Shadow Puppet
Page 23
“Why did you destroy the puppets?”
Anger lit Reggie’s face. “Zoltan did that after the police came. He broke in and smashed them to pieces. Your fault again.” All of a sudden he looked as though he might cry. “I was going to take them with me.”
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Somewhere far from here. Somewhere warm. I can’t stand the cold. I’ve always hated this country.”
He turned and looked around then bent and picked something up. Dan tried not to panic as Reggie held up a plastic bag.
“Don’t do this,” Dan said.
“You should have been nicer to me,” Reggie said. “I might’ve kept you around longer.”
He fished in his pocket and brought out a roll of electrical tape, then slipped the bag over Dan’s head, sealing it around his neck.
Four minutes!
As Reggie stepped back, Dan rocked back and forth. The knife edge of panic grew as he thought of all he would miss, starting with his son and extending on from there. Donny, Prabin, Domingo, his cousin Leyla who always called on his birthday.
Reggie pulled up a chair and sat close to watch. “You’re holding your breath,” he said. “It never helps. Not for long, anyway.”
All the minutiae of life came into focus, like the plastic brushing against his cheeks, the weight of his chest as he clung to his breath, the heat from the furnace gnawing at his hands, the pain where the rope bit his flesh. If he inhaled quickly he might be able to grip the bag with his teeth and tear a hole in it, but he still needed his hands free.
Three minutes!
The plastic was beginning to fog over. Sweat rolled down into his eyes. In his mind, he was back on the lake that summer as his friends declared him the winner of the underwater breath-holding contest. You start to feel like you could stay down there forever, he had told them. After that it’s easy. But he had never gone past that point.
Reggie was just two feet away from him. If he kicked out he might just manage to … but something blurred the edge of his vision, a black smudge against the light. A figure lurched out of the shadows, arms extended like a sideshow zombie. I’m hallucinating, Dan thought. My brain’s deprived of oxygen.
But the creature came closer, hissing and gasping.
Reggie’s voice was panicked. “Zoltan!”
The super shrank back, casting around for something to defend himself with. Dan inched his chair closer to the furnace, his palm searing against the door. He bit down to keep from crying out, scraping the rope against the door where it burned hottest, scorching his wrists and making him want to scream.
One minute!
He rubbed harder, trying to keep his eyes on Reggie, blinking away the sweat blurring his vision.
The zombie-like figure tried to speak, but it came out in a gurgle of rage and agony. “You …! Far-gher …!”
Reggie leapt aside, landing in the dirt, crawling backward like a shipwrecked crab as Zoltan lurched and fell on top of him. Dan’s hands were on fire, the smell of burning nylon mingling with the smell of burning flesh, until the ropes gave way with a sudden tug. He reached up, clawing at the bag and pulling it aside to take in that first, sweet, cool breath.
He watched as Reggie grasped a brick and brought it down on his boss’s head. Zoltan shuddered. Reggie hit him again, the brick biting into his skull. Dan thought of the inmates of the prison camp forced to kill one another with hammers.
Reggie sat limply in the chair, arms bound behind him. Zoltan lay in a heap on the floor, his head twisted at an obscene angle to his body. There was blood everywhere: on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling.
Dan called 911 first. Then he called Donny.
“He’s alive,” he said, worriedly watching the unconscious Prabin lying on the cot in the Star-X locker. “I can’t say more than that right now.”
Finally, he called the chief.
“What a way to start my morning,” the chief said.
“One day you’ll thank me,” Dan said.
EPILOGUE
A Killer’s Return
IN FACT, IT WAS JUST the next day when the chief called. Mirovic was dead. Egeli and his sidekick Sasha had disappeared, but he was inclined to be gloomy on the matter. In all likelihood, he told Dan, they would just start up again in another city far from Toronto after a period of inactivity. There was no stopping people like that, he said.
He’d done some digging into Reggie’s background and found out a great deal more about him. He’d come from Iran, arriving with his family as an adolescent named Rashid Khan. After being shunted around for nearly a decade, the family was finally deported when his father proved to have been involved with terrorist activity back home. By then, however, Rashid had developed a taste for North America. Rather than return with the family, he disappeared, re-emerging under the name Reggie Kane. Still a non-person without papers, he lay low until he killed Sam Bashir and took over his identity.
