Jack in a Box Read online

  Willy winked at the camera. “Take a few. They’ll help you.”

  Making a sour face, Leo popped a couple of opioids into his mouth and chewed. “I thought they’d taste worse,” he said, before deciding that one or two more couldn’t hurt. Willy fetched a glass of orange juice and as Leo began to quiet, covered him with the blanket. He then perched beside him on the sofa, patting his head.

  “Things will be better in the morning, sir” he cooed. “There’s always tomorrow. There’s always hope.”

  And true to Willy’s prediction, the following morning Leo awoke with fresh resolve. The sun shone and the birds sang, all due to an overnight fax. His offer for Pearson had been accepted and a warehouse near the Port was his. Leo leapt onto his sofa like a kid, jumping up and down and screeching strains from a painful Chinese opera. Wasn’t life great? He was alive again - his bounce livelier, his whistle cheerier, his smile more open now, a yellow bank of teeth. My breakfast of caviar and champagne begged to come up. And although I’d previously been resistant to the lessons learned in life I knew one thing for certain. The next time Jack tried to involve me in one of his hair-brained schemes I’d have the balls to say no. Or try to say no, at least.

  Still in a playful mood, Leo went hopping around the floor like Mike Tyson, bantering and punching Willy, whom he didn’t really like. Two sets of sandwiches arrived for lunch that day, one with ham, the other turkey. Wow! Willy was suddenly the man of the hour. (Was Leo still hopped up on morphine?)

  But the pampering and playfulness ended after Leo awoke from his afternoon nap on the wrong side of the sofa. “That coded email you wrote this morning is all wrong, Mr. Chan. A two-year old could do better!”

  Sitting in his office, a wall away, Willy waved a middle finger at the camera while showing his perfectly-white teeth. “Bite me!” he mouthed and we both cracked up.

  There were further complications, however. Several long days would stretch between the Pearson offer and ratification, with the heroin bobbing somewhere in English Bay. To compound matters, scab laborers had loaded the Australian cargo at Fremantle and the unionized Longshoremen at Port Vancouver were preparing to lock the boat out. On alert for a drug shipment the coast guards set off to search the freighters in the Bay.

  The papers called it The Vancouver Tea Party the following morning. It seemed that ‘drugs have been dumped into English Bay where many a happy fish have bellied up’. Leo Cheng was discovered bobbing off the coast of Squamish and ‘slick’ Willy Chan had disappeared.

  Chapter Seven

  WHODUNIT? ROUND UP THE USUAL suspects. Richard Chang? I doubted the Clever had iced Leo from Beijing, given his interest in the cargo. Furthermore, the method wasn’t quite to Richard’s standards. ‘No obvious signs of trauma’, The Sun reported. The location was also perplexing, since it was off the road to Whistler Mountain and Leo didn’t ski. Especially in May. Nor did he swim so well.

  If Jack had been up to no good he hid it well. He was sitting behind his desk with the morning papers in a rat’s nest, spilling onto the floor. “Can you believe it, Hamster? Leo bit it. How lucky is that?”

  “Damn Lucky.” I pulled up a chair. “So lucky I think maybe you had something to do with it.”

  He looked hurt. “Yeah, right. Like I’m now a murderer. Like I won an injunction in court and then decided to have Leo whacked. To add injury to insult.”

  “He would have won in the end, though. Your injunction was just a stalling tactic. Leo’s final offer to Julia was a bit of a stretch for you.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair. “You know what I’ve always liked about you, Hamster?”

  “Nothing?”

  “Absolutely nothing because you’re too smart for me. What can I say? You caught me. I did it. Are you happy now?”

  I smiled. Jack was in one of his moods. “Oh, I didn’t say that you did it but I sense your hand in things. Like, maybe Leo had a heart condition and you gave Willy foxglove leaves for his tea saying it was bitter chrysanthemum and making Willy look bad. Or, maybe you told Willy to tie a scarf around Leo’s neck and all he could find was a rope. Something like that.”

  Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now I know why you’re a PI and I’m not. I did tell Willy something. I told him to grease the tub so that Leo would fall and hit his head. Then drive himself up the mountain and dive off a cliff. I’m just that fucking good.”

