Sins of the Fathers

by A. J. McCarthy

  ‘It was probably a noise from outside, a horn or something.’

  Her shoulders slumped. He was right. She was going crazy, imagining things that didn’t exist.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go,’ she said.

  As they walked by the closet near the door, she thought she heard a snort. Doubting herself, she looked up at Simm. His eyes were wide, and she knew he had heard it also. She flung open the closet door and saw her coats hanging as they should. Her shoes and boots were neatly arranged on the floor. Nothing had changed. She heard a soft snuffle. She thrust her hands among the coats, frantically pushing them aside. A large canvas bag that didn’t belong to her hung from a hook on the bar behind her long, winter coats. Charlie gingerly placed her hand on the bag. It contained something solid. She lifted the bag off the hook and peered into it, holding her breath. Inside, was a fawn-colored dog curled in a ball, his breathing weak and uneven, his eyes closed.

  ‘Harley?’ she whispered.

  She rushed to the couch and gently set down the bag. With Simm’s help, she lifted out the dog. He whimpered faintly.

  ‘Oh, Harley, my poor baby.’

  She could barely see him as her eyes brimmed with tears, of joy or sorrow, she couldn’t be sure.

  She lowered herself to the couch and set her pet tenderly on her knee. He whimpered softly, but his eyes remained closed and his body was limp.

  ‘Oh God, Simm, what did he do to him?’

  Simm knelt beside her and ran his hands over the dog.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to have any wounds or broken bones. We’ll get him to a vet.’

  ‘There’s a twenty-four-hour place over on Metcalfe.’

  Charlie sat in the back seat of Simm’s car with Harley lying on her lap. She bent over him, whispering words of encouragement during the short drive to the clinic.

  Simm opened doors for her as she carried the dog into the brightly-lit building. Without delay, she was met by a young, white-coated man, who took charge of Harley while he asked Charlie all the pertinent questions. She filled him in as much as she could.

  Charlie paced the floor as Harley was taken to the other section of the clinic to be seen by the vet. After a tense half hour another white-coated person, a woman this time, came to see her.

  ‘Ms. Butler, my name is Dr. Boisclair. I’ve examined Harley, and he hasn’t been beaten or abused. Someone seems to have given him a strong sedative, which is gradually starting to wear off, but since I’m not sure what he was given, I’d like to keep him here overnight for observation.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m reasonably sure. I just don’t want to take a chance.’

  Charlie looked at Simm uncertainly.

  ‘I hate to leave him here.’

  ‘There isn’t much you can do before the drug wears off,’ Simm said. ‘They’ll take good care of him, and we’ll come back in the morning to get him.’

  Charlie reluctantly and quietly agreed, but when they were in the car, she vented indignantly.

  ‘That bastard! How dare he drug my dog.’

  ‘At least Harley’s still alive and relatively unharmed,’ Simm said.

  ‘I know. But he shouldn’t have done anything to him. He should never have taken him in the first place.’

  ‘We have to call the cops and go back to your apartment. He may have left something behind, either intentionally or not.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I was so concerned about Harley I didn’t pay much attention to anything else.’

  Simm grunted his agreement as he placed a call to Detective Ranfort.

  ‘Don’t touch anything until the cops get here,’ Simm said, as they stepped into the building and climbed the stairs. ‘It’s not likely he left fingerprints, but we can’t take a chance.’

  Charlie let Simm explain the sequence of events to Detective Ranfort. A few minutes later, her heart picked up a beat when the bag was examined, and an envelope was found taped to the bottom. All eyes turned her way. She gestured to the police detective.

  ‘Why don’t you open it this time?’

  With his gloved hands, he slid open the envelope and removed the letter. He read it to himself, then read it aloud.

  Dear Charlene,

  How did it feel to lose something you love? Did it hurt a lot? I hope it did. You’re very lucky I have a kind heart and I love all living beings. I didn’t hurt him. Not this time. I’m giving him back to you. Not everyone is lucky enough to deal with someone like me. Not everyone is lucky enough to get back the people they love. Did you know that? Some people have no respect for others.

  This time you’re lucky.

  ‘He’s crazy. I don’t know what he’s talking about. And why me? What have I ever done?’

  ‘For some reason, he’s targeted you,’ the detective said. ‘It’s important to find out what the reason is. And I’d say sooner rather than later. These letters are starting to sound a lot more threatening.’

  The cop gave Simm a significant look as he spoke to Charlie. Simm nodded his agreement.

  Chapter 36:

  Charlie stepped into Simm’s bedroom. He lay on his back, the covers pulled halfway up his bare chest. One arm was flung over his head and the other stretched out by his side. He took up a good chunk of the king-size bed. He was also fast asleep. Her intention had been to wake him so they could go to the vet’s, but she felt a flash of pity for him. She had been keeping him up late every night, and last night was no exception. He didn’t get more than five hours of sleep.

