. I’ve already called you guys some cabs. They’ll take you home, or to the strip bar, wherever you want. The taxis are on us.”
The man was thinking. It wasn’t a bad deal. Nastos added, “Whiskey A Go-Go has the best girls, if you’re not from around here . . .”
The man shook his head. “No, we’re from Ottawa. That’s a good idea. Hey, thanks, man.” He shook Nastos’ hand.
Nastos followed him to the table to announce the good news. He made note of their drink order and returned to the bar in time to hear the cheers from the suits.
Carscadden said, “I thought you were going to cave his head in, then throw them out one by one.”
Nastos looked back at them and shrugged. “Trust me, I wanted to, but we have to stay focused. Let’s just get them the hell out of here. We need Viktor’s help and while we wait for him I’d rather be preparing for the long night ahead than dealing with those assholes.”
“Right.”
After the drunks left, Nastos followed them out to the taxis and spoke to the drivers.
Carscadden watched him come back in. Nastos didn’t have an honest face and often came on aggressively — hell, he had been arrested by the cops earlier today. Nonetheless, Nastos knew exactly how to deal with the drunks. People always ended up doing what he wanted them to, even if they hated him.
He and Carscadden started on their burgers. The bartender was grateful that the drunks were gone, but was clearly uncertain about something.
Nastos asked, “What?”
Her face contorted. “Listen, I’m glad those assholes are out of here, but you’re a total stranger. You gave away liquor for free and paid for taxis to Vaughan with Viktor’s money.”
Nastos said, “I did it because this is Viktor’s place and that’s what he would have done.”
Carscadden added, “What he’d also do” — he pointed to the table that was the most disturbed by the drunks — “is cover their bill and apologize for the noise.”
Just then, Viktor ambled through the front door, rubbing his hands together against the cold outside. He was in his mid-fifties, shorter than Carscadden but more muscular, with greying hair. When he saw Nastos and Carscadden at the bar, he smiled and came over to them, extending a hand to each. His deep voice growled through a Russian accent. “Mr. Carscadden, Mr. Nastos, great to see you.” With anyone other than close friends or family, he would have gone behind the bar and used it as a barrier. With Carscadden and Nastos, he joined them on the barstools. Carscadden glanced at the bartender and saw that she noticed how informal Viktor’s body language was with them. When Viktor smiled at her warmly and waved her off, she left the bar and went to the table with the family who had been disrupted by the drunks. She was offering them a discount.
Nastos leaned over to Viktor. “We need a cargo van, some odds and ends, you know — duct tape, a tool box and
an expensive tinted-down automobile, preferably an SUV.”
Viktor’s eyebrows raised and he smiled a little. “Oh, really?” He glanced at each of them again. “Are you going to tell me why?”
Nastos explained in hushed tones about Hopkins, Anthony, Bannerman, everything. Viktor silently took it all in, never asking a single question.
Carscadden could see the respect that Viktor had for Nastos. To a guy like Viktor, Nastos was a match. Viktor, the gangster, tried to live with respect and honour. Despite having ordered or caused the deaths of certain individuals over the years, he loathed the uncivilized street thugs who had no sense of purpose. He only committed violence when it was the last resort. Nastos was a cop who was analytical, dedicated and driven to help people with a singular purpose, but was also a realist who thought of violence and torture as just another couple of tools in the tool box — meaning there was a time to take the white gloves off and set them aside. And that part of both Nastos and Viktor was like a precision explosive.
The two also spoke the same language and in most cases would recommend the same course of action. Carscadden found it disappointing that while Viktor understood this and welcomed Nastos as a friend, Nastos had difficulty trusting him. Even despite the night last year at Cherry Beach.
Lindsay woke from a fragile sleep to punishing noise coming from the upstairs. It was so loud that a moment passed before she realized it was music, blasting from the ceiling. The song turned out to be “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat. She had a remix of it on her iPod that Eminem had done to prove that he wasn’t homophobic.
The bass was dropping beats so loudly that waves of dust were being pushed down from the floor joists above. Nails sounded like they were going to rattle out of the wood.
