12 Rose Street (2 page)

As a husband, lover, friend, stepfather, and grandfather, Zack was everything I could wish for. As a candidate for public office, he was a challenge. The number of skeletons in his closet was daunting, and every day I awoke waiting for another one to topple out.

By any criteria, Brock Poitras was an extraordinary man. He’d grown up in North Central. He came from a single-parent home, he was Aboriginal, and he was gay.

Brock’s brains and his talent as an athlete protected him against the hopelessness that makes so many inner-city kids vulnerable to gang membership, drugs, alcohol, and crime. When a torn meniscus ended his football career, Brock earned an
MBA
.

From the day Zack recruited Brock to be second-in-command of the Racette-Hunter working team, Brock was Zack’s go-to guy. Zack likened their relationship to the trust that exists between a quarterback and his best wide receiver. Brock was a natural for the permanent position of executive director of Racette-Hunter, and when Zack and Margot offered him the job, Brock didn’t hesitate.

I poured myself a large mug of coffee – it was going to be a big day for us all. I hadn’t planned to tell Zack about the incident on Rose Street until later, but he knew me too well. He wheeled his chair close and took my hand. “What’s wrong?” he said. Zack listened intently until I was through, then he held out his arms and I folded into them. When, finally, we broke apart, I was almost ready to face the day.

Zack, Taylor, and I arrived at the Racette-Hunter parking lot at the same time as Margot, her eighteen-year-old stepson,
Declan, and Margot and Leland’s nine-month-old daughter, Lexi. We were all wearing the forest-green sweatshirts with the Racette-Hunter logo that identified volunteers. Declan gave us the once-over. “We look like the world’s lamest softball team,” he said. We all laughed, but the truth was we did feel like a team. In fact, we felt like a family. There were only two condos on the top floor of our building on Halifax Street: the Hunters lived in one, and our family lived in the other. But our connection went far beyond physical proximity.

Margot and Zack had been law partners, and sometime sparring partners, for two decades, and after a lengthy period of friendship, Taylor and Declan were on the cusp of romance. After Leland’s death, Margot and I grew close. I had been her labour coach, and Zack and I had both been with her when Lexi was born. Not long after Lexi was safely launched into the world, Margot, who was from a big close family, began considering having a second child. I was her sounding board as, lawyer-like, she marshalled the arguments for and against enlarging her family as a forty-four-year-old single mother. From the outset it was clear that Margot wanted another child, and I was pleased but not surprised when she announced that she’d decided to have another baby right away.

Margot and Leland had been truly in love, and Margot found it difficult to think about sex with a casual partner. After deliberation she decided on donor insemination and she was now happily pregnant. Her baby boy was due on Valentine’s Day. In a week Declan was starting his first year at the University of Toronto. We were all moving along, and on that bright morning it felt right that our two families were together to celebrate a project that mattered so much to us all.

Brock and Margot had decided to keep the formalities of the opening to a minimum. The noon ribbon-cutting was a photo op only. The speeches would come at suppertime, and
they would be brief. The focus of the day was exploration and fun. Tour guides recruited from North Central would show off the buildings and talk about the programs. The swimming pool and the basketball courts would get a workout, and there would be plenty of old-fashioned outdoor games for the kids.

The centre was comprised of eight two-storey buildings linked to form an octagon. The space enclosed by the octagon was known as “the green,” and by eleven o’clock Brock, Zack, and I were on it watching Zack’s and my granddaughters, Madeleine and Lena, run together in a three-legged race. They were halfway across the green when someone in the crowd to my left caught Zack’s eyes. “You won’t believe who’s coming our way,” he said.

Brock and I turned to follow his gaze. “Cronus,” I said. “Wow. What’s he doing here?”

Zack shrugged. “Nobody has a bigger investment in North Central than Cronus.”

I gave Zack a sidelong glance. “He does pretty much own it, doesn’t he?”

Cronus was a slumlord. He held the deeds for dozens of the neighbourhood’s overcrowded, rat-infested houses, and his motto as a landlord was “maximum income, minimum maintenance.” Cronus was also known to be into rough sex – always consensual, he was quick to point out. When a girlfriend who shared Cronus’s pleasure in spanking, hair-pulling, and limb-twisting ended up dead, Cronus landed in the prisoner’s box. Zack had successfully defended him, and Cronus continued to be grateful. In addition to paying Zack a hefty fee, Cronus had offered him his top revenue-earning property. Zack demurred, but Cronus promised Zack that someday he would reward him. It was an assurance that unnerved me.

