Flight of Aquavit (4 page)

one to the left for all the rest of our clients. The

area behind the desk is home to the ever-cheerful

Lilly, our group receptionist.

Today Errall’s side of the foyer was full. Half a

dozen serious people in serious suits were waiting

to do some serious business. Our side was as quiet

as a turkey on Thanksgiving. Errall appeared at

her office door, resplendent in coal-black Chanel,

her chestnut hair in a severe bun. I gave her a girly

wave. She averted her eyes.

I exchanged some idle chitchat with Lilly and

then headed up to my office. Over the summer I’d

finally given the space a bit of a facelift—a com-

forting terra cotta and gumleaf green colour

scheme for the walls and flooring, and a new

couch to replace the stuffing-less version that had

been left me by a former tenant. It was out with

the old in with the new, except for my beloved

desk with the bar fridge holding up one end of it.

I had just hit the brew button on my coffee

maker when I heard a soft knock on my door. I

turned to find Beverly standing at the threshold

with her usual friendly smile.

26 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

“Do you have a moment, hon?” she asked, her

voice as close to being warm syrup without being

sticky.

“You bet,” I said. “Just put some coffee on.”

When she closed the door behind her I knew

this wasn’t a social call.

“Let’s sit,” she said, already heading for the

client chair in front of my desk.

Okay, this wasn’t going to be couch-type talk

either. I took my spot behind the desk and smiled

at our resident psychiatrist. Beverly is a pretty

brunette in her mid-forties with twenty extra

pounds that look just right on her. She was wear-

ing a plain grey skirt that showed off her curvy

hips nicely and a nondescript cream-coloured

blouse under an unbuttoned grey sweater that

looked soft enough to be made of kittens.

“I may have a client for you.”

I nodded my understanding. This was unusual

indeed. Beverly and I had never before referred

clients to one another. Not because we don’t

respect each other’s abilities in our respective pro-

fessions—the situation had simply not come up.

“I’ve been seeing Daniel Guest for about a

year,” she began. “Of course I won’t go into any of

that, but something new has come up…something

very new. I received a phone call from Daniel

three days ago, very early on Sunday morning.

He was in an extremely agitated state and I con-

vinced him to come see me right away.” She hesi-

tated for a brief second then continued, “These

issues we’re dealing with, Russell, relate to…well,

criminal activity.” She added quickly, “By some-

Anthony Bidulka — 27

one else, not him.”

I was about to interrupt but Beverly wordless-

ly indicated her desire to finish her thoughts.

“As you can imagine, Daniel and I have spent

many hours over the past few days discussing

this. He needs more help…different help…than I

can give him. Fortunately he’s now reached the

same conclusion. Given the special nature of his

circumstances, I suggested you. I hope you have

the time to see him?”

Did I? What about my planned time off? What

about spending time with my mother? And

Christmas was just around the corner. But there

was a bong sounding in my head. Was this the

case Hughie and his little friend Dewey thought I

was on and wanted me to drop? Well then of

course I’d have the time. Nothing I like better than

to pee in some pisser’s cornflakes. And besides,

Beverly had certainly piqued my interest. What

kind of crime was this guy involved in? And what

were the special circumstances?

“I guess I’ve got some time,” I said. “And

thank you for thinking of me, Beverly, but if this

has something to do with a crime that’s been com-

mitted, shouldn’t your client first talk to the

police?”

“Believe me, I’ve suggested it, but he wants to

keep this quiet.”

“Those ‘special circumstances’ you men-

tioned?”

She nodded. “Russell, I’m worried about him.

What happened to him has…well, it’s shaken his

world. He was reticent about getting any kind of

28 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

outside help at first—other than me, that is—but

when I told him about you and your practice, he

came around.”

“You mean about how cute I am?”

She raised an eyebrow over one rim of her

granny glasses but continued on without com-

ment. “He’s in my office right now if you’re will-

ing to see him.”

This surprised me. “Right now? Downstairs in

your office?” Nice sum up of the facts, Quant.

“Did you have an accident last night?” This

interloping voice was from Alberta Lougheed, her

head, a-jangle with earrings, was pushing through

a crack she’d made in the doorway, her face

expressing genuine concern.

“Wha…?” Was she talking about my run-in

with Hugh? I have never come to a conclusion

whether or not I believe in Alberta’s psychic

powers. I have no doubt
she
believes she has a spe-

cial gift. She’s no con artist. I’m just not certain she

isn’t just plain ol’ crazy. She looks like a younger

version of Beverly except for tons more make up,

hairspray and peculiar fashion choices. Today she

faintly resembled Elizabeth Taylor in the role of

Cleopatra. “Ah, no,” I finally mumbled in answer.

I decided a white lie would be easier this morning.

“Oh, okay,” she said, not completely con-

vinced, and floated off to her office, likely to feed

her asp.

I looked at Beverly and shook my head like a

dog with fleas.

She was holding out a white envelope. “Take a

look at this. Daniel gave me this to show you. He

Anthony Bidulka — 29

received it during an awards ceremony on Saturday

night—while he was onstage accepting his award. I

think it will give you an idea about his problem and

why you’re just the guy to help him out.”

I reached across the desk and took it from her.

