Eye for an Eye (21 page)

A pick-up truck
ground to a halt beside her.

‘Hey there, you
need a ride?’ asked a frizzy-haired middle-aged woman, leaning
across to call through the open window.

‘Yes, that
would be great, thanks!’ Robyn hopped into the cab and buckled her
seat belt. The woman stamped on the accelerator and the truck shot
forward.

‘My name’s
Ruth. Where you headed?’

‘Hi Ruth, I’m
Robyn. I’m hoping to get back to Toronto. I don’t suppose you’re
going that far?’

‘Toronno?
Wouldn’t go near the place, too citified for me. I can drop you at
Peterborough and you can catch a bus from there, how’s that?’

‘That’s just
fine. They’ll have money machines at the bus station, won’t
they?’

‘Either there
or right around the corner at the bank. Out without much cash are
you? What happened, boyfriend got fresh with ya and you bailed out
on him?’

Robyn laughed.
‘No, I haven’t had a boyfriend get fresh with me in a long time! I
was with a friend and his van got stolen. He went chasing off after
it and the silly idiot forgot to take me with him. I’ll have a few
words to say to him later, I can tell you!’

‘Must be a
mighty single-minded fellow to leave a girl like you by the road.
Better try wearing some shorter skirts and get him to notice you a
bit more, eh?’

Robyn agreed
politely, but fumed inwardly. Apparently she wasn’t sexy enough to
keep Mike’s attention. That stung.

They went
through a small town and the place name caught her attention. ‘Is
this place called Havelock?’ she exclaimed. ‘I come from just near
Havelock in New Zealand! Wow, that’s so cool!’

‘I was
wondering where your cute accent was from. New Zealand, eh? That’s
part of Australia, eh? I loved Crocodile Dundee, that was a great
movie.’

Robyn refrained
from groaning and tried to phrase a tactful reply.

‘No, actually
Crocodile Dundee was Australian. We’re a country all of our own. We
like to think we’re not like Australians at all. Maybe you’ve seen
Lord of the Rings? The Piano, or Once Were Warriors? They’re all
New Zealand movies.’

‘No, must have
missed those. What was that other one I liked? Oh yeah, that desert
thing, Priscilla something or other. Roy hated the fags but I
thought it was great.’

‘So, Ruth, do
you live round here?’ Robyn gave up the struggle to assert New
Zealand’s national identity and sought safer conversational
ground.

‘Yeah, Roy and
I have got a little place just past Marmora. Pretty much a hobby
farm really, but we raise a few thousand head of mosquito!’ Her
cigarette-roughened voice cackled with laughter.

‘I must
remember that one,’ said Robyn. ‘We run a few hundred sheep and
cows on our place, but there must be a couple of million sandflies
that come out after the rain.’

They chatted
inconsequentially until Ruth announced their arrival in
Peterborough, and threaded through shabby side streets to the bus
depot.

‘You sure
you’ll be all right, honey? I can wait till you’ve bought your
ticket if you like?’

‘Oh that’s all
right, Ruth. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride, it was a pleasure
talking to you.’

‘You take care
now. Hope you catch up with that friend of yours and his van.’

Robyn rolled
her eyes.

‘Yeah, if he
remembers where he lives! Bloody idiot. See you!’

She braved the
seedy interior of the bus depot to book her ticket, stepping
uncomfortably around sprawling scruffy bodies that occupied the few
worn benches. Rubbish was thick on the floor, with gobs of chewing
gum and pools of spilt soft drink beside the seats. The few litter
bins were dented and overflowing, scattering their sticky contents
every time another piece was added.

Robyn bought
her ticket hurriedly then went outside into the fresh air to wait
for the bus. She had a brief flash of guilt about Mike who might go
chasing across the Ontario countryside looking for her, but decided
that if he was thoughtless enough to leave her behind at the
Marmora Store, he deserved to spend a bit of time searching for her
afterwards as a fitting punishment.

CHAPTER 8

Colwyn Symons
looked at his watch. At this time he normally went to the gym, but
he’d been avoiding it since the boxing episode, unwilling to face
any possible unpleasantness about the young man he’d pounded. He’d
had Harry take care of the immediate aftermath, but perhaps he’d
ask him to deal with the problem on a more long-term basis. He
punched his number and asked him to come up to the apartment.

