Shatter Page 7

  “Did they pay you well?”

  “Let’s just say, I’m taking you for a swanky dinner tonight, so go have a shower and get cleaned up.”

  “We’re celebrating?” he says.

  “We’re celebrating,” I answer.

  While I sit on the couch and wait for him, my phone rings. Oh no, it’s probably Katie again. I wish so much that she would be coming along with us tonight, but I know I can’t let that happen. I look over at the phone. Jason’s name is on the screen. I quickly answer, “Jay. How the hell are ya?”

  “Hey, girl. I’m just making a quick call to congratulate you on kicking ass on your first case.”

  “I know. It was a trip. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  “And I want to hear everything, but I’ve got to get some shut eye. The days start early around here.”

  I forgot about the time difference. I feel bummed that we can’t talk longer. “When will we be able to connect?” I ask.

  “I’ll give you a call when I get some free time.”

  Just as we’re saying goodbye, I remember, “Jason, wait! I have to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “My father. He’s been staying here. It’s a long story. I just want to make sure you’re cool with that?”

  “Jules, I trust your judgement, plus, I told you when I left, it’s your apartment until I come back.”

  “Thanks, Jay. Also, I want to give you some cash for me staying here.”

  “I won’t hear of it. You’re doing me a favor by watching the place. Gotta go, Love ya,”

  “Love ya too, Jay.”

  Just as the call ends, Dad walks out looking clean and ready to go. I feel guilty for thinking it, but because of the poor condition of his clothing, I’m not sure if a fine dining place will let us in.

  When we reach downtown, I decide to take Dad to the Five Sails Restaurant in the Pan-Pacific Hotel. The place has great mountain and water views and it’s not too ritzy, so they shouldn’t have a problem with how scruffy Dad’s clothes look.

  Dad’s eyes widen when we walk into the restaurant. I’m not sure when the last time was that he dined at a nice place, maybe never. The maître d’ walks us to a table by a window and hands us both a menu. When the waiter comes, he asks us if we’d like to see the wine list. Before my father can answer, I say “No.”

  Dad and I talk about everything and nothing over dinner. He tells me about his job and a fella who works with him named, Jim. Apparently, Jim used to be a druggy on the street back in the days Dad was around, but they never knew each other. Apparently, Jim knows Slinky, my parents’ old friend. Jim, told Dad that Slinky is still an addict and is now holed up in a downtown hotel.

  I order us two plates of grilled salmon and rice, my dad’s favorite foods. As we eat, he looks out the window at Stanley Park and tells me stories about when he and Mom would take us kids there and feed the ducks and squirrels. “It wasn’t all bad times back then,” he says smiling.

  “I know, Dad.”

  Just then, two elderly ladies are seated at the table next to us. Both are apparently hard of hearing because they are yelling when talking to each other. Dad and I laugh.

  After our plates are clean, we order crème brulee and coffee. The old ladies next to us holler back and forth about knitting, laundry and recipes. Dad and I can’t stop giggling.

  Then, one of the ladies says, “Did you hear about that horrible incident that happened by Spanish Banks last night? It was on the news.”

  Her friend shakes her head.

  Just as our desert and coffee arrives, the first lady continues, “Well, apparently, the fire department and police were called to an automobile fire out by Spanish Banks. By the time the fire was out, the two men inside the car were dead. Can you imagine?”

  The old lady across from her says, “Oh my goodness. That is terrible. I wonder who the men in the car were? Maybe they were lovers and decided to blow themselves up because they were shunned by their families.”

  My father and I stare at each other in disbelief.

  “No. I don’t think they were lovers because the police said that the license plate and car belonged to a young man that was known to police. They say that he was involved in the drug world. Isn’t that something?” The first lady says.

  Her friend immediately pipes up and says, “If that’s true, it’s good those men are gone. They probably ruined a lot of lives selling drugs. It’s just unfortunate that a perfectly good vehicle was destroyed in the accident. Did the news report say what kind of car it was?”

