Chapter 16:
Charlie was spooked. There were two films playing in the cinema of her brain. One starred the bag filled with bloody organs, and the other featured the pictures on her apartment door, dripping with red liquid.
Trying to take her mind off them, she threw herself into her work with even more enthusiasm than usual, but the images were impossible to escape. The fact that Frank and Simm argued over who would stay stuck to her side did nothing to put her mind at ease or improve her mood; it made things worse.
There was no denying she was disturbed by the events. To think someone had removed an animal’s organs to send a weird and incomprehensible message to her was difficult to accept. And to think the same sick person had defaced her apartment door upped the ante from difficult to frightening.
She made it through the day, but not without a string of comments and questions from her regular customers as to why she was so quiet and pale. It drove her to go sit in the office and pretend she was doing paperwork or social networking, just to get away from everyone for a while.
Even Harley sensed something was wrong. Charlie felt him staring at her, and the more she tried to ignore him the more he whined, until she finally gave in and showed him some attention. He then insisted on sitting on her lap instead of on the floor at her feet, as if he could defend her from the evil that stalked her.
Charlie detested the idea of returning to her apartment, but she didn’t have any choice, unless she stayed at a hotel. Simm had been nice enough to offer her a place to stay the previous night, but she knew it wasn’t a long-term arrangement.
She didn’t have any family left, and she didn’t have a lot of friends, at least no one she felt comfortable enough to call and ask to take her in. She knew her shortage of close friends was a direct result of having her own business and spending seven days a week, including evenings, nurturing that business. After this was over, she would make it a point to get a life, like a regular person. The problem was she loved her life the way it was. She liked owning and working in a bar. She liked her customers with their familiar faces. She liked Frank and her other employees, and she liked the fact that she could walk around the neighborhood with Harley and be greeted by all the shop owners. She had always felt safe, up until now.
But all of those positive points meant she didn’t have anyone she could call to help her out in a pinch. Sure, she could ask Frank to let her stay at his place –he had already offered- but she knew he and Paul had a small apartment, and she didn’t want to be in the way.
No, she would have to suck it up and stay alone. After all, the guy probably knew she had called the cops. It might have the desired effect of making him back off.
Charlie’s thoughts strayed to her tormentor. Simm’s suggestion that it was Jim’s past coming back to haunt her still burned. She had a hard time accepting that theory, but the cops would leap on it with both feet if they found out about Jim, and that led her to wonder why Simm hadn’t told them. Most likely, he wanted to keep the case for himself and didn’t feel like sharing it with the authorities. Truth be told, Charlie had more confidence in Simm than she had in the cops, although it would be a very cold day in July before she would tell him so.
The door opened and the subject of her thoughts stepped into the room. Her cheeks grew warm, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice.
‘You ready to go?’ he said.
‘Go where?’
‘Home. Where else?’
Charlie glanced at her watch.
‘It’s eleven o’clock. The pub isn’t closed yet.’
‘And you’re not out there either. I don’t think you’re getting much done in here, so you should go home and get some rest.’
Charlie didn’t intend to go back to her apartment until it was absolutely necessary. She shuffled papers around her desk and tapped a few computer keys.
‘I have tons of work to do here, so I’ll stay a bit longer. There’s no need for you to hang around. You can get going.’
‘I don’t think you understand, Charlie. I’m not taking you to your place to stay. We can pass by and pick up some things if you want, but you’re going to stay at my place. I won’t leave you alone. Not until we find this guy.’
Charlie fought to keep the look of relief off her face, but felt she had to make a minimal objection for the sake of form.
‘There’s no need for you to sleep on the sofa,’ she offered.
‘All right. But, just to let you know, I like to sleep on the left side of the bed.’
‘What? That’s not what I meant!’
Simm grinned.
‘I’m just yanking your chain.’
Charlie grumbled a few words of protest and tried to look unhappy. She tidied up her papers and filed them away. Harley, probably noticing the change in atmosphere, stood up, stretched, and yawned before padding over to Simm to receive a comforting scratch behind his ears.
When she was ready to leave, Charlie went out to the bar and approached Frank.
‘I’m going to take off now.’
The bartender looked at her in surprise before glancing at Simm. Silent communication seemed to pass between the two men.
‘You don’t have to worry about anything here. It’s under control,’ Frank said, no longer questioning her decision to leave.
‘Thanks. I’ll be in early tomorrow.’
‘No need. I’ll be here.’
Charlie gave him a quick hug of thanks before tugging on Harley’s leash.
