Torque (9 page)

The sedan showed a clear intent to ram.
Svoljsak slammed the stick into first gear and his car jumped
forward. He aimed for the gap in the wall and got an unexpected
boost when the sedan clipped his bumper. He corrected the steering
and shot into the alley as a sparking flash of chrome and glass
swept past his mirror.

Fear seemed to warp time. A terrifying
montage of streaking bolts of light and booming thunderclaps chased
him down the narrow corridor. Picking up speed, Svoljsak cut the
lights and willed the darkness to draw in behind him. More flashes
of deadly steel ricocheted off a fire escape to his right, then
another batch chipped graffiti off the bricks to his left.

With the side mirrors of the compact car
nearly scraping the walls he hurtled along the unknown path until
the sheltering darkness of the brick gully mercifully cloaked him
from sight.

CHAPTER
14

The chirping cell phone was all the more
irritating for being over on the vanity and not by the bed. Even
the alarm clock had the grace not to ring at this hour. Reis
squinted at the soft red time display. Beyond the heavy draperies,
drawn tight against unwanted light, rain tip-tapped against the
window. Grumbling, she pushed the comforter off and lurched toward
the insistent sound.

“This better be good.”

“Just thought you should know; we tailed him
from the lab and goosed him around Barton Street.” The voice had a
smoker's nettle to it.

Back in the bed, Reis pulled the pillows up
behind her.

“And just what did you do to ‘goose’ him, R.
J.?” The flatness of her tone made the caller pause.

“We followed him around town for a bit, then
I drove up beside his car and Brick put a shotgun blast across the
bow. Man, was he spooked!”

“So you goosed him and you spooked him,” she
said dryly. “Anything else?”

“Uh. Yeah. He took off and we gave chase
until he cut down an alley. Brick helped him on his way with a
couple more shots, you know, over his head. We couldn't follow
anymore but you only wanted us to put a burr up his tail.
Right?”

Now fully awake, Reis sat a little
straighter.

“Are you telling me that you guys fired a
shotgun, three times, in downtown Hamilton in the middle of the
night? Were you both born crazy, or was that something you
contracted as kids?”

She could almost hear the gears turning while
he fathomed an appropriate response.

“You wanted him bounced—we bounced him. It
would have been just as easy to take the packet off the guy, you
know. You could have had it by now.”

“If you had cornered him, he might have
damaged it or tossed it. I just wanted Svoljsak to have some
incentive to move it along before he got funny ideas of his own.
Besides, if your idea of putting a scare into him is to wake up
half the city, what would you have done to take him down—blown up a
couple of blocks? My God. You guys have all the subtlety of a
Sherman tank, and only half its brains.”

The loss of sleep had only served to sharpen
her tongue, though deriding a moron was hardly a fair contest. The
lack of response prompted her to get on with the business at
hand.

“All right, R. J., I asked you to pressure
him and you say you did, so we’ll move on.” She softened her voice.
“Your bull in a china shop routine might come in handy, yet.”

“You mean you want us to find him again?”

“No. I'll take care of that. Go home and get
some shut-eye. I'll call you later in the week.”

A hacking cough on the other end was followed
by his nettley, “Yeah. All right.”

The line clicked to silence.

It was now four-thirty.

== == ==

The large city block was a warren of small
alleyways. Unable to follow, the big American four-door had given
up the pursuit. Svoljsak made one tight turn then another before he
sensed an element of safety and came to a stop. A prickling low
voltage charge ran under the dampened armpits of his shirt and
sweat trickled down his back. He shoved the gearshift into Park and
squirmed out from behind the wheel. With the door ajar and engine
running he walked cautiously back to the previous alley and peered
around the corner.

All was quiet.

The short return walk helped to slow his
heart rate and calm him down. He pulled the big flashlight from the
duffel bag and made a survey of the damage.

All in all he’d been damned lucky not to get
a flat tire from a shotgun blast, or when he’d hit the curb, though
the latter had bent one of the rims and probably screwed up the
alignment. There was a star crack in the rear window and several
small dings in the hatch. The hood looked like it had been whipped
with a chain.

