Cracked (25 page)

“Here,” he said. “You have ten minutes. I’m going to teach you how to use this thing.”

* * *

Dave gave me the idiot’s guide to the Sig P220 38. Obviously I didn’t get to actually shoot it in my tiny apartment but Dave made sure I knew how to use it. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to.

“It’s big,” I said. I tried to make it feel comfortable in my hand, make it feel like an extension of my arm.

“It’s not the smallest,” Dave agreed. “But it’ll fit in a purse easily.”

I changed clothes to go find Jack. I rifled through my closet and found a pair of indigo denim jeans that he loved. I hadn’t worn them in a long time, and while they were big on me now, I had put on a couple of pounds in the last days. I pulled on a pair of black leather motorcycle boots and a black turtleneck. And a black leather jacket, to complete the look. I even put on makeup, some eyeliner and mascara, and pale lip gloss. Very early sixties, Emma Peel-
Avengers
. I fluffed up my hair, and wondered whether to stick the blonde wig on. My hands were shaking, but I wasn’t scared. I was just nervous to see Jack.

I would always love him. I knew that the day I left him, and I knew it would never go away. I also knew that love didn’t solve everything.

And if Jack had anything at all to do with Jeanette kidnapping the boys – or God forbid, what had happened to Ginger – I knew that I wouldn’t hesitate. I would do what I had to do.

“Wow,” Dave said. “You look great.” Somehow, the way he said it, I knew he was gay. Which was perhaps why I felt so comfortable with him.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. Dave went back to staring at the computer screen, at the boys.

He gave me a cell phone. “I’m going to stay here,” he said. “Call me as soon as you can. No matter what.” He looked me in the eye. “Danny. Keep the objective in mind.”

“Get the boys back,” I said.

“Get the boys back,” Dave repeated. “And don’t get killed in the process.” Impulsively, I kissed Dave’s cheek.

“Thanks again for Gene,” I whispered into his ear.

Dave hugged me, and I let him. “Call me,” he said, and I left.

I love hotels. I always have. Long before I had any money, I chose to drink in hotel bars. There’s always something about them, some impermanence that has always appealed to me. Jack felt the same way, and sometimes we’d just walk down to the Park Plaza, before it morphed into a Hyatt, or here, to the Four Seasons. Sometimes we’d get drunk enough to get a room.

And sometimes we’d go to a hotel because Jack thought our apartment was being bugged.

I managed to hail a cab on Avenue Road and went to the Four Seasons. Standing in the lobby and failing any other brilliant idea, I went to the front desk, and asked for Jack MacRae’s room. The chipper young blonde behind the desk was ecstatic when she found him in her computer. “Shall I ring up to the room for you?” she said. She conveyed the impression that nothing else would give her greater pleasure.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just run up to the room and surprise him.”

Cindy behind the desk looked sad. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “We can’t give out room numbers without our guests’ permission.” I nodded. Of course.

“Then please ring him for me,” I said. I patted my bag, making sure the gun was in there. And the knife. I was petrified, and excited. I hadn’t seen Jack in nearly three years. “Tell him it’s Danny.”

“Thank you!” Cindy said, as though I’d done her a great favor. I wondered what drugs she was on, and whether I could get some. She hit a few buttons and was obviously listening to ringing on the other end, through her headset. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mr. MacRae seems to be unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll just… wait.” I wandered away from the desk, after Cindy implored me to have a great day, and to let her know if I wanted her to try again for me. I decided that a cocktail was in order. Jack might be all day, doing business or doing Jeanette Vasquez. One drink would loosen me up.

That, and a quick bump of cocaine in the ladies’ room.

I went into one of the Four Seasons’ lounges, which, despite being the more casual, less expensive dining option, was more expensive than anywhere I’d frequented in a couple of years. I sat at a table for four, and watched the power brokers do their power brokering over low-fat bison burgers. I ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and perused the menu. I was surprised that I had an appetite, after the eggs earlier. I was considering the bison burger myself when I realised someone was standing over me.

“Danny,” Jack said.

He looked like a million bucks. He wore a black suit with an open-collared white shirt. He always did have trouble with ties. He looked like he had just shaved.