That sunny morning, Cronus approached with his hand extended. He offered it to me first. I took it but only after
steeling myself. Cronus gave me the creeps. It wasn’t just his occupation or his enthusiasm for rock-’em sock-’em sex. It was the man himself. He was always immaculately dressed. That day he was wearing a custom-tailored white summer suit that would have done Gatsby or Mick Jagger proud. The workmanship was artful, but all the tailors in Hong Kong couldn’t disguise the fact that Cronus was a snake. His shaved head was bullety; his eyes were hooded. He had a habit of flicking his tongue before he spoke. His hand was unnervingly cold and smooth, and I was relieved when he released mine.

The three-legged race was over. Madeleine and Lena had come in fourth and were standing in line to receive their ribbons. Zack pointed out the girls to Cronus. “Those brilliant athletes are our granddaughters,” he said.

Cronus’s gaze was cool and assessing. “How old are they?”

Zack’s smile faded. “Madeleine is eight and Lena is seven.” He moved his chair closer to Cronus. “What are you doing here?” he said. “Watching children at play isn’t exactly your scene.”

Cronus nodded his bullety head. “True,” he said. His eyes travelled over the green. “When I was a kid, our neighbour took me to her church’s Sunday school picnic. All I remember is lining up and waiting while some lady with a great rack and a face like a bloodhound gave each of us an egg on a spoon. When we all had our eggs and spoons, she counted to three. Then she yelled, ‘Run for Jesus.’ ”

Cronus seemed lost in nostalgia; Brock nudged him towards the present. “Did you win?”

Cronus nodded. “My prize was a plastic bookmark with a mustard seed stuck on it. A piece of shit. I gave it to the girl I accidentally tripped at the finish line.”

Madeleine and Lena sprinted over to show us their ribbons. Zack took their photos and introduced them to
Cronus. The girls’ personalities had long ago declared themselves. Madeleine – like her mother, Mieka; my eldest son, Peter; and me – was fair-haired, green-eyed, earthbound, and risk-averse. Lena had the black Irish good looks and mercurial temper of my younger son, Angus, and my late husband, Ian. As different as they were, the girls were unusually close. When the whistle blew to announce the next race, they handed us their ribbons and took off. Cronus watched as they lined up, and then turned to face Brock and Zack.

“I’ve heard a rumour that you should be aware of,” Cronus said. “There’s a plan to abduct one of the kids here today.”

Simultaneously, Zack and I looked towards our granddaughters. The foot race had begun. Madeleine was a strong runner and she was out in front. Lena lagged behind the pack. When she spotted us watching, she stopped to wave.

“Tell the little one she’ll never win if she takes her eyes off the prize,” Cronus said.

“I’ll tell her,” Zack said. “Cronus, did whoever passed this rumour along to you say that any child in particular has been targeted?”

Cronus was watching the race as avidly as if he’d bet money on it. “My source says that they just want to take a kid – any kid.”

My heart was pounding. “Why?”

“Come on, Joanne. A smart broad like you can figure this out.” Cronus’s tone was sharp. “Not everybody wishes Zack and Johnny Football here well. People are impressed by the way they’ve managed to stickhandle the R-H Centre into being. They’re starting to believe that Zack and Johnny Football have the stones to run the city. But a turnover at City Hall is not good news for the groups who’ve had our current mayor and city council by the short and curlies since the day they were elected.”

“And if a child were abducted at the opening,” Brock said, “the centre would be screwed from day one, and Zack and I could wave goodbye to our chances of being elected.”

Cronus nodded. “You guys have been making a lot of promises. Racette-Hunter is Zack’s baby and you’re the director. If you can’t keep a neighbourhood kid from being snatched at a picnic, people are going to think twice before they trust you to run this city.” He turned towards me and narrowed his eyes. “You should be watching the race, Joanne. Madeleine is about to win.”

Obediently, I turned in time to see our granddaughter cross the finish line. Lena and a little red-headed girl had given up and were strolling along chatting.

Zack moved closer to Cronus. “Do you know who’s behind this?”

“I have some thoughts,” Cronus said.

“Have you shared your thoughts with the police?” Brock asked.