  Dad and I, still laughing, try not to spill while we’re finishing our coffees.

  “It was one of them fancy schmancy cars, a Mercedes—a white one.”

  As soon as the words leave the old lady’s lips, I put down my cup and look at Dad. He looks back at me and says, “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to talk until we’re outside and in private.

  I flag down the waiter then pay the bill. Once we’re back in the truck, my dad asks me again what’s wrong.

  “The old woman said that the burned-up car was a white Mercedes with two dead guys in it. Then, she mentioned that the car was known to police because of it being involved in drug activity,” I say, staring at him.

  “Fournier,” he blurts out. You think that the white Mercedes might be the same one you were following? The dealers?”

  “It sounds a little too coincidental not to be,” I say, starting the truck.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if you are right, Jules. But what good does it do you to know this? We’re forgetting all about Fournier, remember? Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  I nod and pretend to agree with him, but I can’t stop thinking about that waste of skin, Fournier. Why should he be able to use and abuse people and then discard them afterwards? Someone has to stop him. No matter what my dad says, I will never be able to just walk away and be ok with Fournier killing my mom and destroying my family. He has to pay for what he’s done—that’s fair.

  When we get to the apartment, we stop in the lobby so I can check the mail. My father walks ahead of me to the elevator, and I sift through Jason’s mail and some flyers. Suddenly, my father says, “Oh, hello,” to someone and causes me to raise my head.

  Katie is sitting on the chair beside a planter.

  I take a deep breath, feeling nervous and excited.

  My dad pushes the elevator button and when it opens, walks in. “I’ll go upstairs and let you girls talk.” The door closes and Katie and I are alone. She stands up and walks over to me, “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls? Did I do or say something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” I answer.

  “Then why?” Katie’s eyes fill with tears.

  My heart feels heavy. I’ve hurt her, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. How can I explain the reason I am ignoring her is for her own good? Will she understand or will she think that I’m just a horrible person?

  “I’m sorry if you’re upset, Katie. I think you’re a really great girl. I never meant to hurt you. I guess I just don’t want you to get dragged into the fucked-up things that I’m dealing with from my past. I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.”

  “Don’t tell me what I deserve. I have the right to make up my own mind about what I choose to get involved in,” she says, getting pissed off.

  Her tears make her green eyes shimmer under the fluorescent lights. Ignoring her calls was a hell of a lot easier than being strong while she’s standing right in front of me looking so beautiful. She’s the first woman who has ever had this kind of impact on me. Initially, my intention was to keep her far away from me to protect her, but now as I look at her, I feel selfish. I can’t help it. I want her.

  “Will you come back to my place with me, so we can talk?” She asks.

  I nod.

  We ride the elevator holding hands. When we walk into the apartment, Dad smiles when I tell him that I’ll be going
to Katie’s for a while.

  “Have fun,” he winks. “Maybe I’ll just call Jim from work. He was wanting to take me for a coffee later.”

  * * *

  Katie’s apartment is made up of one large room. Half of the room is kitchen while the other half is her living room. A micro bedroom, just large enough for a bed, sits directly across from the tiny three-piece bathroom. She was right. She lives in a shoebox. In the main room, a beanbag chair sits in one corner with a narrow bookcase beside it. On the opposing wall is a love seat with a small end table and a floor lamp. The smell of previously lit rose scented incense, still lingers in the air. Katie takes my coat and pours me a glass of red wine. I watch her as she sets her glass down on the coffee table then walks around the room lighting strategically placed candles.

