Jack in a Box

by Pringle McCloy

  “Three. This is my third.” She was giddy. “Do you miss our dogs, Charlie?”

  I smiled. “I do miss Hector and Paris? Not.”

  She hiccupped. “And what did Jack call them?”

  “Hannibal and Lecter.”

  “They ate his hedge. Remember?”

  Hard to forget Judge Clark’s vicious Rottweilers. They had roamed the streets and ruled the road by terrorizing pedestrians.

  “And you, Tina? Didn’t they bite you?”

  “Paris did. He tore my leg. But Dad still wouldn’t give him up. He was Dad’s baby. He liked Paris better than he liked me I think. It was Jack that saved me.”

  I smiled. “Your housekeeper tipped Jack off when your parents went on a cruise last fall. What’s her name?”

  “Norah. She was petrified of those dogs.”

  “Right. Norah. Norah let Jack know that the dogs were alone in the backyard and his guys nabbed them.”

  She giggled. “They shot them with darts. It was so funny! We watched through the great room windows. You should have seen them go down, Charlie! It was the best day of my life.” She screwed up her face. “But what Jack sent Dad afterwards wasn’t very nice. I mean, he isn’t the Godfather, you know. He didn’t have to send their testicles in a courier bag.” She giggled again. “But it was funny. Dad was so furious!”

  “They were actually lamb balls, Tina. Jack sent the dogs to a ranch in Alberta. They’re perfectly fine.”

  She widened her cobalt-blue eyes. “Dad thinks they’re dead!”

  “They’re very much alive. Jack checks up on them once in a while.”

  She snorted. “Jack should have put the lamb balls in Dad’s bed.”

  Just then a gangly guy showed up. He was built like a pencil with a pointed head and arms as long as Gumby’s. He shook my hand and called me sir.

  “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hampton.”

  Hmm…. Another West Van kid in a place he didn’t belong. I walked the young couple to the door. “You got a car, pal?”

  He nodded his head off. “Just around the corner. And my name is Matthew.”

  “A good name, Matthew. Biblical. Take her straight home, will you?”

  Back at the bar, Barbell slammed another whiskey-double down.

  I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m not that fond of water-downed booze. That first drink was disgusting.”

  “Your cop friend ordered it for you.” He flexed his steroids.

  I took a shiny mickey out of my pocket and quaffed at it. “So sue me.”

  Standoff. The guy was big and I carried a gun. The guy was stupid and…

  To my rescue came an aging biker who flopped down on the barstool beside me. He reeked of whiskey and was missing the middle finger of his thick right hand. The blue polka dot bandana on his head needed a wash. “A little out of our league aren’t you, Copper?”

  Could it be my Gucci jeans? “Maybe. And maybe not. Maybe you’re out of your league, Biker.”

  Biker liked that. “A tough guy, are you?”

  I leaned back. “I can handle myself. I cut my teeth on brass knuckles. And I’m quick with a hammer to the knee. I wield a tire iron like a baton and if all else fails I’m a damn good shot.” Dumbbell walked away.

  Biker was beginning to love me and he slapped me on the back. “Buddy. You’re hysterical. And I want to buy you a drink.”

  I hoisted my flask. “I’m good. The barkeep here is known for watering things down.”

  Biker fired Dumbbell a look.

  I was now Biker’s new best friend. “You slay me, kid. But I’m guessing you’re in the wrong part of town. I haven’t seen you here before, son.”

  There it went again. Someone calling me son due to my gorgeous face. I wanted to punch him in the nose except that he was friendly. “I’ve been here. Lots of times. But not since I was a kid.”

  That got him thinking. A little kid in a grungy bar in a seedy part of town. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I used to come here with my dad. Sometimes he dropped by to clean out the cash.”

  “What? Your dad was a stick-up man?”

  “Sort of. But he never met any resistance here. He didn’t even carry a gun. They just handed him the money.”

  “Oh, shit! Extortion?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Oh, shit.” His eyes went all concerned. “What ever happened to your old man?”

  “He’s in jail.”