Harry arrived
minutes later, breathing wheezily as he waited for Colwyn’s
instructions. Colwyn allowed him to stand there awkwardly while he
finished sending a text message. He looked up, barely masking his
distaste at Harry’s greasy appearance.

‘Harry, thank
you for coming up so quickly.’

‘No sweat, Mr.
Symons. What can I do for you?’

‘That young
fellow in the boxing room yesterday - is he still around?’

‘Yeah, but he
hasn’t been back to the gym yet. I think he’s a bit sore.’ Harry
grinned, revealing stained teeth that made Colwyn flinch.

‘I expect he
would be.’ He looked down at his hands briefly. ‘Harry, I’d prefer
not to run into him again. Can you arrange that, do you think?’

‘You want me to
like, arrange a bad accident for him? A real bad one?’ He stopped
just short of winking.

‘No! Nothing
fatal, just frighten him off so that he leaves the building. I
don’t want him dead, just out of my life, OK? That’s not too hard,
is it?’

‘No problemo,
Mr. Symons. I’ll have a quiet word with him in the back alley, he
won’t even know who I am, he’ll just know he has to leave. I’ll
take care of it.’

‘Thank you
Harry. There’ll be a bonus for you when he’s gone.’

‘It’s my
pleasure!’ Harry’s eyes creased in a nasty grin. ‘Anything you want
done, just say the word. It’s real good working for you, Mr. Symons
- a lot better than being a janitor.’

‘All right,
thank you Harry.’ Colwyn cut off his fawning pleasantries. ‘Off you
go and see to our young friend, will you? It’s time he learned not
to linger where he’s not wanted.’

Colwyn ushered
Harry out, then crossed the room to gaze out towards the lake. It
shimmered a hazy pale blue in the midday sun, with broad swells
etched by the wakes of a thousand boats that were enjoying the
freedom of a summer weekend.

‘What a great
idea,’ murmured Colwyn. ‘Who needs a sweaty gym, anyway? Let’s give
the Angel Lady a bit of a spin instead.’

He sauntered
down to the marina, pleased by the number of attractive people he
saw on the way. It had been a concern to him lately that he’d seen
tramps hanging around the dock, probably scavenging for food in the
rubbish bins. That was something else he could get Harry to fix for
him, if the problem returned. What was the point of being one of
the beautiful people if ugly ones were around to spoil the
view?

He sprang
lightly aboard the Angel Lady, running his hand caressingly along
the teak deck rail. All that stress he went through at work was
worth it when he could buy such a beautiful toy. It marked him out
as a man of taste and discernment, a success in the business world,
and someone to be envied. When you owned a boat like that you were
one of the ruling classes, a person who had control over his life,
unlike some poor factory-working peasant who struggled forty years
to pay the mortgage and never made anything of himself.

An unpleasant
sneer marred Colwyn’s features as he dropped the mooring ropes and
opened the throttle, but it faded to a smile as he surged away from
the dock and out towards the open lake.

The smile faded
to a frown as the engines sputtered and died after running at full
speed for about ten minutes. Nothing he tried would bring them back
to life as the boat wallowed helplessly in the swell. He cursed and
fumed, unable to figure out what had caused the problem.

The boat
lurched and rolled, adding to his discomfort.

He tried again
to restart the engines, but every attempt was futile.

When he
realised he had no chance of fixing the breakdown, he looked round
for a nearby boat to signal for help. There were no other craft
within hailing distance so he finally resorted to his cell-phone
and called the marina for assistance. They regretted that it would
be at least an hour before they had a launch free to come to his
aid, and advised him to sit tight and not to panic.

He ground his
teeth and waited.

For three
gruelling hours he clung, more and more wretchedly, to the side of
his lurching boat. He had lost the last of his breakfast twenty
minutes ago; the eggs and croissant were currently feeding the
underwater inhabitants of Lake Ontario. At any moment the previous
night’s drinks and nibbles were due to follow. The swell had
increased in the last hour as the wind grew stronger, and now the
boat was tossing like a cork. Nearer the shore, several sailing
boats had capsized and were being assisted by passing launches.

