Jack in a Box

by Pringle McCloy

  Silence.

  “This is serious, Jack. I’ll arrange for some serious protection.”

  Jack didn’t even argue. Not a single word.

  Personally, I have an aversion to courtrooms that smell like shoe polish and the fact that I was following behind a hot blond with a horsetail of hair didn’t change much. Shoddy Marco Midolo kept whispering in her ear, which didn’t thrill me either. Creep. He suddenly turned back to me.

  “I’ve made a deal with the crown,” he bragged. “They’ve set bail at a100k. House arrest. She’ll be able to go home. And luckily her home is spacious because she won’t be able to leave.”

  “Let me guess. Electric ankles.”

  “A little better. A bracelet.”

  “With diamonds and rubies,” Jillian chimed in.

  Right.

  Marco pointed to the second bench from the front, as though I was to obey like a Doberman Pincher. Grrrr. So, treat me like a second pew person I didn’t care. Judge Steven Walburg was to preside over the hearing. He was kindly looking enough, with white hair and a white beard, neatly-trimmed. “Mr. Midolo and Ms. Schmidt. Please approach the bench.”

  Marco and the crown prosecutor stepped forward to join the judge in a huddle. Ms. Schmidt was shaped like a banana, thick through the middle, but with a small head and skinny ankles. She wore a bob and thick glasses and a rumpled green suit. I figured charming Marco could talk the dowdy prosecutor into almost anything.

  I poked Jillian in the back. “I’ve got you where I want you now. I can chase you all over that mausoleum and you can’t escape. I shall have my way with you, fair damsel.”

  “Good luck.” She didn’t bother to turn around. “Jack taught me how to fight the boys remember. I’m the best testicle kicker in town.”

  “I can’t wait for you to try.”

  Marco stood before the judge, who was apparently his for the moment. He motioned to Jillian who sprang to her feet like a tiger on the hunt. A bit player emerged to read the charges. He had zero hair atop his head but his curly red sideburns lent him a furry look.

  “Jillian Emily Jones,” he said. “You are charged with the following.”

  She nodded. Marco nodded. I nodded too since it appeared to be going around.

  With great flourish, Furry read a long scroll of crimes: mischief; violating property rights; trespassing; disturbing the peace; disrupting stability; violating a court order as in breaking the terms of probation etc. Finally, Furry backed away, bowing respectfully to Your Honor before heading for a water bottle stashed on a bench near a side door.

  Your Honor had his own copy of the charges, which his long nose studied. “Ms. Jones. Do you understand the charges brought against you?”

  “I do, Your Honor,” she said politely.

  I smiled. I knew the real Jillian, the Jillian itching to claw the old guy’s eyes out.

  “And do you understand the seriousness of such charges?”

  She nodded. “I do, Your Honor.”

  In a pig’s ass, she did. She’d be peeling that bracelet off in half an hour.

  “Ms. Jones.” Your Honor narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been in my courtroom before. More than once.” He thumped his index finger on the paper. “And you’ll be here again because you’re going to trial. It is agreed by the court that you are to be released under house arrest. Bail has been set at one hundred thousand dollars and I believe Mr. Midolo has already taken care of that.”

  Marcus beamed. “I have, Your Honor.” Right. Like it came out of your pocket, moron.

  “Mr. Midolo would like to expedite the proceedings so a date has been set for the preliminary hearing. November twenty-seventh. And may I give you a word of advice, Ms. Jones?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I cannot stress enough the seriousness of these charges. Why a woman as well educated and as accomplished… I believe you are an artist, are you not? A successful one, as I recall. A member of the West Coast Six.”

  “I am, Your Honor.”

  Boy, was she piling it on. Successful artist? A member of the West Coast Six? Funny. Jillian was a professional activist and little more. The boxes of her pathetic paintings in Jack’s warehouse said it all.

  Your Honor shook his head. “Why a woman such as yourself would violate a probation order is beyond me. Perhaps you can enlighten me because I clearly don’t understand.” Shaking his white jowls he leaned back in his chair.