  “Sounds plausible to me.”

  Just then The Terrible came stomping into the office looking for someone to eat. “I put something special in your coffee, Charlie. From the bathroom floor.”

  Jack howled. “Trish likes you, Hamster. She’s just shy about it.”

  “She’s wicked alright.”

  Shoeshine sauntered in wisely carrying his own coffee from Starbucks. “Charlie,” he roared in the threatening tone he used to intimate little kids.

  Not this time buddy. I patted my gun. “What do you know about the unfortunate situation of Leo?”

  He shifted his feet.

  Jack was quick to intervene. “Shoeshine isn’t his real name, you know. He’s not the original Shoeshine Fatso.”

  “No?” I settled in prepared for yet another of Jack’s goofy stories.

  “No, the real Shoeshine Fatso worked here many years ago. For my father. He was bigger and better looking than Melvin here.”

  Shoeshine giggled. “Melvin? Surely you can do better than that.”

  “And he was a hard worker. Even to the point of spit-polishing my dad’s shoes.”

  “In your dreams.”

  Jack’s eyes sparkled. “But the real Shoeshine died. I can’t remember why. Maybe he got shot. Then this draft dodger came along and stole his identity. And you never know when someone just might tell.”

  In Morse code the message read: Shoeshine, you are an escaped convict. Stop. At any time I could turn you in. Stop. But the day will never come because of your loyalty. Stop. Don’t fuck up. Stop. Love, Jack.

  Chapter Eight

  IT WAS A SMALL RECTANGULAR room with nothing much going for it. A metal table and two bleak chairs huddled together in the center while two additional chairs sat parked against a wall. No paintings, no artifacts, no flowers; only a thick grey door. It was the kind of room that comes to you in nightmares to remind you that life is not so horribly horrible. It was a meeting room in the Vancouver jail.

  The crime? Murder. The victim? Leo Cheng. The suspect? Jones. Jack Jones. The motive? Well, Jack seemed to be the only shady character to have one.

  He sat across the table from me looking like a pudgy child in a Rembrandt painting. His eyes were round and green and hopeful as he rubbed his wrists. “Not too many people get to wear handcuffs. You should have seen them, Hamster. They were so shiny!” He looked pathetic to me.

  “What are they holding you on? Bogus, I figure, since the autopsy results have yet to come in.”

  “Suspicion. Of many things. You know these guys. They’ve been gunning for me for years.”

  “Gunning for you? I think ‘for’ is the operative word here. How many of them actually work for you, Jack?”

  “Shush! Do you want to get me the chair?”

  “You wish. Even if we had the death penalty they wouldn’t do away with you. No. You’re too interesting. They’d give you life for their own amusement.”

  He changed the subject. “How do you like my costume, Hamster? I have no mirror so I don’t know how I look in orange. What do you think?” He perked up like a show dog, profiling his right side, then his left, and finally his backside.

  I tried not to laugh. “Handsome. I think handsome. You’ll attract a nice cellmate, no doubt.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Exactly! I’ll bring you some Vaseline.”

  He tossed me the threatening Jack look. “You laugh but I’m given preferential treatment here. A juice box and nice granola bar for breakfast slipped through the bars. No more heart-attack croissants from Maya.” He patted his tummy. “Nic
e of you to come though. Since you’ve been so busy keeping me out of trouble.”

  “My pleasure.” I wanted to hug the guy and I wanted to hurt someone for him. “I visit a lot of guys in jail, Jack. Most of them your former employees.”

  He liked that. “You won’t say anything about this to Julia, will you? Or Jillian?

  “Not if you say so. But they can read. You’re pretty much splashed all over the morning papers.”

  He ploughed his fingers through his thick sandy curls. “Really? It wasn’t very dramatic, my arrest at the warehouse. They didn’t even send the Mounties. I think I deserved Mounties don’t you, Hamster?

  I nodded.

  “They should have come out of respect. In their good suits. The red ones. Performing their musical ride as they rounded me up. I’ve always liked horses.”

  “You deserved horses, Jack.”

