Jack in a Box

by Pringle McCloy

Back at the bar on East Hastings Street something had changed. The bartender. An hourglass creature with long auburn hair had replaced Barbell/Dumbbell/Gregorian. She had teeth - gorgeous white teeth, and freckles splattered across her nose like paintbrush droppings. Her full luscious lips were painted red. She was tall, maybe five ten, and I rarely take my women under five nine.

  She casually approached me. “Hey handsome.”

  I could feel a big tip coming on. “They just improved this place one hundred percent.”

  She tossed back her long red hair and smiled. Not some goofy little girl smile, but the grin of a grown-up woman. “I’m twenty-eight. I’m recently single. And I have big tips. What can I get you?”

  “Your phone number. I’m thirty-six, single by choice, and the rest is for you to anticipate.”

  She grabbed a napkin and a pen. “I like California wine and seafood and to dance naked on the beach.”

  “In October?”

  “In October. In Maui.”

  “My kind of girl.” I ordered a double Crown Royal. Biker laughed all the way over to plop his carcass beside me. “I’ve been trying to pick her up all week.”

  I pulled the package from my jacket pocket and threw it on the bar. “I thought you could use a new image. Something clean.”

  He opened the bag. “Well, I’ll be damned! A new polka dot bandana. Just like the one on my head. Only cleaner.”

  “And without termites. You’ll miss those little guys.”

  “I don’t know.” He patted his ratty rag. “This is my good luck hat. If I throw it out things might change.”

  I thought about it. “You need to meet someone. You’re a good-looking guy. And you’re smart. I’d say the problem is that old rag on your head. With the new one you’ll at least have a fighting chance.”

  He laughed. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, Copper? When was Gucci Boy last laid? You’re kinda’ lean these days.” He took off his rag and flung it into a corner. “How do I look, Copper?” He adjusted his new headgear.

  “Splendid. Just fucking splendid.” I whipped out my butterfly knife. “I just need to cut off the tag.”

  Biker didn’t flinch. “Should I try it out on the barkeep?”

  “What? Hit on my girl? Get real!”

  Red came over to see what the fuss was about. Her angora sweater made me itch all over.

  Biker flashed her his best pick-up smile. “Hey, Gorgeous. Wanna fuck?”

  She nodded. “I do. But your friend here has already volunteered. Sorry.” She sauntered away.

  “Shit.” Biker slid off his stool, walked over to his old bandana, and exchanged it for the new one. He slapped me on the back on his way out. “The new one doesn’t work any better than the old one and at least I still have a job.”

  Robocop arrived shortly after eleven looking grim. I was sorry that I hadn’t brought him a gift too, like a new horrible brown coat.

  “Word has it that your dad has disappeared. Any truth to it?”

  I looked him straight in the crooked nose. “He’s away on business.”

  “Triad business, I hear.”

  I shrugged. “You know Jack. It could be monkey business.”

  He shifted in his big horse coat. “You’re taking this lightly, son.”

  Didn’t I tell you?

  “I saw him today.”

  Robo slapped down his double. “How’s that?”

  “Technology. We communicate now face to face. All over the world.”

  That got him thinking. “What did he say?”

  “The food is lousy. Jack rates every resort by its food. Why? What do you hear?”

  “I hear that the lad who got Mini Chin’s son would pay. That Mini couldn’t get to him so she got his dad. Grapevine says his dad’s a goner.”

  He was getting on my nerves. “To quote Reynolds Woo, grapevine doesn’t know its rectum from a hole in the roof.” I squinted at him. “If what you say has one iota of truth to it what do you recommend?”

  “Outsmart them. You can’t fight these guys with guns.”

  “What? My Gloc 9 against eight AR-47s and I can’t win? Phooey.”

  Robo’s face broke into a huge broad grin. “So there were eight of them were there?”

  Chapter Ten

  I MADE A LEFT OFF MARINE Drive, drove down the treed driveway that curled like a cobra above the ocean below, and passed by the scrutiny of four rifles. I waved my monogrammed handkerchief but the artillery turned away. I checked my watch and again amazed myself for arriving on time. It was almost ten a.m. and my appointment was for nine.

