The Lucky Elephant Restaurant

Wednesday, October 14
Chapter 8

LANE DROVE UP the 14th Street hill south of 17th Avenue. He turned right, onto a street lined with apartments and four-plexes. Just across from Buckmaster Park was a four-suite apartment. To Lane, it looked early ’50s, which the white stucco and green trim confirmed. He and Harper had divided up the interviews to save time. Harper was trying to find out if there was anything to yesterday’s Jamaica tip.

Lane thought about the telephone conversation he’d had with Charles’ sister. She’d said, “You come to my place and we’ll talk. But you’d better be prepared to listen.”

He walked up to the door then downstairs to her apartment. The moist scent of mould reached out to him. The woman who opened the door was a little taller than 150 centimetres. Her hair was somewhere between brown and blond. She had a round, no-nonsense face and might have been thirty or thirty-five. But that was a week ago, Lane thought. Grief had added a decade to her age.

“Are you Lane?” she asked.

Lane heard the exhaustion in her voice. He thought, She’s cried herself out. “Yes, Ms. Reddie.”

She took a deep breath before she said, “Call me Denise.” She closed the door behind him, then pointed at the living room. “It’s tiny. I like it that way.”

There were two chairs in the room. Lane took one.

“I’m gonna have a cup of coffee. You want one?”

Denise said.

Lane hesitated, then said, “Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black,” Lane said.

She shuffled back with a cup for each of them.

Lane took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“Charles liked the way I made coffee. Aren’t you gonna ask me any questions?” She sat across from him.

“You said you wanted me to listen.”

“That’s right,” Denise said.

Lane waited.

Denise watched Lane for at least a minute before saying, “My brother had to work for everything he got. Bought an old welding rig and built up his business until he could afford a new truck. Then he built a house. Did a lot of the work himself or got friends to help out. That’s the house Bobbie and Cole live in.”

There was something about the way she said “Bobbie”, Lane thought. It was a curse on Denise’s lips.

“He and Bobbie met at my wedding.” Denise laughed. It was laced with irony. “A bad omen. My marriage lasted for three years. Anyway, Charles and Bobbie got married six months later, and six months after that, Cole was born. Charles told me he was getting ready to break it off when they found out she was pregnant. After they got married, I saw less and less of Charles. Bobbie wanted him all to herself.

“Then, Charles got in touch with me a couple of months ago. I hadn’t heard from him in almost a year. He came over here and started crying. You see, Bobbie had gone to Jamaica with a bunch of fans from some radio-show contest. It was one of those deals where women phoned in to win a free trip to a resort. Apparently, that really helped Bobbie’s ratings.”

Lane leaned closer to hear all that Denise said. Tone of voice was crucial. She wasn’t looking at Lane now.

She was seeing her dead brother the day he had come to visit her months earlier.

“She went on her trip. Charles stayed home with the kids. They picked her up at the airport. Right in front of the kids she told Charles she’d found someone else. Told him she was going back to meet this guy-I think his name was Frank or something. Bobbie was bringing him back to Canada. And that was it for Charles, his kids, and the house he built.”

“Did this Frank come to Canada?” Lane pulled out a notebook and began to write.

“No, Bobbie went back to Jamaica a week later.

Returned alone. She acted all sorry. Said she wanted to patch things up with Charles, but he wasn’t having any of it.”

“What happened then?” Lane asked.

“Things got nasty.”

“How do you find these places?” Harper asked. He looked around. They were at the back of Colombian Coffee House. The white, eight-foot fence gave them plenty of privacy. They sat in green plastic chairs and sipped coffee. None of the other three tables were occupied. The owner was inside making their sandwiches.

“I don’t know. I just keep my eyes open,” Lane said.

“So, what did Charles’ sister have to say?” Harper took a sip and looked at Lane over the rim of his cup.

“She said Bobbie wanted a divorce after she went on a trip to Jamaica. Met some guy named Frank. She went back to Jamaica to get Frank but came home alone. She wanted Charles back. When he said no way, she started making threats,” Lane said.

“Like what?”

“Guess she kept it vague but Denise, Charles’ sister, said Bobbie had Charles convinced the lives of his children were going to be hell if he didn’t play by Bobbie’s rules.” Lane lifted his cup.

“You believe the sister?”

“She was pretty convincing. Seemed to be very careful about sticking to what she saw and heard. The funny thing was she didn’t try to convince me that Charles couldn’t have killed his daughter. I kept expecting her to say it. The way she talked about Charles, it was obvious she thought he was not a killer. But she never came out and said he didn’t do it. It was very odd,” Lane said.

“Here you go.” The owner slid two plates onto the table. They were stacked with kettle-bread sandwiches skewered with toothpicks.

“Looks good,” Harper picked up half a turkey sandwich.

“Always is,” Lane said.

“Enjoy.” The owner went back inside.

“That’s not the only odd thing,” Harper said.

Lane didn’t talk. Instead, he chewed a mouthful of sandwich.

“I checked out the trip to Jamaica. It was the last week in July. One of those radio promotions where the twelfth caller wins a trip. Bobbie went with about 120 other women on an all-expenses-paid vacation to a singles resort.” Harper waited for a reaction from Lane.