  “That’s what I thought. But no. Just plain clothes cops. That friend of yours with the big crooked nose was one of them. After all I’ve done for this fucking city that’s what I got. Nothing.”

  I had to hand it to the guy, he was trying. But he was a little shaky.

  “You got any whisky, Hamster?”

  “In my sock. But I can hardly hand it over. Maybe we could get conjugal visits.”

  He giggled. “I gather no one’s here to see me. None of my guys.”

  “It’s not exactly a hospital, Jack. But since you asked your guys are here. They’re lined up across the street but they’re not allowed in. Even old Sammy is here. He’s been threatening the guards but eighty-year-olds haven’t much clout it seems.”

  Jack brightened. “What? Sammy in the Tree is here? And they won’t let him in?”

  “Not at this juncture. They’ll only let in your lawyer and since Marco Midolo is busy trying to seduce more than one of your relatives I’m presently posing as him. Only better looking.”

  “What?” Jack roared. “Marco is seducing my relatives?”

  “Trying.”

  Jack hung his head. “I did it to myself. I sent that Dr. Zhivago to get Jillian on side not to seduce her. He was supposed to seduce Julia. And talk her out of selling to Leo. That’s why I hired him. For his looks.” His face turned pink. “Well, that plus his flagrant ability to bend the law. He did get me an injunction.”

  “I could have got you that, Jack. You have first right of refusal by law. It’s contractual.”

  He looked at me vacantly.

  “Do you know what I think, Jack? I think Marco wants you out of the way. You’re an obstacle. A barrier to his marrying the Jones money. One way or another.”

  “Do you think that he tipped off the cops?”

  “Yeah. I do. Big time.”

  Chapter Nine

  THE STREETS WERE FILLED WITH more than darkness. It was an ominous night with rain gushing down in torrents and flooding gutters. It was the kind of night that made you hope that a man wasn’t standing at his front door, suitcase in hand, preparing to desert his family. You hoped that a hooker wasn’t being beaten by her pimp and that a runaway kid could find his way home. Although it was a perfect night for mugging and robbing you hoped that the muggers and robbers would decide to stay home and watch Cops on TV.

  It was a night full of flashbacks, it seemed. It the kind of a night that caused a guy to remember things, like being little and losing his parents in a car crash and sitting alone scared.

  I didn’t hear him come into the funeral chapel he walked so softly but I could sense his presence. When Jack Jones entered a room dust mites stood at attention. He placed his paw on my shoulder. “You’re not alone, kid. You have us. And we want you to come live with us at 33 Terrace Place.”

  Was that supposed to be good news? I was scared of Jack, my dad’s employer. He was big and noisy and liked to tease me a lot. He had a mop of curly brown hair and a bushy mustache that lent him a furry look. “Why?” I asked.

  He patted me on the head. “Because you’re an ornery little critter and we like you. We all do. It’s unanimous.”

  “I can’t live with you, Jack.” I was reasonably brave for a ten-year old. “In case you forgot I’m a ward of the courts.”

  “Not anymore. I signed for you today.”

  Well, that was the moment things forever changed. When ‘the Jack’ signed for something he got it. I was his property now. “And you got me?”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I didn’t have to trample over anybody, you understand. There wasn’t exactly a line up for you, Hamster.”

  Well, that’s how Jack showed affection. You just had to know what a left-handed compliment was and mostly how to avoid it. But Hamster stuck. I was Charlie Hamster, according to Jack. It was my new name. And although it took some time to adjust to Jack I soon developed a tough outer shell and a huge admiration for my new owner.

  But someone would pay for Jack. Someone was going down. I parked my Beemer and walked towards a seedy bar on East Hastings Street, just one of many properties held by Jones Import/Export. Why Jack continued to hold on to such a sleazy, fleabag flophouse I wasn’t certain but something illegal would be going on somewhere within the walls, guaranteed. Over the years this little nugget had evolved into it biker bar with the usual hookers and transvestites and a sprinkling of curiosity seekers – some who might even get through the night with their teeth. I was to meet Robert Coppilani there and stumbling across a Longshoreman or two won’t hurt either. All I needed was one talker.