“That’s why he pressed Nabil for help with his visa,” Dan said. “And probably why he let him live as long as he did.”
“I suspect so, yes.”
As for Nabil’s brothers, Mustafa and Amir, the chief had turned up nothing to indicate inappropriate activities, although erasing Nabil’s photos had seemed a red flag at the time.
“Family pride,” the chief told Dan. “It’s the twenty-first century, but your sort still isn’t welcome everywhere. Have you been to the States lately?”
“That will change,” Dan said.
“You’re optimistic.”
“Not overly, but I’ve already seen the wave overturn things in my lifetime. There’ll be more. What about that video I told you about? The one that looks like a snuff film?”
“The snuff part is dubious, but the abuse looks real. Now that the circus has skipped town, we may never know,” the chief said. “Meanwhile, the world’s getting nuttier every day. One more reason you should come and work for me. If nothing else, you’d be a hell of a lot safer.”
“Maybe.” Dan grinned, thinking he was going to miss those early-morning greasy-spoon get-togethers. “But the day I need a gun to defend myself is the day I hang up my gloves.”
The chief groaned. “Now I know you’re insane. I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Now your turn. While I was looking into all this I came across another name. I think it was you who told me he designed websites for Nabil Ahmad. Sheikh Something, I think. Anything else you can tell me about him?”
“Hanani Sheikh. Nah, he checked out. He’s clean,” Dan said, hoping it would be the last lie he told the chief.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” He was about to hang up when he said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Your source might hear some good news about her immigration papers very soon. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Coincidence? Dan thought. With the chief you never knew, but it was probably the only good news he was going to get that day. As for Randy Melchior, the news media had gone quiet, the press no longer interested in the story. The trial was still a long way off. Justice was a long, lonely road.
The party was set to happen at four. Dan arrived early to have a word with the guest of honour, though he was well aware the honours were far from what they should have been on a day like this.
Domingo greeted him in a tie-dyed robe exploding with swirls of colour. “Come in,” she said, shivering as she closed the door.
He’d last seen her a week previously. Her face looked a little less sunken.
“How are you feeling?”
“Terrible, but I’ll fake it if you will.” She managed a smile.
“I’ll do my best.”
They went into the living room.
“Where’s Adele?” Dan asked.
“Out buying flowers. She thinks it will put me in a healing mood.”
“Can’t hurt.”
She shrugged and smiled again. “We’ll see. No promises. What wi
ll you have to drink?”
“Water’s good.”
“No, it isn’t. Have something fun at least. Even if it’s just a spritzer.”
“All right. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
“That’s probably the first time anybody’s heard those words coming from your lips.”
She headed for the kitchen while Dan sat and looked around. He’d always liked her place, though he seldom paid much attention to it. He was suddenly aware how fraught with meaning everything became when threatened with change.
On the mantel over the fire, a photograph showed a teenage Domingo with her mother and an older sister. No brother.
“So,” she said, returning with two tall, brightly coloured glasses.
They clinked.
“Here’s to your recovery,” Dan said, eyeing her directly.
“Thank you.”
“I want you to know I will do whatever I can, whatever you need. Drives to the hospital, chemo waiting-room visitations … anything.”
She nodded. “Thank you for that offer and for all your years of friendship. I’m not sure I’ll need the help, however. I’ve been down this road before. Which is to say, there may not be any chemo sessions.”
Dan studied her face. “Your choice or the doctor’s advice?”
“My choice.”
“You have to fight this.”
“Do I?”
Dan had no answer. If it had been him, he might have felt the same. But for Ked. His anchor. His life.
“What do your visions say?”
“That there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
He was perplexed. “Then that’s good. Isn’t it?”
“I think the tunnel is death.”
“Then how can there be …?”
“A light? Good news? There just is.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Maybe not.”
If the bullet has your name on it …
He’d sat in that chair with a bag over his head, listening to Reggie and expecting to be killed and have his body fed into the flames. It was almost a shock to have come out of the ordeal alive. If you dodged the bullet, Domingo had said, then someone else had to take your place.
She sat back. “So you’ve had quite the adventure.”
“You can call it that, yes.”
