The panic subsided enough for William to think. December 21 was the day Dennis was to have separated the consignment. William recalled walking into reception the morning after falling from his bike and seeing Dennis skip down the stairs, and then finding Cathy flushed in the office. Dennis knew his way around upstairs. It was also possible that Cathy had come in to see him. Either could have photocopied the manifest. William pulled out his phone.
“Hi, Cathy … yes, I’m fine. Recovering well. Have you had a good Christmas? … Good … yes, I did too, thanks for asking. Sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you something … no, no, the cameras are working fine. It has to do with something else. Do you remember when I asked Dennis to come in and do some work before Christmas to get a dispatch of some SynchronoX units ready? … That’s right, the twenty-first. Did you come in that day?” The noise from Cathy’s end was unclear. It first sounded like a muffled whimper and then there was movement. She came back on the line. “What are you saying sorry for? … Why are you crying? … Cathy … Cathy, stop for a second, just stop. Take a breath. Tell me about that day, what happened … I’m not going to fire you … tell me what happened.” His head was pounding and he closed his eyes to concentrate. “You’ve been seeing Dennis … I suspected it. I’m glad you told me … no, I don’t have to tell anyone else. When you came in that day, did you use the photocopier at all?” There was a pause. “Are you sure? … Okay. What about Dennis? He left after you … you can’t really say if he did or not, but he could have … thanks for speaking to me. Don’t worry about the other thing. Enjoy the holiday. We’ll talk again in the new year. Thanks … okay. Bye.”
He believed her. It left Dennis as the most likely explanation, but why would he photocopy the manifest? The adrenalin from the panic was wearing off and he could not trust himself to think. The call to Dennis would have to wait. He closed the photocopier, turned on the security cameras, picked up the bag of paper shreds and headed downstairs to lock up. The tin noise of a cowbell rattled from his iPhone.
“Hi … I’m just on my way home now. No, I’m fine. Getting tired but I’m fine … I’ll be all right to drive … yes, I’m sure … milk? Just milk? … 2 percent, organic … okay, I won’t be long … bye.”
Walking to the car took more effort than usual. William felt the fatigue in his back and hips causing him to walk like an old man. His nerves were jangled and he started at the noise of passing cars and sudden appearance of people walking past him. Inside the Tesla it was quiet, save the hissing in his ears. The drive to the supermarket and then home would be a challenge. He started the car and rolled into the street, trying to decide which supermarket to go to, and to remember where he had seen a dumpster.
Wet snow fell outside the Save-On-Foods on Marine Drive and caused him to hurry back to the Tesla. The four kilometres to his house in West Vancouver seemed a long way. He would have to conceal his current state from Julie when he arrived, but first he had to get rid of the evidence in his car and in his pocket. He felt exhausted, closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest.
* * *
“Will it get me?” he said to Owl.
“What?”
“Will the fire get me?”
“It’s coming,” said Owl.
William and Owl looked behind. The forest glowed with red-yellow flame roaring and crackling through the valley as fast as they flew. Dark smoke billowed above them.
“Go faster!” said William.
“I’ll go faster if you let go!” said Owl.
“I have to hang on, or the fire will get me.”
“It might get us both if you don’t let go.”
It was true, thought William. It would be a kindness to the owl if he let go of the hat. “Why don’t you let it go?” he asked Owl.
“The fire will take you.”
“But you’ll die if you don’t let go of me.”
“Maybe,” said Owl. “It’s a choice both of us make.”
William could taste the smoke in the air and feel the heat chasing them.
* * *
The knock on the Tesla window brought William to attention. Outside, the snow had turned to rain and a man in uniform peered in. Drops of rain formed on his glasses and dripped from his nose.
“Sir! Can you open the window, please?”
William turned on the ignition and slid the window down. “What is it?”
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Why?”
“Someone reported you being unconscious in the car. We thought you might have been injured or sick.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ve had some surgery”—William gestured to his face—“and felt a little tired, so I closed my eyes. That’s all.”
“That would explain the bruises.” The man in uniform smiled. “You do look a little beaten up.”
“Thanks!” The milk and the paper shreds were on the passenger seat. William was relieved to see it was a security guard, not a policeman.
“You okay to get home?”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“Well, sorry to disturb you. Have a good day.”
“Thanks for your concern.” William waved him off and started the engine. He needed to get to that dumpster and be rid of the evidence before going home.
December 28, 2017
There had been no comfort in bed. Neither body nor mind would settle enough for proper sleep. William could not force himself to think each element through. The usual method of identifying the problem, what could be done and the implications of each option eluded him. Every path found a monster, too frightening to face in the night, and his thoughts bounced to something else. So it went on. By morning there was only hope that a conversation with Dennis would relieve the wildness in his head and thumping in his chest. William checked his watch. Dennis would be at work by now. So would Cathy. They would both be expecting a call. Maybe, William thought, it would be better to go in and have the conversation face to face.
