Torque (6 page)

“That's
caliber
, Carole, and my clones
want a raise.”

Fenn was no longer taken in by her shmooze.
Carole said the same thing on a regular basis to all the
instructors. To change the topic he said, “A little bird told me
that Ron Jenner is leaving.”

“No great loss, if you ask me.” This from
Asha who gave up the charade of filing when her boss turned to
stare at her.

“Well it's not. He was never on time for
lessons—if he showed up at all. He’s had two speeding tickets this
year, and there was that woman who claimed he made improper
suggestions to her.”

“Oh, that. Just a misunderstanding.” Not to
be wasted on mere clerks Carole’s Euro-accent was back in its
locker. “Asha forgets that instructors are hard to come by these
days.”

“The harder the better when it comes to his
kind.” Asha shoved the drawer back into the cabinet harder than
necessary and went into the storage room.

Fenn thought he should step in. “He got an
inheritance or something, didn’t he?”

Carole’s brow creased with the strain of
recollection. “He's apparently taking over his family’s recycling
business, or something like that.”

Asha came back. “Yes. And he laughed as if he
thought that was the funniest thing.”

“Well, at least we still have Chas, and
that's all that matters.” Carole beamed at him again. She had the
longest teeth Fenn had ever seen.

“Is someone with Dieter?” he inquired
innocently.

The smile on Carole's face flickered but
quite didn't go out. “Someone with Diet’s? Oh. I hadn't noticed.
Well, I mustn’t stand around talking to you two all day—work to
do!”

When Carole turned away Asha pantomimed
hanging herself. Fenn smiled and handed her his timesheet. He was
about to leave when the door to Dieter's office opened and a tall
man in a dark suit and sturdy black shoes backed through it.
Dieter’s voice followed him into the hallway.

“If I can help you in any way, any way at
all, just give me a call.”

“Thank you, sir.” The tall man moved toward
the front entrance. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Sure. No problem. Happy to help.” Dieter
Lundsen, hair in a neat ponytail, walked his guest the short
distance to the door. He watched diligently as if personally
responsible for the visitor's safe passage to his car then swiveled
on his heel to find three faces waiting in expectation.

“What did he want?” Carole's whisper could
have been heard in the next office.

Dieter picked invisible lint from the sleeve
of his silk shirt. “The fellow came looking for some information,
and I was able to help him out.” He said it with the air of one who
had just gained an inner sanctum.

Asha poked Fenn with her pen. “Told ya he was
a cop.”

“Why ever would you think the gentleman was a
police officer?” said Dieter with his best ‘I've got a secret’
look.

The street-wise beauty rolled her dark eyes.
She was perfectly cast for a business that dealt with young
adults.

“Well, if you're going to keep it to
yourself,” said Fenn closing his binder. “I'll just take some
workbooks and be on my way.”

“I wish I could give you details, Chas, but
it's really quite confidential.” The slim Dane tapped the side of
his nose and retreated to his office. Carole shoved a half-dozen
workbooks into Fenn’s hand with a singsong “Here you go,” and
hustled after her husband.

Fenn turned back to the bemused booking
clerk. “Anything of actual importance I need to know?”

“I’m afraid so.” She handed him a
registration card. “Carole filled your lunch spot.”

Fenn gave her a knowing look. Technically, he
could have refused the student but a solid booking when times were
good made up for when they weren’t. He could always find a few
minutes here and there to grab a bite to eat. He glanced at the
name, which triggered another thought.

“By the way, Miss Fabiani,” he said arching
an eyebrow. “What can you tell me about Myrtle Stafford?”

“Surely you mean Muriel don’t you, Mr. Fenn?”
She batted her eyelashes demurely and swiveled her chair away from
him. Fenn’s cheek muscles twitched as he suppressed another grin.
The door to Dieter’s office re-opened.

“Oh, Chas. If you have a moment I’d like to
go over this Union thing with you.”

“Sorry, Dieter. My next lesson is in two
minutes, so I should get going.”

“Later, then?”

“Yeah. Later.”