  Inside the great room, Shorty Poo, Fat Freddie Fong, and King Kong Chin were lined up at the French doors like miss-matched bowling pins. They didn’t say hello. Soon Richard sauntered down the stairs like an Asian Cary Grant, tossing me his generous half-smile. The guy was gorgeous I had to admit, even though I hated his guts. He was all decked out in a red, ribbed pullover, and tan trousers, and soft leather loafers made in Italy at night. By Italians. Kidding.

  “Charlie,” he said in his soft English accent. “Good of you to come.”

  “Jack says hello.”

  Red patches splashed across his cheeks. “Quite right.” He headed for a maroon leather recliner and motioned to the matching one. A warm autumn flame danced in the fireplace between us. “Cappuccino? Shorty makes an absolutely sick one.”

  I worried about that word sick. “I’ll chance it.”

  Richard said something to Shorty in Chinese and Shorty galloped up the stairs.

  “He’s learning English,” Richard bragged.

  “I’m impressed. But I’m not here to discuss Shorty. I’m here to talk about your dad. You remember Jack, don’t you Richard?”

  The handsome Asian drug lord leaned forward in his chair. “You don’t have to use sarcasm, Charlie. I respond rather well to civil conversation.”

  “Really. And how do you respond to the fact that your new dad is now in the hands of gunmen who have orders to kill him if Bug Zee bites it. Or maybe I should say when he bites it. And Jackie Chan, a kid of twenty, will be killed along with him. Not to be sarcastic, Richard, but maybe you might have thought about repercussions before you hired the gun.”

  “It was meant for Reynolds,” he said coldly. “It was simply a classic case of mistaken identity.”

  “Oh, now I feel better!”

  “Sarcasm!”

  “Damn fucking right.”

  Shorty came carefully down the stairs carrying a leather tray with two cappuccino cups and an assortment of toppings: cinnamon, nutmeg, cocoa and various sugars.

  I sprinkled cinnamon over the froth in my cup, removed it from the tray, and flashed Shorty my best plastic smile. “Thanks, Shorty. Thanks, you ugly little prick.”

  Shorty beamed and bowed appreciatively. Yup. He was learning English alright.

  Richard was not amused. “You think you’re so very funny, Charlie.”

  I did, actually. “Back to Jack. You got us into this mess so I assume you have a plan to get us out.”

  “I do, actually.”

  “Such as?”

  “Top secret. You’ll know soon enough.”

  “How soon?”

  “Days.”

  “And if they pull Bus Zee’s life support in the meantime?”

  Richard nearly knocked himself out laughing. “Mini pulling her baby’s plug? What planet have you been living on? He’ll be on that thing long after you and I are six feet under.”

  It bugged me that Richard looked so young and fresh since I felt about a hundred and ten. Was it because he’d spent a lifetime living on the edge, dangling from a fine silk thread? Likely. This was likely kids play to him.

  “I need to borrow Billy Chan,” I said.

  Richard wiped the cappuccino froth from his upper lip with a napkin. “Borrow him? Borrow him? You can have him! For keeps. Just keep an eye on your valuables. I don’t know what he does with all the stuff he steals but this place is virtually empt
y.”

  Kitsilano is a great place to live but not to drive in. Try parking off West 4th without a handicap sticker, which I conveniently kept in my glove box. Sill do. I walked up the steps to a vine-covered, two-story Tudor and rang the bell.

  April Angelotti was drop dead gorgeous. She was a tall, slender woman with round brown eyes and straight strawberry blond hair that went swishing down her back like a waterfall. I’d been after April since kindergarten but, like most girls, she’d preferred Peter Selic to me. So, she eventually married and divorced him and totally cleaned him out. Peter was just the first in her long line of patsies so maybe it was better that I hadn’t made the cut.

  She opened the door wearing legs. A lot of legs. The indigo dress above them barely covered her pubes.

  “Princess Adrianna. How lovely to see you!”

  “Knock it off, Charlie.” She stepped forward, placed her two hands in mine, and planted a phony kiss on both my cheeks.

