Flight of Aquavit (9 page)

Errall’s house whenever I have to be away for

work or fun, I was more than happy to return the

favour. “You and Kelly really need this after what

66 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

you’ve been through these past months.” The

whole experience of the diagnosis and process to

remove the cancer from Kelly’s body had been

stressful on both women and their relationship.

The disease had curdled Kelly’s usual sunny dis-

position. She’d become a carbonated drink gone

flat. Even months after the surgery, Kelly seemed

to be having difficulty getting over the dismal

sense of mortality that had overcome her. Of any-

one I knew, Kelly needed to get away, have some

fun and learn to get on with life.

“Actually we’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh.” So much for that idea. “Well, you

know, sometimes just sitting at home and doing

nothing is good too. It’ll give you time to spend

together, we could…”

“Russell, just stop it!” She tried to keep her

voice down but she couldn’t hide the raw emotion

in it. And I couldn’t quite identify its source. She

sounded angry…but that wasn’t it, not really.

“Will you just take Brutus?”

“Of course,” I quickly agreed. “He’s always

welcome. I just thought it meant you were going

on a vacation.”

“I know, I know.” She sounded remorseful at

her outburst but didn’t address it. Instead she took

a healthy swallow of her alcohol and stared into

the fire. “I need a cigarette,” she said. I thought I

saw some extra fluid near her eyes but Errall is not

a weeper so I figured I had to be imagining it.

“Kelly just thinks it would be best if she didn’t

have Brutus to look after right now. She’s still not

feeling back to normal. She gets tired so easily. It’s

Anthony Bidulka — 67

just one more thing she has to do.”

One more thing she has to do? Kelly loves

Brutus. He’s family. What was Errall talking

about? And even if Kelly was tired, what about

her, would it hurt Errall to take the dog for a walk

every once in a while?

“I’ve been trying to do it,” she said, obviously

reading my thoughts. “Trying to take care of him.

And usually it’s okay, but I’ve been so busy the

last few months with some big cases…”

“Errall, it’s just a dog, it’s not as if you need to

make gourmet meals for him…”

She cut me off with icy precision. “You don’t

understand, Russell. I don’t always have the time

and Kelly can’t…or won’t do it anymore.”

“What are you saying?” I just wasn’t getting it.

“She won’t take care of him, Russell. Do you

remember a couple of weeks ago when I had to go

to Edmonton for a few days for work? I came

home and found dog shit by the door. Dog shit!

He never does that, Russell, never! Brutus would

rather chew off one of his own legs than do that. I

don’t even know if she fed him while I was gone.

The poor dog looked petrified when I walked in

the door. He wasn’t himself for days. I can’t put

him through that again.” She was careful with the

expression on her face, always wary about giving

away too much of herself, but her eyes couldn’t

hide her frustration. “Did you know Kelly almost

never goes to the gallery anymore? And she hasn’t

done any of her own work since before the opera-

tion. There are days she doesn’t get out of bed or

take a shower. Did you know that?”

68 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

I hadn’t. I sat there, my confusion becoming

worry becoming guilt.

Kelly and I had been almost inseparable

throughout her illness and the beginning stages of

recovery until…well, until I’d let my own life con-

sume me. I hadn’t been paying close enough atten-

tion. I just thought…assumed…that she was better

now, that things were getting back to normal. My

heart dropped to the soles of my feet as I realized I

had no basis for that conclusion. I hadn’t set foot in

Off Broadway, Kelly’s shop, for months and

although we’d had some perfunctory phone calls, I

hadn’t laid eyes on my friend in almost as long.

I looked into Errall’s flaming eyes. No, she

wasn’t angry, she was scared. And I was too.

“What can I do?”

Errall took another punishing gulp of the

Oban. “I just…well, take Brutus. Just for now. I

don’t know for how long, but it’s just one less

thing to worry about. I know he’ll be well looked

after. And he loves being here. It’ll give Kelly and

I some time to deal with this. Once I find out what

‘this’ really is.”

“Of course. Anything. And I’ll call Kelly

tomorrow.”

Errall nodded limply. “Okay, but don’t…don’t

tell her that I told you everything. Don’t push her.

Not yet, anyway.”

“But I could…”

She cut me off again. “Russell, just don’t push

her. Leave it up to me right now.”

My head bobbed up and down. I glanced over

at the two dogs. I saw Brutus’ chest rise and fall

Anthony Bidulka — 69

dramatically as he let out a heavy sigh, as if sens-

ing a momentous change was coming to his life.

A couple of hours later as I was extinguishing the

house lights in preparation for going to bed the

phone rang. A quick glance at a wall clock told me

it was near midnight. I rushed for it, not wanting

the sound to disturb my mother.

“Hello,” I said into the receiver.

“Russell.” I recognized the voice. It was

Beverly.

She had bad news.

Chapter 4

DUFOUR, GUEST, ROWAN & ROWAN was a local firm

with a total staff of sixty, fifty of which were con-

sidered professional staff, the rest administrative

or support. In recent years, merger turmoil in the

world of international accounting firms had

fuelled the growth of smaller, homegrown organi-

zations. Charge-out rates levied by the biggies

that made sense in Toronto and Vancouver were

downright ridiculous in the Saskatchewan mar-

ket. So, although sometimes considered too small

for larger, resource-intensive assignments, local

firms like DGR&R were cleaning up by winning

bids on small- to medium-sized jobs.

