Shatter Read online

  The rest of the morning I spend trying to focus on the task in front of me while worrying about how I’m going to make ends meet. At lunch, I sit in the office with Betty and drink coffee. She tells me that Rae junior is hiring another mechanic, a friend of his. What a fucking little liar! “This is bullshit!” I say. “I can’t stand that dishonest little a-hole.”

  “It won’t help to tell him that, In fact, if you piss him off, he’ll probably mess with your pay,” she says.

  She’s right. Besides being a bullshitter, he’s vengeful. I’ve seen him screw over past employees. It’s probably best I listen to Betty and keep my mouth shut.

  For dinner, I stop at Leung’s for take-out and then drive home. After eating my food, I call Jason. As soon as he answers, I say, “So, tell me again about this job?”

  He laughs and tells me to be at his dad’s office at 7 am, that way if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll still make it in time for work.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up a half an hour ahead of my alarm. After I shower, I make a small breakfast and sip on a coffee. At 6:00, I dig through my closet trying to find something classy and appropriate for the meeting. I really need to make a good impression. I find my grey pencil skirt and a matching blazer. Grabbing a pair or pumps, I stuff everything into my backpack and head out.

  South Granville is very upscale compared to the areas I normally frequent. All the shops are posh and overpriced. The neighborhood caters to the elite, offering swanky art galleries, Italian clothing designers and fancy eateries. I park at the Esso gas station on the corner of Burrard and Oak and lock my bike. Then, I use the station’s washroom to change. When I’m done, I text Jason and walk towards South Granville.

  When I get to the building, I take the elevator to the second floor. As soon as the doors open, I see Jason. “Wow, look at you. You look so hot. I almost wish I were a lesbian.”

  “I’m not that desperate,” I laugh.

  I follow him down a short hallway to a door that says, Lyster Investigative Services. When we walk in, I see his father, Ed, sitting behind a mahogany desk in front of a large window. Ed stands up, shakes my hand, and then tells us both to have a seat.

  “So, you want to be a P.I?” Ed asks, folding his hands on the desk.

  “Well, I mean…yes. It definitely sounds interesting,” I answer.

  “Jason tells me you’re a mechanic by trade. Is that so?”

  “Yes. I’ve been working at Ziggy’s Garage for the past five years.”

  “This job is a little different than being a grease monkey. You’ll have to interview clients and be sympathetic to their needs.”

  “No problem.”

  Ed nods and writes something down.

  “Do you have family in the lower mainland?”

  Oh shit. I was afraid of this.

  “My father is away, and I lost my mother and my sister many years ago.

  A look of sympathy comes over him.

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “It was a long time ago,” I say, forcing a smile.

  After a few moments of silence, he says, “Well, I guess you can ride around with Jason for a few weeks and learn the ropes. You can start tomorrow morning. Just so you know, I don’t put up with slack-asses. If I hire you, you’re here to work. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t, Ed, and thank you.” I shake his hand, then Jason and I make a quick exit.

  In front of the elevator, Jason nudges me, “Good job. You’re in.”

  “He probably just felt sorry for me,” I shrug.

  “He wouldn’t hire you because he felt sorry for you. It was probably your skirt that convinced him you were right for the job.”

  “You’re a pig, Jay,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Just kidding. Dad likes big women. You’re too scrawny. You’re safe.”

  When the elevator doors open, I step inside and tell Jason I’ll see him bright and early tomorrow.

  After I change into my street clothes at the Esso, I hop on my bike and drive to Ziggy’s. When I arrive, Rae is standing in the office talking to Betty, probably working out how many of my hours to give to his friend.

  “Rae, I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you,” I say.

  Betty turns her eyes from her computer and looks at me. I think she’s secretly hoping that I tell him exactly what I think.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Well, I couldn’t help but feel a little slighted when you told me you were going to cut my hours, so I went out and got another job.”

  “You what?” Rae says, standing up straight.

  “Yeah, I mean, considering the garage isn’t pulling in that much business, I figured I’d better cover my butt and find employment elsewhere.”

  “Are you serious? Well, I hope you’re not planning on leaving right away. I need to train someone new.”

  “Yeah, here’s the thing, Rae. I’ve been working here since you were in high school. I did the best job I could do, no matter how shitty the pay was. I always stayed loyal to this place. So, when you come to me with some bullshit story about knocking my hours because there’s not enough business, I felt a little betrayed. With that in mind, I’ve decided to leave now, as in right now.”

  “You can’t do that. You’re leaving me high and dry.”

  “Doesn’t feel too good, does it? I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Don’t you have a friend or someone you can hire?”

  Betty smiles.

  Chapter Six

  I roll over and hit the alarm. Getting up an hour and a half earlier in the morning sucks, but at least I don’t have to freeze my ass off from the open bay doors at the garage anymore. After I have a quick cup of coffee, Jason texts to tell me he’s downstairs. When I hop in his truck, he’s sipping on a coffee and tapping the steering wheel to the radio. His eyes are half open and red.

