ROAD WARRIOR
Copyright © 2019 Vivian Meyer
Except for the use of short passages for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in whole, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, or any information or storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Collective Agency (Access Copyright).
We gratefully acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.
Road Warrior is a work of fiction. All the characters and situations portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Holly Meyer-Dymny
eBook: tikaebooks.com
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Road warrior : a mystery / Vivian Meyer.
Names: Meyer, Vivian, 1958- author.
Series: Inanna poetry & fiction series.
Description: Series statement: Inanna poetry & fiction series
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190094532 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190094540 | ISBN 9781771336093
(softcover) | ISBN 9781771336123 (PDF) | ISBN 9781771336109 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781771336116 (Kindle)
Classification: LCC PS8626.E945 R63 2019 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
Printed and bound in Canada
Inanna Publications and Education Inc.
210 Founders College, York University
4700 Keele Street, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M3J 1P3
Telephone: (416) 736-5356 Fax: (416) 736-5765
Email: inanna.publications@inanna.ca Website: www.inanna.ca
ROAD WARRIOR
a novel
Vivian Meyer
INANNA PUBLICATIONS AND EDUCATION INC.
TORONTO, CANADA
To my mother, Inge.
Your strength, keen inquiring mind, and energy give me inspiration every day.
Perfect! How fitting it is to come to consciousness in the dark, on a cold, hard floor; unable to move. It’s been frustrating enough that, for the last week, all I’ve been able to do is spin my wheels while the search for Thomas continues. Now I can’t even do that.
Sure, I’ve helped out and maybe focused the buzz in the neighbourhood while fileting fish and drinking my usual copious cups of coffee. Sure, my friends have been nice, telling me I’m so good at sleuthing, but what have I really done?
Constrained by the delicacy of the situation, all I’ve been able to do is prod the local gossips, hang out with an admittedly interesting police officer, and fill my stomach. And, now my hands really are tied.
Is it pure coincidence that I’ve been put out of commission or is this linked to Thomas’s disappearance? And, if that’s the case, what have I missed that’s led me right into this trap?
CHAPTER 1: MONDAY
THE LAST TIME I SPOKE WITH MARIA I could tell by the sound of her voice that something was wrong. Despite her reassurances, I was worried and I felt incapable of helping her from a distance. So my worry about her, plus a declining bank account balance, prompted me return to Toronto and my beloved Kensington Market.
So there I was at eight o’clock in the morning, standing out in front of Neptune’s Nook Fish Shop, my eyes as tired and red as the flight had promised, and there wasn’t a sign of life inside the building. It was way past the time Maria and her mother usually started chipping ice, creating a cold bed for the red snapper, cod, and sundry other delectable seafood that would lure in buyers. My worry quotient was going up.
On the sidewalk beside my bags were the Styrofoam boxes of fish that had been dropped off in anticipation of the shopkeeper’s arrival.
“I might as well get these inside,” I said, to no one in particular, as I bent over to move my luggage and the boxes into the shop.
Just then a pimply nosed young man clad in jeans sauntered up. “Hey! What are you doing with Maria’s stuff?” he asked demandingly.
I stood up and looked at him. He wasn’t a market regular. “I’m sorry,” I said, prickling a little. “I’m Maria’s friend, Abby. And who are you?”
“Name’s Paul,” he replied, leaning back on his heels. “I’ve been working here a coupl’a months now.” He nodded at the shop. “Maria hired me to help out.”
His voice had a bit of a twang to it. I wondered where he hailed from as he continued to clip his words.
“I used to fish … down home,” he said, volunteering the answer to my unspoken question as he jerked his head in an easterly direction. “Thought this job might work for me. The Missus mentioned you were coming back.” He looked inside and raised his eyebrows as if he had just figured it out. “She’s not here then?”
“No,” I replied and held out my hand, which he shook somewhat reluctantly. “I was going to take the stuff inside.”
He looked at me with surprise. “So, you have a key? She hasn’t given me one yet,” he grumbled, kicking the ground. “Oh well, I figure I might as well get started in there anyway.”
“Obviously, I have a key,” I said drily. “I live here, although I usually go in from the back.”