Located in the north end of the city, considered

by some a less desirable business area than down-

town, the DGR&R partners had purchased and

remodelled a three-storey building they renamed

the DGR&R complex. I didn’t think it was much of

a complex when I pulled up near the street

entrance at 7 a.m. Thursday. I suppose it was pret-

ty to look at, all turquoise-tinted glass and maroon-

coloured support beams, but aesthetics eluded me

that early in the morning. Besides, it was still dark

and after my discussions with Errall and Beverly

the previous night, so was my disposition.

I’d barely taken my first sips from a piping hot,

non-fat, café latte from Starbucks when a gleaming

black Beemer glided by me like a silent phantom

and pulled into the empty lot behind the building.

Anthony Bidulka — 71

Bringing my coffee and a folder with me, I locked

up the Mazda and hustled to catch up with Daniel

Guest. I met him just as he was retrieving a shiny

black briefcase out of the shiny black car’s trunk.

He was a matching fool. We exchanged curt hellos.

There was a bit of “Mama—a.k.a. Beverly—is mak-

ing us play together but we don’t wanna” in the

air, but I was okay with that. Chilled to the bone, I

followed him to the back door of the building. I

watched as he typed in a security code into a num-

ber pad next to the doorknob and I entered the

building behind him.

We were obviously the only ones there and

Daniel switched on lights as we made our way

down a narrow hallway and up a few flights of

stairs. I guessed this was the back exit, inaccessi-

ble to clients. On the top floor I was led down

another hallway and into an atrium. Its centre

looked down three storeys into what I guessed

was the ground floor reception area. I had no time

to find out because within seconds Daniel had

directed me into an office and closed the door

behind us with the stealth of a shady tax account-

ant fleeing Revenue Canada.

“He’s stalking me!” were the first words out of

his mouth after he’d switched on a set of overhead

lights and fell with his back against the door.

I had gathered as much from my conversation

with Beverly the evening before. Apparently,

Daniel had called her, yet again in a state of dis-

tress and yet again she tried to convince him to go

to the police. When that failed her, they talked

things through and eventually reached the same

72 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

solution as yesterday: me.

I studied my client, gauging just how freaked

out he was by the turn of events. He looked like a

man who hadn’t slept, his face an unhealthy pal-

lor. The whites of his eyes were shot with blood,

beneath which dark circles had made an uneasy

home. Under his unbuttoned overcoat his suit

and tie were crisp and clean, a vivid contrast to

the rumpled man who wore them. I wondered if

his wife had seen him before he left the house and

if so, how he’d explained his appearance.

“Daniel,” I said as gently as I could. “Can we

sit down? I think you need to sit down.”

“It was after I left work last night. I was on my

way home when I noticed the same car showing

up in my rear-view mirror. I circled the block to

make sure. He was definitely following me! Thank

goodness I noticed before I got home. Suppose he

followed me home? I didn’t know what to do or

where to go!” This all fell out of his mouth in an

uncontrollable, unstoppable stream. He was

working himself into a froth. Obviously his time

with Beverly hadn’t released all the steam build-

ing up in this pressure cooker. I let him go on.

“Why is he doing this, Russell? He must know I

got the blackmail note. It’s only the eleventh today.

He didn’t demand the money until the fifteenth.

Why is he hounding me? Does he want to show me

he’s serious? Well I got it, man, you’re serious!

Leave me alone! For chrissakes man, what do I do?”

“Tell me what else happened, Daniel,” I said,

keeping my voice low and steady. “He followed

you, then what?”

Anthony Bidulka — 73

“I drove in circles. I went everywhere but

home.” Daniel ran a still-gloved hand through

already mussed-up hair. “I eventually parked in

front of the police station downtown. And I just

sat there. For half an hour I waited. When I start-

ed out again he was gone. So I went home. Keeee-

rist! WhadamIgonnado?”

“Daniel, first you need to sit down.”

His eyes grew to saucer-size and his face con-

torted. He yelled at me, spittle flying from his lips,

“I don’t want to sit down! I want…I want…I want

this to be over with! I want this nightmare to be

over with!”

I frankly wasn’t surprised at this outburst.

Daniel had been too controlled the day before. He

was treating the whole thing—at least with me—

as if it were a meddlesome business problem that

needed a tidy solution. His anger was honest.

Now, I thought to myself, we can work together.

“Daniel, if indeed this was Loverboy…”

Again he railed at me, “What the hell do you

mean ‘if’?”

“It’s unpleasant, yes, Daniel, but nothing new

has happened here, nothing more threatening.”

“Are you crazy?” he shouted at me, a crazed

look on his face, his glasses slightly askew. “He

could have followed me home! Once he knows

where I live he could walk right up to my front

door and tell my wife everything! He could tell

my neighbours, staff, clients! Do you have any

idea what this could do to my business?”

I raised my voice just a bit, only to ensure I had

his attention. “Daniel! First of all, if Jo is Loverboy,

74 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

he already knows where you live!”

He gazed at me with a gradual dawning of

understanding, then said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,

that’s right.”

“And second of all, Loverboy would never

dare tell your wife—or anyone else—anything at

this point in the game. To do so would cost him

fifty grand!”

There was a bit of settling-down silence. Even

with lights on, the room appeared cast in a