* * *
William said, “Dennis, how was your Christmas?”
“It was good. Very good, thanks. And happy new year to you.” Dennis seemed cheerful. “Your operation went well? Just a little bruising left.”
“Actually, they had two tries at getting it right, but I’m fine now. By the way, thanks for coming in and sorting the SynchronoX consignment before Christmas.”
“I’m always glad of the work.” Dennis was different. There was a swagger in his manner. The usual reference to him as “Boss” had been dropped in favour of something more familiar.
“Two things,” said William. Dennis turned his head. “Did you have any problem separating the shipment?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Some of the boxes were damaged.” William watched Dennis shrug. “The customer reported a piece missing. I thought maybe there was an accident and some pieces fell out.”
“Oh,” said Dennis.
“Can you help with that?”
“I don’t think I can. Who is the customer?” His lip curled into a smile.
“Never mind about that.” William forced himself to stay on top of this conversation. “Did you use the photocopier when you came in on the twenty-first?” It got his attention.
“What’s the problem?”
“Someone may have, perhaps innocently, copied confidential documents. Perhaps they were thinking they were doing the right thing and didn’t know how serious it was. It’s the kind of thing that could lose someone their job. But, if it was innocent and we get the copy back, no harm done. It won’t be a problem.”
Dennis stared. “I don’t think I need to worry about losing my job.” William waited for him to explain himself. “You’re up to something.”
“What am I up to, Dennis?”
“Did you know that some of the
SynchronoX bikes that came into the warehouse this month are in the same boxes that I counted last month? I guess they were the same bikes too.”
“No, I didn’t, but how would you know that?”
“I mark them when I’m counting, with pencil. The marks I made came back to the warehouse this month. How can that be? We sent those bikes all over Canada, but they arrived again the following month. Seemed odd to me.”
William calmed himself. “What do you make of it?”
“They were all the boxes you wanted me to separate for a special dispatch. The same boxes that mysteriously left the warehouse without anyone in the building to open up. The same boxes going in and out every month tells me, well, something strange is going on.”
“Something strange.”
“Look, I don’t need to know exactly. It doesn’t matter to me if you are into fake bikes or something else. All I need to know is you’ll be in shit if anyone finds out. Police, Revenue, I don’t care.”
William tried to ignore the pounding. “You would need proof of something.”
“Yes, I would.”
There it was. Dennis did not flinch and stood steady, confident. It was Dennis who had copied the manifest.
“What are you after?”
“I don’t want anything to change. If it goes badly for you, I lose my job. Let’s just say I’m pleased to be a valued employee. I think I’m due a pay raise, that’s all. I don’t want the boat to rock.”
“So.” William released a long breath and nodded. “You’re still Dennis in the warehouse, and I’m still the boss?”
“Yes … Boss.”
“Okay, Dennis. That sounds fine. What about Cathy?”
“What about her?”
“It’s not good for business.”
Dennis shifted his weight from one foot to the other and adjusted his gaze enough to suggest he was at the edge of his confidence. “I didn’t think I was treading on your toes.”
“You’re not. Just leave her alone, and let her down gently.” William turned, full square to the younger man. “If this is going to work, I can’t have you being disrespectful in public or in private, and I can’t have you fucking my secretary. It shouldn’t be too hard to understand.” Dennis had not seen anger flash in his boss before and stepped back. “So, are we agreed on how this has to work?”
“All right. Agreed.” Dennis was not happy with the idea but knew he was pushing his luck, or William was bluffing.
“Good. I had better go upstairs and catch up. Has the second batch of SynchronoX been dispatched yet?”
“No, Boss. It’s to go this week.”
“I’ve put one box aside. Seems to be missing a sprocket. We’ll have to get a replacement.”
William made his way upstairs, conscious that energy would fail him soon. Cathy was in and would be waiting nervously.
“Morning, Cathy.”
She watched him carefully as he walked past her desk and into his office. “I am so sorry.”
William stopped and interrupted. “Cathy, I don’t want to hear any more about it. I’m only in for an hour and I’ve got too much to do. Just … just … get on with your work.” He walked into his office and closed the door.
William took his coat off and tried to let the steam dissipate. He regretted saying to Cathy that he would not fire her, and wished he had smashed Dennis into the ground with a mallet. He hated personal lives being brought to work. Of course life gets complicated, he thought. But why the fuck can’t they just get on with their jobs! He wasn’t paying for their personal life. It happened all the time, especially among the younger employees, but Cathy should know better.
A buzz in his ears distracted him, and his fury fell away. Within a few breaths, William relented. He had been too quick with Cathy and began thinking about how to approach her. Without a plan he opened his door.
“Cathy, I didn’t mean to be harsh with you.”