  “Long night?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” he smiles mischievously.

  “You’re such a man-whore.”

  “It’s true,” he laughs.

  “So, what are we doing today?” I ask.

  “Some old rich codger hired me to follow his twenty-one-year-old girlfriend around. He thinks she’s cheating on him.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “Oh yeah, we get all types, man.”

  Jason hands me a clip board with notes.

  The first thing on the sheet is, gym-7:30 am. We drive to East Vancouver and pull over halfway down the street.

  “She lives in that house,” he says, pointing to a white ranch style home.

  After listening to a couple of songs on the easy listening station, the front door opens on the house we’ve been watching. A young woman with long, blonde hair tied in a ponytail opens the door of the house. She’s wearing a matching pink work out suit and is carrying a small bag and a backpack. She walks out to a light blue BMW parked on the street. When she drives passed us, Jason holds the clip board in front of his face. “Always look like you’re busy when a mark gets close. You don’t want to be spotted.”

  “Noted,” I say, nodding my head. Jason waits a bit before spinning the truck around then follows the BMW. We follow along behind as she parks and goes into a gym on Nanaimo Street. She takes about forty-five minutes to reappear and then heads toward downtown. Jason puts a check mark beside gym. Next, the girl drives to Burrard Street and pulls into the Regent Place Hotel. She jumps out of the car and hands her keys to a valet attendant. She enters the building and disappears.

  “Now what?” I ask.

  “Now, I go to work. You stay here,” Jason says, getting out of the truck.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I know a guy who works as the concierge. I went to school with him. I’m going to see which floor the girl went to. The hotel has cameras in every elevator and hallway.”

  Jason gets out and enters the hotel. I sit and watch the entrance for the next fifteen minutes before he reap
pears. Walking briskly across the street, he gets in, catches his breath and starts the truck.

  “Well? What happened?”

  Jason smiles and drives away.

  “Shouldn’t we wait until she comes out to follow her some more? There’s a lot of other stops on the paper she hasn’t gone to yet.”

  “Nope. We’re done.”

  “Explain?”

  “We don’t need to follow her anymore because I found out everything I need to know already.”

  “Seriously? What happened in there?”

  “I followed her to the seventh floor. I watched as she knocked on a door and then a guy answered, kissed her and they went into the room. I got pictures of the whole thing on my cell phone.”

  “So, who was the guy?”

  “A prominent BC judge.”

  “No shit!?”

  “Doing this job, you’ll find very little surprises you after a while.”

  “So, the old guy that hired you, what does he do?”

  “Ahh. That’s where the story gets interesting. He’s a judge too.”

  “No way,” I say, excitedly. “This sounds like a bad triangle.”

  “That’s not our problem, Jules. We are hired to do a job. We do it and get paid.”

  “Well, this certainly beats the shit out of pulling wrenches for a living,” I laugh. “How much did that old guy give you to follow his young tart?”

  “Two grand.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go for breakfast, It’s on me.” He winks and then turns up the tunes.

  * * *

  Over three weeks, our workdays are much the same. We follow our mark, write down each stop we make and take pictures. While working with Jason, we’ve followed a lady who was suspected of cheating on her husband, tailed a teenager whose parents wanted to know if their son was sneaking out at night, and surveyed a guy who was stealing hair supplies from a salon.

  * * *

  Today is the last day I’ll be riding shot-gun with Jason—he leaves for Europe tomorrow morning. I shower, get ready for him to pick me up and checkthe time. I’ve got a half hour before I need be in the lobby. I turn on my laptop and check my messages—I rarely go online, so my inbox is usually filled with spam. I scroll through the fifty or so junk mails, deleting as I go. When I see a letter from Katie, I stop. Immediately, I picture my beautiful little sister, Abby. Tears roll down my cheeks as I remember the last time I saw her all those years ago. We were both crying as the lady social worker ushered Abby into the backseat of her car. When they drove away, the pain of losing her brought me to my knees. That was the moment I decided to shut off emotionally.

  Katie is Abby’s ex foster-sister. When Abby and I would speak on the phone, she would tell me how much she missed me but said she loved it at her new home with Katie. Everything seemed to be going well, until that one fateful day that changed everything. The two girls went skating on a pond in the back of Katie’s family property. Abby fell through a patch of thin ice, and Katie was too little and too weak to save her. Since then, Katie has been riddled with guilt. I don’t blame her for what happened, how could I? She was just eleven years old at the time, only two years older than Abby. I haven’t heard from Katie in so long, though to be fair, when she wrote to me in the past, I rarely responded. I think the reason I avoid contact with her is because I don’t want to hear her talk about Abby. It hurts too much.

  The subject line in her email reads, I’m closer to you than you think. Curious, I open it. ‘Dear Jules, I moved to Vancouver from Cloverdale. I’m working at the Main Street Police Station as a dispatch operator. I’d love to see you. Get back to me. Let’s make it happen. Cheers, Katie.’ I hit reply and start typing when my cell beeps. It’s Jason. He’s downstairs. I close my laptop and head out.

