Eye for an Eye (5 page)

She sat down to
wait for her boarding call to Auckland.

This time she
boarded a much bigger plane along a covered passageway that
connected directly to the plane door so she didn’t have to brave
the rain and the smell of jet-fuel outside.

Her eyebrows
rose when she entered the cabin with its rows of well-padded seats,
Pacific artwork on the walls, and big overhead lockers. She
listened attentively to the pre-flight announcement and located the
exits nearest to her seat. She stowed her hand baggage beneath the
seat in front of her, and fastened her seatbelt well before the
flight attendant came to check it.

Feeling hungry,
she reached into her bag and pulled out a thick bundle of
sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. She bit off a good chunk,
relishing the slice of farm lamb, nice and pink, with a smidgeon of
Vegemite on the bread. Now that was a real meal. The airline orange
juice and cup of tea were welcome, but she was horrified by the
puny plastic pots of heat-treated milk served with it. Was this any
way for a dairy farming country to present itself? She shook her
head, and flipped through the airline magazine to pass the rest of
the hour’s flight north.

Auckland
airport seemed to go on for ever. She left the domestic terminal
and walked across to the international one, preferring the exercise
to taking the shuttle bus. Hazy sunshine lit the close-cropped turf
beside the walkway, and mynah birds hopped about beneath bright
hibiscus bushes. Robyn felt as if she was already in a foreign
country.

The feeling
continued as she sat in the departure lounge, where a couple behind
her were arguing volubly in an unidentifiable language. Robyn
turned to see what the problem was, groaning inwardly when the
woman noticed her interest and called to her.

‘You can help
us please? I have this lovely present for my family, we go visit
them, but there is no room in my case. My husband say I should not
buy, we cannot take it, but is too late, the shop will not take it
back. How can I get this to my dear sweet family? You can take it
for us in your suitcase?’ She appealed to Robyn, woman-to-woman,
while the husband glowered.

Robyn looked at
the colourfully gift-wrapped package. It would fit into her bag
quite easily. She looked back to the couple in time to see them
exchanging glances.

‘Sure I can
help,’ she said. ‘No problem. Let’s have a look at your case, I’m
sure we can re-pack it to make room for a little package like
this.’ She swiftly popped open the woman’s bag and pulled out a fur
jacket. ‘Here you go, why don’t you wear the jacket, then there’ll
be plenty of room for your present. No worries, eh?’ She smiled
brightly at them and moved to another seat until her flight was
called. Just how gullible did they think she was? Even an
un-travelled idiot would know not to carry parcels through customs
for other people.

The boarding
call was made, and while she walked the long corridor towards the
plane, she wondered who she might sit next to for the long flight.
Hopefully not some garrulous little old lady who would natter on
about her grandchildren. Preferably a tall dark handsome rugby
player, on his way to an overseas test match. Or perhaps a blond
movie star off to Hollywood after making a name for himself on a TV
series? On reflection, she decided that any unattached male between
twenty-four and forty would do to liven up the trip.

She stepped
onto the plane, and her jaw dropped. Huge comfy seats, masses of
room, curtains - now this was more like it! There were thick fluffy
blankets neatly folded on every seat, and soft pillows in pristine
linen covers…

‘Keep moving,
please. This way,’ said the flight attendant. ‘Through here, row
57, seat A.

Robyn left the
luxurious first class section and made her way past rows of seats
spaced much closer together, where people were busily stowing their
coats and bags in the overhead lockers and settling themselves
down. When she found her allotted place there was a handsome man in
the seat next to hers. He was dark-haired and well built, with a
striking black beard, but unfortunately his long-lashed green eyes
were gazing adoringly into his wife’s eyes instead of Robyn’s as
the couple held hands and murmured to each other. She apologised
for disturbing them as she edged across their legs to reach her
seat by the window.

Once the plane
was airborne and the view of mangrove swamps and estuaries had
fallen far behind, she poked about with the seat entertainment
screen and found a movie to watch which kept her entertained
through dinner until she was ready to sleep. With the cabin
darkened, she managed to get a few hours of rest, waking blearily
with a stiff neck and dry mouth as the cabin crew brought round
breakfast. With her body clock groaning that it was really 3am, she
adjusted her watch to local time and looked out of the window.