  Jillian drew herself to her full five-feet nine. “Most people don’t. They don’t understand because they don’t care about the damage being done to our planet. They don’t think it’s real.”

  Your Honor cut in. “Maybe they do care. Maybe you just don’t know it.”

  Zing. One for Your Honor.”

  “Apathy is worse than not caring at all,” Jillian retorted. “People need to take action.”

  Score. Tie game.

  “Continue.” Your Honor looked bored. “Maybe by starting at the beginning.”

  “With temperate rainforests?”

  He shrugged.

  “The beauty and majesty and timelessness of a rainforest is indescribable. Rainforests represent a store of living and breathing renewable natural resources vital to the survival of our planet. They continuously recycle carbon dioxide into oxygen. In fact, the Amazon tropical rainforest produces more than twenty per cent of the world’s oxygen. Thus it is called, ‘the lungs of the planet’. Yet, over twenty percent of this vital rainforest is already gone through massive deforestation. So, you tell me, Your Honor, where future generations will get the air they breathe if this massive slaughter of trees continues.”

  Your Honor nodded. He understood oxygen. “So we have tropical and temperate rainforests? I suppose we’ll learn more about that during the trial.”

  She turned to Marco and they beamed into each other’s eyes.

  I snarled. Guess she’d forgotten about dancing that waltz before, the biting-ear waltz.

  Marco smacked his chops. “You will.”

  “You’ll hear about the damage done to beautiful Vancouver Island,” Jillian added. “The travesty of clear-cutting. And why we are so desperate to put an end to it all. To save Clayoquot Sound and Catface Mountain from being raped and pillaged. And why we must protect the distinct biological species living there. They took four million years to evolve. We must….

  “Thank you, Ms. Jones,” Your Honor cut in. “That will be all.”

  The air went out of Jillian like a deflating balloon. In fact, if Overcoat hadn’t been anchoring her with his lustful charms she may have gone fizzling away. “Thank you, Your Honor,” she whined, but didn’t mean it. Not one bit.

  I pulled into the parking lot of Jones Import/Export shortly after noon and killed the engine. Since torrents of rain were pelting against the roof of my convertible I gave it a cigarette minute before braving the downpour. The big Phantom 1V was parked in Jack’s stall, running, meaning that Tony had dropped by for a visit so I didn’t feel guilty about enjoying a few final puffs. Eventually I leapt the steps to the warehouse office two at a time, threw the door open, and shook to dry myself like a wet dog. Straight ahead, Tony Chan was sitting in a chair and he didn’t look so good - not with duct tape across his mouth and ropes confining him there. I rushed to set him free.

  “Mum… mum… mum…” he mumbled, his eyes as big as saucers. “Mum…”

  Poor guy. Bad enough he was dragging old age like a sack of rocks but duct tape? Well, duct tape doesn’t always give up easily. I give it a good rip.

  After a while he stopped screaming. “You fucking fool! You’re such a clod, Charlie!”

  I hacked his ropes with my butterfly knife. “It’s quiet in here. Where’s Shoeshine? And the warehouse boys?”

  “Locked up somewhere. They wouldn’t have argued with assault rifles. They’re in the warehouse, likely locked in the packing room. I heard the bad guys say that they caught the fat man in the bathroom with his pants down. They nailed the door shut. They even laughed about it. Do
n’t you think that’s mean?” He stood up, stretched, and rubbed the welts on his wrists.

  I nodded. “I assume they took Jack?”

  His turn to nod. “And Jackie. They took Jackie in place of me. I’m too old, they said. They’d probably just have to bury me and I’d be a lot of trouble. Don’t you think that’s mean? They were very mean, Charlie.”

  “What? You were expecting nice guys? And they took Jackie because?”

  His brown eyes sparkled. “Because he’s my nephew. They took him to keep me in line.”

  “How did they know he was your nephew?”

  “How do you think? Jackie! The idiot told them! He thought they’d leave him alone because of his uncle, the big shot. And I was a big shot. During the Yukon Gold Rush in 1897.”

  Well, that was the godfather. Bravado. I headed for the warehouse with Tony at my heels. We could hear Shoeshine hollering and pounding on the bathroom door.