  I feel nervous in this intimate setting with her. As much as she drives me wild, I haven’t been in a romantic setting with a woman in a very long time, years, actually. About three years ago, I was seeing this chick who worked at the Rock Shop on Granville just a few doors down from where I was working at Ziggy’s Garage. Every day after work I’d stop in and listen to records on the headphones. One day while I was listening to The Kinks, she walked in front of me and smiled. A short and meaningless relationship kind of spawned from then. Her name was Carmy. She was an army brat from out east somewhere. She only moved to Vancouver because she wanted to break free from the pressure her military father put on her to go to college. I guess the long and short of it is, when she got to Vancouver and didn’t have Daddy to reel her in, she went kind of wild, having fast and empty relations with any girl who struck her fancy. Needless to say, we didn’t last long. Since then, I’ve been closed off to dating. I guess I’ve just always met flaky chicks in the city. I guess I’ve been holding out for someone real and honest, someone like Katie.

  I go to the washroom and quickly finger comb my hair and make sure I don’t have any remnants of dinner on my face. Resting my hands on the sink, I notice they’re shaking. Damn, why does she have to look so perfect? I’d be a lot less nervous if I could find a flaw with her.

  I walk back out into the living room and sit beside Katie.

  “I don’t want you to ignore my calls anymore, Jules. I really like you a lot, and I want us to get closer, not further away.”

  “Are you sure? I mean…you know about what happened to my mother and to Abby and about my dad going away for all those years. I didn’t walk away from all that unscathed. I have trust issues.”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Katie says sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry that I ignored your calls. I just thought maybe you’d forget about me and meet someone less fucked-up.”

  “I don’t see you as messed up as you see yourself, Jules. You’ve always been kind and normal around me.”

  She’s saying all the right things. I lean over and kiss her full, pink lips. Immediately, she wraps her arms around me and kisses me back. Our tongues roll around each other’s, and our breathing becomes heavy and hot. Katie pulls back only long enough to pull off her t-shirt. I do the same. Soon, both of our bras are on the floor and we’re caressing each other’s breasts. Katie stands up in front of me and slides off her jeans. The glow from the candles illuminate her perfect skin. Slowly, my eyes look at this beautiful creature in front of me. Her body is petite and curvy and modelesque. I pull her close to me, my face at thigh level. Slowly, I run my tongue up and down her thighs with my hands on her perfectly round ass. She moans and bites her bottom lip when I run my fingers back and forth over her panties. Then, she grabs my hand and pulls me up and leads me to her bedroom.

  As soon as we hit the bed, she slides off her panties and kneels in front of me. Then, she pushes me on to my back and slides off my jeans. Her eyes look hungry and primal. She wants me. When our bodies intertwine, there’s an electricity and energy that I’ve never felt before. I want to consume her, body and soul. I take my time pleasing her with my tongue, her taught pink nipples then her moist sex. Everything I do, she writhes and shivers in response. When it’s her turn to return the favor, I’m surprised and the skill of her tongue and fingers. Just by the way she explores me, I can tell she’s a lot more experienced. After rising to orgasm repeatedly, we lie in each other’s arms. Hearts beating fast, we look at one another and burst into laughter, “that was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had,” she says.

  “Tell me about it.”

  * * *

  We wake up the same way we went to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. I stand up, slide on my jeans and walk into the washroom. When I come out, Katie is standing in front of me holding my bra and t-shirt. I take them from her and kiss her.

  “Do you want some breakfast before I have to leave for work?” She asks.

  “Just a coffee if you’re making some for yourself, thanks.”

  Katie switches on the TV while the coffee percolates. Recaps of recent news scroll across the bottom of the screen., I see the words burned car and drug trade as they quickly roll by. Immediately, my mind turns to Fournier. I guess I’ve been so preoccupied with receiving that big check and then being with Katie that I forgot all about him. I think about the Mercedes and the young dealers in the car. Immediately, anger starts to boil up in me.

  I must be easy to read because Katie notices a change in me and asks what’s wrong. I tell her about last night and how Dad and I were dining out when the two old ladies mentioned a white Mercedes that was found burning with two bodies inside.

  “I know. That’s horrible,” she says. “Do you think it’s the same Mercedes that we followed to Fournier’s bar?”