He nodded absently as I shouldered my backpack and stepped forward to open the shop. Paul began gathering up the boxes and, once the door was open, I turned around to help. We silently carried in my luggage and the fish. I wasn’t sure what to do next—go upstairs and check my apartment or help Paul with the set up in the shop. He seemed a bit detached and not overly friendly, but as he started the morning routine he looked like he knew what he was doing. Better him than me stabbing away at the solid chunk of ice, I thought, so I addressed his turned back:
“Listen Paul, I’m going to take my gear upstairs and check out my place. Then I’ll be back to see if I can help. Maybe I’ll try calling Maria too.” I wasn’t sure if he heard me, what with all the chopping noise, but it looked to me like he nodded so I grabbed my stuff and walked to the back of the shop.
Dumping most of my luggage just inside the open door to my little living room-cum-office on the main floor, I could see piles of mail on my desk waiting for me. That can wait a little longer, I thought as I closed the door and headed upstairs.
Everything else was ship-shape as I knew it would be. The clean freaks, Maria and my mother, would have had their way with it once I’d left. It was okay. I knew that even they would not touch my bikes, which were hanging neatly in a row. One went missing while I was out West, and I felt a twinge at the loss as I eyed the lonely, empty hook. Then I shook my head slightly and thought, ah well, room for one more, and I joyously ran my hands over all the others. “Oh, my beauties,” I said softly. “I’m home. I’ll do a good check on each of you soon. I bet you miss your friend,” I nodded at the empty hook, “as much as I miss Sunny.” I felt a second, slightly sharper twinge as I said his name, but then gave myself another shake as I continued to commune with my beautiful bicycles.
Sunny is a former courier turned bike-shop owner on Peregrine Island in the Strait of Georgia in British Columbia. We had shared in a little adventure there while I was on vacation, and I soon decided to settle in for a longer visit. We’d found ourselves falling into a comfortable relationship, so I stayed longer than I had expected. Even though my worry for Maria and the lure of the speed in the big city drew me back, my relationship with Sunny was the first one to ever make me take a pause and question my choices. After some time, I finally decided to go home to Toronto to see how it would feel to be away from him and the island. I also wanted some time to see how my new gig with investigating would turn out, and I truly missed the rush of couriering. Quickly surveying my little place, I realized it felt right to be home. Maria’s absence from the shop was unusual, so talking to her was my first priority, but I still couldn’t wait to get back on the road.
Maria was my idol. We have always been very different, but we’ve been friends since we were children in Little Portugal, not far from Kensington Market, in downtown Toronto. She was steadfast, beautiful, and settled—all the things I was not. It was like she was the complement to me. I could be the reckless, carefree, and speedy one as long as Maria held up the other side. She used to be the yin to my yang. She was the one with the perfect marriage to Frank, her childhood sweetheart, two wonderful children, and the nice house in Mississauga. And now what was going on? Where was she?
I was startled by the sound of a knock at the door, but relieved when it opened and there, finally, stood Maria. But she didn’t look like her old self at all. I could only take in her eyes, overly bright from recent tears, and the deep worry lines on her forehead before she rushed forward.
“Abby! You’re home!” she said, enveloping me in a big hug.
“Hey, Maria.” I returned the hug twofold, and then we held each other at arms-length. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s not like you to be late,” I said as I took a good look at her. Maria looked disheveled—for her—and then there were those worry lines.
She brushed away my comments as she pushed a loose hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry—things are a bit rushed these days. Frank’s on shift work, the kids are acting out, and mother is on holiday….”
I opened my mouth in awe. “Irene? On holiday?”
She nodded, brushing away another audacious, uncooperative curl.
“I know,” she said, smiling a little. “It is amazing, but I think she had a bit of a scare when she had a small angina attack. Believe it or not, her friends finally convinced her to go to the old country with them on a bus tour! I’m glad she went, but I am feeling her absence and the customers miss being bullied by her.”
I smiled, willing myself to believe that that was all that was wrong. I decided—uncharacteristically—not to press Maria for the moment.
“I see you have a new helper. I hope you don’t mind that I let him fend for himself down there? I was going to help if you didn’t show up….”
She smiled. “Thanks for all that,” she said, letting go of my arms and walking toward the window. “Yes, Paul is capable but doesn’t talk much. I haven’t decided if I trust him yet.” She turned and frowned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know him, but usually I soften up faster than this.” She walked back over to me fingering one of the bikes as she looked into the distance. “One thing in his favour is that he seems good with the kids. They have only been around the shop a couple times, but Thomas has taken to him completely.”