All the details
of Los Angeles were hidden under a light-brown haze – much like the
fog in her brain as she went through the airport security checks to
get to her next flight. The queues and grumpy officials barely
registered, and only the prospect of stretching out flat on the
departure lounge floor held any appeal. All too soon she was herded
onto another plane for the last leg of her journey.

The brief nap
had revived her though, and as they passed over the Rockies Robyn
was spellbound by the unfolding panorama of snow-capped peaks. Low
foothills on the far side gave way to the checkerboard strips of
the prairies, stretching far into the distance in every direction
for hundreds of miles. Hours later the woods and lakes of Ontario
came into view, interspersed with stretches of the Great Lakes
looking like whole oceans. The plane lost altitude, skirting the
shores of Lake Ontario ready to land at Toronto.

At the sight of
the city Robyn’s eyes popped. Toronto was HUGE! It spread for miles
inland, and about twice that distance along the lake shore. The
streets were all laid out in a grid pattern, and she was surprised
to see how many trees there were even in the downtown area. In the
central business district a cluster of skyscrapers glinted in the
sun, while off to one side the graceful CN tower reached up towards
the plane. At its foot was a building that looked like a silvery
armadillo, which Robyn realised from her pre-trip reading of a
guidebook was the Skydome sports arena.

Just off-shore
a series of low islands curved across to form a natural harbour,
and as the plane flew lower, Robyn’s heart sank. There were yacht
marinas as far as the eye could see. The city waterfront was lined
with them, and there were still more on the islands just offshore.
Her search was going to be very much harder than she’d thought.

Still, the
memory of the Colwyn Symons TV interview was very clear in her
mind, and she deliberately replayed it to harden her resolve. That
bastard had stolen the savings of dozens of pensioners as well as
the money her father had lost - people had been forced to sell
their family homes and live with relatives – and the misery he had
caused would last them a lifetime. She could just imagine him
lounging on the deck of his yacht, living it up large and enjoying
his stolen money without a care in the world.

He was down
there somewhere, and she was going to find him.

As the sun
glinted off a plane coming in over the city, Colwyn Symons stepped
out of his apartment building. He looked up at the tall office
blocks around him, straightened his tie and checked his watch. His
blond hair gleamed, his suit was immaculate, his stylish shoes were
well-polished. An expensive leather briefcase completed the picture
of a successful businessman.

Across the
sidewalk a huddled bundle of rags opened an eye briefly at his
passing.

Colwyn checked
his reflection in a shop window and ran his hand over his hair. It
would need re-styling soon, provided he could find a salon that
would do it the way he liked it. He walked up the sunny side of
Yonge Street as far as Bloor, then bounded up the steps of a glass
tower block. As he disappeared through the revolving doors, a
ragged street bum settled himself against a newspaper vending box
outside and appeared to sleep.

Some time
later, in the glossy office upstairs, Colwyn gathered the sheaf of
papers that were spread across the desk, and capped his fountain
pen with a flourish. After shaking hands all round he left the room
with a quiet smile, allowing it to widen as the elevator doors hid
him from view. Another deal put together and it was still only
mid-afternoon. Plenty of time to go to the gym before his dinner
meeting, or perhaps he could spend some time on the boat.

The doors
opened to the lobby and he walked out into the sunshine, turning
away with a sneer at the sight of a disgusting beggar hanging round
by the front door.

‘What is the
purpose of your visit to Canada?’ intoned the bored black female
Customs official, glancing at Robyn to compare her face to her
passport photo. ‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Well I mean
business, but I suppose you could say it’ll be a pleasure!’ Robyn
burbled, then realised the customs official wasn’t smiling. ‘Sorry,
er, pleasure - just a holiday.’

‘Have you a
return ticket ma’am? May I see it please?’ She took it, checked it
carefully, and handed it back. ‘Passport?’ It was stamped and
returned without a smile. ‘Have you been on a farm within the last
two weeks?’

