01.25.06
“Hi, sug,” she said, breath making puffy white clouds in the cold night air. “I just thought I’d drop by, see how your day was.” Chuck hurried her in out of the cold, and tried to figure out where to start in describing his day. He outlined his good morning bullet, meeting with the mayor, the showdown at the clubhouse, the intervention by the bikers, and the discovery of the tunnel as accurately as he could. Emma was in turns shocked, horrified, amused and intrigued.
“Man, the most exciting thing that happened to me today is I got a ten dollar tip on a five dollar order,” she said when Chuck completed his tale.
“That’s pretty cool to,” said Chuck. “Where’s Jordan?” he asked.
“I left him with Melinda and Melody. Actually,” she said rising from her chair and pulling on her coat, “I should get back; I told them I would just be five minutes. I just wanted to say hi.” Chuck stood and pulled her close.
“Thanks,” he said, and kissed her on the nose.
“No problem,” she replied, kissing him back. “I have the day after tomorrow off; maybe we can do something together?”
“Like a date?”
“Like that, sure.”
“Sounds great to me.” With this promise in the air between them, Emma went to collect her son.
Chuck, exhausted from the adventure of the day, slept soundly through the night.
The next morning he sat in the office, reading a local paper. Precious little was happening of note in the city. He almost expected to read about his adventures there, the news was so dull. The morning had been slow; no phone calls, no bullets, no worrisome visits by public officials, just a series of friendly waves as people left for work in the morning. The actuaries left at eight o’clock, some of them looking rather ill. A couple of them actually still looked a little bit drunk.
The downtown police station in St. Catharines was surprisingly busy, for a cop shop in a small city. The proximity to the U.S. boarder, and the thriving university, combined to keep trafficking rates fairly high. There was a slight lull in the early morning bustle as the shifts changed. Cops drifted tiredly out of the building after a long night’s shift, while freshly scrubbed replacements jockeyed for better positioning in the parking lot. Detective Bailey sat down angrily on his partner’s desk, well aware of the bemused eyes and scarcely hushed laughter that followed him. An officer on patrol had come by the meeting hall past midnight last night, finally scattering the bikers, allowing the Promised Ones to finally return home. The beat cop had caught a glimpse of Bailey, and had gone on the radio to spread the word. The story of how the big, mean detective had been trapped in his car like a dog had gone through the ranks like wildfire. Bailey had few friends on the force, and his misfortune was music to the ears of the rest of the force.
“What the hell are we going to do?” his partner asked, sullenly sipping on a too hot cup of coffee. “Do you think Cider will back down?”
Bailey shook his head slowly. “Cider don’t frighten that easily. He isn’t beaten yet. But I think we should pay a special visit to that little prick, teach him a little lesson.” He jumped up suddenly and proceeded down the row of desks that made up the open concept office. People walking the other way recognized the distant glint in his eyes, and got out of his way. His partner trailed behind, scurrying quickly to catch up with Bailey’s long, loping strides. He started down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, and entered the sub-basement evidence room, where bags, boxes, and shipping containers of seized criminal property was kept. He pulled out his access key and opened the gate, stepping into a room rich with the heady smell of drying marijuana. That was the most popular drug of choice in St. Catharines, but it was by no means the only one available. The shelves also contained uppers, cocaine, methamphetamine, and a virtual pharmacopeias of assorted pills.
“What are you going to do?” said his partner, Chester Dowd. Bailey scanned the shelves, looking for just the right-sized bag. Small enough to carry out easily, large enough for an intent to sell rap.
“He brought trash into our house; I’m going to return the favour.”
As Chuck was pouring himself a second cup of coffee, he noticed a beat up, rusted old VW bug pulling into to parking lot. Driving it was a man who looked like an extra from a Cheech and Chong movie. Long straggly hair was pulled back in a loose, graying ponytail. There was no discernable line between his face and his beard, which was also long and shaggy. He stepped out of his car, revealing faded denim pant, with a matching jacket, hardly warm enough against the cold – but somehow, he seemed fine. He looked over at Chuck, and started walking towards the office. Chuck stood to let him in.