“I remember how good you were to Anita right away, even when she was still a junkie.”
“I’m glad about that,” she said. “Anita is special. We’re lucky you found her cowering behind the store the night Dan Burnett was killed. If you hadn’t entrusted her to my care, before you figured out what really happened, she might not have survived. Anyway,” she said coming up to me and giving me one more, tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re home. Do you really have to work today? Aren’t you exhausted from your trip?”
“Yes and yes, Maria,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me. I’d better get moving; I’m behind already. I’ll take it easy today—I promise. But we have to get together to talk more soon. I’m not so sure you’ve told me everything that’s going on with you.”
Her eyes teared up and she shook her head in protest. “Not now, Abby, please. I have to work.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not going to press you now unless you want to talk. I know we’re both busy. I’m just relieved to see you.”
Maria wiped the corners of her eyes with the side of her hand. “I love you, Abby,” she said softly. “I’m so glad you’re back. She gave herself a metaphorical shake, squared her shoulders, and took on her more familiar firm expression. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You’re not riding on lazy country roads anymore.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said contritely, and then I laughed. “I’ll see you later in the day.”
As Maria headed down the stairs, I began pulling on my slightly musty courier gear, which I’d left in the old trunk beside my door. Grabbing my trusty Trek road bike, I headed down to make a quick call to the courier company and get at least my route for the morning. As I bumped my way down, I felt a shiver of excitement for a little more than the “sedate country roads” as Maria called them. Besides, there was a good chance that focusing on the traffic would keep my mind off both my faraway love and my stressed friend.
I dug up my cell phone, which I mostly only use for the courier job, and quickly texted the office. The short message back from Jan, the dispatcher read: Decided to give you a break. Go for a ride; get a coffee—as if you wouldn’t, anyway—lol. First pick up 10:00 at CBC on John Street. Front desk. Delivery address on envelope. Text back when done. Oh yeah—welcome back. Prepared for work and now liberated for an hour and a half, I decided to take the dispatcher up on her offer and steal a quick ride to get the cobwebs out and to serve as a warm-up for the day ahead.
CHAPTER 2
IT TOOK ME NO TIME TO GET BACK into the groove. Hyped, I inhaled the gloriously familiar smog during my pre-coffee “get re-acquainted with the city” ride. Peering intently through the visible fog of murky air, and feeling the thrill of speeding beside and between hundreds of idling cars, evoked a sense of place I realized I had sorely missed. I was back in my element, in downtown Toronto, happily anonymous as I sped back to my morning cappuccino haunt. High on a shortage of oxygen and a burst of adrenalin, I felt on top of the world and almost ready for my first day back at couriering.
Then I hit an open stretch of road and almost stalled in a shiver of fresh autumn air. The freshness probed at the still slightly open wound of yearning that I was choosing not to acknowledge. Fortunately, a blast of diesel and the pungent aroma of a garbage truck refocused my attention, and I was back in the thick of it on my way down Spadina Avenue towards my beloved Kensington Market.
Grinning, I turned the corner onto St. Andrew Street where Overdrive, my coffee sanctuary, came into view. Overdrive is a hangout for cyclists and locals in Kensington, and I like to think of it as my other living room. Joyfully, I locked up the Trek and bounced in to visit with my old pal, Mario, the proprietor.
“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” drawled the handsome barista. “You sure you haven’t returned from a world cruise? You look way too healthy for a courier. No, no,” he shook his head, “it couldn’t have been a cruise, you would have eaten too much of the readily available food you are so fond of and,” he looked me up and down appraisingly, “you’re looking fabulously fit my friend.”
“Hey Mario!” I ducked around the counter and gave him a big hug. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Mine are quickly becoming lovely and sore, what with my overnight flight and this land of smog. Besides, you know I’ve been out West visiting Sunny. All I did was take a bit of an extended vacation but,” I said teasingly, “I missed your coffee so much that I had to come back.”
He smiled dryly. “Yeah, Anita came by and shared the news of your adventures out there. She mentioned you shacking up with old Sunny; you lucky devil.” (Mario had harboured an unrequited lust for our mutual friend when Sunny lived in Toronto.)
“How is the old guy anyway and why, in God’s name, girl, did you come back?
