Ed Burrows found Martin in the makeshift office. Martin didn’t look up; he was busy talking on the phone. Burrows walked back to the door and waited. He looked across to the middle of the warehouse, and saw two people unloading heavy barrels of gelatin from the U-Haul.
A tank of water had already been delivered, along with a truck filled with glycine and sodium hydroxide. Metal containers of dextroamphetamine were going to be delivered later in the day. Caffeine was the easiest component to get, so he wasn’t too worried about it.
Martin was off the phone now.
Burrows walked up to him.
Martin had the What-can-I-do-for-you-now look.
“We still don’t have sodium laurylsulphate,” Burrows said.
“What do we need that for?” Martin said.
Burrows said, “It helps to absorb the drug transmucosally into the mouth, throat and esophagus. Without it the drug is useless.”
Martin went silent, and then said, “You have to realize I don’t have unlimited resources. I can’t just call a company and say ship me a ton of this and a ton of that. Alarms would go off.”
Burrows said nothing.
“All right,” Martin said, waving his hands in the air. “I’ll make some calls.”
It was getting dark when I came out of the bathroom. I had showered and shaved and applied some heavy-duty deodorant. Joey was in the living room watching an old movie. I went into my room and changed into a nice silk shirt, unwrinkled pants, and a dark jacket. I checked myself in the mirror and except for the exposed little bruise on my nose I looked mighty fine.
Joey saw me and said, “You get dressed up to buy groceries?”
I had lied to Joey about meeting Laura. No need to tell him.
“I’m going to drop by a friend,” I said. “He’s not feeling well and all…but I’ll be back in an hour.” I checked my pocket for my cell phone. “You got my number?”
“Yeah,” he got up.
“Don’t open the door or answer the telephone. As far as anyone is concerned you are not here.”
“What if it’s your partner?” he asked.
“Don’t. If no one opens the door he’ll call my cell and I’ll tell him I’m out doing grocery shopping.”
Joey followed me to the door.
I hurried down the stairs, hoping my landlady wouldn’t stop me. I got into the car and drove off.
Joey locked and bolted the door. He turned and leaped back startled. The life-size cutout of Michael Jordan smiled back at him. Joey started to laugh. This was the second time he had been unnerved by it.
He picked up the giant cutout and placed it somewhere away from him. He was already nervous and he didn’t want something over six-and-a-half feet tall silently staring at him. It reminded him too much of Kong.
He then went back to his movie.
We had decided to meet at SonaMahal-an Indian restaurant-not far from my home. I found her sitting at a table near the window. She smiled when she saw me. She was wearing a full black dress and some jewelry around her neck.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long?” I said, taking a seat.
“A few minutes,” she answered. She looked beautiful.
We placed our orders, when I said, “How long have you been staying here in Toronto?”
“Only a few months,” she said. “I work for a consulting firm and one of our clients was interested in establishing a business in Toronto. I came here to see if that was financially viable. We have another client who is interested in expanding his business to Connecticut so…” She paused. “So I have to go down there for a while.”
I moved my head up and down.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m in law enforcement,” I said, thinking I shouldn’t have.
“I like a man in uniform,” she said.
Yes. I still had my parking enforcement uniform.
Outside it was nightfall, but the lights from the restaurants illuminated the street.
Our orders came and we started to eat. I had chanamasala, a dish of basmati rice with chickpeas, onion, garlic, and Indian spices, while she had a butter chicken entree of basmati rice with chicken pieces in a rich sauce of tomatoes, cream, butter, garlic, ginger and tandoori spices. Who ever said I couldn’t recite menus?
She swallowed a spoonful of rice and said, “Oh, before I forget, can you excuse me? I just have to make a call.” With that she went outside.
The Sundance sat parked a block away from Greenwood and Gerrard. Suraj was behind the wheel, and Hause in the passenger side. They had seen the black officer come out of the house and drive away.
They were waiting for the signal. Ms. Zee was going to let them know when they should make their move. The cell phone rang and Hause answered it. He hung up and nodded to Suraj, who immediately put the car in gear and drove toward the house. Suddenly he pressed hard on the brakes, causing Hause to nearly hit the dashboard.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hause cursed.
Suraj said, “Look.”
An old woman came out of the house and began sweeping leaves.
“Shit,” Hause said.
Suraj pulled out his pistol
“No. Go back,” Hause said.
“Why?”
“Go back. Now.”
Suraj reversed the car back to its original position.
“Why can’t we just shoot the old woman?” Suraj asked.