I withdrew a single piece of paper and unfolded it.

It looked a little worse for wear, as if someone had

crumpled it and then tried to straighten it out.

I read the typed words and understood what

she meant by “special circumstances.”

Send $50,000 by December 15 to P.O. Box 8420,

Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, S7T 1B5. If you

don’t—I will tell your wife and the whole city

everything I know.

It was signed,
Loverboy
.

Chapter 2

HE WASN’T WHAT I EXPECTED. I thought he’d look

like a nervous nellie. I’m not really sure what I

mean by that, but it had something to do with him

being both a closet case
and
an accountant.

Instead, Daniel Guest, a trifle shorter than me at

just under six feet, looked sturdy and athletic, in a

lean baseball-player kind of way. He had wavy

blond-brown hair parted on the side, crinkly

green eyes behind a pair of glasses with near-

invisible gold frames and a button nose that

looked a little squashed to one side. Altogether a

nice-looking man. He wore a stylish sports coat

with carefully matched trousers and a smart tie-

shoes-belt combination. He stood as I entered the

office (sans Beverly) and held out a hand as I

approached. He was the kind of guy who got

manicures and used moisturizer. (I’m that kind of

guy too—just not regularly.) We shook and he sat

back down while I awkwardly made my way

behind the unfamiliar desk to Beverly’s chair.

Unlike Errall’s ultra-chic space across the way,

Beverly’s office is the ultimate in homey comfort

in the dried-flower, overstuffed couch, potpourri,

homemade crafts, framed-prints-of-wildflowers-

and-fawns kind of way. As I plopped myself into

her amazingly comfortable chair I wondered for

the millionth time how she made the room smell

so good. I also wondered—impressed by Daniel

Guest’s natty appearance—whether I should

Anthony Bidulka — 31

rethink my usual work wardrobe of wrinkle-free

cotton pants and shirt.

Nah.

I slowly unfolded the blackmail note, the

sound seemed to fill the room. Daniel’s eyes fell

upon the letter as if catching sight of a hated alba-

tross that had been hanging around his neck. I

heard him swallow.

“You received this at the SBA—Saskatoon

Business Association, right?—awards ceremony

this past Saturday night?”

He nodded wordlessly, still eyeing the white

sheet of paper.

“It appears to be a blackmail note. Beverly told

me you’re reticent about involving the police.

Which is why you’re here, with me.” Another nod.

Had the albatross got his tongue? “I know you

may be uncomfortable being here, talking to me,

talking about this, but I can promise you that

whatever we discuss today will remain confiden-

tial—unless you and I decide otherwise.”

He appeared to be listening carefully.

“How can I help you, Mr. Guest?” I simply

asked.

“Call me Daniel,” he answered. His voice was

smooth and deep. He may have been unhappy in

the circumstance he found himself in, but his

voice did not betray any readily obvious emotion.

He was wary though, as he should be. “Beverly

told me a lot about you, probably more than she

normally would for a simple referral, but she

knew I needed a certain comfort level to pursue

this.

32 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

“Just so you know, Beverly did suggest I go to

the police—numerous times. I can’t do that.

Eventually she gave in and suggested I meet with

you. It was important to me to learn you’re gay. I

know at first that might sound trite or even fool-

hardy, I should want someone who is good at their

job, regardless of their sexuality…but, it’s not

about that so much as I want someone good at

their job who I also feel comfortable discussing

my circumstance with. I’m hoping you might be

that person. I know as an openly gay man you

may have prejudices against me for being closeted

or…being with a man while I am married, and if

you do, I guess we need to discuss that up front.”

He stopped there, a little too suddenly for me

to immediately reply. His candor was refreshing.

This isn’t always the experience I have with the

people who come through my door looking for

help. This man was putting forth a business case

and, although I did not doubt his veracity, I

guessed the ultra-professional attitude he was

portraying was a bit of a mask for what he was

really feeling.

“I don’t foresee that being a problem,” I finally

got out. And that was the truth. I knew nothing

about Daniel Guest other than what Beverly had

told me. Every one of us, gay, straight, Aboriginal,

white, Hispanic, lawyer, doctor, disabled, or not,

has stuff to go through and we each take a slight-

ly different route. At the end of the day I have high

hopes that every one of us eventually makes the

right decisions for ourselves without hurting too

many other people along the way. It isn’t always

Anthony Bidulka — 33

easy to decide what’s right, but it’s pretty clear

when you’re hurting someone. Usually. I know.

I’ve done it.

He nodded. “I am thirty-six years old. My wife,

Cheryl, and I have been married for eighteen

years—since we met in our first year of university.

We get along well. I’m a partner with the firm of

Dufour, Guest, Rowan & Rowan, DGR&R for short.

I make a handsome salary. I travel. I have friends.

No children. I have a pretty good life, Mr. Quant.”

“Russell.”

“Russell.” He licked his lips, a nervous habit I

thought, and ticked his head towards the note still

in my hands. “I have a problem, Russell, and I

need help solving it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“On Saturday night I received the SBA

Business Builder Businessperson of the Year

Award. As I was standing behind the podium—in

front of three hundred people including my par-

ents, my partners and staff, and my wife—I

received that note.”