  She tiptoed out of the room without waking him, deciding to take a taxi to the clinic.

  The receptionist at the vet’s office beamed at her when she gave her name and said she was coming to get Harley.

  ‘Of course. He’ll be happy to see you. What a cutie he is!’

  ‘Is he better?’

  ‘Much. I heard the story when I came in this morning. What a horrible thing to happen to a little dog. Come this way.’

  Charlie was led to an examination room and asked to wait. Within a few minutes, the girl returned carrying Harley. When the pug recognized his mistress, he started to whimper and wiggle.

  Charlie gathered him in her arms and was immediately slathered with kisses. He whimpered for several more minutes as Charlie cooed and comforted him. She looked up when the vet arrived with an update.

  ‘He seems to have recovered from the sedative, but expect him to be a bit groggier than usual, and his appetite may be off for a couple of days. Make sure he has lots of water, and bring him back if he doesn’t bounce back soon.’

  Charlie thanked her, paid the bill, and hailed a taxi to take them back to Simm’s apartment. On the way, she called Frank to let him know Harley had been found and was doing all right. The dog sat on her lap and rested his head against her body. When she got out of the cab and tried to set him on the ground, he cried and pressed himself to her legs. She had to sneak him into the building in a large tote bag and hoped he would stay quiet during the journey. She didn’t have to worry. He dozed off in the elevator on the way up.

  There was no sign of Simm in the living area when they entered, so she went to his bedroom door and peeked in the room. He was still sleeping, this time curled up on his side. She went to the bed and gently set Harley next to him. The dog stretched out against Simm’s back.

  ‘Helen?’ Simm mumbled.

  Charlie’s eyebrows lifted. She leaned over and shook his shoulder.

  ‘Who’s Helen?’

  ‘What? What’s happening?’ Simm was instantly on alert, jumping out of bed and grabbing his jea
ns.

  ‘Who’s Helen?’ Charlie asked again.

  Simm focused on Charlie, and glared at an equally confused Harley, until it dawned on him what she was asking him. He held his jeans in front of him.

  ‘What’s Harley doing here?’

  ‘I went to get him. Who’s Helen?’

  ‘You went to get him by yourself? You’re not supposed to do that.’

  ‘Stop changing the subject. Who the hell is Helen?’

  ‘God, I’m tired.’

  He dropped his jeans and crawled back into bed.

  ‘Simm, don’t go to sleep,’ Charlie said, shaking his shoulder.

  ‘She’s an old friend, that’s all. Look, I just woke up. I’m tired, and it’s not a time for conversation.’

  ‘An old girlfriend?’

  Simm rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Yes, an old girlfriend,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Do you still love her?’

  ‘No, it was a long time ago. Can we drop it please?’

  ‘Why were you calling her name in your sleep?’

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care,’ Simm said, scowling.

  ‘Is she the reason your brother came to see you? Does she want to get back together with you?’

  ‘No, on both counts.’

  ‘Did you discuss her with your brother?’

  ‘Not at all. Not one word was said about her.’

  ‘But his visit triggered something.’

  ‘I guess. Don’t worry about it, Charlie. I’m sure some other night I’ll call out another girl’s name for no reason. It’s just a thing I do.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Yep, that’s me,’ he said, as he dragged the covers over his head.

  Charlie, exceptionally, let him off the hook. She was so happy to have her pet back she was willing to be generous, but she filed the subject of Helen away, to be dealt with another day.

  Charlie paced the floor, waiting for Simm to shower and get ready to drive her and Harley to the pub. When she arrived, she spent time in the office with Harley at her feet, but when she went to go out to the main room to tend customers, he tried to slip out the door with her. She urged him back into the room, but his whimpers broke her heart. Unable to help herself, she acquiesced and moved his bed to the area behind the bar. It was a Monday, she reasoned, so it would be quiet, and she could stay within his sight. In a few days, he would get over his separation anxiety. She couldn’t help but repeatedly curse the person who had brought on all this misery for him.

  Chapter 37:

  The call came at a very unfortunate time. Simm and Charlie sat outside Butler’s Pub at a bistro table, Simm having a beer and Charlie a glass of wine. It was rare for either of them to drink at two o’clock on a weekday afternoon, but it was summer and the weather was nice. They both had a rough weekend behind them, and the timing seemed to call for a drink. They discussed nothing in particular, but were interrupted when Simm felt his phone vibrating in his pants pocket.

  It may have been the beer, the warmth, or the sun reflecting off Charlie’s hair, but Simm didn’t check his call display before answering.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Simm?’

  He recognized the voice, avoided Charlie’s eyes, and tried to sound casual. He could have stood up and walked away from her, but he knew such a move would merely peak her curiosity and make her follow him. He decided to go for vague.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I set it up. Tomorrow, ten o’clock, Terrasse Beauchemin, The Old Port. Go to the main bar and ask for Marty. Someone will tell you where to find him.’

