Flight of Aquavit (22 page)

men had talked about my disguise for the evening.

Not much happened for a while other than eat-

ing chicken, drinking more wine and generally

pleasant but unrevealing conversation. Sereena

and Marilee had met briefly at some point in their

pasts and seemed to enjoy one another’s compa-

ny. I was busy using the file clerk’s inside knowl-

edge to learn who all the other people in the room

were. Topping the list of people I wanted to meet

were Shelley and Murray Rowan, the remaining

two partners of the firm who were seated nearby;

172 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Nikki, Cary, James and Jill, the four managers who

worked most closely with Daniel; Colleen, the

receptionist who had dealt with the mysterious

woman earlier that day; and Marie, the partners’

secretary. I had a lot to do before Daniel and I had

to leave for our meeting with Sunny.

It was after the chicken and before dessert,

which undoubtedly would be Saskatoon Berry

pie, when I was about to head over to the Rowan’s

table to introduce myself. I felt a heavy hand on

my shoulder. It was Herb Dufour, who had left his

seat and was standing over me.

“Russell, how about you and I go get another

bottle of wine for the table?”

Overhearing him, Marilee and Sereena indicat-

ed their support for the idea by clinking together

their half-empty glasses. The remaining two men

at the table were too busy ignoring the women

they’d come with and ogling Marilee and Sereena

to care. The other two women simply scowled. I

nodded and rose to follow Herb through the maze

of chattering diners. At first, when we passed the

bar I imagined Herb assumed I needed a pee

break and was leading me to the bathroom, but

when he walked right by that too and into the ball-

room’s deserted foyer I knew something was up.

“I’m worried about our friend,” the big man

said before we’d even come to a complete stop. He

was standing uncomfortably close and I backed a

step away.

“I’m sorry?” I said, not ready to make assump-

tions.

“I’m worried about Daniel. He told me why

Anthony Bidulka — 173

you’re here, Russell. I know you’re not a potential

client. I know you’re working for Daniel trying to

figure out this blackmail thing.”

“I see,” was all I said, already aware of that

information.

“I have to admit, when he first told me he was

considering hiring you, I wasn’t sure it was the

best idea. But seeing as he has and you’re

here…well, I just wanted to tell you I’m on

Daniel’s side and I want to do whatever I can to

help him.”

I could see why Herb Dufour was a successful

senior partner in a CA firm and a city councillor,

positions of implied trust. The way the words

sounded coming from his mouth and the look on

his face made me immediately want to believe

everything he said. Wanting to believe and believ-

ing aren’t the same thing though. I always have to

remember that in my business. Even so, I found

that my comfort level with Herb was increasing—

and I liked his cologne.

“I see. Well I’m sure he appreciates your sup-

port.”

“Don’t you think the best way to deal with this

whole thing would be for Daniel to pay this damn

blackmailer and shut him up—just to be done

with the whole mess?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I uttered, not wanting to

say too much in such a public venue. “There’s no

guarantee paying the money will be the end of it.

That’s the problem.”

“You think he’ll come back for more?”

I allowed myself a bit of a head bob. “Maybe,

174 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

maybe not.”

“So we gotta get this bastard. Do you know

who he is yet? Have you found him? Do you

know where he is?”

“We have some leads,” I answered noncommit-

tally.

With that he pulled a white card out of his

breast pocket. “If there is anything I can

do…you’ll call me?”

I nodded and took the business card and, after

a brief glance at the titles and letters after his

name, stuck it in my breast pocket.

He slapped me on the back again. “I’m going

to go get that wine we promised the ladies.”

Since I was in the neighbourhood, I decided to

make a stop at the washroom. Every time I enter a

public loo I’m reminded of a popular e-mail joke

that was liberally distributed a few years ago. It

was a series of scenarios involving a row of urinals

and several men standing at varying positions in

the row. Based on where the men were standing,

the reader had to decide which urinal he would

choose to use (if any). Your choice would suppos-

edly indicate whether you were gay or straight or

undecided. Scientific? No. Accurate? Hmmm.

Fortunately for me, this evening the bathroom

was empty and I was spared the dilemma. I was

about done my business when a black-suited gen-

tleman entered and, despite several other options,

pulled up to the urinal next to my own. Interesting

choice, I thought to myself. I heard him unzip and

could smell his heavy musk.

“Hey,” I heard him say.

Anthony Bidulka — 175

This is not usual decorum. Normally we stare

straight ahead as if trying to ignore each other and

what we are doing and then walk away.

“Hey,” I said back, not looking at him and hop-

ing my tone conveyed a message that I wasn’t in

the mood for conversation or whatever.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Now I looked at him.

Kelvin Kraft.

I zipped up my pants and stepped back. He

was a pompous, arrogant jerk the last time I met

him and I was guessing nothing had changed. I

wondered if James’ father was a guest at the

DGR&R affair or one of the other parties being

held in the hotel that evening. I tilted my head as

politely as I could and turned to wash my hands

at the sink.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, fol-

lowing me to the sink.

I calmly dried my hands on a paper towel and

answered, “I make it a habit to never answer a

question that contains the word ‘fuck’ in it, Mr.

Kraft. What are
you
doing here?”