“Are you the owner of this establishment?” Although his manner was relaxed, his voice was surprisingly firm and officious.
“Yes,” Chuck fought back the urge to call this man sir. “What can I do for you?” The man pulled out a wallet from his back pocket, and flashed a vaguely official looking identification card at Chuck.
“I’m Tom Smithers, with the city inspection office.”
“Oh, yeah. I figured I would see you sometime soon. I didn’t expect it would be so soon.” A surprised look crossed Smither’s face.
“Am I to understand that you were given foreknowledge of this inspection?” He pulled a long, thin notebook out and started writing in a neat, thin script.
“Not exactly, but I had a feeling you might be by. I think I pissed off your boss,” said Chuck. He already knew he had nothing to fear from the inspection, so he wasn’t worried about a little honesty.
“You pissed off Frank Carlone?”
Chuck shook his head. “I don’t know a Frank Carlone, although it’s possible I’ve pissed him off. No, I meant Mayor Henderson. I pissed him off, and I understood there could be reprisals. I think you are one of them.”
Tom Smithers scratched at his beard carefully. “I wondered why there was such a rush. Frank told me I had to drop everything and come here first thing,” he said. Much of the officiousness had gone from his voice. “What did you do to annoy Henderson?”
“Let’s just say he made me an offer I found easy to refuse.”
“Well, anyone that has aggravated that asshole in any way is all right with me. Let’s just get this inspection over with, quickly, and I can take an early lunch.”
Chuck and Tom toured the park, inspecting everything on Tom’s list. Chuck had to explain the police tape and barbeque debris to avoid getting written up for the chunks of metal that were strewn around. Tom decided to let that slide. Otherwise the inspection was flawless.
“You run a tight ship,” said Tom, as they returned to the office. “Just like your dad.”
“Did you know my father,” Chuck asked.
“I met him a few time, on inspections. I never had to write him a citation, either. This place looks as though he is still running it.” Chuck felt a sense of pride at this. Being compared favorably to the father he never met was a shock, but a good one.
“Here’s your copy of the report, I’ll file it when I get back to the office.” Tom looked at his watch. It was going on ten-thirty. “Hey, early lunch, perfect.” They wished each other well, and Tom took his leave.
“How did your inspection go?” shouted a voice from the back room. Chuck opened the door to see Robert having a cup of coffee.
“What, are you hiding back there now?”
“Sorry, I was afraid you might get in trouble if there was someone not on staff in the office. Who knows what those regulations cover these days.”
“Well, Tom seems like a pretty level-headed guy. Also, he doesn’t like the mayor either, so he wasn’t really knocking himself out to find fault. Does anyone in this town actually like the mayor? Everyone I meet seems to think he is an asshole.”
“Yeah, he is,” responded Robert. But people always seem to vote for the asshole. It’s instinctive, I guess. People want the asshole in power.”
Chuck snapped his fingers, mind filled with the memory of last night. “Hey, come on. I want to show you something in the forest.”
“Oh, sure, the trusting old country bumpkin goes off into the forest with the conniving city slicker. I think I’ve seen this before.”
“Yes, but if you remember correctly, it doesn’t end well for the city slicker.”
Robert paused to consider this a minute. “That’s a very good point. Let’s go.”
Chuck and Robert went out to the tunnel. Robert was amazed to discover such a huge thing in his own backyard. He marveled at the brickwork, still standing proudly after so many years. Chuck had hoped that in the daylight there would have been some clue, some visible hint as to its origin, but nothing was forthcoming.
“What do you think it is?” asked Chuck, pounding on the unyielding brickwork.
“Well, there are a few tunnels like this around St. Catharines. In the 1800’s they were built as railway tunnels. I’m surprised there is one around here; they are mostly closer to Welland, the canal. It’s sort of weird, really.
