High Chicago

CHAPTER 14

What is it about men that causes them to lose their minds at mid-life? How could Rob Cantor ditch an intelligent, down-to-earth woman-not to mention the mother of his children-for someone like Nina, who had all the depth of a pie plate? Why hadn't he simply gone out and bought a Porsche or a vintage Stratocaster or gotten a tattoo?

Mind you, my uncle Phil-my late father's youngest brother-bought a Miata convertible for his fiftieth birthday and had it all of three weeks before he drove it into the back of a dump truck on Major Mackenzie Boulevard. Three surgeries and nearly a dozen skin grafts later, he was back behind the wheel of a sedan, where he belonged.

I was thinking about this as I walked up the path beside the house-how a man must feel when he realizes the lines on his face are only going to get deeper, that his muscle tone, sex drive and hairline are only going to diminish-when I heard footsteps coming up fast behind me. I turned just in time to duck the swipe of a garden spade swung at my head by Nina's trainer. The sharp edge of the spade struck the wall of the house, sending bits of mortar flying.

"Think you can push me around?" Perry snarled. His cheeks were still red from the slaps I'd dealt him. He hefted the spade and advanced on me. "Think you can fucking embarrass me?"

"I already did, Perry."

"Fucking smartass. Let's see how smart you talk without any teeth in your head."

He drew the spade back and swung it at my head like a right-handed batter. The backswing gave me time to move in on him, my head down, my right hand up to protect my face. The wooden shaft of the shovel hit the meaty part of my left arm, up along the bicep. On impact, I wrapped my right arm around his, trapping the spade, spun backwards and delivered a left elbow strike to his chin. As his head snapped back, I spun again and followed up with a knee to his gut, doubling him over. I slammed my elbow down onto his neck and he dropped to the ground.

"I think I just embarrassed you again," I said. He didn't answer, apart from a moan and a dribble of spit from his lips. I pitched the spade into a bed of ground cover and walked to my car, rubbing my upper arm. I'd have a whale of a bruise there, but it beat getting my head stove in. That would have been embarrassing. I had picked up a Clarion on the way back to the office and was reading it while pressing an ice pack on my arm. The only tabloid in town, the Clarion generally had the best coverage of murders and other crimes. According to the story, Martin Glenn had not been killed in the alley where his body had been found. Lead investigator Katherine Hollinger was quoted as saying the killing had taken place "at a crime scene yet to be determined" and his body dumped in the alley post-mortem. Also quoted was the local city councillor, who said the real crime was that gay men were still targeted by homophobes.

Only the last quote in the story was of real interest to me: Martin Glenn's long-time companion, who told the Clarion he was in a "state of absolute shock that someone would harm Martin… I don't know how I'm going to make it without him."

His name was Eric Fisk.

I was looking up Fisk's number when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID and debated whether to answer it or not. I lost the debate around the third ring.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" my brother yelled.

Daniel is almost three years older than me and has the Pope beat six ways to Sunday when it comes to infallibility. Or so he thinks.

I said, "I'm fine, thanks for asking. And you?"

"I'm not kidding, Jonah. I passed along a simple job because I felt sorry for you and you turn it into a goddamn mess."

"Why would you feel sorry for me?"

"Because you're getting nowhere in life."

"According to you."

"And Mom."

"She said that to you?"

"Never mind what she said. This isn't about her."

"You brought her up."

"Will you just listen for once? Rob Cantor just called and he is furious-furious, Jonah. What the hell were you doing at his house?"

"Talking to his wife."

"And beating the hell out of their personal trainer."

"I was defending myself, Daniel."

"Whatever. I can't believe you're screwing up the one case I sent you-"

"Who says I'm screwing it up?"

"Rob does."

"I'm not working for Rob."

"Rob, Marilyn, it's the same thing."

"Not since he dumped her."

"Look, I referred Marilyn to you because I felt sorry for her."

"I thought you felt sorry for me."

"Cut it out! Her daughter killed herself and she needed some kind of closure. That's it."

"She didn't kill herself, Daniel."

"What!"

"Maya Cantor did not kill herself."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Her parents say she did. The police say she did. The goddamn coroner says she did."

"I don't care what anyone says. She did not jump off her balcony."

"This is so typical of you, Jonah. You take something straightforward and twist it around until it's totally out of whack. No wonder your boss fired you."

"He didn't fire me."

"Well, I am."

"You are what?"

"Firing you. You're done with this."

"You can't fire me, Daniel. I'm working for Marilyn Cantor."

"On my recommendation, which I greatly regret."

"Doesn't matter. She hired us. She wrote us the cheque."

"Tear it up."

"Piss off, Daniel."

"What did you say?"

"You heard me."

"Jonah, I am warning you. Call Marilyn and tell her you are done."

"Or what? You going to call Mom and tell on me?"

He sighed loudly into my ear. "You are such a baby sometimes. You have no idea how the real world works."

"But you do."

"Of course I do."

It occurred to me then that there might be another reason behind Daniel's call. "Are you involved in the Birkshire Harbourview project?" I asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You are, aren't you?"

"My clients are none of your business."

"Yeah? What if Maya died because she knew something about the building site that she wasn't supposed to know?"

"That is totally irresponsible of you to say. Unless you have concrete evidence-"

"But what if she did, Daniel?"

"What the hell are you implying? That Rob Cantor would kill his own daughter to protect his investment?"

"It's a big investment."

"Only someone without children could come up with something like that. You're losing it, little brother. You are completely and totally losing your mind."

"So maybe he didn't do it," I conceded. "It doesn't mean that someone else didn't."

"Like who?" he scoffed.

"When I find out, you'll be the first to know." I hung up before he could say anything more.