I stood up and hugged him tight. “Hi,” I whispered. That’s me, always knowing what to say in difficult situations.

Jack hugged me back. We stood there long enough to block the waitress’s path, and to make a few people around us turn to look. This Jack didn’t look like he belonged with a chick in jeans and motorcycle boots. We broke apart, finally, and I indicated that he should sit down. The waitress appeared with my wine, and Jack ordered club soda.

“On the wagon,” he said. “Figured out booze and meds didn’t go so well together.”

“Oh,” I said. He seemed fine. Coherent, affable, calm. Nary a twitch nor a darting of the eyes to be seen. He wasn’t drumming the table with his fingers or shifting around in his seat. “You look good, Jack.”

“Thanks,” he said easily. He looked at me. “Wish I could say the same, Danny.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“You’ll always be the most beautiful woman in any room,” he said gently. He shut his mouth and shook his head, looking at the table. He was always emotional. I loved that in a tough guy. We sat in silence for a few minutes, during which time I stared out the window onto Yorkdale Avenue, trying not to cry. The waitress brought Jack’s club soda, and was about to ask us if we wanted to order food, until she saw the look of us. She skedaddled.

“Where are the boys, Jack?” I said, after downing nearly half my glass of wine in one gulp.

Jack shook his head.

“So you do know,” I said. I had an urge to slap his face, as hard as I could. But I knew better.

“I might,” Jack said. He rubbed his head, which he still kept shaved. “That’s why I’m here. In Toronto.” He looked at me, tearing again. “I’m so sorry about Ginger.”

I looked at him. I couldn’t speak.

“You don’t…” he began. He stared at me. “You think I had something to do with killing her.”

I started with the tears again. I was embarrassed, and waited to get myself together to speak.

He plopped the menu back on the table in an impatient gesture I knew well. My tears seemed to make him angry. “I could never have hurt Ginger,” he said. “You know that.”

And I did. For a minute I felt such shame at thinking that Jack could ever hurt my family.

“But, Danny, this is all my fault. All of it. If it weren’t for me, none of you would be on their radar. They’re after me, now. I need to make them think I’m with them, if we want to get Matt and Luke back.”

I took a deep breath and held it for a minute. The waitress hurried over, ready to take our order. We were more interesting than the business people around us, I could tell. She probably had a bet with the bartender about what was going on here. I shook my head at her and gestured to the menu, indicating that we weren’t ready to order.

If Jack didn’t seem so otherwise calm, and if the world of the Clearys hadn’t been brutally turned upside down in the last week, I would have thought this was just more of his disease-fuelled paranoia. Even as it was, I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t.

“Who is?” I said. “Jeanette? Who else?”

Jack took a fast gulp of water. “Not sure. Probably Lola – she grew up in the house with us. Little woman, Ecuadorian…”

“Yeah,” I said. “Met her.” And broke a couple of her bones. But we’d get to that.

And then I realized what he’d said. “Grew up in the house with her?” I had to remind myself to breathe. In and out, and repeat.

“Yes,” he said.

“Wait… what? What the fuck is going on?”

“Danny,” he said. “I told you I grew up in foster care.”

“With Lola?” What? I put my hand on my chest to try to calm my heartbeat. Breathe.

“Why haven’t you told me this before? I always wanted to know about your childhood.” I wondered briefly, panicked, if this was Jack’s madness again. He seemed so sane, but I hadn’t seen him in so long.

Jack looked at me. “Danny, this is… evil, I’m about to tell you about. I wasn’t going to bring that to you. To have you thinking about this, worrying about this. And some of it… is going to make you sick. You would have left me,” he said simply.

I took a deep breath. “I’m all ears,” I said. I motioned for the waitress, and ordered a bottle of wine for myself. “Start.”