At least the damage was less noticeable on an
old beater like this than it would be on a fancier ride. For now he
was just glad it was still drivable. It was another victory of
sorts and he looked around for his cigar. It lay beneath the brake
pedal, crushed. He flicked it down the alley, lit a cigarette, then
leaned back against the car.

The rain had stopped but an enveloping mist
draped a phosphorous glow over the city. Daybreak was yet a couple
of hours away and he wondered how long the sedan would patrol the
block. With his option of exits from the maze of back passages, the
chance of meeting his assailants again, tonight, would require an
extreme case of bad timing.

They had to be connected with the Simedyne
job. No one else would have known where and when to pick him up. He
took another deep drag on his cigarette and peered down the lane
into the darkness. It was actually quite a peaceful hideaway.

Just then the car’s automatic cooling fan
kicked in. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins and he
instinctively ducked for cover.

“Cut that out!” He lashed out with his boot
and put a dent in the fender.

Enough of this crap. He needed to find a
payphone—and maybe a mailbox. He heard sirens approaching. The
gun-toting goons wouldn’t stick around for that sort of attention,
and neither would he. His exit from the alley was a few blocks from
the highway which he took to a truck stop a few kilometres east. He
parked as inconspicuously as anyone could park a car that had been
chummy with a shotgun and headed for the restaurant’s bright and
inviting entrance.

There were a few patrons, most of them taking
a break from the road. A Caribbean-looking trucker with dreadlocks
occupied both the payphones—leaning on one while talking on the
other. Svoljsak caught part of the conversation as he passed:

“… and they said they haven’t been paid for
that load … Yeah, Mon … I know that … but they won't let me take it
away … Okay … Okay … so what should I do?”

He found an empty booth that gave him a view
of the entrance and the phones, and slumped into it. Jeans and an
apron appeared beside him and he looked up to see the waitress.
Average looking and probably in her forties, her expression was
neutral as she wiped the table.

“Coffee?”

He cradled the cup, his rough tar-stained
fingers absorbing the therapeutic warmth. The swirling cream in the
black liquid was hypnotic and his mind strayed to the woman who had
set him on this path. She remained as mysterious as she was
enigmatic and not knowing her full name wasn’t all that important
in this game. In fact, for Svoljsak, it had enhanced their
encounters rather than detracting from them.

Their only meeting after Hanlon Place had
been on the site of a vacant strip mall still under construction.
It had been a Sunday yet Brittany wore corporate attire; a dark
purple skirt and short jacket over a blouse a shade lighter. She'd
explained the location was convenient since she had to check it out
for a client.

Within the confines of freshly installed
wallboard and the papered-over windows of one of the units, details
of the heist had been delivered in a sterile monotone.
Businesslike, though not exactly what he’d prepped himself for.

“Do you need me to repeat anything?”

“No.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow night about the car.
Stay by your phone because if I get an answering machine I’m
hanging up.”

“Understood.”

Then, without taking her eyes from his, she’d
simply unbuttoned her blouse and stepped forward. The dry skin of
his fingers had caught on the lace of her bra until he found the
release between her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his
thumbs and after a moment her hands reached down to unfasten his
slacks. Kneeling before him with one knee on the dusty floor she
had tugged on the waistband of his briefs, and the memory of his
fingers woven into her long dark hair aroused him, now, as her
mouth had, then.

“Ready to order?” the waitress was back.

“Oh. Yes. Sausage and eggs.” He hoped his
expression hadn’t given away the nature of his thoughts.

“White or brown toast?”

“White.”

The waitress refilled his cup and went to the
kitchen. Over at the phones the trucker's conversation had just
ended. Apparently unsatisfactorily, for the dreadlocks shook all
the way to the washrooms.

CHAPTER
15

Svoljsak slid from the booth and dredged a
few coins from his pocket. Among them was the small Peruvian
talisman he carried for luck. He stood it on the metal shelf,
slotted coins into the box, and began punching numbers.

There were two rings before she answered.

“Tell me it’s you.” The voice that blew into
his ear had a sensual quality that conjured up an image of satin
sheets and silk pyjamas.