‘Thank God for Frank,’ Charlie said, as she slid into Simm’s car and lifted Harley onto her knee. The little dog took his position as point man, his paws on the dash. ‘I can really depend on him.’
‘Uh huh.’
She scrutinized Simm as he maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and onto the street.
‘You don’t trust him, do you?’
‘I don’t trust anyone until I’m sure.’
‘You can be sure about Frank.’
‘Uh huh.’
Charlie snorted and shook her head. There was no winning with this guy.
A few minutes later, when she faced the door of her apartment, a shiver tickled her spine. The posters had been removed, supposedly taken to the police station for further testing, but whatever liquid had been used to simulate blood had stained the wood of the door.
Simm must have noticed the direction of her gaze.
‘I’ll scrub it clean,’ he said.
Charlie shrugged and stepped over the threshold.
Once inside the apartment she stood in the entranceway and considered the space she had called home for six years. The apartment had lost its appeal. It had been invaded by a stranger, and she no longer wanted to live there. She doubted she would ever get over the feeling of intrusion.
Charlie glanced over to see Simm staring at her. She smiled weakly and headed to her room, hoping to avoid conversation. She packed a bag with a larger collection of clothing, so she wouldn’t have to come back anytime soon. She made a mental note to talk to her landlord about breaking the lease.
As soon as possible, they were in Simm’s car and on their way to his apartment. As he helped carry her bag into the building while she took care of Harley, Charlie had the sense he was preoccupied with something other than the fact that he would have a roommate for an indefinite period.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, as she started to make up the couch. Simm yanked off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair, a habit she had learned meant he would bring up an uncomfortable subject.
‘How much do you know about the West End Gang?’
Cha
rlie stiffened.
‘Are you implying I’m connected to them somehow?’
‘Of course not,’ Simm said, spreading his hands. ‘I’m investigating. It’s my job. Investigating involves asking questions and, whether you like it or not, a lot of my questions will be directed to you. It’s the nature of the beast.’
Charlie sighed. She knew she would have to stop being so suspicious of Simm’s motivations. He had done everything he could to help her today, and she had to think of him as being on her side. She sat heavily on the couch, gathering in her lap the sheet she had been unfolding.
‘I know the bare essentials. It’s a criminal organization led predominantly by people of Irish descent, thus the a.k.a. of ‘The Irish Mafia’. And they’re principally involved in the distribution of illegal drugs. Apart from that, I don’t know an awful lot.’
‘Did Jim O’Reilly ever discuss them?’
‘No, never. He tried to distance himself fully from them. The only way I knew of his connection was through my father. He told me about Jim’s history.’
‘Which was?’
‘Jim’s father had a bar in Pointe-Claire. Jim was brought up in the business, and when his dad retired, he continued in his footsteps. At some point, for a reason I don’t understand, Jim became involved with the Gang, laundering money for them. Unfortunately, he was arrested and spent three years in jail. Meanwhile, his wife and baby son were on their own. The bar was taken over by the gang, and when Jim got out he had nothing. He gave up all connection with the Irish mafia, bought another pub, which is now mine, and started over. He learned his lesson and never wanted to be separated from his family again.’
‘You believe all that to be true.’
‘Absolutely. I know it, and my father knew it.’
‘Okay, fair enough. But you must admit it’s a hell of a coincidence for you to have a connection to a man who had a connection to a mob, and now you’re being harassed and threatened by someone.’
‘Yes, I admit it’s a coincidence, but I honestly can’t understand why, almost thirty years later, someone would want to get back at Jim by hurting me. He’s dead. He can’t be hurt.’
‘I know that, and you know that, but stranger things have happened.’
Charlie agreed. She had been thinking a lot about Simm’s theory, and no matter how much she denied it, it had her worried. She didn’t want to be a target of a criminal organization. It had always been a fear of hers and part of the reason she never wanted to discuss Jim’s connection to the mob. She had loved him dearly, but his past had scared her.
‘How did he and your father become friends?’
She blinked at him.
‘I don’t know. I never asked. Jim was consistently a part of my life. I don’t remember him never being there.’
‘How did your mother feel about him? Was she friendly with Jim’s wife?’
Her expression was thoughtful as she remembered all the times her family had been together with the O’Reilly family.
She could picture her mother, an otherwise talkative woman, becoming quiet as the conversation flowed around her whenever the other couple was present. Charlie had no recollection of the two women spending time with each other when the men weren’t there. It surprised her that she had never thought about her mother’s uncommon reaction before.