  I followed happily behind her great derriere to a renovated kitchen of myriad windows and stainless steel. Something good came whiffing from the oven.

  She peeked in the window. “Panzerotti. It will be ready in just a few minutes. If you’ll kindly open the Chianti we shall have lunch.”

  Fragrant fresh flowers in a crystal pail sat in the center of an island carefully laid. I popped the cork and poured wine into two goblets while April presented the food.

  “What name are you going by these days, Princess?”

  She smiled. “April. I dropped Adrianna although I could pick it up at any time, if need be. I’m not officially divorced.”

  “You’re still a princess then! And such a beautiful one. The papers always ate you up when you came to town with, or without, Stefano. Your picture was plastered everywhere. Local girl marries royalty. You were front page.”

  She giggled. “It’s great fun being royalty. Wearing diamonds and furs.”

  “Did you keep them?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think yes. You did.”

  “You think correctly. I took that pitiful pedophile for everything I could. I was smart enough to regularly send money to my own bank account because in the end he decided to give me nothing. And try to fight a court battle with a prince in his own country.”

  “So why aren’t you divorced?”

  “I’ve had good advice. From a lawyer in town who handles my affairs. He thinks we can go after Stefano, make a big stink. Blackmail him, if need be. There were the boys, you see. He liked boys.”

  “I see. Not good. Better for Stefano that you stay married then.”

  “The marriage was a sham. He wasn’t interested in me. I was an arm-piece. A mere figurehead. It was the loneliest time of my life over there all alone. We had separate bedrooms and when I caught him with a boy in his, well. That was it.”

  “Your lawyer may be right. Not that I’m a fan of blackmail. But I could succumb to it.”

  She raised her glass to clink. “Yes, you could. If anyone could stoop to blackmail it would be you.”

  “Thanks, Princess.”

  “My lawyer has the hots for me. Or, the hots for Princess Adrianna, rather. The woman I created.”

  “Through marriage.”

  “Through marriage. But each time I arrived in Vancouver without Stefano this guy sent bushels of flowers to my hotel. With sweet notes and offers of dinner or a drink. He knew where I stayed, of course, because we couriered papers back and forth. He knew I stayed in the Pan Pacific when here.”

  “I know a lot of lawyers in this town. I could know this guy.”

  “You likely do. His name is Marco Midolo.”

  I watched her grand entrance on the evening news. I watched the big Phantom 1V pull up in front of the Pan Pacific Hotel and an old Asian chauffeur hop out to throw open the back door with gusto. The passenger stepped out to a media frenzy. No wonder. Princess Adrianna was drop-dead gorgeous draped in sable and with a fancy turban wrapped around her head. With one great swirl of her cape she hurried into the hotel.

  Billy and I watched from our spy suite in Chinatown as Willy, my co-conspirator, showed Reynolds the newspaper the following morning. They were sipping coffee in the breakfast nook when Willy shoved the paper under Reynolds nose.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Reynolds twisted his little head from side to side working out the kinks. “Maybe. Maybe for a round eye.”

  “She’s Princess Adrianna. Have you heard of her?”

  “She’s not a real princess. Mama Mia says she’s just a gold digger who slept her way to the throne. We saw her on the news last time she was here.”

  “But you don’t think she’s beautiful?”

  “She’s not Chinese,” Reynolds said flatly.

  Hmm. Given the porn sites Reynolds regularly visited he clearly preferred blonds – naked blonds, blonds in twosomes and threesomes, almost any kinky combination of blonds worked for him.

  “She’s separated it says here.” Willy held the paper under Reynolds’ nose. “Maybe I should give her a call.”

  Reynolds chortled. “Like she’d look at you!”

  Willy shook his shiny dark hair. “Why not? I’m a good-looking guy. Most women like me a lot so why wouldn’t she?”

  “Because you’re Chinese and not a king. You couldn’t buy your way into meeting her.”

  “I don’t have to buy my way into meeting her. I already know her. She went to West Van High with some of my friends.”

  I smiled. Willy was smart enough not to mention my name since I was on Reynolds’ hit list.