“Yeah. It’s me!” His throat felt raspy. He
put his hand over the mouthpiece and coughed.

“Well. Did you get it?”

That was not so alluring. Svoljsak’s fantasy
dissolved.

“Of course I got it,” he replied with a flash
of annoyance. “It’s right here.”

There was silence on the other end. She
wouldn’t know of the attack. With his free hand he massaged the
back of his neck.

“There may be a bit of a problem. Two goons
just tried to blow my head off.”

“What! Where are you now?”

“At a truck stop just off the highway.
Casablanca Boulevard.”

“Where?”

“Grimsby—you know, past Hamilton on the way
to Niagara Falls.”

“I know where Grimsby is. I just didn't hear
you.”

Svoljsak now lapsed into silence.

“Sorry, lover. I’m not at my best without a
full night’s sleep. I’ve been lying here thinking about you.”

“And what have you been thinking?”

“I was so worried that something unexpected
might happen.”

“Well something unexpected damn well did.
Have you any idea who those other guys might be?”

“The cosmetic trade is a cut-throat industry.
Some companies will go so far as to hire mercenaries to get the
latest formula. Now I feel bad that I didn’t warn you of something
like that.”

This was more like the script he’d imagined.
He played up to it.

“And just how bad do you feel? Never mind—you
can show me later. I gotta tell you, though, from where I stand it
looks like there’s a mole in your organization.”

“I think you are right, and I’m going to look
into it. Luckily I picked the right man for this job. You didn’t
get hurt, did you?”

“Nah. I'm fine. Nothing I couldn't handle.”
He gave it the all in a day's work spin.

“Think you can handle me?” she purred.

“Just say where and when, Baby.” She’d be
drowsy and warm and loosely wrapped in a rumpled duvet.

“How about we finish the job at hand, first.
Where’s the disc?”

“In the envelope, which is in my pocket.
Maybe this hot little item should float around the mail system for
a few days to cool off.”

“That’s why we have a back up plan, Stanley.”
She gave him a post office box address in Burlington. He wrote it
down but not on the label, and then said, “So when do we meet?”

There was a pause. “I’m booked into a
convention, today. It might run late but if I'm not too tired I can
stop by your place when I'm done and we'll celebrate.”

“Sounds good. I’ll stock the bar.”

“Promise me you’ll take precautions, Stanley.
As long as you have that package you’re a target. Unload it and
make yourself safe. For me. Okay?”

“Sure. And you keep it warm for me.” He
wasn’t sure if that last bit made it down the line before the
click.

The waitress brought his food and refilled
his cup. He ate heartily and having mopped up the egg with the
toast he began to assess the situation with a critical eye.

In his line of work, rules constantly changed
and alliances were fleeting. Everyone had an angle. He had an angle
and no doubt the woman had one, also. The only thing trustworthy
was gut instinct. While not infallible it did seem the older he got
the more reliable that was. And at the moment Svoljsak was getting
a sense of déjà vu.

He took the amulet from his pocket. He put
little credence in superstition yet, since Peru, the tiny figurine
was something he always carried with him.

“We’ve been through a lot, you and I,” he
muttered, rolling it over in his palm. The gold was dull. Pure. He
wrapped it in his fist for a moment then, coming to a decision,
slipped it into the bubblepack envelope with the disc.

== == ==

Reis lay in the warm depths of her bed yet
agitation denied her sleep. She rarely slept more than six hours,
and energized by the project at hand had lately been getting by on
less. Roger Aird's death had been an unexpected detour but she
would soon be back on track and able to move ahead with the next
phase. The possibilities were entering a dream state when Svoljsak
had called.

Surprise. Sympathy. Seduction. Whatever he'd
needed to hear. Predictably, the suggestion of sex had elicited the
best response from her caller, as well as from her own body. Sleep
was definitely out of the question now so she made her way to the
shower. With arms outstretched to the wall she leaned under the
spray and let her head hang low. The pulsing water hit the back of
her neck and blanketed her shoulders. It ribboned down her sides
then trickled around her legs in a myriad of threads.