She remained still. He was lost for something to say. Normally he would leave her to recover her composure and then he would behave as if nothing had happened. It was a tried and tested method of drawing a line between someone’s emotions and the tasks he was paying them to do. He had always believed it helped them draw the same line and become more professional in their work, but now, without a reason, he stayed with her. Then, without thinking, he put his hand on her shoulder. The touch settled her.
“I’m just a little upset,” she said. “Christmas is always a difficult time.”
“It must be,” he said without knowing. “I think I better go home.” She acknowledged him with half a smile. “Will you manage without me?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine,” she said.
As William left the office a message arrived with a ding from his iPhone. It was the emoji and a code, “R4-2day.” William recalled the time and location of the fourth cycle route arranged with Uri and the timing that went with it. Uri had chosen a gentle route in West Vancouver. He might be able to persuade Julie that he was up to riding a short, local route without raising suspicion. He deleted the message and speculated as to why Uri had not sent a number to call. There might be a reason he wanted a wheel-to-wheel meeting, and his heart thumped with the thought.
William had always seen the need for caution, but now he was becoming aware of the subtle strength of their arrangements. There was never a meeting place, a record of a meeting or preparations to meet. They had always been arranged by a simple sign and message from a throwaway phone, and even if a message was found on his phone he would have no problem denying knowledge of it, safe in the understanding that it would lead nowhere. The counterfeit bicycles were gone, the false manifests destroyed and the sprocket dispensed with. His tracks were covered. It was only the copy of the last manifest that exposed him. There was nothing else. There was just Dennis to keep sweet, and Uri.
* * *
William approached the north end of McKechnie Park heading west. They were to meet on a turning circle as the road ended. Uri would arrive from the west at about the same time from the unmade road separating the two parts of Mathers Avenue. There was no traffic and little sound; mist hung from the bushes. He was nervous. The arrangement between them had worked without problems for several years and suddenly there were interruptions, changes in plans, and now, a breach had occurred. The road abruptly opened into a turning circle. William stopped. There was nothing. It would not be long before the cold penetrated the technical layers of his clothing. William recalled the night he fell from his bicycle. A few stars found their way through the wisps of cloud in the early evening, but nothing moved.
“William.” Uri’s voice emerged from the track. “I’m glad you could come tonight.” Two other bicycles pulled up behind him. Steam lifted from the three like smoke from an engine.
“You’ve had a workout.”
“Yes,” said Uri. “All this Christmas eating. We need to get rid of it, and keep warm. But you’re cold. Let’s get going.”
William turned his bike around and they set off east along Mathers Avenue. He and Uri took the lead.
“William, how is your family?”
“Good, thank you. What about yours?”
Uri sighed. “I am not as lucky as you. No wife, no family. No complications.” He smiled like a schoolboy. “It is easier for me this way.”
William had never extracted information from the little man, but occasionally there was something curious in his conversation. What, he wondered, was easier for Uri without a family? The wheels turned on the damp streets.
“I have something to tell you. You won’t like it,” said William.
“I like it when you say what is going on. It’s better when you tell me, so don’t worry.”
William began. “We have a problem with the warehouseman.”
“Is that Dennis?”
“Yes. He’s complicated our arra
ngement. When I asked him to deal with the last consignment, he did as I asked, but there was an accident. Some of the boxes were opened and he noticed something unusual.”
“You have discovered why there were pieces changed?”
“He knows they are not the same. He’s also been counting the boxes in and uses a pencil to mark the boxes as he counts. It seems you’ve been using the same boxes over and over again. He noticed the pencil marks.”
Uri seemed unmoved. “So, Dennis thinks he has discovered something.”
“He says he doesn’t know what’s going on, but he thought Canada Revenue or the police would be interested.”
“He has threatened us?”
“I don’t think he will be a problem. He just wants a promotion and to keep his job.”
“And what do you want, William?”
“I think we should keep him sweet. Find some way to draw him in and give him good reason to be quiet.”
“That would be clever. But William, it is never good to widen the circle of trust. Why should we do anything? He doesn’t have the boxes now, or the bicycles. There’s no evidence.”
“That’s the problem.” William hesitated. “I think Dennis photocopied the manifest after doing the job. He’s got a copy of the false one. There is a copy of the real one on file in my office, and the manufacturers will have a copy.” They were silent as the four men passed Thompson, heading to Thirty-First Street.
“It is a problem, William. A big problem. What will you do?”
“Increase his salary. It’s what he wants.” It sounded lame as he said it.
“It’s not a solution, William. The others will not be happy with this.”
“What do you want?” asked William.
“The plan was yours. You must fix it. You must get the manifest and make sure it’s the only copy. Then we decide what to do with Dennis.”
“I’m not sure how I’m going to get it from him.” They hovered at the top of the hill leading down Thirty-First Street. Uri lifted a foot off the pedal and stopped.
The Kissing Fence Page 12
