Authors: David Anderson
*
The meeting with Emma meant that I got to the bookstore twenty-five minutes late and was immediately instructed to go see the manager, Mr. Barnes. I knocked on the door of his office and prepared myself for the kind of encounter I’d already had with him half-a-dozen times in the recent past. He didn’t look up as I came in, just sat behind his tidy desk and stared at a computer screen. His extensive paunch pressed against the edge of the keyboard and his bald pate gleamed up at me, a few wisps of hair stuck across it in the world’s worst ‘comb over’. Volumes is the ideal place for Barnes to hold sway I thought, as I waited for him to acknowledge my existence – it’s perfect for someone who insists on everything being done by the book.
“Late again, Malone. Thirty minutes.”
I knew better than to argue. “Yes, sorry about that. Had an unexpected call from my mother in Burnaby. She’s just had a terrible accident. Fell down the stairs. She’s in VGH now; could be in a cast for months.”
His face darkened in a scowl. He didn’t believe a word of it, of course. Which is not surprising, as I realised after I said it that the last time I’d made an excuse for being late, I’d told him my mum lived in Victoria. Oh well.
“I’m taking half an hour off your pay,” he said, sounding personally affronted. “Don’t let it happen again or it really will be the last straw.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“And did you not get the memo last week?” he said to my back. I made the mistake of turning around. “The memo about wearing a tie at work,” he continued. “And I don’t see any tie.” He jabbed a finger in the rough direction of my neck.
“I’ll wear one tomorrow, Mr. Barnes.”
A
tie
in
this
heat
! I would put it on as I entered the store and not a second sooner.
I left his office, carefully banging the door behind me, and promptly forgot every word he’d said. My mind was buzzing with thoughts about Emma. I had an overwhelming feeling of having let her down.
Throughout the rest of the morning I was distracted with customers, but at eleven I had a fifteen-minute break and spent it in the washroom, deep in thought. I asked myself what I truly thought of Emma. How much of her story did I really believe? Deep down, I was still sceptical. My doubts were coming between us.
A few minutes before lunchtime my cell phone hummed in my pocket and, when I checked, it was her number. I ran to the washroom again, holding the phone to my ear as I slalomed through the aisles.
“Mike?”
“Emma.” I was incredibly happy to hear her voice.
“Mike, you have a lunch break?”
“Yup, just coming up right now.”
“Great. Can we talk? I’m here in the Starbucks right beside you.”
“Wonderful.” I really meant it too. “I’ll be there in a second.”
When I got there I found her at the very back in a snug little alcove that was rarely vacant.
“You picked my favourite seat,” I said.
She smiled. “I seem to remember you like being hidden away.”
I slid into the seat opposite her and noticed a mug of coffee in front of me.
“I got you one already,” she said, “Thought it might save time.”
I raised the mug and took an appreciative sip. It was slightly cool, but I ignored that.
She reached across and put her hand over mine. “Mike, I’ve been thinking a lot.”
“What about?” I wondered if she was going to try to persuade me to go back on what I’d decided earlier.
“About a lot of stuff. Remember when we used to talk about the future, about our dreams?”
I nodded. I’d thought about it a million times.
“Remember how mine always involved money, lots of it, enough to buy anything I wanted?”
“Winters in Whistler and summers in Barbados” I replied quietly. I’d never seen her in this mood before.
“Well, you know what? I made my dream come true. I’ve been there, done that. And it left me empty.”
I said nothing; let her talk.
“I guess it’s about getting older or something,” she said. “But I don’t think that way anymore. Money doesn’t bring happiness. Sounds corny I know, but I learned the hard way.”
“So what does bring happiness?”
She looked up from our clasped hands into my eyes. “Other people. People I care about. Mending mistakes, that kind of thing.”
“I think so too.”
“Do you believe me, Mike?”
It was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I thought fast and hard.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
We looked at each other for a long time and there was moisture in her eyes.
“Those few months with you was the only time in my life when I was really happy,” she said.
“Me too.”
We embraced and kissed, and I arranged to come by her place later.
BIG SHOT
The minute hand crawled around the face of the clock hanging above the checkout counter. I checked it with my watch which, sure enough, was six minutes faster. Barnes had been at it again. We weren’t allowed to leave until the big clock said so.
At five past six, real time, I fled my workplace and stood outside in the shade of the bookstore’s long awning. The air was hot and humid, without a trace of breeze, and I was already beginning to sweat. I put on my trusty old Ray-Ban shades, bought second-hand from a church rummage sale years ago.
A car stopped at the kerb. A brand new black BMW. Not many of those around.
The driver’s door opened and out stepped the Brick, as I was now thinking of him, the goon from outside Emma’s place. He was dressed more formally today, in a crisp white shirt – aviator sunglasses hanging from the breast pocket – pressed black pants and shiny shoes. And his eyes? Well, they were fixed on me.
I considered making a run for it and quickly dismissed the idea as not a viable option. For a main intersection, the corner where I was standing was fairly quiet this time of evening and something told me this guy could outpace me with embarrassing ease. Instead, I stood stock still and tried not to tremble too obviously.