‘Er, yes, I
have.’

‘Over to that
table on the right please. Next!’

Robyn felt
oddly intimidated by the absence of friendly behaviour, and found
herself facing the next official with some trepidation. He gave her
a quick smile at least, before asking her to place her suitcase on
the table and open it for him. His hands flicked deftly through her
things, until he reached the lamb docker which he extracted and
held up.

‘Can you tell
me what this is, please?’

‘Ah, it’s –
well, it’s for…’ invention failed her. ‘It’s a lamb docker, you
know, for removing their tails and things.’

‘Are you
planning to work while in Canada, ma’am? Do you have a work
permit?’

‘Uh, no. Er,
I’m not planning to work, but, um, I’m visiting some relatives who
have a farm and I thought I’d show them what we use for the job
back home in New Zealand? We lead the world in a lot of
agricultural technology.’

He replaced it
and continued searching. His hands delved into the pocket of her
pack and she saw his face change. He pulled out a handful of wilted
grass and looked at her knowingly.

‘And this would
be for your personal use, would it ma’am?’

‘Oh, that’s
just grass! No, I mean real grass, that sheep eat, not marijuana!
Honestly, it’s perfectly innocent.’

He sniffed it
carefully, then tasted a piece and spat it out.

‘That’s
grass!’

‘Yes, that’s
what I was trying to say. Just grass, not drugs - really. I’m
sorry, it was a stupid thing to bring but I thought it would remind
me of home while I’m here.’

He sighed and
chalked her bag. ‘We’ll have to dispose of it as a bio-hazard. OK,
now go through that door over there, please.’

She stuffed her
pack closed and walked cautiously through the green door, wondering
what the next trap would be.

Once she was
through, she was relieved to find herself at the airport exit, with
all Customs officials behind her and no further barriers between
her and the city.

Outside, the
heat and humidity were stifling, and quite a shock to a body tuned
to mid-winter. She peeled off her light jacket and stuffed it into
her pack, then found a shuttle bus that would take her downtown
where she was booked into a cheap hotel not too far from the
waterfront. The bus driver piled her bags into the luggage trailer
and waved her aboard.

She was
astounded that the trip took almost an hour, despite the driver’s
seemingly breakneck speed along a twelve-lane freeway that led to
the heart of the city. Huge green exit signs flashed past every few
seconds, and she wondered how anybody managed to make sense of it
all. It wasn’t until they left the freeway that she suddenly
yelped, seeing that the driver was headed for the right-hand side
of the road. Then, feeling foolish, she realised that in Canada,
traffic drove on the right not the left. Once she managed to make
the mental adjustment, she was able to prise her fingers off the
grab rail on top of the seat in front.

The
air-conditioned bus took her to the drop-off point downtown at
Union Station, where the driver told her to ‘have a nice day.’
Robyn thanked him politely, and shouldered her pack for the walk to
her hotel.

Within two
minutes she had broken into a sweat, which soon had her T-shirt
feeling wet and uncomfortable. Her feet heated up inside her
running shoes until she imagined puffs of steam emerging with every
step along the hot sidewalk. Every so often she passed drain
gratings, and soon learned to hold her breath against the ripe
sulphurous fumes that rose from them. The traffic roared past her
in a blaring cacophony of sound formed from engines, horns, sirens,
and the throbbing bass beat from a hundred blasting stereo
speakers.

Robyn looked
around her and let out a whoop of joy. This was the big city! What
a great place!

The hotel
brought her back to earth again. It was a shabby old brick building
on a side street, four storeys high in a u-shape with a patchy lawn
in the middle, rank with weeds. Robyn’s room was at ground level in
the corner of the u, where judging by the paleness of the
vegetation struggling outside, the sun never quite reached. The
window had wire mesh and bars across it, and wouldn’t open more
than two inches. An ancient radiator had left a rusty water stain
on the lino, which curled up at the edges in protest. The sagging
single bed leaned tiredly against the wall, but at least the sheets
seemed clean when Robyn sniffed them suspiciously. She plonked her
pack down beside the bed and closed the door, then did a
double-take.