“Sunny’s great,” I said with a half-smile. “The coast totally suits him and he’s even developed a western drawl. We had a fabulous time together, wrenching bikes in his shop and just mucking around otherwise.” I shook my head and grinned, “When I put it that way I guess I really must have missed your coffee, Mario. Actually, despite that little bit of heaven, I think I was getting restless.”
As Mario nodded his head, he turned to make the strong cappuccino I was dying for while I made my way back to the other side of the counter. “What puzzles me, Ab,” he said with his back turned, “is how you managed to stay away so long. We were placing bets on how long you could stand being an old married woman in the back woods.” He set my frothy java on the counter. “The first one’s on me. Welcome back.”
“I guess you’re right about the relationship part,” I smiled ruefully. “It might have been different if he could come back here but, as it is, we’ll have to mourn the absence of his handsome butt together.”
The café queue had grown as we chatted, and there were many impatient, and nosy, customers hanging on our words. I decided to be magnanimous on my first day back and not make any snippy comment about them minding their own business. Instead, I gracefully accepted my beautiful, giant capp. “Thanks bud, I’ll be back for many more as the weather gets even colder.”
“I know that, Ab. You’re good for frequent flier points,” he quipped as I left the counter and searched for a seat.
The only available chair was at a table occupied by a newspaper held in two hands, effectively hiding the person attached to them. I made a throat-clearing sound as I asked, “Is it okay for me to sit here?” The individual behind the paper must have been engrossed, as I merely received a gesture of an open hand, which I assumed to be assent. I sat and tried not to guzzle my brew while I stared blindly at the back page of the paper facing me. I wondered if perhaps the owner of the paper was just using it to avoid conversing with the riff raff. Ah well, I thought. At least I won’t have to make idle chitchat.
My chair, painted blue with yellow flowers, was part of a mish-mash of unmatched furniture packed tightly into the small seating area. The room was steamy with other couriers, pre-work folk and, perhaps, a few early risers in the drug scene in Kensington, although this wasn’t their usual haunt or time of day. The other half of the shop contained the counter with tons of baked goods, the espresso machine, a cold drink cooler, and a continuously simmering soup pot. The shelves opposite the counter were filled with freshly roasted coffee beans; the milk, cream, and sugar shelf; a selection of gourmet loose teas; and urns of plain and decaf brewed coffee for those really on the run. I sat back and sighed. I was home!
With the newspaper unavailable except for the one page, I was spared most of the bad front-page news. The back page, when I stopped taking in the ambience and finally decided to actually read it, had the end of an article about the ever-fluctuating price of oil, which neglected to reflect on the overconsumption of the stuff—a topic I was already well aware of. There was also a short summary of the ongoing rise in the number of cases where the abuse and neglect of children was being reported much too late in the province. Police were asking daycare workers, teachers, and other caregivers to be vigilant about the wellbeing of children in their care and to report if there were any possible problems.
“How sad,” I said, musing to myself. I was unaware that I was speaking aloud until an Adonis emerged from behind the paper. Surprised, I almost spewed froth at him from the cup I was holding to my lips. He raised an eyebrow at me quizzically and said, amused, “I hope you’re not referring to me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, my heart going pit-a-pat. “I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud. I was just reacting to that article about abused and neglected children. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” I was silently very glad that I’d spoken though, because my outburst gave me an opportunity to view this bit of eye candy.
His brow furrowed attractively. “Yes, it’s very upsetting,” he said. “I’m glad you interrupted me, though. Sometimes I get so involved in what I’m reading that I lose track of time and—” he looked at the time on his phone—“I’m late! Have to push off.” As he folded the paper he handed it to me. “You can have this if you like.” He picked up a bicycle helmet and a snazzy looking digital camera with a large lens that had been hiding with him behind his paper, smiled, and strode out. As he passed the counter, he gave a little wave to Mario, who called out, “See you later Dave.”
Bonus, I thought as the god walked out, Mario knows him. Sometimes it’s a beautiful, small world. Here was a gorgeous man who carried a bicycle helmet! And with that fancy camera, he was probably a professional photographer, too. But, he might be gay or bi, I cautioned myself, as he seemed to be on good terms with Mario and he wasn’t from the neighbourhood, as far as I knew.