  ‘Okay.’

  A hundred questions ran through Simm’s mind, but he knew he would sound ridiculous asking any of them. Most of all, he wanted to know if he would survive the visit or not. Or would he be found at the bottom of the Saint Lawrence River wearing cement shoes? He didn’t dare look at Charlie, certain his face would give him away.

  ‘You gonna be there?’ the man said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No funny stuff.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  The line went dead. Simm had no intention of doing any funny stuff, which he took to mean no cops, no wires, no weapons. He would play this clean and hope for the best.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘You’re not very chatty with your friends.’

  ‘What can I say? I’m not a chatty kind of guy.’

  ‘Simm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you forgotten our agreement already?’

  ‘That call had nothing to do with our agreement.’

  ‘You’re a terrible liar. Tell me.’

  ‘Charlie, you don’t have to know everything.’

  ‘You promised.’

  He had, damn it.

  ‘I have a meeting tomorrow with Marty Sullivan.’

  ‘Great. What time do we go?’

  ‘You don’t go. I go.’

  ‘I want to be there.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Not at all. What time?’

  ‘Charlie…’

  ‘What time, Simm?’

  ‘I’m going to be there at ten o’clock. Alone.’

  ‘I’ll be ready at nine thirty.’

  ‘Charlie…’

  The following morning, at nine forty-five, Simm waited in his car outside his apartment. Charlie had shouted from the bedroom that she was almost ready and she’d be out in a minute. He thought he must be crazy, brain-dead, or a little of both. Why the hell could he never say no to her?

  His eyes widened as he saw her saunter out of the apartment building wearing a sleeveless summer dress in a floral pattern. The dress ended well above her knees, and her feet were clad in a pair of strappy, pink sandals. Simm had never seen Charlie in anything but jeans, and the sight was breathtaking. He couldn’t speak. Suddenly, he realized the effect this same sight may have on Marty Sullivan and his cohorts.

  Simm was out of the car and blocking her passage long before she made it to the sidewalk.

  ‘You ready?’ she asked.

  ‘No. You have to go change.’

  ‘Why?’

  What could he say? You’re too beautiful to be seen by a pack of criminals? I won’t be able to concentrate on what we’re supposed to be doing?

  ‘You shouldn’t dress up. You should be wearing jeans or something very plain.’

  ‘I disagree. I think this is the perfect outfit.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? That’s what you think? How many times have you met a mafia boss? Is there some etiquette we’re supposed to follow?’

  ‘I just know, okay. It’s women’s intuition.’

  ‘Cop’s intuition tells me it’s a mistake.’

  ‘Women’s intuition overrules cop’s intuition any day.’

  Simm’s lips were pressed together for the ten-minute duration of the drive to the Old Port. Surely the day would come when he would win an argument with her.

  They had no trouble finding a parking spot at the Old Port. It was, after all, a Wednesday in early June. The crowds would start in earnest in a couple of weeks, and continue until October.

  The day was warm enough that Simm was glad he was dressed in light clothing. He purposely didn’t wear a jacket so it would be obvious he wasn’t carrying a weapon.

  Under normal circumstances, Simm would like
to spend time with Charlie strolling along the section of the city near the waterfront. It was an area filled with boutiques, food trucks, restaurants, and bars. And of course, most restaurants and bars had a patio area, so customers could enjoy the view and the weather. Yachts of all shapes and sizes were docked at the marina, and the Clock Tower, a Montreal institution since 1921, watched over it all.

  The restaurant was inside a building named Terrasse Beauchemin, which housed a few businesses aimed for the tourist crowd. Once inside, it took a couple of minutes for their eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness after the brilliance of the sunshine. As soon as they could focus, they made their way to the bar.

  ‘Do you know where we can find Marty Sullivan?’ Simm asked the bartender.

  The man looked them both over, but didn’t ask if they had an appointment. Simm was sure Billy Connor had informed everyone about their imminent arrival.

  ‘Go to the upper level, to the last room on the right. Somebody’ll be waiting for you there.’

  ‘Sullivan seems to have his own private room here,’ Simm said, as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘I guess he’s an important man,’ Charlie responded.

  As they approached the door, two men dressed entirely in black stepped out of the shadows. Simm laid a restraining hand on Charlie’s arm, letting her know they couldn’t go any farther without approval.

  ‘Hold up your arms,’ the man on the right said.

  Neither of them argued. One of the men ran a wand over them. It looked like those used by airport security. The other man stared at Charlie the entire time. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t appear to mind. But Simm minded. He didn’t like the look, and it didn’t make him feel any better about agreeing to bring Charlie along.

  Apparently satisfied they were unarmed and unwired, the staring man moved to the door and opened it wide. As they walked across the threshold, Simm noticed the thug stared again, and he resisted the urge to tell him to stop. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to rock the boat at this point.