He walked right up to me until we stood nearly toe to toe. This time I avoided looking into his eyes.
“Boss wants a word with you.” He flicked his head slightly in the direction of the car. My gaze followed and I saw the rear passenger window slide down smoothly. A dim figure sat behind it, staring back at me. I stepped around the muscle mountain and went to the car.
At the window I stooped down and peered in, the sun burning my back as I leaned over. In the far passenger seat sat a small Chinese man with jet black hair and eyebrows, his face smooth and pasty white, whom I took to be Zheng. He looked ten years younger than the mid-fifties I knew he had to be. Plenty of Chinese faces are animated; Zheng’s was impassive, impossible to read. Not overtly malicious, but not friendly either.
“Get in the car, Mr. Malone.” The voice was controlled, almost quiet, but brooked no dissension. It was the voice of someone who took it as a natural law of the universe that what he said would promptly come to pass.
The driver, who must have been standing directly behind me, gripped my shoulder and pushed me towards the open the door.
I could struggle in the street and probably get a quick punch in the family jewels for my trouble. Or I could get in.
I got in.
*
We crossed the Lions Gate Bridge and into West Vancouver. I thought about my arrangement with Emma – ‘date’ didn’t seem quite the right word for it – and I wondered what she would think when I didn’t turn up. Would she be worried or just shrug it off? I wasn’t about to whip out my cell phone and call her with Zheng sitting beside me, that’s for sure.
A magnificent vista of Burrard Inlet, rusty-coloured container ships parked along the horizon, opened up on my left as we negotiated the steep, twisty road. It was the first time in ages that I’d been along Marine Drive, but I wasn’t enjoying the view. Zheng hadn’t uttered a word since we’d started. In fact, I think he’d barely moved a muscle. I took a surreptitious look sideways and somehow he detected it. Maybe he had an eye hidden inside his ear or something. Whatever; just as I looked at him, he annoyingly turned and stared right back at me.
“You like Chinese food, Mr. Malone?”
The question completely threw me. “As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied. Sweet and sour chicken was my favourite, closely followed by ginger beef, but I didn’t get into details.
Slight nod of head. “Good,” he replied, “Then you will be my guest tonight.”
I felt I hadn’t much choice in the matter, so looked out the window and tried to enjoy the ride.
The car passed Gleneagles Golf Course and turned left. We wound our way around various twisty roads named after British military figures and dipped down until we were right at the coastal shoreline. Finally, we turned into a wide driveway and pulled up in front of a set of enormous white garage doors. The driver clicked something he was holding, the doors slid up noiselessly and he drove slowly in. I had managed to relax a little during the drive but the garage doors closing behind the car tensed me up again.
The chauffeur opened the door for Zheng while I got out the other side. I just had time to note several other cars in the garage before I was shepherded up a short flight of steps to a courtyard on the main level of the house itself. The house was L-shaped, with lots of windows on all the sides I could see. There was an aquamarine pool inside the ‘L’ and an overalled worker was cleaning it with a long pole.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Malone.”
“Very nice,” I replied. “Lots of natural light.”
Zheng gave me an inscrutable look. “Ah, the windows, you like those. Easy to break into, yes?” He pointed a stumpy finger at the worker beside the pool. “This is one of my outside guards. He is armed, of course. There are several more in the grounds. And my home has the latest electronic security. It would not be so easy for Mr. Burglar.”
I swallowed hard. This was way too close to the bone.
“Now you will need to freshen up. Wark will take you to the washroom.”
So that was the driver’s name. It sounded vaguely Scottish and distinctly ominous.
“We have supper in ten minutes,” Zheng said, looking at Wark who nodded. He led me upstairs to an ornate bathroom which was probably bigger than my entire bachelor suite, and shuffled me inside.
I locked the door, leaving Wark standing outside, and fought the panic down. What was I doing here and how the hell was I going to get out? How did he know about Emma and me? My eyes went to the windows, of which there were several, three high up above the twin washbasin mirrors, and another bigger one above the bathtub. None looked like the kind I could easily clamber through, and I had no head for heights anyway. Not to mention the guards lurking in the shrubbery. I thought about Emma waiting for me in her apartment and decided to text her. With the cold tap turned on to drown the peeps, I tapped out ‘Sorry, can’t come, will explain later’, and switched off the phone. It would have to do.
Needless to say, by now I really did have to use the bathroom for normal stuff. I did my business, washed my hands, and rejoined the ape outside.
The dining room had the same high windows and all white décor. The two of us sat at a table that seated eight, Zheng at the top end and me in the middle to his left. I craned my head around and, sure enough, Wark was standing at the wall behind me.
“We eat first, talk afterwards,” Zheng said.
I was happy enough to go along with that. At least I was getting a meal out of this, after which we’d talk, I’d deny everything, then go home. The first course arrived, served by a middle-aged female housekeeper with a Chinese name I didn’t catch and couldn’t have pronounced. It was some kind of thin broth, with unfamiliar vegetables floating in it. I took a couple of little mouthfuls and passed on the rest.