Colwyn heaved
over the side again and reflected bitterly that he would no doubt
have to wait until all the yachtsmen had been plucked from the
water before the marina launch would bother to come and tow him to
shore. He briefly considered firing an emergency flare, but decided
that the repercussions for its unwarranted use would be even more
unpleasant than his present predicament. If his current run of bad
experiences with the boat continued, it might be time to arrange
its loss and put the money into something more enjoyable.

A string of
spittle fell from his lower lip, staining a damp patch on his
designer pants.

At last, when
the horizon of his world had reduced to the stretch of teak railing
under his chin, there was a shout from alongside.

‘Hi, Angel
Lady, do you need some help?’

Colwyn raised
his head.

‘Yeah. Engines
failed. Can you tow me in?’

‘Sure, throw
over a towline and we’ll get right to it. Been a bit rough for you
out here, eh?’

Colwyn managed
a sickly smile as he threw the rope.

‘I’ll be glad
to get to shore, I can tell you that.’ He checked the knot. ‘OK,
it’s secure at my end. Just get me out of here, would you?’

Once the boats
were under way the tossing motion eased, and Colwyn’s discomfort
faded. In its place grew angry questions about why the engines had
failed at all. The fuel gauge read over half full, the engines had
been serviced recently, and Harry hadn’t mentioned any difficulties
the last time he’d started them up. Colwyn’s eyes narrowed. It was
probably one of those filthy tramps who’d been hanging round the
marina, slipping something in the petrol tank as a protest against
unfair distribution of wealth or some such nonsense. He’d have
Harry look into it.

Harry was at
that very moment carrying out Colwyn’s previous order to have a
word with the young man from the boxing room. He was following him
up the street, equipped with a black ski mask in one pocket and a
number of weapons hidden about his person.

When the young
man paused to look at a shop window display, Harry saw his chance.
He moved past him quickly, and ducked into the shop’s service alley
where he pulled on the mask and waited for him to come past. With
practised ease, he caught him by the elbow and steered him into the
dim, quiet recess between the buildings.

‘Hey buddy, you
and me need to have a talk. I’ll talk, you listen, got it?’

He twisted the
man’s arm viciously to get his point across, and pressed him hard
against the wall. The man nodded, eyes round and afraid, acrid
sweat already staining his shirt. Harry leered behind his disguise,
smelling the man’s fear mixed with the raspy wool of the mask.

‘It’s time you
left this neighbourhood, bud. Move away. There are people here that
don’t want to see you no more. If they do, you might not get a
second chance. You getting the message?’

He jabbed the
point of a narrow-bladed knife into the man’s neck, making him jerk
his head back against the rough brick wall behind him. A smear of
blood darkened the bricks, while a fine bead welled up at the
puncture point. Harry reached out and touched it with his finger,
then held it up in front of the man’s face.

‘Your blood,
see? You want to keep the rest of it inside you, you do as I say.
Move on out of here.’

‘How - how
far?’ The young man gulped.

‘Oh, a couple
of blocks,’ said Harry reasonably. Then he gripped him by the
throat and put his fat wet lips close to the man’s ear. ‘Far enough
that nobody round here sees your face ever again, all right?
Otherwise we’ll just have to peel it off you strip by strip.’

He ran the
knife delicately from forehead to chin, leaving a faint line of
blood oozing along its path.

‘And you tell
nobody about this little meeting we’ve had here, OK? Any talk to
the cops, and it’s not just your face that will disappear. You
understand me?’

The man nodded
in a small, careful movement, trying to evade the knife blade
poised in front of his eyes.

‘That’s good.
Now get the hell outta here, go home and pack up your stuff. If you
take too long, I’ll be coming by to hurry things up, so get
moving!’

Harry pushed
him roughly towards the street and watched him stumble away. When
he peeled off the mask, he was smiling.

Robyn woke from
a troubled sleep. It was three in the morning, and although she’d
been tired out by her day in the country, images of Colwyn kept
hovering in her dreams, and as she sat up she almost thought she
could smell his sickly cologne.

Outside her
room there was a noise.