Much later. Like when Hell freezes over.
Apart from the fact that covert discussions about Union
negotiations were illegal between management and employees, Fenn
would rather visit the dentist than sit and listen to Dieter whine.
He flashed Asha the two-fingered peace sign and made his escape.
With any luck he could avoid Dieter until at least next Monday.
Longer, if he won the lottery.

The undercover police cruiser was still
parked nearby when Fenn left the office, the tall detective making
notes in the front seat. It was typical of Dieter to puff himself
up in these situations, probably ignored as a child, but the boss
could no more keep a secret than a paper bag hold water. Asha would
have every detail by the end of the day.

== == ==

Brandon Perry was practically exam ready so
after the student was buckled in Fenn let him choose the route. As
he drove Fenn engaged him in conversation. It was a good way to
introduce distractions and also kept Fenn in the loop with the
latest trends. Brandon had been to a rave on the weekend.

“So, tell me how a guy in high school got
invited to a college rave,” prompted Fenn.

“I went with my sister. She goes to Mohawk
College. It was actually off-campus in some sort of mansion. There
was a punk band playing in the basement.” Brandon paused in his
narration to make a left turn. “The band was pretty good but the
party was kind of weird.”

“How so?”

I think a bunch of people were on
drugs—actually I know they were. Do you know what a zebra is?”

“Looks like a horse with black and white
stripes,” said Fenn.

“This guy had a patch stuck on his shoulder,
it had stripes. He called it a zebra. Said it was the best way to
get high, and he was pretty high but he was also doing shots of
Tequila.”

“Did you try any?”

Brandon shook his head. “No way. I only had
beer.”

Fenn let it pass that Brandon was only
seventeen. Been there and done that.

“There were also these two chics who kept
disappearing upstairs with different guys. By the end of the night
they just stayed up there and this line of guys formed outside one
of the bedrooms.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” said Fenn. “Let’s change
lanes for that cyclist ahead.” Brandon checked his blind spot and
moved over.

“So how long did you stay at the party?”

“We left just after midnight. Things started
getting out of hand. A television got busted and the guy with the
patch started puking behind a sofa. One of the jocks from upstairs
started hitting on my sister so she decided it was time to go.”

“How did you get home?”

“Well my sister was pretty bombed, and since
I’d only drank six beers we decided I would drive.”

“Six beers. And you with a learner’s
permit.”

Brandon started to smile. “Hey, I can drive
as long as I have someone licenced with me, although she was passed
out in the back seat.”

“Uh-huh,” said Fenn. “Now I really think
you’re pulling my leg.” They both laughed then Brandon said, “My
sister is in residence just a couple of blocks from where the party
was. We walked there. Well, I walked, she kind of staggered back
but we made it.”

“So what was that patch called?”

“A zebra.”

“And you know to stay away from crap like
that.”

“I do.”

“I like your style, kid. Now find us a victim
and we’ll parallel park.”

CHAPTER
9

Thursday, October
15th

Durrell was ready. He was more than ready.
It had been three days since he’d bedded Little Red Ringlets, and
he’d been hoping to do so again for the last two.

Problem was, she’d flown away. Hadn’t called.
Hadn’t come back to knock on his door. Hadn’t left her number or
even her full name. All she’d left were carnal memories that had
haunted his thoughts as he walked the halls of Simedyne late at
night. Memories that kept his clock ticking but the pendulum swung
wildly between hope and frustration.

He emptied his coffee mug into the sink and
opened the refrigerator door. There they were. Two bottles of white
wine. Two bottles of proof she’d hung him out to dry. He shut the
door and they rattled together.

Women!

The evening news was wrapping up which meant
it was nearly ten-thirty. Time to put on his boots and head off to
work. The running water that rinsed his mug drowned out the first
ring of the phone. But not the second.

He sock-skated on the hardwood floor into the
living room, drying his hands on his pants before picking up the
handset.

“Hello?”

“Marty? Hi. It’s me!”

“Me who?” like, women always called this
number late at night. Isn’t that why he worked the late shift, to
get some peace?

“It’s Brenda. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.
I sure haven’t.”