She put a hand on his arm. “I wish you’d heeded my warning, but you were never very good about that sort of thing.”
“I wasn’t worried about myself,” he said, wondering if it were true. “But I was worried about Prabin. You’re right, though. I’m no good at listening to advice. Reggie’d killed at least five people, maybe more. And he was exactly what you said — cruel and arrogant, as well as a master of disguise.”
“No one ever sees the puppet master. But you did at last.”
“It’s frightening to think how close things came. I just hope …”
Domingo looked at him. “You hope what?”
“I hope Donny forgives me.”
Domingo nodded. “He’s stayed angry a lot longer than usual — at least for him. But I can say this — you both know each other profoundly to the core without having to explain how or why. That’s friendship. If you met him a thousand years from now you’d still be friends, not strangers. He’s not going to give that up.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault,” Domingo said. “After Randy, Prabin would have done anything to resolve his guilty feelings. It was something he needed to do.”
“Yes, I know.”
Dan turned to the window. The sun was already setting over a wintry landscape, the trees barren of leaves, the clouds thin and cheerless.
“Shortest day of the year,” he said.
“It all begins again.”
Silence enveloped the room like a warm blanket.
“Have you told your family?” Dan asked, glancing at the photograph on the mantel.
“Some,” Domingo said, catching his gaze. “The ones I know I can count on.”
“But not your brother?”
“No,” she said. “Not Rodney.”
Dan thought she wasn’t going to talk about it. Whatever it was. But at least now the brother had a name. That was enough. He knew about the messes families left you with, the ghostly feelings they bequeathed to you to sort out. A spiritual legacy of sorts.
“When I was fourteen,” she began, “I told Rodney I liked women. He said he’d always known. He put his hand on my shoulder. I felt pleased. At eighteen, my sister was already a religious nut, so I knew I couldn’t tell her about it. Or my mother.” She took a deep breath and looked off. “The next day, I took a shortcut on my way home from school. I was walking through the brush when Rodney appeared. ‘What’s up?’ I asked. ‘I’m going to help you, sis,’ he said. Four other boys came out of the bushes behind him. They held me down for an hour. All five of them, even Rodney.”
Dan took her hand. He brought it to his face and pressed it against his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“So am I,” she said. “Even though it was a long time ago.”
They sat there unspeaking for a full minute.
“Enough gloom for now,” Domingo said at last. “It’s my birthday, remember?” She smiled. “What of your romance calendar? I haven’t been much good at filling it lately. Shall I get out my Ouija board and try again?”
Dan laughed and thought of the charming but distant Terence. “Despite your best intentions I don’t think I’m going to turn out to be the marrying kind.”
She shook her head. “You are the marrying kind, Dan — you just haven’t met your match.”
“Is that what your visions say?” he asked.
She squeezed his hand and released it. “It’s what I say. There will be someone for you at the end of the day, though it won’t be easy. God help him, whoever he is, you will not make it easy for him.”
“Now that’s a prediction even I could have made.”
“Then I hope you remember me when it comes true.”
Dan held up a finger. “Enough gloom, remember?”
Footsteps sounded outside. The front door opened.
“Here come the troops,” she said, getting unsteadily to her feet.
From the hallway, Dan could hear the combined voices of Donny, Prabin, and Adele arriving at the same time.
They entered the room and stopped, looking in at Domingo and Dan sitting there together.
“Happy birthday!” they cried.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANKS TO STEVE CUMYN AND Geordie Johnson for inspiration on the perils of dating an actor, Sheetal Nanda for her expert advice on immigration issues, Kayla Kent for her under-praised archival work, and to the City of Toronto for being a very cool place to live. Once again I extend my immense gratitude to my editor, Jess Shulman, who always makes me dig deeper, deeper, deeper, and to the good folks at Dundurn, who contribute at every turn. Laura Boyle, your covers rock! Thanks also to David and Joe for being my sounding boards. My description of the nude photo of the character Nabil Ahmad was inspired by a portrait of mountaineer George Mallory taken by Duncan Grant in 1911. It can be found online. Musical vibes on this one are courtesy of the Beatles, who gave us love, light, and expanded consciousness, and New Order, who gave us darkness.
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BOOK CREDITS
Developmental Editor: Allison Hirst
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Editor: Jess Shulman