by Marc Strange
Gritch is steamed. “So that’s it. We’re out of a job?”
“Looks like it.”
“They’ve been waiting for this like a pair of vultures.”
I leaf through the overnight reports. Rachel Golden and her new recruits have things running smoothly. If Theo Alexander has half a brain, he’ll hire Rachel to take over.
“What are you going to do?” Gritch asks.
“Go to the hospital. See how Leo’s doing.”
“I mean if we’re out of here.”
“I don’t know. I could rent an office, I guess. Freelance security work. Personal protection. It’s all I know, really.”
“Can I smoke cigars there?”
“You shouldn’t be smoking cigars here.”
“Okay, should I not smoke cigars in the new office the way I shouldn’t be smoking cigars in here?”
“You’re asking me if you can smoke cigars in this new office that I don’t have?”
“I’m asking if I should start looking for other work.”
“What other work can you do? Your talents are as limited as mine.”
“Match made in heaven.”
The phone rings. When I answer it, Weed says, “You are a bastard, you know that?”
“Hi, Norm.”
“Thorn in my side, pain in my ass.”
“I’m fine, too. Thanks for asking.”
“Corporal Riggins says they would have figured it out, anyway, that he didn’t need me phoning him at 7:00 a.m. to drag his head about ferry tickets and McDonald’s receipts, that they had all that stuff ready to look into.”
“I’m sure they did.”
“Nonetheless, in the interest of interagency cooperation, and assuaging my raging headache, not to mention the pain in my ass, they checked the relevant documents first thing this morning.”
“And?”
“And it looks like Arnie must have bought those burgers in Nanaimo three hours after he arrived on Gabriola.” “Neat trick,” I say.
“So you’re a bastard and we’re currently looking for his delivery man.”
“I don’t think McDonald’s has home delivery.” I hang up and stare blankly at Gritch. I’m not really looking at him, just using his dome to stay focused.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“Arnie didn’t shoot himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Or he had help. I don’t know. There was someone else there. Someone brought him some food. Someone else was there when it happened.”
“You started packing, Grundy?”
Theodore Alexander is standing in my office doorway wearing about eight yards of fine wool worsted and a rep tie from a regiment he never belonged to, or a school he never attended.
“Hello, Mr. Alexander. No, I haven’t thought about it.”
“Better get organized. A new outfit will be here in a couple of days. I want a smooth transition.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t take orders from you. Your father hired me, pays my salary, I do what he wants.”
“He’s no longer in charge.”
“He is as far as I’m concerned, sir.”
“Look, Grundy, you’re out. Your whole team of fuckups is out. I want this office vacated by tonight.”
“Mr. Alexander, I was given a direct order by your father, the man who owns this hotel, that I wasn’t to take orders from anyone but him. Until he tells me I’m fired I will be doing what he hired me to do, which is look after his interests. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do anything contrary to your father’s wishes.”
“You’re outta here, Grundy. Count on it. I’ll change the locks, put guards on the door if I have to.”
“You’ll be paying for these services yourself, will you, sir? The security budget requires my signature.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Give my regards to your brother, sir.”
Gritch closes the door while Theo is still fuming. I hear him stomping away, muttering as he goes.
“Has-beens and drunks, thieves and murderers. Fuckin’ loony-tunes!”
“He’s got a point,” Gritch says.
chapter thirty-one
“Lions Gate Hospital is across the bridge of the same name in North Vancouver. The weather hasn’t improved since Jacob Buznardo’s dawn memorial. I pull into the visitors’ parking lot just in time to see Alvin Neagle, still wearing his blue polyester suit and bad comb-over, bustling along a line of cars, fumbling with keys and briefcase and a stack of file folders. When he decides on a vehicle, I pull up to his bumper, blocking him in. He glances up with annoyance, then backs up two steps when he sees who is getting out.
“Good morning, Mr. Neagle,” I say as pleasantly as I can muster. “Joe Grundy. Nice to see you again.”
“Get away from me, Grundy.”
“That’s exactly what Mr. Axelrode told me a couple of hours ago.”
“I don’t want any trouble.” Neagle opens his car door and tosses the files and the briefcase onto the passenger seat.
“Mr. Axelrode wasn’t quite as peaceful. He pulled a gun on me.”
“That’s nothing to do with me. You should inform the police.”
“I intend to.”
“I have nothing to do with Axe Axelrode. He is no longer in my employ.”
“Who’s he working for now?”
“Just move your car, Grundy. I’m late as it is.”
“Certainly, sir, but if I could have just a moment more of your time.”
“What do you want?”
“To start with, there’s the matter of your $16.45 bar tab from Monday night.”
“What?”
“You and Mr. Axelrode ran out on your bar tab. I’d like to collect.”
“Talk to Axe.”
“He said I should take it up with you. He said you were the one with all the money.”
Neagle fumbles with his wallet and tugs out a reluctant twenty-dollar bill. He puts it on his car’s hood and pushes it towards me as far as he can reach without actually touching me. “There. That cover it?”
I grab the bill just as he lets go, and before the wind can carry it off to Chilliwack. “I’ll get your change, sir.”
“Keep it. Keep the change.”