‘No, they weren’t best friends. I guess they put up with each other because their husbands were friends. They were polite to each other, but no more than that. And when Jim died, Mom never had anything further to do with her.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
She shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I guess they didn’t have much in common. I remember Sylvie as being a nice enough lady, but she acted a bit high-class, while my mother was more down-to-earth. Sylvie seemed to love Jim and supported him. I guess the two women just didn’t click.’
‘Do you think the fact that Jim was a convicted criminal had something to do with your mother’s animosity?’
‘Perhaps. I know she wasn’t thrilled about me working for him. Maybe she thought I would be badly influenced by him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to work at the bar and nothing would stop me.’
‘It’s too bad she’s not around now. There may have been something she could’ve shared with us. What about Mrs. O’Reilly? Is she still alive?’
‘She’s in a senior’s home on the West Island.’
‘Was she ever involved in the business?’
‘No, never. She was the opposite of Jim. She was quiet and reserved. She didn’t drink, and she didn’t like to party. I don’t know how the two of them got along, but they were devoted to each other.’
‘You keep talking about her in the past tense.’
‘I shouldn’t do that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘She’s alive, but she had a severe stroke many years back, shortly after Jim died, and she’s almost in a vegetative state.’
‘Were you close to her?’
‘Not nearly as close as I was to Jim, but she was his wife, and I saw a lot of her as I grew up. I would’ve liked to stay in touch with her, but it wasn’t meant to be. Terry said she can’t have visitors.’
She felt a wave of sadness, not just for what she was going through now, but for all that was lost from her past. She had no family left, and the other family that had been so much a part of her life was essentially gone.
Chapter 17:
‘So, you used to be a cop,’ Charlie said.
‘How’d you know?’
‘Lucky guess. Isn’t that how most private investigators start?’
‘Probably.’
‘Why’d you give it up?’
Simm didn’t roll his eyes, but he was tempted. He knew he was in for a game of forty questions. He had just taken his spot at the kitchen table with his morning coffee and his tablet, hoping to catch up on the scores of the hockey games from the previous night, when he saw Charlie set her cup on the opposite end of the table. As she pulled out the chair and settled in, he sensed his peaceful period of sports reviews wouldn’t happen.
‘It wasn’t for me anymore,’ he responded.
‘Why not?’
His hope that his generic answer would satisfy her died a painful death.
‘I’d seen enough. Enough death and gore. I needed a change.’
‘You mean constantly having to deal with dead bodies and grief-stricken families became too difficult for you both psychologically and emotionally?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You see that a lot in the movies.’
Simm looked at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling her sarcasm and wondering where this was leading.
‘I didn’t think it actually happened that much in real life,’ Charlie persisted. ‘After all, this is Montreal, not downtown Detroit or New York City. It can’t be that bad.’
‘Have you ever been a cop?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then don’t give generalized opinions about something you know nothing about,’ he said brusquely.
‘So, during an average week, how many dead bodies would you see?’
Simm set his mug down with an exasperated clunk.
‘Are you serious? You want details?’
She looked pensive for a moment, and said with a shrug, ‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you give up? I could be suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. You could set me off.’
She had the nerve to laugh.
‘No, you don’t look like you’re suffering from anything more serious
than a severe case of avoidance.’
‘And you’re some sort of expert on PTSD, I suppose, besides being an expert on cops?’
‘No, but I know people. I see all kinds of people in my profession, and, let’s face it, bartenders have to be pseudo-psychologists on a regular basis. You don’t have PTSD, and you’re lying about why you left the police force.’
Simm was stymied. How could he respond to such a blanket statement?
‘You’re really something, you know that? You’ll have to send me your bill, Dr. Butler.’
Charlie chuckled.
‘I’m glad I could provide some amusement for you,’ Simm added. ‘I have something else that may make you happy.’
Charlie straightened expectantly.
‘What is it?’
‘I should reconsider. I could find any number of people to go with me, people who won’t pick apart my character and laugh at me.’
‘Tell me what it is. I love surprises,’ Charlie said, sitting on the edge of her seat.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets. He flashed them in front of her face, yanking them out of her reach when she tried to grab them.
‘Are those what I think they are?’ she said, almost bouncing with excitement.
‘Yes, they are.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me. The first game! How did you get those?’
‘I have connections.’
‘Connections? What did you have to do to get them?’
‘I had to call in a favor or two.’
‘And?’
‘Sign over my firstborn child.’
‘And?’
‘My left kidney.’
‘God, I’m not surprised. But you’re offering me the other ticket? What about one of your guy friends.’
Sins of the Fathers Page 6
