Flight of Aquavit (35 page)

investigator from Saskatoon. I work for Daniel

Guest and I know you’re blackmailing him.” I had

also decided to do a bit of bluffing and see what

happened.

The young actor was momentarily speechless.

He stared at me; his blue eyes registering some-

thing that wasn’t quite surprise or even worry. It

was more like…curiosity.

“Really?” he finally said. “A real private eye?”

“Yes.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Nope.”

The waiter brought our drinks and we both

smiled and said thanks as if we were having a nor-

mal, pleasant, everyday type of conversation.

“You’re really from Saskatoon?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What province is it in?”

“Saskatchewan.”

“Spell it.”

I did. Flawlessly.

“Why is there a big tent by the river in the sum-

mer?”

“Shakespeare on the Saskatchewan Festival.”

“What is Wanuskewin?”

“A First Nations’ Heritage Park.”

“What slogan is on the Saskatchewan licence

plate?”

Anthony Bidulka — 277

“Land of Living Skies.”

He asked two or three more rapid-fire ques-

tions until he seemed satisfied that I was indeed

from his hometown. Then he sat back in his chair

and stared at me again, letting his eyes rove freely

over my face and upper torso. He seemed undis-

turbed by the silence.

“What was the other stuff you said?” he finally

asked. “Something about blackmail?”

“I know you are blackmailing Daniel Guest.

And I’m here to make you stop.”

The corners of his mouth turned up into a wry

smile, displaying a beguiling gap of tooth. “And

how do you intend to do that?”

Was he admitting to being the blackmailer? To

being Loverboy? Did I have him? My plan was to

reveal, without doubt, that James Kraft was

Loverboy. Once I’d done that I’d deal with him

appropriately. But it was the “without doubt”

part that I was still unsure about.

“My client is willing to make one small pay-

ment.” I didn’t say how much. I didn’t talk about

the fact that the due date for the original $50,000

demand had come and gone. “But that’s it. If that

is not sufficient, or if you ever demand more, we

go straight to the police.”

“Why not go to the police now?”

This was a suspicious question. If he was

Loverboy, he wouldn’t have to ask it.

“Are you Loverboy?”

He laughed now. “Loverboy? Well I guess that

depends on who you ask.” Now it was his turn to

wink. “Maybe you’d like to find out?” His smile

278 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

was part lascivious, part sweet, part mischievous.

Undeniably bewitching.

“Have you been blackmailing Daniel Guest?”

He slowly shook his head, still smiling at me as

if he were having two conversations at the same

time, one with his smile—a private one between

he and I, and another with his voice—a public one

dealing with the boring other matter at hand. “I

don’t even know who that is,” he said.

Liar!

Got you.

Chapter 15

I NOW KNEW JAMES KRAFT WAS A LIAR. Now—was he

a blackmailer too?

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Daniel

Guest says the two of you had sex a couple of

months ago. In October. You met in a chat room,

he invited you over, you arrived on your bicycle

and you had sex together. Ring any bells?”

James’s eyes squinted as he obviously recalled

the interlude. “Ohhhhhhh…him. I never knew his

name. Daniel, huh? He was a nice guy. We had

fun.”

“Are you telling me you are not blackmailing

him?”

“Blackmailing him about what?”

I studied the face before me, searching for signs

of deception or insincerity, not sure if I saw either.

“We had a good time,” he said with ease. “That

was it. It was fun. What would I blackmail him

about? I’m an old-fashioned guy, Mr. Quant, I gen-

erally don’t blackmail someone after I have sex

with them.” Now he leaned closer too so that our

faces were less than a foot apart. “If you and I

spent some time together, you’d find that out.”

“Hey lovers,” the waiter announced as he

shoved plates of food between us. “Time to eat.”

He seemed offended that we were paying more

attention to each other than to him.

We smiled gratefully and sat up straight in our

seats.

280 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

“I tend to like guys a little older than you,”

James told me as he popped a golden ring of squid

into his mouth, “but I’m thinking it’s time to make

an exception.”

I sipped at my soup and tried to look else-

where. Based on the two men I knew about,

Daniel and Marc Driediger, James’s attraction to

older guys was bona fide. I was about a decade

older than James was, but I couldn’t decide

whether he knew that and was playing with me or

not. Regardless, I couldn’t help a smile. “That’s

not what we’re here to discuss.”

“Okay, okay, Mr. Private Dick, suppose I am

the blackmailer, what’s the offer? How much

money are we talking about?”

I felt my spine stiffen. Was this it? The shake-

down? Was he finally tired of the game? Did he

know the $50,000 was late and wanted to see how

much he could negotiate for? Or was this a trick?

“What’s to stop me from taking the money and

running? Even if I’m not the blackmailer. How

could you prove I am or not?” Good question.

“And I am a starving actor after all. I could use the

cash, no matter how much it is.”

“Well, you see,” I said, “there’s a skill-testing

question.”

Another squid entered his mouth. His lips

shone fetchingly with a fine layer of grease.

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“What did the blackmail note say?”