  Biker nodded. “You can only get away with that kind of thing so long. It catches up to you in the end.”

  “He’s not in jail for extortion. He’s in jail for murder.”

  Biker drained his glass. The cat had pretty much confiscated his tongue.

  I tapped my fingers on the bar. “So, tell me, Longshoreman. What do you know about the heroin dump? And the murder of Leo Cheng?”

  A scant half-hour later I left the joint with scuttlebutt. According to Biker, suspicious cargo had, in fact, been stashed in Leo’s designated freighter. The tip came from Fremantle where the boat had docked to load Australian goods bound for Vancouver. Rumor also had it that the drugs were not, and never had been, in the waters of English Bay. Just as I figured.

  I waved goodbye to Dumbbell who didn’t like me well enough to wave back. Outside the rain had settled into a light drizzle, which got me thinking about the muggers and robbers returning to the streets. They’d be out there now, doing what they did for a living, some of them doing it well, others not so much. Panhandlers had also returned to the street. “Pig, pig, pig,” they welcomed me, so I threw down fifty bucks. On Jack. Fog came rolling in on tiger feet. I could have cut it with a knife although I didn’t have much use for fog. I headed in the direction of my Beemer and ran out of people after turning the corner on Pender Street. I was crotch deep in thought when a gunshot rang out, and several more after that. I could feel my arm being ripped away while a stinging sensation sent me to the ground. I rolled like tumbleweed to the shelter of a parked car where, with shooter drawn, I awaited an approaching assassin. Footsteps. Then no footsteps. Footsteps retreating and someone groaning. Someone was calling my name. I crawled on all fours through the thick mist. “Charlie,” a faint voice said. “Can you help me?”

  When I managed to reach the victim I lifted up her head. “Tina! My god! Why didn’t you go home?”

  “I had a fight… with Matt,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t…wait with me.”

  I whipped off my jacket and slipped it under her head. Her lower body was bloody. “I’ve called 911, Tina. They’ll be here soon. Hang on.”

  “I heard a gun. I think… I’ve been shot.”

  “I think so too, sweetheart. You took a bullet for me. But you’re going to be alright.”

  “I needed to tell you…. something. That’s why I stayed. I wanted… to tell you… I heard.”

  “What did you hear, Tina?”

  “Someone… wants you dead.” She passed out in my arms.

  Chapter Ten

  JUDGE AND MRS. CLARK COULD be conjoined twins they were so alike. Both were built like penguins with protruding bellies starting at the shoulder and sloping to the knee. They had curly grey hair, blue eyes, and stood about four feet tall. They wore wire-rimmed glasses, tweed coats, and oxfords laced with leather and both had vile tempers, as I was soon to learn.

  In a nutshell, they accused me of dating their daughter, who was only seventeen years old, and taking her to a dirty part of town to get her drunk. And there was only one reason for that. I was a lowlife, a good-for-nothing, they’d known it all along. I was scum. Plus some other adjectives. Oh, and how old was I? Fifty?

  I’m not usually stuck for words but having aged fourteen years in a flash, well, that really hurt. But my silence didn’t seem to bother the irate Clarks who weren’t about to listen to anything I had to say. Furthermore, I’d become the butt of the waiting room outside the trauma unit at Vancouver General, not exactly a thrilling place to be. Charlie the butt. Bottom rung on the soc
ial ladder, a deviant. If smirks counted for anything, well, I was causing them. People waiting to hear about loved ones were choking on their coffee and one old fellow went from snorting to the bathroom with wet pants. And all of this just down the hall from the OR where poor little Tina was fighting for her life.

  I felt like crap. It was almost five a.m. on a cool May morning and I needed a smoke, also a break from the Clarks. Tina was four hours into surgery with more to go. She was in critical condition with shrapnel lodged in her abdomen and had lost a lot of blood. I, on the other hand, had a surface wound on my left arm and was wallowing in guilt.

  Outside, the day was threatening to become clear, sunny and bright. It smelled of wet earth and of petunias planted in beds to welcome visitors to a place nobody wanted to be. I crossed the lawn and reached into my car for my cell on its charger and dialed. It felt like rain again and I felt like being mean.