Durrell silently pumped his fist.

“Of course I haven’t. You’re all I’ve thought
about!”

“Yeah. Me too. You, I mean.” Her giggles were
like chimes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner.”

“No problem,” he said but wanted to add ‘just
get your ass over here.’

“I had to go out of town for work.”

“Okay, So, what are you doing now?” A casual
question. Stay cool.

“Getting ready for bed. I just got back an
hour ago, and I’m exhausted.” She actually did sound tired.

“Bedtime, eh.” He tried to invoke a mood of
passion. “And may I ask what you are wearing?”

“Well,” her voice was soft. “It’s red. It’s
lacy. And, oh, it just came off.”

His lips were suddenly dry. “Then I have a
suggestion.” He swallowed but couldn’t keep the huskiness from his
voice. “You really shouldn’t be alone in such a vulnerable state.
Perhaps I should come over.”

The pause was almost deafening as his ears
strained for her response.

“As good as that sounds, Marty, I really am
worn out. However, my girlfriend has loaned me her cottage for the
weekend. I was hoping you could call in sick tomorrow and we could
spend the next couple of days, and nights, together.”

What was this? A cottage, chilled wine, and
three whole days to do the things he couldn’t stop thinking
about.

“Sure!” His throat was so tight he could
hardly answer.

“What?”

“Sorry. I said, sure. When? What time?”

“If I pick you up about three o’clock
tomorrow afternoon, that should give you plenty of time to rest
up.”

Rest up. Right on.

“And,” she added, “maybe there’ll be time for
a quickie before we hit the road.” Now she was sounding
throaty.

“Hey, if you can fit me in,” he said
suggestively. “I can certainly fit you in.”

There was another giggle and she rang off.
Durrell reluctantly cradled the set, though now glad it was time
for his shift. With his imagination locked in overdrive sleep would
have been out of the question.

He calculated the timeframe. Sixteen hours.
Eight for work. One for the commute. Maybe another hour to acquire
an ounce of weed and a bottle of Drambuie. That left six whole
hours for sleep.

For a date with an angel that was more than
enough.

CHAPTER
10

Friday, October
16th

“So, do you want to know Dieter’s secret?”
Asha asked when Fenn made his morning call from home.

He laughed. “What took you so long?”

“What do you mean?”

“It never used to take four days to get the
scoop. You must be losing your touch?”

“I am not. It’s just that Dieter’s been
milking this for all it’s worth. I finally ran out of patience and
got Carole to spill the beans.”

“No surprise, there,” said Fenn, more
occupied with updating his client files. “So let’s have it.”

“Well, the cop that was in the other day was
interested in Ron Jenner.”

“Ron? Why?”

“He didn’t say why he was interested, only
that the police needed some background information; you know, how
long he’d worked for DriveCheck, what his hours were, stuff like
that.”

“Pretty standard. Is that it?” Fenn continued
to organize his appointments.

“Nope. Remember we thought he’d inherited his
family’s recycling business. Turns out that wasn’t quite the story.
He’s actually working for a funeral home, that big place on
Walker’s line.”

“Harrowport & Dynes?”

“Yeah. What he really said was that he was
going into the family recycling business; burials. Get it!”

“Jenner has a weird sense of humour.”

“Most jerks do. At least the ones I’ve
dated.”

“We’ve never dated, have we?”

“Your sense of humour is dry, Chas, not
weird. Might be a nice change—maybe I should try it sometime.” Asha
let that hang. So did Fenn. Once, in conversation about other
people, they had agreed that an office romance was a great way to
ruin a good friendship. Occasionally, though, their flirting
skimmed close to true feeling. Fenn steered back to less fertile
ground.

“I’ve got a couple of openings in my
schedule. Got any new bookings?”

“’Fraid not. Things are pretty quiet around
here. I’m playing solitaire on the computer as we speak.”

“So what is the dynamic duo up to?”

“Not much. Sonny went out somewhere, and Cher
is in her office with the door closed. Probably napping. She looked
pretty bagged when she came in this morning.”