James’s face became serious. He laid down his

fork and looked to his right and to his left, as if

taking a quick poll of whether anyone could hear

Anthony Bidulka — 281

our conversation. He made a deliberate show of

finishing chewing his food and swallowing before

reaching into a pocket and pulling out a pen. He

searched for something to write on and finally set-

tled on the white paper napkin sitting under his

iced tea. He wrote on it, folded it over once and

handed it to me with a somber look on his face.

This was it. Despite all the playful banter back and

forth James Kraft was about to reveal his true self.

I had to admit, he had me puzzled. This was a

young man who played sweetness to the hilt, but

underneath the candy coating could very well be

a criminal with sour intent. Above all, this young

man was a survivor. And he needed money to sur-

vive in New York City. I didn’t think Daddy was

giving him any. So, blackmail might not be out of

the question.

I pulled the napkin to me. I gave him one last

look. His face revealed nothing. I flipped open the

napkin. In neat block letters he’d printed, “Will

you go out with me, Mr. Quant?”

I looked up from the napkin to the gap-toothed

grinning face of my lunch companion. I shook my

head and went in search of mussels amongst the

steaming shells in the bowl in front of me.

A pretty New York City actor had a crush on me.

But I had to maintain a professional distance. So

when he offered, after our meals were done, to

show me around town, I regretfully declined. He

told me where he’d be “partying” later that night,

just in case I changed my mind. I promised noth-

282 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

ing, left money to cover the bill and left him at The

Townhouse smiling bedazzlingly at me.

Sereena was spending the day catching up

with acquaintances at restaurants, bars and shop-

ping plazas from one end of the island to the

other, so I had some time on my own. After a

quick stop at the hotel to pick up an extra sweater

and a warmer pair of gloves, I set out to discover

the Big Apple, or at least a tiny slice of it.

The first thing I did was poke my nose into

Central Park, the south end of which was directly

across the street from our hotel, but decided it was

too big and the weather too cold for a day in the

park. I looked longingly at the Plaza but knew

that as wonderful as it might be to spend a lazy

afternoon inside the warm and cozy Oak Bar, I

had places to see.

I recrossed the street and headed into FAO

Schwarz—the mother of all toy stores. The atmos-

phere enveloped me like a 1950s’ holiday movie.

Next to this, Toys ’R’ Us would look like an

understocked discount outlet. The place was

streaming with holiday shoppers in brightly

coloured coats, hats and scarves. Traditional car-

ols fa-la-laed us into jubilant moods. And it was

there—on the lower level of FAO Schwarz, as I

contemplated which country King Wenceslas was

such a good king of—that I caught sight of her

behind a mountainous display of board games.

At first I thought she was one of those some-

ones who looks annoyingly familiar but you can’t

quite figure out whom they remind you of. But

then I realized that wasn’t the case at all. She

Anthony Bidulka — 283

looked familiar because I’d seen her before, glar-

ing at Sereena and me, when we got on the eleva-

tor in our hotel only the day before. I dashed

round the towering heap of merchandise, but she

was gone. I headed upstairs and wandered into

the educational toy area. There were only six

shopping days left until Christmas. I was in the

best toy store in the world. And I did have nieces

and nephews. With lightning-quick mental

prowess I connected these random thoughts. I

quickly selected five or six items meant for vary-

ing ages and sexes (I’d get it right in the mix) and

got in line to pay. As I stood there, I caught sight

of my stalker once again, this time on the other side

of a cheerfully decorated display window. She was

outside on the sidewalk looking in at me. She was

short, dark-haired and had on this massive coat:

one of those arctic parka type things with fur rim-

ming the hood and multi-coloured embroidery

encircling the cuffs and bottom hem. Not too chic.

But she didn’t look like she particularly cared.

With what I had decided were beady eyes—per-

haps even steely—she burned a hole through the

candy-cane-coated glass and right into me. But

when she noticed me noticing her she quickly

scurried off. I debated dropping my merchandise

and taking chase, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

She’d be long gone before I got to the street.

After making my purchases I continued down

Fifth Avenue where between 50th and 58th I paid

homage to the mystical procession of some of the

grandest retail establishments in the world.

Beginning at Saks Fifth Avenue and ending at

284 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Bergdorf Goodman, I went forth and gaily par-

took of their wares. Weighed down by packages

but high on adrenaline, I schlepped south, making

a slight detour to 6th to see Radio City Music Hall

and further down to one of the most famous pub-

lic areas in North America, the Rockefeller Center.

Although I was disappointed at how small (by

Canadian hockey-rink-on-every-corner stan-

dards) the ice-skating rink is, the Christmas tree

perched above it made up for it. And there, contin-

ually insistent on ruining my burgeoning yuletide

spirit, three quarters of the way down one side of

the walkway bordering the rink, and standing

behind someone who looked amazingly like Tony

Bennett, was
that woman
. I’d had enough. It was

time to go a-wassailling on her ass! I tightened my

grip on my colourful bags filled with fetchingly

wrapped goodies and started after her. She did a

double take and headed in the opposite direction

almost knocking over Aretha Franklin, Pat Boone

and his daughter Debbie (of “You Light Up My

Life” fame). Well, it could have been them. This

was
New York City after all.

As I undertook this crazy pursuit, jockeying

down the streets of a totally unfamiliar city, carry-

ing seven armloads of Christmas presents that

were getting heavier and less desirable by the

minute, I wondered again who this woman might