  “You’re fired, Overcoat.” I smiled, knowing I’d woken the slithery bastard up.

  He yawned. “Who says?”

  “I say. I have power of attorney now that Jack has gone mad in jail. And if I catch you near him, or any member of his family, the same thing will happen to you as happened to the Lizard.”

  “Yeah, right. Not if I see you first.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I am not fired! Not until Jack tells me I am. I saw him last night. Just after you left because I saw you from across the street. And by the way, Charlie, you do not look like me. You should be so lucky. So stop going around impersonating me, alright?”

  I clicked my fingernails against the mouthpiece. “Hear that, Marco? That’s my teeth chattering. I’m really scared of you. It took you fucking hours to get to the jail yesterday. Jack’s guys were lined up waiting to break your face and would have if I hadn’t sent them home.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, asshole. I can look after myself. And stop telling Jack lies about me. I’m not bedding his daughter. Or his sister.”

  “Of course, you’re not! Give them a little credit for taste. But you’re trying. You’ve been seen all over town. So, back off, buddy.”

  “Don’t you buddy me, Hamster. Your name’s not so tough, is it varmint? I have more smarts in my little finger than you have in your whole body. So we’ll see who Jack ends up trusting. I’ll have him out today.”

  “Yes, you will. You’ll have him out by noon. And in case you have any other plans, think about this. Jack doesn’t do his own dirty work. Everyone who knows him knows that. If Jack actually wanted Leo dead he hired someone to whack him. And that someone isn’t far away.” Click.

  After returning a call to Jack’s inside cop, still at the crime scene on Pender Street, I made a second call of the day.

  “This is so unfortunate,” said Julia. “I mean, jail? He must be miserable!”

  “He is. But he’s trying to keep his humor.”

  “You don’t think he did it do you, Charlie?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think maybe.”

  “Me too. Maybe. There’s stuff we don’t know. Aside from your sleeping with the enemy.”

  “What? You don’t mean Marco!”

  “Yeah. I mean Marco. Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

  She gasped. “I am not sleeping with Marco Midolo or anyone else! And don’t insult me. I’ve merely had lunch with Marco. That’s it. But on a personal note it’s none of your business. None at all.”

  I waited. She wasn’t finished yet.

  “I wasn’t really going to sell. I just wanted to teach Jack a lesson.”

  “You did.”

  I could hear her sniffing. “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to meet me at the jail. You and Jillian. At eleven o’clock sharp. And don’t wear black.”

  Sometimes the big guy in the sky gives you a break and in my case it happened that day. Tina pulled through her surgery and although not ‘out of the woods’ by any means her doctors told us she’d made it through the roughest part of her journey, youth being in her favor. The Clarks hugged each other before hurrying down the hall to hopefully see their daughter. I headed home, quickly showered, shaved, and arrived at the jail shortly after ten.

  Jack looked dazed when they brought him out. He sat across the table from me staring into space. “I did it,” he said flatly. “I’ve confessed to the crime.”

  “You’ve what?”

  “I confessed. I murdered Leo. Because I didn’t want him taking over my company. The company I built with my own loving hands.”

  “Correction.” I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes. Nothing. “The company your father built with his own loving hands.”

  “That’s even more reason.”

  However low Jack might stoop he was not a murderer. I hoped. “Did they interrogate you?”

  He nodded.

  “And then you confessed?”

  “Not right then. No. It was after I thought things through.”

  “How did you kill him?”

  “I can’t remember. I must have amnesia.” A spark flickered in his eye. The old Machiavellian Jack was in there somewhere.

  “Cut the crap, Jack. You didn’t confess.”

  “I did so. I sang like a choirboy. I confessed to every unsolved murder in the lower mainland over the past thirty years.”

  I thought about it. “When did you say you confessed?”

  His eyes danced. “About a half-hour ago. Right after Selic told me that Richard the Cleaver had landed on the tarmac. Tony called Peter so he could tell me.”