The subsequent courses, of which there were three, weren’t any better. I don’t recall the exact sequence, but steamed whole fish appeared, the housekeeper carefully pointing their heads towards Zheng – this seemed important – some battered claw things that I eventually figured out were chicken feet, and a cold dish with shiny round vegetables that Zheng deemed to explain to me was jellyfish and sea cucumbers. Not my kind of Chinese food.
Zheng ate with studied concentration; always at the same slow careful pace, slurping noodles, sucking bones, and occasionally emitting a grunt of pleasure. I sipped green tea and picked at the edges of each dish, trying to look busy whilst eating as little as possible. Zheng wasn’t fooled for a moment. After a while I realised he was quietly enjoying my discomfort.
At the end the housekeeper cleared away the greasy dishes and brought two small bowls of hot water with lemon slices in it. I knocked half of it back like I was thirsting to death, glad to rinse my mouth of strange flavours. Zheng dabbled his fingertips in his bowl and dried them on a little towel that I hadn’t even noticed. I felt like an idiot and hated myself for caring.
“No fortune cookies, Mr. Malone.”
I smiled lamely, not knowing what to say.
“Now we will go to my office and have coffee. And we will talk,” he added. By that, I’m sure he meant that he would talk and I would agree, which I was more than willing to do, simply to get away from here. He got up and I followed him through a series of beautiful rooms, up a grand central staircase and along a hallway. Everything I passed was in matching shades of off-white and cream colours.
“White must be your favourite colour?” I asked his back. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. Mercifully he didn’t seem to hear the question and led me into his office, which turned out to be yet another large room with chandeliers, rugs, and a mirror above the fireplace. The wall around the fireplace in this room was actually a dark mahogany brown and there were bookcases half filled with books and knickknacks on either side of it. We sat opposite each other on imitation Queen Anne chairs, a coffee table between us. Wark stood just inside the door.
“You are wondering why I have brought you here, Mr. Malone?” Zheng was finally getting to the point of all this. I sensed his mood had heightened.
“Yes,” I replied. Despite the scrupulously polite ‘Mr. Malone’ bit, I had an idea that this conversation wasn’t going to end well.
“You know my wife.”
I nodded.
“From university days, yes?”
So he didn’t know it all. Good. I wasn’t about to enlighten him about the plans Emma and I had tossed around and then abandoned – though he seemed to know them anyway – but discussing ten years ago couldn’t hurt.
“Sure. We were good friends.”
“More than just friends, I think.”
Zheng looked distinctly irked, his thin, tight mouth turning down at the corners. He’d barely exhibited any emotion thus far, so I knew my renewed friendship with Emma must be pushing his buttons. I reminded myself to be careful, savvy.
“As you know, she wants to divorce me, but I do not agree to it.”
I nodded again, keeping my tongue in check.
“You would be wise not to try to interfere in that in any way.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Childish infatuation.”
Yeah, he had me there. “We’re just renewing an old friendship,” I parried.
“And making foolish plans. Plans that will get you a very long jail sentence. Or worse.”
Something inside me froze and I could feel the blood drain from my face. He’d now confirmed that he didn’t just know about my meetings with Emma but also the details of our conversations. Was he tapping her phone, maybe her apartment as well? I wouldn’t have put it past the bastard.
“We’re just enjoying each other’s company, Mr. Zheng.” I did my best to sound relaxed and sincere.
He straightened a little Buddha statue on the table in front of him, concentrating on it fully, as if seeking millimetre precision. Then he looked up into my eyes. “From here on you will do no such thing, Mr. Malone. Emma Virtanen is my wife and I don’t allow it.”
Now he was pressing
my
buttons. I hate rich guys trying to boss me around. But right now I was too scared to do much about it.
“We’ve had coffee together a couple of times. I visited her place a couple of times. You object to that?” I replied, as forcefully as I could muster.
A dark fire lit up his beady little eyes. “I know her capabilities to persuade young men to attempt stupid things. Listen to me very carefully. You will not see her again.”
I avoided his gaze and leaned back. A word out of place would get me into deep trouble here. I was in this dragon’s lair with no escape route and had to keep biting my tongue.
“Now we will drink coffee.” For Zheng the ‘discussion’ was obviously over: he’d given his orders and I merely had to obey. He pushed a button beside the fireplace. I didn’t hear any ringing but a minute later two very attractive, and very young, Asian girls in traditional dress came in. One was carrying a tray laden with little black and gold-inlaid cups and saucers; the other was struggling with an antique silver coffee urn. They put them on the table and served Zheng, then me. Not bothering with cream or sugar I emptied my minuscule cup in about three mouthfuls and poured myself some more from the urn. I knew I’d just committed yet another social
faux
pas
, but I was too nervous to care anymore.
Zheng waved a hand at the girls. “This is Jenny and Suzie, to give them their Westernised names. I rescued them from the slums of Shanghai. The Jennies and Suzies of this world consider themselves fortunate to work in the high class establishments in which I place them,” he said evenly. “But these two girls serve as kitchen maids in my house.”
“Very nice for you,” I replied. I gave him a man-to-man grin to try to draw him out. “I’m sure they perform other duties too.”
“You begin to understand me, Mr. Malone. This is what my wife so arrogantly disapproves of. She would not see that she was foremost in the household.”