I glanced at my watch and noticed that I, too, was in danger of being late for my first job. As I picked up the paper to put it on the rack of shared reading material, a folded piece of paper fell out. I leaned over to pick it up and absently opened it to see if it was something special that Dave might want back. It contained a small dog-eared, old-fashioned snapshot. Holding the snapshot in one hand, I looked at the folded paper, which was a computer-printed black and white photo—it looked like a candid shot of the neighbourhood. Coincidentally, the image showed Maria’s new worker entering her shop. His face was turned toward the camera while he talked with someone beside him who looked a lot like Thomas, Maria’s son.
Now my curiosity about Dave was even more piqued. Why would this handsome man have a picture of Paul and Thomas? I glanced at the snapshot in my other hand. It was faded and worn as if it had been handled often, and showed two boys in hoodies with their arms around each other’s shoulders. The taller and probably older one looked like a younger version of “Dave the dashing,” but I couldn’t make out the other person’s face. I thought it had a haunting, sad feel to it, although I was probably reading way too much into such a little photo.
I gulped the rest of my coffee, got up, and sidled over to Mario to see what I could find out. Casting subtlety aside for speed, my usual modus operandi, I decided to ask outright: “Okay, in three minutes or less tell me who that stunning creature is, Mario.”
He winked at me. “Not crying over lost boyfriends are you, Ab? You’re awfully fast. He hesitated briefly and then continued. “Dave is a cop,” he said brightly. “He’s straight as far as I can tell, and he likes bikes. He has a ‘Naked’ cycle, which got me quite excited when I first saw it. He didn’t ride it today though,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “He had to be in court and didn’t want to leave it parked around too long. Dave moved here from up north, just after you left about three months ago. He worked with the Ontario Provincial Police, I believe, and now he’s with the Toronto boys in blue. And how do I know so much, you may ask?” He arched his eyebrows.
“I’m all ears,” I said and grinned at this wondrous fount of information.
“You and I have similar taste in men, Ab,” he said with mock sadness, head hanging slightly. “Only you seem to have all the luck. I devoted my time to him shamelessly when he started showing delight in my humble café and asked lots of questions about the Market. I hoped it was me but, sadly, no. He was quite forthcoming and chummy though—maybe he’s a bit lonely with only Toronto cops and criminals to talk to. Perhaps you’ll have better luck, but be careful girl, you may get a crick in the neck from the way you practise serial monogamy.”
“Sage advice that I will try hard to ignore, my friend.” I laughed and patted his back. “Maybe a new ‘interest’ will help me get over leaving Sunny.”
“Poor Abby,” he said in a slightly mocking tone.
I showed Mario the picture and the small photograph.
“These fell out of the paper he was reading. I think they’re his.”
“Hmm,” he said as he glanced at the large print. “This looks like Maria’s new worker talking to Thomas. Paul’s an odd guy—kind of creepy—Maria sends him over for matcha tea every so often.” He shook his head as he looked at the small snap. “This looks well used. That looks like Dave of course, but I don’t recognize the other kid. Anyway, it’s likely they are his. Dave is always carrying around that camera and taking pictures. He says it’s a kind of hobby, documenting where he goes.” Mario seemed unconcerned as he took the items from me. “I’ll give these to him next time I see him.”
“Thanks, my friend. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to banish him and the Market from my mind, as traffic will demand my full attention.” I gave him one more quick hug. “I’ll talk to you at the end of the day if you’re around. And please tell Dave, when you seem him; that I am dying to see his ‘Naked’ … bike! Thanks for the brew—it was worth coming home for.” I waved to Mario as Dave had a few minutes before. “Have a great day making purveyors of caffeine happy.”
Mario waved back and doffed an imaginary hat as I returned to the light of day and the delicious, cool, smoggy, but semi-clear autumn weather.
I’m a part-time bike courier, and work for a quirky outfit called the Call Girl Courier Service run by two charming characters, Jerry and Louis Arbuthnot. They hire only women, and their employees enjoy the non-judgmental climate their employers provide, not that we see the bosses much. We simply get a list of jobs and the occasional text for an impromptu assignment. The dispatcher is usually Jan, an ultra-efficient, super-calm woman. When I called late last week to let her know I was coming back, she seemed delighted to hear of my return and readiness to work, which was gratifying. However, it more likely reflected the fact that many of the younger women had returned to school and that the weather was turning cooler.