“I’ll make sure Barney gets the gratuity, and I thank you on his behalf.”
“Now will you move your damn car?”
“I just have a couple more questions, sir, if you’ll bear with me. I understand you’ve taken offices in the Horizon Building. Are you now in the employ of the foundation?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” He climbs behind the wheel and buckles himself in.
“But you’ve met Mr. Edwin Gowins, the managing director?”
“What if I have?”
I slip between the two cars to stand close to his open window. “Forgive me if I’m a bit confused about the legalities here — this isn’t my area of expertise — but doesn’t that suggest a conflict of interest? You’re the attorney of record for the late Mr. Buznardo, and you’re involved, at least to some degree, with one of the parties who’d love to see any outside claim dismissed. And yet you’re also representing Molly MacKay and her claim. That’s a lot of balls you’re juggling.”
“As you say, Grundy, this isn’t your area of expertise.” He decides on the correct key.
“Nonetheless…”
“This is all none of your business. You’re a hotel dick chasing a bar tab. You’ve got your money. Leave me alone.” He turns the ignition. His starter motor sounds reluctant.
“There’s also the matter of my employee’s murder,” I say.
“Murder? You talking about McKellar?”
“Arnie McKellar, yes, sir.”
“He killed himself.”
“The police aren’t so sure about that. They think he may have been murdered.”
Neagle shuts down his engine. He looks pale. “They know who did it?” he asks.
“No, but th
e list is short and your friend Axelrode is right at the top.”
“Shit!” He bangs his hand on the steering wheel, letting off an unexpected beep that causes someone two rows over to look around. “That fucking Axe! I hire him, out of the goodness of my heart, to keep tabs on Buzz. Before you know it, he’s making deals with Wade Hubble, feeding him inside information, playing both ends against the middle.”
“So Axlerode was working for Wade Hubble and Prescott Holdings?”
“At least. Who knows how many people he was shafting.”
“And who are you working for now, Mr. Neagle?”
“Privileged information. Talk to your boss. He might clue you in.”
“Mr. Alexander? You’ve seen him?”
“He just woke up, Grundy. I have a feeling he wishes he was still asleep.”
I’m spending a lot of time in hospitals lately. All the hushed voices and antiseptic aromas make me uneasy. As I negotiate my way with much care between food and medication trolleys, I spot Raquel coming towards me, eyes bright and glistening.
“Señor Grundy! It is so good, you coming now. !Un lindo milagro! He’s awake!”
“I just heard. How is he?”
“He is asking about you. Come. Please.”
Leo Alexander, as befits his station and his bank account, has a private corner room at the end of the hall. Raquel escorts me to the open door, and then I feel her hand slip off my elbow as she backs away. Leo doesn’t look too bad. He isn’t hooked up to anything that beeps or breathes. That’s always a good sign.
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“Joseph, glad you came by.”
“They’re keeping the pain down, are they?”
“A nice nurse gave me a shot of something very comforting. How are things in my house?”
“There have been some changes.”
“Oh?”
“Theo has announced that he’s taking over as managing director. He’s replacing JG Security as of today and bringing in some other outfit.”
“He thinks he’s kicking you out?”
“Yes, sir.” Leo laughs. “That boy. Subtle as a belch, isn’t he? Can’t wait until they throw dirt on my face. Where’s his brother?”
“Haven’t heard from Lenny, sir. I figured he was in agreement with what Theo was doing.”
“The last thing those two agreed on was how much they disliked my second wife. Maybe it was my third. But they both want me out of there, that’s certain.” He winces. “Lift the bed up a little, would you, Joseph? Thank you.” Leo tries to get comfortable by shifting an inch or two.
“Should I get the nurse, sir?”
“No, I’m fine. I could use a cigar, but that will have to wait.” He rolls his neck.
“I saw Alvin Neagle outside, sir. Anything I should know about?”
“Molly MacKay, through the good offices of Alvin Neagle, has hit us with a civil suit in the wrongful death of her brother. That one might get sticky.”
“That makes me a bit sad. Her brother would never have done that.”
“Just her lawyer making sure she covers all the bases. Who knows how her claim will play out.”
“There’s been another development, sir.”
“What?”
“It looks like someone was with Arnie McKellar when he died.”
“Is that so? Helping him do the job?”
“Could be, I guess. But Arnie was very drunk and sedated and probably not in any shape to make an informed decision.”
“You think he was murdered?”
“It certainly seems like a possibility.”
Leo reaches for the juice box on his breakfast tray. I help him to get a sip, then hand him a napkin. He wipes his lips and looks at me. His eyes are clear, his mind is working fine. “It would be to our benefit, vis-à-vis the civil suit, if it could be proved that Arnie didn’t shoot the man when he took his money.”
“Yes, sir. The police are still working on it.”
“I know they are. But I’d feel more comfortable knowing that someone who had the Lord Douglas’s interests at heart was also looking into things.”
“I’ll stay with it, sir.”
“Thank you, Joseph.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “We have to look after my house. We’re being assailed on all fronts.” His grip is firm, his veins are blue, the skin is bruised and yellow around the intravenous needle in the back of his hand. “Is Mr. Gruber going along with this Theo business?”
