Ocean Drive, page 26
She kissed her. Rhonda smiled and squeezed her hand.
“Happy to see you too, ducky.”
They had dinner as a family for the first time in years.
* * *
After, when Trevor had excused himself to go to a movie, with a look in his eye like Hayley Mills’ in The Parent Trap, Rhonda opened a bottle of pinot noir. They sat on the couch, legs crossed, the way they had years ago.
“Of course I read about what happened,” Rhonda said. “Simply incredible.”
“It was nothing. I got lucky.”
“You’re very brave. You always were. But do you know how worried Trevor was?”
Here we go, Meghan thought.
“He asked me to come visit. See if I could change your mind.”
“Quit and be a housewife.”
“And be anything you want, Meg. The two of you could come live with me. My place is big enough. And maybe…” Rhonda shrugged. “Maybe away from the job, there’s hope for us.”
Meghan felt grateful and manipulated, but above all, too exhausted to argue. She kissed Rhonda again and told her she’d think on it.
* * *
The Garrick home looked the same as it had before the attack. Liz opened the door for Meghan, offered sincere congratulations and escorted her to the pool room. The new windows gleamed emerald green. Liz explained that she’d had to replace the surviving glass as well, to make sure they all matched.
“The casino’s going through, I take it?”
Liz gave one of her enigmatic smiles. “You can’t stop things like that, Meg.”
“So it all worked out nicely.”
“In a sense. To what do I owe this visit?”
Meghan explained what she wanted. The money she’d recovered from the Reed home, plus the proceeds from the sale, were to be used as a charitable fund for troubled White Rock youth. The funds matched by Liz, administered under the umbrella of the Roger Garrick Foundation.
Meghan had the document with her, detailing Richie Reed’s arrangement with Roger Garrick. She placed it on the tea tray next to the honey and milk.
“Funny thought I had,” Meghan said. “Tequila Narwal killed Michael May, and Sukhi killed Alexa. But I never learned who tied up my son.”
“I imagine one of them wanted to intimidate you,” Liz said.
“Could be,” Meghan said. “Only, I remembered in the car the other day, Bob Sutter had a key to my place. I still have one to his. My door was locked when I got there, which is what made me think of it.”
“I don’t follow,” Liz said. Her fingers took up the document, pulling it toward herself.
“The Bob I knew would never do that, least not on his own. Maybe if someone convinced him.”
The words made no impression in Liz’s perfect smile.
“Why dredge it up, Meg, with the poor man only recently in the ground?”
Meghan nodded.
“Every fucking penny gets to the people that need it,” she said.
“Of course, Meg. Whatever you need to feel good about yourself.”
* * *
Rhonda insisted on taking them for dinner to the Greek taverna on the beach. A tourist trap during the summer, in mid-January they were one of two occupied tables. The Costas family hovered near the kitchen, refilling their water and bringing Meghan a bottle of retsina on the house.
“I could get used to dining with a celebrity,” Rhonda said.
“You’re welcome to stay.”
Both Rhonda and Trevor took in the meaning of the phrase.
“So you’re not gonna give it a try?” Trevor asked her.
“Chicago?”
“They do have a police force,” Rhonda said. “Ever see The Untouchables?”
Meghan broke off a forkful of warm spanakopita. “I know who I am. There’s a lot I still have to do here.”
“And so that’s the end of discussion,” Rhonda said.
Meghan wiped crumbs from her mouth. “’Less like I said, you want to stay.”
“Mom, you were almost killed.” Trevor’s voice broke slightly.
“I love you both, to the point it hurts, but I won’t have that used against me. The fact is this place is headed for trouble if there’s no one looking out. And I could sure use both of you here to support me. But you have your work, Rhonda. I respect that. And Trev, it’s your choice.”
She continued to eat, letting them stare at her in frustration, betrayal.
“I’m going,” Trevor said. “Soon as this semester’s over. We talked about it already.”
“Do what you have to,” Meghan said. “Maybe next Christmas I’ll come visit you. If things aren’t too busy around here.”
* * *
They’d taken separate cars to the restaurant. Trevor naturally went back with Rhonda. Meghan had twenty minutes left on the parking meter. She wandered across the train tracks to the edge of the sand.
What a pretty fucking town, she thought.
The water was black. Garlands of holiday lights still decorated the boardwalk. Meghan saw couples walking along it and watched them for a while. Then dried the saltwater sting out of her eyes and went home.
Twenty-Five
There was too much nerve damage to reattach the finger. A second surgeon told him the same thing. So be it. He’d manage with nine.
In a closed proceeding Cam told the judge he’d been attacked unprovoked by unknown assailants, strung up and tortured by Cody Hayes and Bryan Treece. He couldn’t say who else was involved. No, he hadn’t brought a gun to Harv’s home. He had no idea how that car caught fire.
He was captured on video at the Reeds’ old gas station, buying the jerry can of fuel. Parole revoked. On his way back to Kent to finish out his sentence.
In the pre-trial centre, while he waited for further charges to be laid, Cam saw a group of cons with long beards and tattoos. They dominated a corner of the activity room. Full-patch members of the Exiles, a few hang-arounds standing near them.
Dalton Hayes calmly sat among the bikers. He nodded at Cam as Cam passed by.