“Well I’m certainly not skulking around wash-

rooms picking up young boys. Is that how you

met my son? Huh, is it?”

Some people aren’t worth talking to. I walked

out. It was either that or serving him a fist sand-

wich and I didn’t want to risk his blood on my

wonderpants.

On my return trip to the ballroom I tried to

judge the import of my meetings with Herb

Dufour and Kelvin Kraft. Where had Kelvin Kraft

176 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

come from? If he was attending the DGR&R party,

then had Daniel unknowingly hooked up with a

client’s son? If so, had someone—maybe Kelvin

himself—found out? If so, what would a man like

Kelvin Kraft do?

By the time Herb and I returned to our table

our companions had split and the two men were

paying an inordinate amount of attention to their

own dates. Herb was drawn away by a group of

rowdy underlings and I saw Sereena sitting at the

next table with Daniel having what appeared to

be an intimate discussion. Cheryl Guest was

nowhere to be seen. What happened to dessert?

After unsuccessfully trying to spot Kelvin Kraft in

the crowd, sitting through a few “thanks for your

hard work this year” speeches, the white elephant

gift exchange and a silly skit by the lower-downs

skewering the higher-ups, it was after 11 and

Daniel and I had a date with a man in a parking

lot. It took some re-convincing to get him to agree

to join me but eventually, bolstered by cheap

wine, he made some excuse to Cheryl and slipped

out of the ballroom with me and Sereena. Sereena

took the RX7 and drove herself home while Daniel

and I took his black BMW. We headed to the

Confederation area shopping mall which, by free-

way, was only minutes from the hotel. If all went

according to plan, we’d have Daniel back at the

Saskatoon Inn before the first party-goer acted

shockingly unaccountant-like.

We pulled into the near-empty parking lot at

Anthony Bidulka — 177

11:20. There were three other cars spread through-

out the lot but none were occupied. We found a

spot to park as far away from a light standard or

another car as possible and waited, me in the front

seat behind the wheel and Daniel in the back. He

was sitting low enough so as not to be easily seen

by an approaching vehicle, but high enough to see

what was happening. The plan was that when

Sunny arrived Daniel would keep watch until he

could positively confirm the driver was actually

SunLover. Then he was to duck down into the

back seat out of sight while I dealt with things.

Simple.

We had a few minutes, so I decided to ask

Daniel a couple of burning questions. “I met Lois

Vermont at your party tonight. Is she a client of

the firm?”

Daniel hesitated a second before answering,

“Ah, no. We invited her as a kind of thank you for

the whole SBA award thing. Just smart business.”

“What about Kelvin Kraft?”

Another hesitation. “Kraft? Kelvin Kraft? Any

relation to James?”

“His father.”

“His father? You saw James Kraft’s father at the

DGR&R Christmas party?”

“No, actually I saw him in the men’s room and

thought maybe…”

“Huh. Well, he must have been attending one

of the other events in the hotel, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said lightly. “I’m sure that’s it. We

better keep it down for now. Sunny should be here

any minute now.”

178 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

And a moment later a blue car drove into the

lot. Blue! This could be it! Daniel said the person

who’d followed him twice drove a blue car. But he

also thought that person could have been a

woman. I tried to decide whether one of the head-

lights was brighter than the other, like the blue car

that had tailed me, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Can you see the car?” I whispered to Daniel,

hunkered down in the back seat. “Is it the same

blue car that followed you?”

I heard him grumble and groan as he tried to

find a good position from which to see the car

without himself being seen. “I…I’m not sure. It

could be. Damn. Yeah, it could be. This could be

him!”

The vehicle, which I could now see was an

Audi, made a beeline for our Beemer as if it had a

sign on it saying, “A homosexual man who wants

to have sex is in this car.” He parked about two car

lengths away. I couldn’t see the driver clearly and

assumed he couldn’t see me. I felt my heart beat-

ing faster. I was trying to keep my head focused

on the task but it was difficult separating fact from

fantasy. What was most surprising to me was that

at that moment, a moment of high pitched ten-

sion, sexual proximity and a little bit of fear, I

could completely understand the attraction of this

activity, an activity many people, gay and

straight, believe to be illicit and dangerous. But

perhaps that is exactly what makes it so attractive.

The hint of danger. The rush of adrenaline. The

promise of pleasure. An act so contrary to the safe,

routine, unremarkable lives most of us live. It’s

Anthony Bidulka — 179

about being every outrageous, sexually free, out-

there character we’ve ever read about or seen in a

movie, even if only for a few minutes when no

one—or almost no one—is watching. It’s about

being bad…and then being rewarded for it with

sex.

For a moment that seemed to span eons, our

two vehicles sat there, in a dark, snow-swept

parking lot, regarding each other like two lions in

a jungle meeting for the first time. Friend or foe?

We kept our motors idling, partially to keep

warm, partially in case a quick getaway was

required. Someone had to make the first move.

But who? It couldn’t be me. If I got into Sunny’s

car I’d be without my key witness and unable to

determine if Sunny was also SunLover. Another

moment passed. I knew it would take a brave man

to make the first move. You’d have to hope luck

was on your side and that a whole host of possible