  Peter Selic was Jack’s inside cop. Well, one of them, at least. And as for Tony, well, Tony was tight with certain factions of the Triad. He heard things. And he knew things. “What?”

  “The Cleaver is back. And word is he’s here to avenge the Vancouver Tea Party. And Leo. I figure I’m his first choice.”

  “Right. So you decided to become a sitting duck. You’ll be easy for him here, Jack. It’s hard to dodge bullets in a chicken coup.”

  He sighed. “I thought about that. But at least here I’ll go alone and none of my guys will have to bite it. Or my family, in case they decide to forgive me and come back home.”

  Sucked in again. “I’ll beef up surveillance at Terrace.”

  “Thanks, son. I always had this idea we’d go down together.”

  At exactly eleven o’clock Julia and Jillian arrived together looking hot - Julia in a tight taupe suite and Jillian in a dress with a flowered skirt that trailed behind her like a peacock’s tail, swishing on her boots. It was like royalty arriving with a lot of pedestrian gawking. The attention irked me because these women were my women, my property. They just didn’t know it yet. I met them on the steps outside the courthouse, which conveniently housed the jail.

  “He’s resting,” I told them. “He’s been busy running around confessing to crimes and he’s tired. The plan now is to find a way to get to Richard Chang. And beg, if we have to. It’s our only hope.”

  We started to argue then, as families do, over strategy and over who might be stuck with the short straw. I knew I didn’t want it. I tried to convince the women that with their great beauty they had the chance to smite the Cleaver but they didn’t buy it. He might be gay, they said, giving me the upper hand. Stalemate. So, there I was on the steps of the Vancouver courthouse arguing with the two most defiant creatures on the planet and I expected to win? Hardly. We were still deadlocked when Overcoat himself came ambling up the steps looking suddenly stricken.

  Plan A in progress. “Seen a ghost, Overcoat?”

  “Ha. Ha.” Marco could not have been whiter had he swallowed bleach. In fact, the real Dr. Zhivago had looked healthier dying in the street.

  Julia held out her hand. “Nice to see you, Marco.”

  Now, even before Jack hired Marco to thwart the takeover, Julia and Marco had met in passing but they moved in different circles - Julia with the wealthy and Marco with the wives of the wealthy.

 
Marco shriveled into his pink overcoat. “Good to see you too, Julia.”

  Jillian rushed to his side. “I’m so glad you’re here, Marco! Things are in an awful mess.” She clung to his arm.

  Julia narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know the two of you had met.”

  “Oh, yes!” Jillian nodded vigorously. “We met through Hampton.”

  Oh, sure. Blame Hampton, the patsy.

  Julia was thinking. “So, you also know Marco, Charlie?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately. He’s your brother’s lawyer. Didn’t he tell you that?”

  She ground her teeth. “No, Marco neglected to tell me that little detail.”

  Marco inched towards the door. “Charlie and I are not exactly friends.”

  “Marco and I are dating,” Jillian blurted out. “I was going to tell you both but I haven’t had the chance.”

  Marco froze like a fawn in the headlights, his glassy eyes wide. “Casually dating,” he boomed

  “Dating?” Julia was not amused.

  “Casually?” Jillian’s voice was shrill. “You call our relationship casual?”

  “Nice try, Overcoat,” I added to the pot.

  Something was wrong with me I’d known it all my life. You see, I lacked the guts to screw a guy and revel in it. While Marco stood there taking daggers to the chest I felt sorry for the poor dumb bugger since I’d set him up.

  Julia was testy. “And how would you describe our relationship, Marco?”

  Marco looked confused. “What relationship? You won’t even return my calls.”

  “You’ve been calling my aunt?” Jillian shrieked. “Whatever for?”

  “Sex,” Julia said. “Not that I’d ever be so desperate.”

  Trapped like the proverbial rat Marco turned on me. “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you, Hampton? I smell your ugly paws all over this one.” Sneering, he stepped forward, shaking off Jillian who appeared to be attached like Velcro to his sleeve. “And get this, smartass. You think you’re funny. But I’ll have the last laugh, rest assured.”

  I snickered. “You really scare me, loser.”