Cronus’s expression was withering. “You grew up in this city. How long did it take you to start believing that cops were your friends? And you were a poster boy for all that cultural sensitivity shit. The authorities
do
need to be involved. That’s why I’m standing here talking to you. But keep my name out of it.”

“We can do that,” Brock said. “But so far all you’ve given us is a rumour. We need more – a lot more.”

Zack’s voice was deep and gentle. “Cronus, it took courage for you to tell us about the planned abduction, and believe me, I’m grateful. But knowing something terrible is about to happen isn’t enough. We have to stop it.”

No one spoke. Zack, Brock, and I watched as Cronus scuffed the grass with the toe of his white summer shoe. He was weighing his options. It was a big decision, and as the seconds ticked by, my pulse picked up speed. When I felt my
blood pressure spike, I moved in front of Cronus, so close that our faces were just inches apart. “The future of Racette-Hunter is on the line,” I said. “That means that the future of this neighbourhood is on the line. More importantly, a child’s life could be at stake. If there’s any way you can short-circuit this plan, you have to do it.”

The warm September air was alive with the sounds of life in the city: a dog barking, a car alarm blaring, the siren tinkle of an ice-cream truck’s bell, a boy calling out a friend’s name with growing frustration – Riley, Ri-ley, RI-ley! RI-LEEE!!! The world was going on around us, but like lovers, Cronus and I were focused wholly on each other. Close up I could see the marks of life on Cronus’s face: a surgical scar above his left upper lip and another on the right side of his nose, a slight pouching in the skin under his polar blue eyes, a droop in the flesh beneath his chin. Cronus’s examination of my face was equally intense. Finally, his face relaxed and a small smile played on his lips. He had reached a decision. “What the hell,” he said. “We only live once. Might as well make it count. Right, Joanne?”

“Right,” I said.

Cronus’s next words were a surprise. “I need you to take a picture of Brock, Zack, and me together.” He reached into his leather shoulder bag, found his phone, and handed it to me. Then he crouched beside Zack’s chair and motioned Brock to squat next to him. When everyone was in position, Cronus said, “You guys put your arms around my shoulders and smile. I want a photo that shows that the three of us are good buddies.”

I took enough shots to make certain I had one that met Cronus’s criterion and handed him the camera. He gave me the thumbs-up and showed the photo to Zack and Brock. “That should do the job,” he said.

Zack was frowning. “So what is the job?”

Cronus flicked his tongue. “I’m sending off this photo of the three of us with a message.” He started to tap out the message, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. He flexed them, then began again. It was a laborious process. He typed slowly – repeating a series of numbers out loud as he entered them: “2-5-1-0-0-6.” Task completed, Cronus dropped his phone into his bag, withdrew a large manila envelope, and handed it to Zack. “Here’s my contribution to your campaign. I’m a cash-and-carry guy, so keep an eye on it.”

“I will.” Zack extended his hand to Cronus. “Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, it’s my city too,” Cronus said.

“Yeah, and what you just did for this city was major,” Zack said.

Cronus shrugged. “I had a silver bullet and I used it. It was no big deal.” He shook hands with Zack and Brock and then he held out his arms me. I was surprised at the gesture, but I embraced him warmly. When we stepped apart, Cronus’s face was soft. “That was nice,” he said.

The three of us watched silently as Cronus made his way back across the green. Surrounded by laughing kids, he was a lonely and enigmatic figure. “Any ideas about what that little exercise with our photo was all about?” Zack said.

I shook my head. “You heard the man,” I said. “That photo is the silver bullet.”

Zack pulled out his phone. “I have faith in Cronus,” he said. “But even silver bullets have been known to miss the mark. I’m calling Debbie.”

“Tell her to meet us here,” I said. “The kids’ activities are all taking place on the green. If Debbie is going to secure the space, she’ll need to be familiar with it.”

Debbie Haczkewicz was in charge of the Regina Police Service’s Major Crimes Section. Enduring friendships between police officers and trial lawyers are few and far
between, but Debbie and Zack went way back. Fearless, dogged, and passionate about their work, they were kindred spirits. As soon as Zack began talking to Debbie, Brock left to find Margot, and I phoned my daughter, Mieka. She and her friend Kerry Benjoe were in charge of the children’s activities, so I asked them to round up Declan, Taylor, and the other volunteers who were helping with the kids’ games and meet us on the north side of the green.