“Amazing,” said Chuck. I wonder how nobody found it before.”
“Well, maybe someone did, but didn’t realize how important it was. They could have thought it was just an old sewer, something like that.”
“It’s a good thing the Promised Ones don’t know about this, they would have easy access to the park whenever they wanted.”
“That’s an interesting idea,” said Robert, a far off look in his eye.
“What do you mean?” asked Chuck. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”
“Not if we know they are using it. Not if we know they are coming.”
Chuck patted the brickwork once more. “That could be interesting.”
They returned to the office, to find Officer Bailey and his partner, Chester Dowd, leaning casually against the counter.
“Do you always leave your office open?” Dowd said by way of greeting.
“I have nothing to worry about from the residents here. Sometimes outsiders come in and stink the place up a bit, sure, but the office airs out eventually.” Bailey lunged forward, stepping inches away from Chuck face. “Listen, you little piece of shit, I didn’t get home until after one last night thanks to your little stunt.” Baileys face grew bright red and spittle flew out of his mouth. Chuck took a step back to avoid the spray.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t b out playing with the wrong sorts of people. As a police officer I would expect you to keep better company.” Robert laid a warning hand on Chuck’s arm. Bailey took a step back himself, calming himself down in the process.
“The reason we are here is that we got a tip,” Bailey said, using his official cop voice.
“Oh course you did. Let me guess, there’s a methamphetamine lab in the park?”
“Not that I know of. No, this concerns you. Apparently you are selling drugs from the office here.” Chuck immediately grasped what was going on. The cops had been left alone for some time in his office. Probably there was a bag of something in a cupboard somewhere. This should be fun.
“We are going to take a look around now, so I suggest you wait outside.”
“Let’s see your warrant, Bailey,” shouted Robert. This time it was Chuck’s turn to pacify Robert.
“It’s all right, Robert. They can look around. After all, it’s not like we have anything to hide.” The police officers looked smug, tight smiles drawn back, showing teeth yellowed from too many free coffees while on patrol. “Can I show you something before you start, though?” asked Chuck. “Why don’t you come around here a second, just before you begin?” The police officers walked around to the end of the counter, and Chuck led them to the computer in the back room. He settled in his chair and logged in.
“What is this all about, Mitchell?” asked Bailey, growing redder by the second. Chuck brought up a video file.
“Well, when I got this place, and was being threatened by you guys I decided some improvement were in order.” Chuck looked up at them innocently. “Security improvements, you understand. So I put in some cameras.” The monitor came alive with crystal clear video footage. “I decided to spend the extra money, and I got a state of the art DV system, colour, the whole package.” On the screen Bailey and his partner could be clearly seen walking into the back room of the office. Chuck froze the picture on Bailey placing a large bag of marijuana in the coffee cupboard. Chuck zoomed in on Bailey’s face, crystal clear and unmistakable. “Now, I’ll be honest with you, I used some of the capital improvements money for this, and it really isn’t covered. I hope I don’t get into any trouble for this.” He stood up and walked towards Bailey, stopping only inches away. “There is also a copy of this footage on my secure server, a little bonus from the company that installed the camera. If you get any ideas about trying to break this computer, please know that there is a backup. Didn’t I tell you idiots to leave me alone?” Bailey’s face had gone white, and his partner looked like he was going to be sick. “I recommend that you call off the Promised Ones, or this video might just hit the news. Now leave.” Chuck casually turned back to the computer and sat down, ignoring the police officers completely. Robert casually opened the door for the two cops, who left with eyes down and mouths shut, totally cowed by their experience. They drove away quickly, eager to put as much distance between them and the park as possible.
“What do we do with this?” asked Robert, pointing out the hefty bag of dope in the cupboard.
“I have a feeling the city inspector would be interested in that, but I think we should just get rid of it.”