“We shoot her and then what?” Hause said. “What if there are more inside? We can’t shoot everyone to get upstairs. We have to do it quietly.”
“How?”
“Let me think.”
Through the window I saw her say something on the phone, shut it, and come back in.
“Who were you calling?” I asked as she sat down.
“My sister. I had to tell her I’d be a little late.”
We went back to eating our dinner.
“Rupret?” she said. “That’s an interesting name.”
I don’t know why, maybe to just talk to her, I told her. “I might have not mentioned it, but I’m from Nigeria. I was born there. Before my father was born, my grandfather worked for a British mining company. He wanted to fit in and get promoted so he decided to change his name. He chose the name William Rupert, but the clerk who was filling out the required forms typed his name incorrectly as William Rupret. My grandfather didn’t care if it was Rupert or Rupret, only that it sounded British.” I looked down at my plate. “My father never corrected it out of respect for his father, and I never changed it out of respect for him.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said.
I was staring at the plate, thinking of my father.
“Are you okay?” she said, concerned.
I nodded. “You haven’t told me your full name yet.”
She laughed, “Its Laura Spencer.”
“Laura Spencer,” I repeated. “Interesting.”
“Not as interesting as yours.”
“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes, or we’ll lose our client.”
“You could get another client.”
“He’s worth millions.”
“Maybe you could get someone who’s worth billions.” I wanted her to stay. I wanted to get to know her.
Hause and Suraj were debating what to do when suddenly the second floor bedroom lights came on. Through the window drapes they could make out someone’s shadow. Joey was inside. But they couldn’t do anything. The old woman was still sweeping away the leaves.
“We shoot her?” Suraj pleaded.
Hause said nothing.
“We shoot and shoot and leave. That’s it.”
Hause understood, two shots: one for the woman and one for Joey.
“No,” Hause said. “There has to be another way.”
Suraj’s eyes suddenly lit up. “I’ll show you.”
He got out of the car and went to the trunk. He pulled out a bag and opened it. Inside, four Molotov cocktail bottles lay side-by-side.
“You made them?” Hause asked.
Suraj moved his head up and down. “We drive up, throw these and drive away,” he said.
Hause thought about it and then agreed. They were wasting too much time. Suraj grabbed two bottles and shut the trunk. That’s when they realized the woman was no longer there. She must have gone inside.
They went back inside the car and waited. When it looked like the street was empty, Suraj put the car in gear and sped toward the house.
The Sundance screeched to a halt right in front of the entrance. Suraj lit one of the Molotov cocktails and got out. Hause fired two shots at the silhouetted figure on the second floor, who fell upon impact. Suraj hurled the Molotov into the window and they were off.
It was done in less than ten seconds.
We were laughing hysterically; I was telling her jokes, well, not really jokes but my stories with comical twists. The waiter took our empty plates and brought us dessert, custard mixed with cake and assorted fruits.
“This place is great,” she said.
“I discovered it,” I said modestly.
That got a small laugh out of her. I liked her smile. Those perfect teeth.
I said, “When will you be coming back to Toronto?”
“I won’t be,” she said.
My face dropped, my chin nearly hitting the table. “Why not?”
“After this contract I might get another elsewhere.”
“So you’re always traveling,” I said, trying hard to conceal my disappointment.
“Yeah.” Her eyes dropped to her dessert. “It doesn’t leave much time for a relationship.”
I nodded.
My cell phone rang. I apologized and answered it. It was my landlady. She was beyond hysterical.
“Slow down…what…fire…where…my house…” So many questions roared through my head. “I’ll be there.” I hung up. I thought about Joey. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have left him alone. Oh, shit. I had a feeling in my belly that something terrible had happened.
“Is everything okay?” I heard Laura say.
My head was spinning. My landlady sounded frightened. She never called me. Never.
“I have to go,” I said and got up.
“Do you want me to come?” Laura said.
“No-no.”
She kissed me on the cheek and I left her in the restaurant and headed for home.
I drove to my house to find it in a blaze. Fire trucks, police vehicles, ambulances, the whole emergency unit was there. I thought about Joey. My stomach turned and something moved up my throat. I threw up right there on the sidewalk.
I was inside Beadsworth’s car on our way to his house. I remembered seeing my landlady, comforted by her son, crying. I remembered seeing the firefighters trying to subdue the flames. I remembered meeting Beadsworth, Aldrich and Garnett. I remembered Beadsworth asking about Joey. Joey was inside the house, I remembered saying.
I remembered vomiting again.
I remembered Garnett saying, “It should have been you.”
I wished it were me.