  “How many were there?” I asked.

  Tony thought for a minute. “Six. And maybe two more outside. Maybe eight in total.”

  “It’s my fault. I should’ve been here.”

  He shook his old grey head. “You must be new. Like, your Gloc 9 against six assault rifles? And men in funny black suits creeping like evil cats? Hello!”

  “I should have been here just the same.”

  “I just kept praying that you wouldn’t walk in.”

  I grabbed a crowbar. Tony knocked on the bathroom door and Shoeshine hollered back. “If you don’t have a smoke with you find someone who does.”

  Tony and I sat in the quilted leather wings chairs, smoking cigars and sipping cognac well into the night. And I don’t even like cognac or cigars. But the library fire was crackling and hissing and Tony was in a maudlin mood.

  “I don’t know, Charlie. They got Jackie. But they also got the other Jackie. My little Jackie Jones.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “The boy I raised in his parent’s home. This home. Before the big expansion. I was only eighteen when I came to this country.” He blushed. “Ok. I was twenty-eight but I looked eighteen. He was my first job here. And do you want to know what’s ironic about that?”

  I knew.

  “He’ll likely be my last. I don’t think the boys will be coming home.”

  Chapter Nine

  JACK’S HOUSE IN BRITISH PROPERTIES still stood as it should, teetering on the mountainside four stories deep. Nothing had changed in Jack’s absence. Collector cars lined the driveway and the streets as though preparing for an antique road show. Odd that a party was in progress with Jack being held by kidnappers. Was it a wake? I was cranky because I had to park down the street. I was doubly cranky because the two sturdy guards on the doorstep waving their assault rifles should have been at the warehouse like I’d planned. Damn Jillian and her ridiculous causes.

  Inside, Shoeshine met me at the door. He was all spiffed up as though ready for a wedding or a funeral or possibly both. His stiff dark curls were held in place by gel.

  “Got any weapons, Charlie?” he boomed.

  “Just the usual. You got any toilet paper, Shoeshine?”

  He tried not to laugh. “Want your ears boxed, kid?”

  I punched him on the arm. “You and whose army?”

  He gave me a good shove. “Jack’s not dead yet. So don’t think you’re taking over for the boss.”

  I strolled into the noisy living room where Tony was serving sunrise cocktails to a packed house. “Having a party? Did somebody die?”

  “Not funny, Charlie. You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

  The usual assortment of guests were milling about: Jack’s West Van cronies, his thugs, his crooked cops, and maybe even a hooker or ten.

  “I didn’t invite them,” Tony complained. “They just started showing up. I tried to kick them out but they won’t go.”

  “They know?”

  “They know. The warehouse boys have big mouths. And poor Maya is getting dizzy from baking croissants.”

  Selic came right over, beer mug in hand. “It’s bullshit.”

  I nodded. “Richard should have known they’d go after Jack.”

  “It’s bullshit. Richard likely did know they’d go after Jack. Maybe he even planned it that way.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. He isn’t here, I see.”

  “No. I imagine Richard’s lying low. Covering his ass. And protecting that gorgeous face.”

  Julia came over and put her arm around my waist. She was dressed for the occasion in a black crepe dress that fluttered behind her like a butterfly. “Charlie. Darling! I’m so glad you’re back. I thought you were going to stay over last night in your old room. I looked for you this morning but you’d gone.”

  “I had some things to take care of. I didn’t sleep, actually.”

  She looked like a raccoon with dark circles around her eyes. “Me either. I just tossed and turned.”

  An awkward moment passed between Julia and Peter.

  “It’s bullshit,” Peter said.

  She nodded. “I’m glad you’re here, Peter. There’s a degree of comfort with you and Charlie in the house.”

  As she walked away he followed her with his eyes. Maybe he couldn’t live with her but he wasn’t living well without her either.