  “I think it’s a damn good possibility. But we’ll probably never know. I’m pretty sure the cops won’t release any more information to the public, especially if they’re in an ongoing investigation.”

  “Well, I might be able to find out something,” Katie says, smiling. “I do work at a cop shop, you know?”

  That’s right. She does. Maybe she could ask her cop friend, the one that got her the job, if there’s any connection to the Mercedes and Fournier’s?

  “That would be great, Katie. Even if we could just get the Mercedes plate number, we’d know if it was the same guys.”

  “No problem. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  * * *

  She drops me off at the front of my building. As secretive as I’ve been about my feelings for Katie, last night was so perfect That I can’t wait to tell Dad how much she means to me.

  As soon as I reach my floor and get off the elevator, I see oranges scattered in the hall. I step over them as I walk to the suite. When I go to put my key in the lock, I notice the door is ajar. That’s weird. Maybe Dad came in with his arms full and forgot to close it behind him. As soon as I walk in, I notice a couple of oranges on the linoleum and a ripped paper bag on its side. The apartment is silent. I call out for Dad. He doesn’t respond. A strange feeling comes over me. Something feels wrong. I turn my attention to the spare room down the hall. As I walk toward the room, I notice small reddish-brown spots on the wood floor. What the hell did he spill? And why didn’t he clean it up?

  The door to the room where Dad sleeps is closed. I lightly rap on it, “Dad?” There’s no answer. The anxiety I’m starting to feel reminds me of that horrible night I walked into the kitchen when I was twelve and found my mother. Please, Dad, be ok. I press my ear to the door but hear nothing except the thumping of my now racing heart. Forcing myself to draw a breath, I slowly turn the knob. Please just be sleeping or passed out. Maybe that’s it?

  I push the door open, fully expecting to see my father lying face down on the bed. Instead, I see that the bed is empty and still made. I’m just about to back out of the room when in my peripheral vision, I notice a foot sticking out from between the bed and the wall. I quickly dash over. And there in front of me, in a heap on the floor, lies my father. He’s on his side and there’s a towel under his head with spots of rusty red all over it, the same co
lor as the drops in the hallway. My legs, are suddenly shaky and weak. I bend down and put my hand on his shoulder, “Dad? Are you okay?” I ask the question but I already know the answer. He’s not ok. There is dried blood caked on his face, under his nose and on the bottom of his ears. I can’t believe this. Why are you hurt like this? Watching him, I feel desperate and helpless. Please, God. Please don’t take my dad away.

  I sit with my father on the floor until the ambulance arrives. My face is soaking wet and my hands are trembling. When I called 911, the lady asked me a lot of questions, none of which I can remember. She told me that she was sending an ambulance and they wouldn’t be long but it feels like they’re taking forever. My mind is spinning but everything is happening so slowly. What if he dies too? I’ll be an orphan. I’ll have no family left. What’s the point of anything if everyone I’ve ever loved is gone and I’m left here…alone? I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even try.

  After what feels like forever, the intercom buzzes and I let the paramedics up. I open the front door and then run back to the bedroom to sit by Dad.

  The techs call out when they enter the suite then follow me to the spare room. I don’t even look up when they come in, I just keep my eyes on my father, waiting for him to show any signs of life.

  “Has he made any movement at all since you found him?” The paramedic asks. I shake my head. “I tried to find a pulse, but I couldn’t feel one. When I shook him, there were strange gurgling sounds coming from his mouth, other than that…nothing.”

  He tells me to move out of the way and then keeps asking me questions, “Has he consumed any alcohol or drugs?”

  I don’t know. “I’m not sure. I spent the night at a friend’s then came home and found him.” I think about how he could have ended up this way? The tech said that the back of my dad’s head is bleeding and looks like he sustained trauma. How? And why didn’t he call me? Did he fall on his way home from work and hit his head and didn’t think it was bad enough to call for help? Maybe he was planning on waiting until I got home to take him to the hospital?