  But Reynolds’ eyes bugged out. “You know Princess Adrianna?”

  “I do. And maybe I’ll give her a call since you’re not interested. You’re probably scared to meet her.”

  The big little drug lord straightened in his chair. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. But Bugs Zee is on life support and Mama Mia is expecting me to stay put. I’m not to leave this suite. Not for any reason.”

  “She won’t even let you go to the hospital.”

  “You know she won’t. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her. She hates me.”

  Willy smiled that infectious Willy smile. “Don’t you think you deserve a little fun, Reynolds? After all you’ve been through? Mama Mia never has to know. I’ll bribe the guards. They don’t like her anyway and they like money.”

  Reynolds look shocked. “They don’t like Mama Mia?”

  I thought he was going to cry.

  Willy backtracked fast. “Well, they like her. Just not a lot. It would help if she bought them Christmas presents.”

  Even Billy convulsed over that one.

  But Reynolds scrunched up his face. “I’ll put that in a memo.”

  Willy pressed on. “So, what do you say, Reyn? Are you up for a date with the princess or should I ask her out? I know I’m ready for some action.”

  “Action?”

  “Action. I’m ready to charm the panties off her.”

  “I could charm the panties off her,” Reynolds said without enthusiasm.

  “Should we place some money on it?”

  Reynolds finally laughed. “We could but I’m a guy. I’d lie about scoring anyway so what’s the point?”

  Bingo. Reynolds was on the hook.

  On my way over to Overcoat’s office I got a call from April on my cell.

  “I just received two dozen red roses. About as tall as I am. And you’ll never guess who they’re from.”

  “Not Reynolds!”

  “No. They’re from Marco Midolo.”

  “No kidding. Not to be trite but I’m on my way to his office as we speak.”

  “He wants to have dinner tonight.”

  “Stall him. We’re booking Reynolds for tonight. And maybe tomorrow you’ll be gone.”

  “Booking? I’m not a hooker.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  She paused for a minute. “Maybe I want to have dinner with Marco. He’s
an attractive guy and I’m lonely. Why can’t I have dinner with Marco?”

  “You can have dinner with anyone you want to, Princess. I owe you big time for this favor.” I could hardly wait for April to clean Overcoat Marco out.

  Marco was sitting back in his high chair with his Bruno Magli loafers staring at me from atop his mahogany desk. Jerk.

  “You have to rein her in, Charlie. She won’t listen to me. You know Jillian. It’s her way or the highway. She won’t give an inch. I was over at Jack’s place this morning and she asked me to leave.”

  “What did you expect? Sex?”

  He raised a thick eyebrow at me. “She’s going to go into that courtroom and shoot her mouth off. She’ll scare people and they’ll want to lock her up.”

  “If they’d locked her up a long time ago we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Marco shook his head. “Thanks, Charlie. You’re a great help.”

  “Anytime. And I’ll send you my bill since you could have called my cell to tell me this.”

  Jillian was in the living room stretched out on a sofa, still in her fluffy pink bathrobe at two p.m. A copy of the New Yorker rested on her torso.

  “Not getting dressed these days?”

  “That’s what so great about house arrest! You don’t have to get dressed. Ever.”

  “You have a studio downstairs. Why aren’t you painting?”

  “Right. Like I’m inspired to paint. My dad has been kidnapped. I’m going to jail. Like, maybe I should paint a roaring fire and little red guys running around with pitch forks.”

  I sat down on an animal print chair. “How about portraits? How about painting a portrait of Marco Midolo?”

  She eyed me accusingly. “Marco tattled, didn’t he?”

  “You tell me. What would he have to tattle about?”

  “Did he tell you that I threw him out?”

  “That would be tattling.”

  “You’re such a jerk, Hampton!”

  “Thank you.”

  She stood up and stretched like a warm cat. “He wants me to compromise and maybe we can cut a deal.

  “Compromise? Nice. Why don’t you do that Jillian?” Funny that Marco now wanted to compromise. Might it be because the guy that got hit with a rock during the protest was alive, kicking, and soon to be released from hospital? Not such a big case anymore, is it show-off?