“It could come in handy,” suggested Robert. “The video is one thing, but having the actual bag of pot they put there could help matters as well, just in case we need it for the future.” Chuck got out a pair of dusty rubber gloves from under the sink. At Robert’s bemused smirk he replied “Do you want your fingerprints all over a bag of pot? Then shut up.” They transferred the pot to an unused trailer, out by the edge of the forest, hidden behind a piece of wall paneling.
“Don’t rent out this trailer with this in here,” said Robert. “That could make things a little bit more complicated.”
“Good advice,” said Chuck “Something like that could be a little difficult to explain.”
They went back to the office and spent the rest of the day hanging out. The late afternoon was peaceful. Chuck went back to his trailer at around five, and made himself some dinner. He was preparing to settle down for the night when there was a sharp rap on the door. Slowly and wearily he pulled himself up from the chair, wondering if he would ever have a peaceful day again. Maybe I should just unload this place, give it to Cider. Without the business he could probably cash out the bank accounts, and there was still plenty in the emergency funds account. It would make a pretty nice inheritance. Or maybe Cider would be interested in leasing the land, instead of buying it outright. That was something to consider.
He opened the door to a crowd of about ten people, the regulars who braved winters in the trailers, and stayed all year. Preston was there, as were Melinda and Melody, as well as a handful of people Chuck didn’t know as well; some men who had done some night watch, some assorted people. They all looked up at Chuck with a grim expression on their faces.
“Am I in a zombie movie, now?” he asked, trying to break the palpable tension that hung in thick chords over the crowd.
“We want some answers, Chuck,” Preston said, quietly, reasonably.
“Fine, what are your questions?” replied Chuck.
“What’s been going on around here? What’s with all the trouble these days? We have had the explosion, the police have been here multiple times talking to you, Robert organized a neighborhood watch. It seems like something is happening, and we want to know what.” asked Melinda. Chuck took a step back and waved them inside. They crowded in to the compact trailer; it wasn’t designed to be a meeting space. Except for Prescott, who Chuck helped into a chair, it was standing room only.
“All right, to start with, I probably should have had a meeting before this. I apologize for not having done so, that was a mistake, but I thought things would blow over before this.” He looked at the crowd of confused, worried faces. “I’ll just start at the beginning, I guess. Has anyone here heard of the Promised Ones?” he asked.
As one the crowd shook its’ head. “Where to begin with the Promised Ones. Okay they are this quasi-religious group that really wants this land for their own, weird agenda. They were responsible for the barbecue, they also left a bullet outside my door, offered me a bullshit position, got me inspected by the city, and tried to bust me for drug possession. Possibly with the intent to sell, I’m not sure.” The crowd was deadly silent, looking at Chuck with shocked, amazed faces. He realized how preposterous it all sounded, how paranoid and delusional it seemed. “Would it make more sense if I told you they were in cahoots with the mayor?” he asked.
“It figures, that asshole has been trying to get rid of us forever,” said Prescott. Around the trailer heads nodded in agreement. The mayor was no great friend to the park, it was conceivable that he would resort to some dodgy tactics to bully Chuck into leaving.
“That is why we have been having these problems,” continued Chuck. “That is why we there has been so much activity around here recently. I don’t want to hand the park over to Cider and the mayor; I don’t want them throwing you out into the street. In doing this I might have compromised your safety, and for that I was wrong. I just didn’t want to let them win.”
The crowd was silent, absorbing Chuck’s words, thinking about being evicted. For many of them, there was no place left to go, this was all they could afford. Melinda pushed forward and took Chuck’s hand, wrapping it tightly in both of hers.
“Thank-you, Chuck,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have fought all alone. These are our homes; this is our fight as well.” There were mutters of agreement from the crowd, and heads nodded in agreement.
“Thank-you,” said Chuck. “I guess the only question now is, what are we going to do about it?” Prescott scratched idly at his beard.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that those guys have been sneaking around here, frightening people, coming here on their own terms.” Chuck nodded his head at this. “Why don’t we invite them here on our terms?”
“Step into my parlour?” asked Chuck.
“Said the spider to the fly,” finished Prescott.