  Robocop was already at the bar slugging back a double. He was a large, square man built like a door. And about as thick. There was no bending the book around Robocop. No, after twenty-seven years in law enforcement he’d memorized the pages and had gone stale. I couldn’t wait to hear his patent theories on Leo and Jack and the anticipated autopsy results. Furthermore, I badly needed a drink.

  He looked at me through cynical eyes and along a crooked nose. “Charlie,” he barked.

  “Robo,” I said with equal strength. I annoyed the hell out of him when I called him that. He was proud to be Robert Coppilani, son of a real estate mogul gone broke. We eyed each other down.

  “How’s your dad, Jack?”

  “You ought to know. Since you arrested him during the night. And interrogated him. Did you get a confession?” Asshole, I wanted to add.

  He shook his cubic head. “I will though, son. Soon.”

  Right. Son. I got called that a lot because I had yet to grow a long white beard or limp along on a cane. “Right, Robo. Like maybe tomorrow. Like, Jack murdered the Lizard for no good reason. Give me a break.”

  “There’s always reasons.” Robo was playing with the peanuts on the bar. Like someone was going to eat them after that? “There’s always reasons. I don’t know that he pulled the trigger but he’s calling the shots.” He sunk into his shabby brown coat to think. “Where did you say your buddy Willy Chan went?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You’re going to tell me that you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d like to believe you, Charlie. I really would. But I’m not that stupid. You two guys are joined at the hip.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Robo. I hear that Willy took his hip out of the country.”

  Robert shook his head all the way to the door.

  She had legs. Long, slim legs dangling from a barstool like they belonged there. She had silky dark hair which fell over her face and poured down her back like a waterfall, straight along. I plunked my carcass beside her. “Hey, Hooker.”

  “Hey, Pig.”

  I gasped. “Tina?”

  “Hey, Charlie.” She didn’t seem that thrilled to see me. On the contrary, her eyes stayed glued to the mirror reflecting the bottles behind the bar.

  “Nice part of town, Tina. Do you come here often?”

  “Almost every night.”

  “Why? To haunt it?”

  You may recall the gothic creature from the party at Jack’s house, from the celebration of Le
onard’s demise. The only child of Judge and Mrs. Clark, Tina capitalized on having parents as old as Methuselah. So, after they hit the sack at night - about the same time as the neighborhood children - Tina sneaked out to tear up the town.

  I studied a face of black tattoos in the mirror. Nice. Roses. Black roses. The flowers of death. Black painted lips, as well. She looked tragic, provocative, and wild.

  “What, no leggings Tina.”

  “Bare legs make me look older don’t you think?”

  “Not old enough. You’re only seventeen. How did you get in here?”

  “Phony ID. It’s easy to get. Plus I fuck the bartender.”

  I wanted to spank her. “Nice mouth, Tina.” I’d seen this girl in diapers and without diapers running around on the lawn. Now it seemed that she was still in the habit of running around and taking off her clothes. I gave Joe Bartender the glare. Creep. He had to be twenty-five.

  “You need to go home, Tina. I’m going to arrange a ride.”

  She shook her long dark hair. “I’ve got a ride.”

  “There are cops coming tonight and they’ll bust you. Do you want to put your parents through that?”

  She threw her defiant chin at me. “I have ID.”

  “Right. And they’ll never guess that it’s phony. They see that stuff all the time carried by kids like you. You’re going home. I’m going to call a courtesy ride from a friend in an unmarked car. Whatever it takes, Tina. You’re out of here.”

  “Ok. Ok!” She checked her Lady Oyster Rolex, worth a cool ten grand. “Like, I’ve got a ride home. I’ll be meeting him here in a few minutes.” She eyed the bartender. “And it’s not the old guy. He’s a poor fuck.”

  I shook my head. “You’re wearing me thin, mouth. And you’ve got exactly ten minutes. Then I’m carrying you out of here.”

  She gulped down her Corona like Cool Aid, then reached for a second one waiting on the bar. I shot Barbell a look and he showed me his huge sharp teeth. I figured he could tear a chunk out of any man’s face in a fight. Bang! said my gun. “No more, Tina. Two is more than enough.”