The impending winter weather prompted me to think about calling Juaneva Martin, an amazing lawyer friend who was helping me satisfy my naturally curious mind by giving me a little detective work to chew on. I seem to always stumble into situations that require my nosiness, and Juaneva, having witnessed this once before, decided to try to make an honest investigator out of me. So far, the assignments had been pretty mundane: collecting information on botched relationships, business partnerships gone bad, lost loves. At first, stakeouts seemed cool, but they had already become boring. I’m too restless, I guess. The only times I enjoyed “investigating” (snooping really), were when I worked on something I had chanced upon, and where I felt like I was the boss.
To be fair, I hadn’t done much work yet for Juaneva, having taken off out West on a holiday when I received a little windfall. Funnily enough, on that trip I promptly became embroiled in a mystery about a dead logging company owner. There, my paltry attempts at honest detecting and lack of commitment had left me a little frustrated and had me working my way through one boyfriend and on to another. And so I was currently choosing mostly couriering over working for Juaneva. I had to work out some of the kinks in my armour and eventually, maybe, let my guard down long enough to stay in one place.
So, here I was again, careering around town kicking cars, hopping onto sidewalks, and shunting parcels about. When I bumped into a gaggle of courier acquaintances at the corner of York and Adelaide at lunchtime, it was high fives all around. Sighing contentedly, I found myself already feeling comfortably familiar and more whole in my skin.
CHAPTER 3
BY THE END OF THE DAY I had some pocket change from tips and felt wonderfully sweaty from hard work. I headed home for a hot shower, a change of clothes, and an opportunity to commune with my bicycles. I had missed them so much, the line of nine gleaming beauties that hung in my living room, so I was already looking forward to a chance to dust them, oil their chains, and murmur endearments to the lonely crew. My single-minded thoughts were interrupted by a loud honk from a car whose lane I had inadvertently veered into. I collected myself, gave the driver a little wave, and speeded up and out of the way.
Returning to the now bustling Kensington Market, I picked my way carefully around afternoon shoppers and rode slowly to my home above Maria’s shop. As I wheeled my bike in the back door, I could see her in the front of the shop handing a wrapped paper package to a customer. I yelled out, “Hey there, Maria! I’m home!”
She sketched a wave, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. “How was your first day? I bet you’re tired,” she said.
Nodding but grinning, I said, “Yup, I’m totally exhausted but I feel great too!”
She smiled back, but I could tell she was tired. “Listen Abby, I have to clean up and get out of here, but I wanted to know when you can come over for dinner. There’s something I need to talk to you about. I’m worried about Thomas.”
“Of course. You mentioned the kids are acting up. Are you sure you don’t want to talk now? Is it serious?”
She started to tear up again—so uncharacteristic of the old steadfast Maria. “I hope not, but he is very angry, and once he even ran to a friend’s house. He came back after a couple of hours but oh, Abby, he is becoming so sullen and secretive. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
“That’s so hard, Maria. I hope it’s just some boy-asserting-manhood thing.” I thought for a minute. “What about the day after tomorrow? I’m going to set the place to rights, visit my bikes, and maybe wander the market this evening, and tomorrow I have the gig at the community centre after another day of couriering. I should be able to slow down by Wednesday. Is that okay with you? Can you wait that long?”
“Great, we can talk in the car on the way, and maybe Frank can put his two cents in after dinner,” she said, smiling. “He’ll be cooking because I’m working late most days, so we’ll have to eat a little later. Just come find me after your work and I’ll get you to help me close shop. Oh, Abby, I’m so happy you’re back,” she said again, giving me one more tight hug and then quickly wiping her eyes before turning back to her customer.
I smiled as I heard her apologizing: “I’m so sorry to have held you up. Now what can I do for you today?”
Maria was right. Although I was still exhilarated to be back in my own hunting ground, I was starting to feel a little tired. Was I trying to fill empty spaces so that I wouldn’t have to think about what or whom I had left behind? It was not like me to dwell on the past. Was I losing my edge, or did I just need to find some more diversions? Mulling over these questions and a renewed sense of worry about Maria, I grabbed my bike and headed upstairs to get cleaned up.
The shower is one of the true loves to which I remain constant. It has to be hot and powerful enough to massage my brain cells. There I can relax enough of myself to let my brain wander and ideas solidify. Today, I didn’t need the brain exercise, just the pleasure of the heat. The one problem with my home shower is that it uses the fish shop’s pint-sized water heater. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I can never commit too wasting too much water in the tiny shower above Neptune’s Nook. Otherwise I might stay in there forever.