* * *
One evening before lights-out Cam was lying on his bunk, reading an Edwin Torres novel, when a solidly built South Asian man appeared in the doorway.
Cam’s back was immediately against the brick, ready to kick out if need be. His body had healed up somewhat, but still felt weak. If the man tried for him, he’d strike and try to run.
Instead the man nodded a greeting, said, “Message for you from Harv. Says nothing’s going down while you’re inside. Says thanks for keeping quiet.”
“All right.”
“Also says, once he’s out, you’ll be hearing from him.”
Cam nodded. “Tell Harv that works for me.”
He didn’t relax until the man had gone.
* * *
His appointment with Zoe was at nine. Ten minutes to, a corrections officer came to his cell and escorted him to the meeting room. Down a long white hallway, locked at both ends, which the guard keycarded them through.
Cam saw another CO coming out of the meeting room, leading a tall redheaded man that Cam recognized from the Exiles’s table. The biker didn’t look at him.
Zoe was already in the room. She shook his hand, then they waited for the guard to close the door.
“Who the hell was that?” Cam asked.
“Another client,” Zoe said.
It hit him, so simple he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “You work for them, don’t you? The Exiles.”
Zoe didn’t deny it. “Right now let’s talk about you.”
Cam sank into his chair. He could imagine what was coming. What he’d have to do to stay alive.
“Your money will be waiting when you get out,” Zoe said. “My client is very pleased with your work.”
“Lot of good that does me.” Cam held up his hand and closed it into a fist, the nub of the middle digit only curling halfway.
“Could have been worse.” Zoe opened her document case. “I’m going to tell you a fairy tale, kiddo.”
“You serious?”
“Just listen,” Zoe said. “Once upon a time there was a rumour that someone in the League of Nations was considering a lateral move. A partnership with the Vipers to control a new casino. A talented and beautiful lawyer was told to search out someone who could get inside the League, find out who was behind this move. Her client couldn’t trust their usual contact in this matter.”
“That would be Dalton Hayes,” Cam said.
“This brilliant lawyer looked far and wide before finding the right person. He held up his end, not understanding that this was less an assignment than an audition. Once the dead weight was removed, what remained were opportunities.”
“Kind of opportunities?”
“Rebuilding. Leadership.”
“Of the League?”
“You’ve proven yourself,” she said. “Loyal. Savvy. Able to follow orders. And you’re a survivor. When you’re out you could probably run things with a minimum of fuss.”
“You’re serious,” Cam said.
“There’s a health and wellbeing appeal to your sentence,” she said. “It might take a while to arrange, but it’s possible we could keep you from returning to prison. As to how you’d occupy yourself in the meantime…”
Zoe let a file fall on the desk. She lifted the edge, exposing a picture of Dalton Hayes.
Cam took her meaning. “Interesting story,” he said
The lawyer slapped the files together and stuffed them in her case. She ran her fingers over Cam’s injured hand. He noticed the buffed nails, the obscene gold watch. She patted his forehand affectionately.
“You and I are going to make an awful lot of money together,” Zoe said.
* * *
On his way back to his cell Cam passed through the activity room and bought himself a Pepsi from the machine. The corner table had a card game going, Dalton Hayes playing dealer for the Exiles. The redheaded man he’d passed in the hall was sitting next to Dalton, his back to the corner. He made eye contact with Cam. His head inclined slightly in Dalton’s direction.
Cam nodded. Then went back to his cell to get ready.
Acknowledgements
White Rock and Surrey are real places. My fictional versions are drawn at times from memories or the requirements of the story. The area is on the traditional, unceded territories of the Semiahmoo First Nation and the broader territory of the Coast Salish Peoples.
All characters are fictitious, any resemblance to real people is coincidental.
For various research details I owe a debt to Kim Rossmo, Don English, David Swinson, Eve Lazarus, Aaron Chapman and the reporting of journalists who’ve documented the rise of gangs along the border, especially Kim Bolan at the Vancouver Sun.
Thanks to the following people:
Carly, first and foremost.
My mom, Linda, brothers Dan and Josh, and Kim and Mark.
Charles Demers, Naben Ruthnum, Kris Bertin, Mel Yap, Clint Burnham, Sean Cranbury, Kelly Senecal, Dennis Heaton, Gorrman Lee and Janie Chang.
All the great bookstores, especially Pulp Fiction.
My agent, Chris Casuccio at Westwood Creative Artists.
Everyone at Harbour Publishing, especially Anna Comfort O’Keefe, Derek Fairbridge and Fleur Matthewson.
Gratitude to the Canada Council for the Arts and the BC Arts Council for their support, and the Vancouver Public Library and Simon Fraser University Writer in Residence Programs.
And to you for reading this.
Sam Wiebe
About the Author
Sam Wiebe is the author of the Wakeland novels, one of the most authentic and acclaimed detective series in Canada. His latest, Sunset and Jericho (2023), was a BC bestseller for over ten weeks, and Hell and Gone (2021) won a silver medal from the Independent Publisher Book Awards. His work has also won the Crime Writers of Canada award and the Kobo Emerging Writers prize, and been shortlisted for the Edgar, Hammett, Shamus and City of Vancouver book prizes. He lives in New Westminster, BC.
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Sam Wiebe, Ocean Drive