* * *

He was five, Jack explained, when the state had removed him from Mitchell and Doreen Harper’s house. Jack had started school that year, and while Doreen made an effort in September to keep her son clean and fed and to school on time, by the beginning of October this had all but vanished. Jack would walk the two miles to school because at even that early age he had learned to be embarrassed about where he lived, by the rusty cars out front and the broken windows covered with boards and plastic sheeting. Jack’s new school clothes never got washed more than a couple of times, and it didn’t take long for the school principal to notice how the child never brought a lunch to school, and instead sat outside alone while the other kids traded sandwiches. It didn’t take long for Jack to be removed from his parents; while the wheels of bureaucracy can move slowly, the fact that neither of Jack’s parents seemed able to meet the most basic requirements imposed by the state of Maine meant that within a matter of weeks, Jack was living at The Orchard.

Jack thought he had died and gone to heaven, he said. He shared a large bedroom with three other boys, sleeping on a comfortable top bunk where he could look out the window at the stars every night. One of the older boys helped Jack with reading, and his foster mother sat at the head of the table every night while everyone held hands before their meal, saying grace. If one of the kids couldn’t help giggling or scuffling, they weren’t punished with anything more than a kindly frown. There were chickens to feed and a couple of friendly mutts, and even three horses. Jack thrived on the healthy food and open air, and company of other children who had also come from difficult beginnings.

“I didn’t have to be ashamed,” he said. I was drinking wine and we hadn’t ordered food yet. I couldn’t take my eyes off Jack while he was speaking. I was trying to take it all in so intensely it almost felt like I was hearing with my eyes as well as my ears. “I went to school in clean clothes. I got plenty of food. And Corinne, my foster mother? She was – well she was great. She wasn’t overly effusive or huggy or anything, but there was never a moment with her when I didn’t know she cared about me. A lot. About all of us.” Jack grabbed a piece of focaccia from the bread basket and tore it into little pieces. “You know what, Danny? You know what we did together, as a family?” He laughed. “We played board games. Every Friday night we played Monopoly or Clue or Operation. We always had two or three different games set up and Corinne popped popcorn, and all you could hear was kids laughing.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and in mine. The things I had taken for granted in the Cleary household. I cleared my throat.

“What about Corinne’s husband?” I asked. “Did she have one?”

“Michael,” Jack said. “He was great, too, back then. He travelled a lot for work though. At least in the first few years I was there, he was only home for one week a month. But when he was there, it was different. Still good, but different.” I grabbed a piece of bread and looked for the waitress. I wanted so badly to hear all this, but I could feel my stomach starting to make noise.

And I knew that something very bad was coming. Not only because Jack was somehow mixed up with Jeanette and Lola, but because he had never told me this before. Something very, very bad must have happened to him.

“He was a giant figure, you know? I mean, he was a fairly big man, tall and strong, but it was more his – I don’t know, his aura, I guess. At dinner, he would just talk about what he’d seen on the road, and the people he’d met, and he’d talk about his theories of… well everything, I guess.”

“He had a captive audience, huh,” I said.

Jack smiled, and it seemed the waitress was at our side in a second. Jack ordered us each a rare steak, which both pissed me off and pleased me. I had actually decided on the rare steak, but I hated the presumption. But I didn’t want to interrupt his flow, so for once I kept my mouth shut.

“Danny,” Jack said, when the waitress fluttered away, “that’s pretty much it. He had something that people wanted to listen to. He would sit in the evening and rail against the government, and taxes, and how we all had to stand up for ourselves, to own our voice.

“Corinne was a tough nut, but when Michael was around, she was pretty much obedient. He wasn’t violent, but there was just something about him. He didn’t much like Corinne’s religious leanings, for example. When he was around, there was no grace at the table. That kind of thing.

“A lot of kids in foster care, they eventually get returned to their families, for whatever reason. That happened in our house sometimes. Sometimes, if one of the kids was especially mouthy or, I don’t know, didn’t fall under Michael’s spell? He would return them to the system. It’s easy to do. He and Corinne seemed to have a great relationship with the caseworkers who came to visit, and why not. I mean, those of us who were there were obviously going great. Academic achievement was important to them, but it wasn’t the only thing. Michael always stressed finding what we were good at, no matter what it was, and being the absolute best at that one thing.”

I listened, paying as much attention as I could, while a dominant part of my brain was occupied solely on how much I missed Jack. Wanted to touch him. Was relieved that he wasn’t a bad guy.