Sunny had a very cool “demand supply” water heater at his place—so it heats the water only as it is being used—but the problem out there was the need to pump all the water from his well. It seems like I often find myself saved from my own bad habits. Anyway, I threw myself into my place of refuge and let the knots work themselves out as I relaxed. As the temperature declined, I regretfully shut off the supply and stepped out.
One thing about my extended holiday or love fest with Sunny was that I ate lots of local healthy food and rode my bike daily through woods and on the roads so, looking over my almost forty-year-old frame, I felt pleased with my fitness and health. All my wounds from various encounters with criminals had healed, and I was prepared for the rigours of couriering. And I wasn’t ready yet to complain about traffic, smog, or foolish pedestrians, not to mention suicidal cyclists.
I thought about my good fortune: a cozy apartment, great friends, a fabulous community in quirky Kensington Market, and two varied careers. That, and the titillating appearance of another very handsome man made my return a little more exciting as well as confusing. How could I switch gears so quickly? Humming to myself, I toweled off, climbed into in some old sweats, and sauntered out to the living room to make myself a quick bite and to get to work on the bikes.
Arabella, my mother, had definitely been in my place recently because my tiny fridge was chockablock with smoothie ingredients. I found myself feeling grateful for her kindness and moved that she must have missed me. I’m not always easy on my mother—some defiance from the old days still makes me resistant to her constant suggestions for healthy living. To be fair, she is an excellent role model for what she suggests. The only problem is that she keeps trying something new every month or so, and it’s hard to keep up.
I thought about the last time we spoke on the phone in BC when she gave me her best suggestion yet, the Red Wine Diet, which I assiduously followed after she mentioned it, although I admit that I might have gone a little overboard. Ruefully, I realized I didn’t have any red wine, so I whipped up a green algae, yogurt, and pear shake. Dumping the blender into the sink after pouring the mix into a large, borrowed mug from Overdrive, I carried the opposite of red wine closer to my bikes.
Sitting on a stool, sipping, I gave my beauties a visual onceover, deciding to work first on my two roadies, a Trek 1100 and an oft-repaired Cervélo. I would need them the most over the next few days. When those were done, if I was still feeling up to it, I’d look at the cream-coloured Bianchi.
After quickly washing the few dishes I had used, I pulled out my folding repair stand and started on the trusty blue Trek 1100, my second-best bike. I wiped it down, cleaned and oiled the chain, checked the shifting and the headset, and then decided to true the wheels. They had felt slightly wobbly on the road. I’d left for my trip out West right after two days of hard couriering, and hadn’t had time to give the Trek 1100 a good inspection before my departure. The wheels trued pretty quickly, partly because I was in good practise after more than a month of working in Sunny’s shop.
It was a mistake to start thinking about Sunny again. Although I was happy to be back, I truly enjoyed my time with him and found myself smiling at the thought of his ambling gait, wide smiles, and killer riding style. Shaking my head free of potential remorse, I closed my mind to Sunny and hooked my bike back in its place in the row of bikes on the wall. As my mother would say, I had to stay in the present and, as I would add, there’s no point crying over spilled boyfriends.
The Cervélo was next. It would probably be the last for this evening, I realized, as yawns were starting to overtake me. Jetlag was a distinct possibility. The Cervi, as I had dubbed it, didn’t take as long to tune. It was in nearly perfect condition, having had to visit the bike doctor (my friend Beano) a while back. It’s really too good a bike to leave parked unattended in one spot for any length of time. Before putting it back, I glanced at my watch and grinned.
My mother had a meditation class on Monday evenings, and I’d been waiting to call her until I was sure she was out. It was a bit cheeky, but I wanted to let her know I had landed without getting into a long discussion. Arabella was a marvelous person and an inspiration, but I needed a lot of energy to discuss family, her expectations, and her latest definitive route to great health.
Her cultured voice rang over the answering machine: “Namaste, peace. You have reached Arabella’s voice mail. I am unavailable at the moment. If you would kindly leave a message, I will return your call promptly. Have a blessed day.”