  We spend the day at the office. Jason goes over basic information about where to draw the line when accepting new cases. He tells me that one of the rules is that if a man calls to find a female, we don’t give him any information until we talk to the woman first. “There’re too many wacko’s out there,” he explains. “Another rule is, if we’re on a stake out and see someone getting hurt, we are obligated to call the cops.”

  “Seems like common sense to me,” I say.

  At the end of the day, Ed takes Jason and I for dinner at the Italian eatery downstairs. Afterwards, Jason drives me to his place, a small but lux apartment in False Creek. His furniture is simple, but expensive. He’s not into knick-knacks or a lot of crap on the walls or counters, much the way I would have a place, if I had his kind of money. He shows me the gym room and then the pool before taking me to the security office and introducing me to the guards. After the tour, he hands me the keys to his truck.

  “So, you’re really leaving in the morning, huh?” I say.

  “Yep, and I’m super excited about it.”

  I ask him if he needs a ride to the airport, since I will have his vehicle, but he tells me that he’s got it covered. We hug, and I thank him. He promises to write and keep me informed about how things are going.

  * * *

  Back at my apartment, I start sorting and packing. This suite was furnished when I moved in, so all I really need to pack are my clothes and toiletries. I’m happy about moving into Jason’s posh apartment, but nervous too. I’ve never been exposed to life on his side of the tracks, and I don’t know if I’ll fit in.

  Just as I finish packing, my cell rings. The number on the screen looks like a government number. “Hello?” I say.

  “Hello. Is this Julia?”

  The name cuts through me. The last time someone called me that was fifteen years ago. I’ve gone by Jules ever since - my way of separating from the past.

  “Yes. But I go by Jules.”

  “My name is Angelou. I’m John Patrick Gordon’s parole officer.”

  Immediately, air stops flowing to my lungs.

  My father.

  He continues, “John is due to be released tomorrow, and he gave your name as a contact and your address as his primary residence.”

  “He what?”

  “If there’s a problem with him staying with you, he won’t be released until he can come up with solid accommodations.”

  “Wait. What do you mean, ‘accommodations’?”

  “As I said, he listed your residence as where he’ll be staying. I’m just calling to confirm that he will be residing with you until he is able to reintegrate back into society.”

  Sonofabitch! How dare he be so presumptuous as to think that I would let him stay with me after everything that’s happened.

  I take a deep breath and sit on the bed. “Angelou, is my father there with you? I’d like to speak with him.”

  The phone goes quiet for a few seconds before a raspy sounding voice comes on, “Julia, is that you?”

  “It’s Jules, and yeah, it’s me. Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

  He clears his throat and tells me that he’s sorry for using my name, but he tried to get a hold of me at the garage. Apparently, Betty gave him my phone number and address. My father’s voice is desperate, as he tells me that he doesn’t know anyone else he can ask.

  I can’t believe it. I feel like I’m being emotionally blackmailed. If I don’t agree to help him, he’ll have to stay in prison. Then it occurs to me, why should I care? He’s just an ex-drug addict that happens to be my father. Not to mention, he’s the reason I don’t have a mother or a sister anymore. Still, I can’t help thinking about something my mom used to say, “Never turn your back on your family.”

  Angelou gets back on the phone, “So, Jules, are you confirming that your father will be staying with you or are you not in agreement with that set up?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit! “Yes,” I say softly.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Yes. My father can stay with me until he can find his own place.”

  I give the parole officer my new address and then agree to pick up my dad in the afternoon. When I hang
up, I don’t move, I just sit like a statue and stare at the wall. After all these years of me not visiting him in prison or not even opening his letters, and now I’m going to be stuck in an apartment with him. I guess I always knew this day would come…I was just hoping it would be a long way down the road.

  * * *

  I had the shittiest sleep last night. All I could think about is what a clusterfuck my life is going to be now. I just started a new job, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate with my estranged father staying with me?

  * * *

  At the new apartment, I stand at the bay window and look out over Granville Island Market. The city looks so pristine from up here. It’s hard to imagine the grimy underbelly that exists only ten streets over. The morning sun rises above tall buildings and reflects off everything glass. I should be excited to be in this place, but I’m not. Instead, I’m preoccupied with the thought of the impending doom of my father’s arrival.

  I put my things away and then call Ed to find out what he wants me to do today. He tells me to take the day off, so I can get settled. Walking around the apartment, I find a note taped to the bathroom mirror. “Enjoy your new digs, babe. Be in touch, Jay.”

  I call a cab then take the elevator downstairs. I’ve got to do a quick clean-up at my old place, grab my bike from the parkade and come back here to pick up the truck before I head to Matsqui penitentiary to pick up my father. Father, what a joke. The definition of the word hardly pertains to John Patrick Gordon. Fathers are supposed to take their kids to school events like plays and recitals, and help them with their homework, not send them birthday cards from a cell in a federal penitentiary.