  Jillian was busy flaunting her electronic bracelet before Jack’s warehouse thugs. I’m now one of you she implied. I’m a criminal now. Right. She put most of them to shame, actually. Let me see. Jack’s thugs. There was Hughie the Hopeful who’d overdosed on Viagra, and Bob Along, Hughie’s little brother, thus named because when someone saw Hughie they’d invariably ask, “Is Bob along?” Bob worked from home, a bit of a stretch for a forklift operator. There was Skid the Mark, the most treacherous truck driver in the Lower Mainland, wearing his customary eye patch to make him look tough. While Billy the Bookie didn’t actually work in the warehouse he usually hung out there taking bets and scamming. He drove a Porsche 911. And the old chieftain, Sammy in the Tree, was looking pretty sad. Jack was family to him and vice versa.

  Tony grabbed my elbow. “Willy has arrived. I’m going to tell Julia, Jillian and Peter. That’s it. We don’t need more of a circus than we already have.”

  Willy was waiting for me in the library. He looked sharp in his Saturday cashmere pullover and highly polished shoes and he shook his shiny dark hair. Peter arrived, followed by Julia, Jillian and Maya. Tony came in and closed the door.

  “We’re set for eleven o’clock,” I said. “So we have eight minutes. Does anyone want to tell a joke?”

  No one laughed.

  “I know one,” Tony said. “I left Sammy to serve the drinks and he’s so shaky the only way folks will get any booze is if they lick it off the tray.”

  It was almost funny. I know I tried to smile.

  “Bugs Zee is on life support.” I told them. “I just came from the hospital and it doesn’t look good. We have to act fast.”

  Willy nodded. “The minute he goes, Jack and Jackie go. Make no mistake about that.”

  A man in a black cat suit and balaclava come into view on the screen. Web cams. Modern day kidnapping. It doesn’t get fancier than that. Willy had hooked the computer to a jumbo TV so everyone could see.

  “I can see you, Mr. Chan,” Black Cat said.

  “I can see you, too,” Tony replied.

  “He’s talking to me,” Willy said, before whispering to me. “I know that guy, Charlie. I know his voice.”

  Tony looked annoyed. “I still think he’s talking to me. Are you talking to me, Blackie?”

  Black Cat ignored him. “We have two captives here.”

  No kidding, I almost said. Who might they be?

  Willy turned to the onlookers. “Charlie will do the talking. If they stay long enough you can all say a word. Unless, of course, they speak Cantonese then I’ll step in.”

  Cantonese Tony cleared his throat.

  As Black Cat disappeared Jack came into view. “Is that you, Hams
ter?”

  II turned to the others. “I told you I was his favorite.”

  Nobody laughed.

  “Hey, Jack. How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better, son.” He looked a bit rough.

  “How’s Jackie? Is he ok?”

  “He’s ok.”

  “I’m ok, Amster!” Jackie hollered from somewhere.

  “We’re all here, Jack. Willy, Julia, Jillian, Maya and Tony. Peter too.”

  The brood crowded in around me and waved. And hollered. “We love you! We miss you!”

  Peter stayed back. “Great you guys. That should make him cry.”

  Tony started to sob. “We need you to come home, Jackie!”

  “Tony’s sleeping in your bed, Jack,” I said. “He thinks he’s the boss now and is pushing people around.”

  Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re cheering me up, Hamster. And I can use a little of that right now.”

  Tony clunked me on the head with his patent swizzle stick. “How are they treating you?”

  “Not good. There’s no caviar here. Not that I like caviar but it’s nice to have on hand. You know. To serve to company.”

  “Have they fed you?” I asked.

  “Not much. Some water and a dried-out sandwich that someone didn’t want. Jackie ate it.”

  “They cook like you do, Amster,” Jackie hollered in the background. He managed to stick his little hand in the web cam for a wave. He was trying.

  A larger black cat pushed Jack out of the way. “That’s it. There is no more. You can see that they’re alive.”

  Everyone hollered good-bye.

  After the call Willy said, “I know the smaller guy. The first guy. He’s Lugs Nut’s little brother. They call him Pea Nut.”

  Julia was in a huff. “You guys and your silly names! Those people have real names, you know. You should use them out of respect.”

  Well, someone finally told a joke. Willy and I cracked up.

  “You want us to respect your brother’s kidnappers?” I said.

  Willy grinned. “Those are their real names, Julia. They don’t go by anything else.”