She would add, “and eat your greens too,” if she could maintain poise and get away with it, I thought to myself as I found my voice and responded briefly. “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Abby. I hope you’re well. I’m back and calling to see if we can set up a time to meet and chat. Maybe we could go to The Green Café, unless you’ve found something new you would like me to try. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
Hanging up, I felt satisfied that my daughterly duty was done. I was glad that it would likely take another few days to coordinate a luncheon date, probably for the weekend, which suited me fine. I’d have a good appetite by then and would have the energy required to ponder life with my mother. Feeling like it had been a successful first day back in teeming Toronto, I took myself to bed. It would take a while to get used to sleeping alone, but that night I was too tired to care.
My last thoughts were of Maria. She did not say as much, but I suspected there was more to her problem with Thomas. Maybe it was just the strain of a home with two parents working hard. Maybe she was simply worn out, which was totally understandable. But Thomas running away was worrisome in the current climate where vulnerable children were being preyed upon. No one wants his or her child to become another statistic.
Lying here, not able to do a thing to help, is the most exquisite form of torture I can think of. Statistically, the chances of having a happy ending, of finding him well and alive, are diminishing as the days pass. And yet, I can do nothing but think back: how did everything go so wrong?
CHAPTER 4: TUESDAY
MY FIRST TASK THAT TUESDAY MORNING was to drag my jet-lagged butt to Overdrive for a quadruple cappuccino. I almost said, “hold the milk”—I was that desperate for the injection of caffeine into my system. With an early courier run ahead of me, I wanted to be alert enough to stay alive. Mario and his sister Veronica laughed at me when they saw my heavy-lidded eyes as I groped my way to the counter.
“Hey, Ab,” Mario said as he took my order. “How about you sit right down by the coffee roaster and I’ll deliver your brew intravenously. Don’t want you to keel over and damage something.” He laughed again and then turned to me, his expression a little more serious. “I have something odd to tell you anyway.”
I gratefully staggered over to the chair near the front door and waited the minute or so for my capp. When Mario brought it over, he sat down and waited for the first caffeine hit to be absorbed into my veins before he started. Feeling my eyes start to ping, I looked up.
“What’s up, friend?”
“Oh, I just wanted tell you about a weird encounter I had when I gave Dave his pictures back.”
I perked up some more, suddenly more interested. “Weird, you say? One of my favourite words.”
“Yeah, at first he was overly grateful, especially for the snapshot. I guess that wouldn’t be replaceable like a digital print. He said he’d been really worried that he’d lost it. Then he carefully folded the digital print around the other and shoved the lot in his wallet.”
I nodded, the caffeine starting to race through my veins.
Mario paused. “This is where it gets weird, Ab. I asked him, conversationally, about the pictures, and he clammed right up. He didn’t want to share any information and became almost hostile, which I’ve never seen in him before. He acted affronted that I would ask. I was getting a little pissed with him and suggested I meant no harm and he should calm down a little. Maybe I got too steamed too.” Mario shook his head. “And then he just left. Said he had to go and left his coffee untouched. Essentially, he left in a huff.”
“That is weird,” I said. “You must have inadvertently hit a nerve and released his Mr. Hyde side. This makes Mr. Dave even more interesting, in my books, but I’m sorry about your encounter. It doesn’t sound like it was very pleasant. Maybe he’ll come back and apologize.”
“I hope so,” Mario mused. “He was becoming a bit of a buddy. On the other hand, I’m not sure I need a drama queen for a friend. We’ll see.”
I nodded. “You know, sometimes when someone is worried and then relieved about something, the emotions can be overwhelming. I hope this was a one off. We don’t want another hair trigger cop, do we?” I asked rhetorically. “I look forward to hearing about your next encounter with him. Or maybe … I’ll be lucky enough to be around when it happens.”
“You’re weird too, Abby.”
“So true, my friend. And now I’m buzzing, thanks to your coffee. I believe I can virtually fly to work. We’ll share more gossip soon. Anyway, I’m glad Dave got his snapshot back given how important it seems to be to him.” Standing up, I handed Mario his empty cup. “Thank you, sir, for starting my day off so well. I’ll check in later.” I waved to Veronica who was busy serving folks at the counter.
Tightening my helmet and zipping up my bike jacket, I walked back to my first-floor room and grabbed my bike. I was on the road in seconds for the short ride to the nearby community centre. The evening sky was an alluring brownish turquoise. As I rode, I thought about what I would find at the workshop.