“Yes, sir. He’s the one relaying the orders.”
“Mr. Gruber shouldn’t be taking orders from anyone.”
“There’s nothing I can do for you here?”
“I’m well taken care of,” he says, glancing towards the door where Raquel stands half out of sight but fully present. “Look after the Lord Douglas, Joseph. I’ll be fine. I’m going to be in here a few days, maybe a week. I need you to watch my house.”
“What should I do about Theo?”
“I’ve told you. Theo doesn’t give the orders. Do the job I hired you for. I’ll attend to Theo.”
“Very good, sir.”
chapter thirty-two
“Lloyd Gruber is so thrilled at the news of Leo’s recovery that he spills tea all over his freshly organized desktop. “He did? That’s, ah, wonderful, I’d better get over there.”
“You might want to call Theodore,” I say. “Let him know things have changed.”
“Is Mr. Alexander, is he, ah, capable? He’s aware?”
“Oh, he’s fully aware, Lloyd.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand that certain provisions had to be made…”
“Might have been a bit premature,” I say, not to rub it in too much.
Margo is genuinely happy about the latest development. And she’s also on top of the situation. She’s arranged flowers, get-well cards from the hotel staff, a schedule for visitors, and a statement for the press. Margo has also ordered Rolf Kalman in the Palm Court to begin a shuttle service of decent food across the Narrows and onto Leo Alexander’s dinner tray.
“Can you think of anything else?” she asks me.
“I think you’ve got everything covered, Margo.”
“How about clothes? Books?”
“He’s got Raquel looking after those things,” I say.
I leave Lloyd and Margo and head back to the office to relay the good news. Black Jack Burke has checked in by phone. Rachel has him on the speaker, and Gritch is sitting on the couch, raising his voice to be heard.
“Hi, Jack,” I say as I hang up my jacket. “How’s the fishing?”
“Hey, Joe,” he says. “I’m looking out at the second best fishing river in the world.”
“What’s the best?” I ask.
“That’s the one I haven’t found yet, but this one’s plenty great.”
“You missed all the excitement,” Gritch says.
“I don’t think so,” Jack says. “I locked onto a steelhead on the Ash three days ago. This guy would have taken a round or two out of you, Joe.”
“Big fish?”
“Who knows? I never saw the son of a bitch. Twenty pounds easy, maybe thirty. He dragged me half a mile, nearly drowned me twice, wrapped my line around a tree, and took my little lure home for his trophy wall. You got anything to match that?”
“Geez,” Gritch says, “let’s see now. Arnie’s dead, somebody, maybe Arnie, murdered a guest and stole a quarter of a million bucks, Leo Alexander just woke up from a coma, and oh, yeah, we were all fired this morning but that might not stick. Over to you, Jack.”
“I stuck a hook through my earlobe,” Jack says.
I grab the morning shower I missed rushing off to Buzz’s wake before breakfast, which also reminds me that I haven’t been eating at all regularly. My stomach rumbles as I scour off the accumulated grime and confusions of the night and the morning. When I return to the office, I’m fresh-smelling and stubble-free, but my belly is still complaining of neglect.
Gritch looks up fro
m his newspaper. “You look okay for a tenuously employed hotel dick with a lawsuit hanging over his head.”
“We’ve been sued, too?”
“Oh, you betcha.”
“Where’s Dan?” I ask.
“I fired him,” Rachel says.
Rachel is at the main desk. She seems at home there, more than I ever did. She has her charts arranged, schedules, phone lines.
“When?” I ask.
“This morning. He was an hour and a half late. He had a lame-ass excuse. I fired him.”
“I told you,” Gritch says. “That’s something you should’ve done a year ago.”
“What was his lame-ass excuse?” I ask.
“Something about his wife changing the locks and he couldn’t get his shoes.”
“The part about her changing the locks is true. She said she’d leave his suitcase on the porch.”
“Lame ass,” Gritch says. “What was wrong with the shoes he had on yesterday?”
“I wasn’t interested in his shoes,” Rachel says. “I’m trying to keep the shifts organized.”
“You did the right thing, Rachel,” I say. “I should have done it a long time ago.”
“We make a good team, Joe,” she says. “I’ll crack the whip, you give a shit.”
“What’s my role?” Gritch asks.
“Beats me,” she says. “If we’re still in business, I’m going to hire some people.”
“More Presbyterians,” Gritch says.
“I think I can find a couple of good people,” she says. “Not necessarily Presbyterian.”
“Try finding us a nice Unitarian won’t think I’m going straight to hell,” Gritch says.
“You are going straight to hell,” Rachel says.
She grabs the phone in mid-ring, speaks low. I check the fridge. She’s organized that, as well: juice, water, cheese, apples. I help myself to a few cookies — refined sugar, just for the boost — and also grab an apple for appearance’s sake.
“I’m going to take a walk,” Rachel says. “Somebody in the parking garage wandering around.”
“Want backup?” Gritch says.
“No. He probably can’t remember what his rental car looks like. Carry on.”
As soon as Rachel leaves, Gritch picks up his ashtray and moves to the desk to sit next to the phone.