Lane put his right hand over his mouth, chewed, and shrugged.

“Man, you’ve got a swinger living next door, and you don’t know it. I mention singles resort, and you don’t get it.”

Lane swallowed before he said, “Get what?”

“An all female trip. Singles resorts often hire buff guys to work the resorts. Some women go just to get the “big bamboo” and a tan.” Harper shook his head in frustration with Lane’s bewilderment. “Do I have to draw you pictures?”

“You mean?” Lane was beginning to get the picture.

“Some women go to singles resorts for a sex holiday. Denise’s story jives with what I found out. Bobbie did return to the resort for a week in August. I’ve made a series of calls. The resort staff puts me on hold, or someone takes a message, then no one gets back to me. I’ve been playing a marathon game of telephone tag.”

“Why would they avoid you?” Lane asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s not likely I’ll get a ticket to fly down there to find out. I’m gonna have to get the information some other way.”

“Did you try the local police?” Lane’s phone rang.

He flipped it open. “Hello.”

“Can you meet me at Matt’s school?” Arthur asked.

There was panic in his voice.

“Is he okay?” Lane asked.

“He’s been suspended. The principal wants us to come to school. We made an appointment for three o’clock. Said he wants both of us there,” Arthur said.

“But we have no legal rights here,” Lane said.

“Yes we do. Martha signed a form so I could get Matt into school. We’re in the process of becoming Matt’s guardians.”

Lane took a quick breath. He thought about asking, “When were you going to let me in on this?” Instead, he said, “Three o’clock. Where?”

Arthur told him.

“I’ll be there,” Lane said.

Matt’s school was located off Macleod Trail. Its massive concrete walls stood two stories and held more than 2500 students. A car, carrying four teens, peeled out of the parking lot. The driver spotted the unmarked police car, backed his foot off the accelerator, and drove by without making eye contact.

Harper glared as they passed. He dropped Lane off near the front doors. Inside the school, Lane met Arthur in the main foyer. Students passed by. One of the younger ones almost knocked Lane flat with a backpack weighing nearly half the boy’s body weight.

“What’s it about?” Lane asked.

Arthur dodged a young woman with more cleavage than a movie star at an awards ceremony. “He called his English teacher an asshole.”

Lane began to answer, thought better of it, and followed Arthur.

They opened the door of the office. A pair of students sat in chairs to their left. Matt was one of them. Lane noted that the boy’s face reflected a mix of anger and dread. Lane sat down next to him and said, “What happened?”

Matt shook with anger. “The teacher asked us about revenge. I told the class a story. The teacher made fun of me, and I called him an asshole. I hate bein’ treated like that!” He looked at the wall as if resigned to the inevitable lecture.

Arthur sat down on the other side.

Lane put the thumb and forefinger of his right hand against his forehead. Matt twitched his shoulders and ducked.

“Nobody’s going to hit you,” Lane said.

Matt looked back at him as if to say, “We’ll see.”

Arthur nodded at Lane and mouthed, “Go ahead.”

“Start from the top. Tell us everything that happened,” Lane said.

“The teacher asked if anyone had a story to tell about revenge, so I put my hand up. I explained what I did to Phil.” Matt looked from Lane to Arthur.

“Phil’s a cousin,” Arthur said.

“Keep going,” Lane said.

“We went to a family reunion one weekend. It was out in the country. Sunday morning we went to church. Halfway through, Phil needed to go to the bathroom. He’d been buggin’ me all weekend, sayin’ stuff about the way I walk and gettin’ me into trouble, so I took him outside, and showed him where to go.” Matt looked a little unsure if he should continue.

“Go on,” Lane said.

“I told him, ‘If you piss on the fence it’ll turn to steam.’ He did what I said, and started screaming. Then, he pissed all down the front of his pants.”

“I don’t understand,” Lane said.

“The fence was electrified,” Matt said as if every other human on the face of the planet knew that. “Everybody in the church rushed out. Aunt Margaret smacked me a couple of good ones up against the side of the head. Dad gave me a couple more.”

“You were kicked out of class because you told the story?” Arthur was more than a little bewildered.

“No, the kids loved it. They all laughed. It was Mr. Smith,” Matt said.

“Tell us the rest.” Lane tried not to smile. He was only partly successful.

Matt said, “After everyone stopped laughing, Mr. Smith said, ‘Anyone got another rootin’ tootin’ cowpoke revenge story?’”

Lane looked at Arthur in confusion.

Matt said, “It was the way he said it. All sarcastic like. I told you I hate it when people treat me like I’m some kinda freak.”

“Oh.” Lane stopped smiling.

“You’re here to see Mr. Todd?” a woman behind the counter asked. Her red hair sprung out around her head like steel wool.

“That’s us,” Arthur said.

“Come with me.” She led them along a hallway to a conference room. “He’ll be right in.” She closed the door behind her.

“What are you gonna do?” Matt asked.

“I don’t know. Listen to what they have to say, I guess. After that, we all need to sit down and talk when we get home.” Lane looked at Arthur for support.

Arthur said, “That’s right.”

The door opened. A woman stepped in. “I’m Mrs. Stuckart. Something’s come up. The principal asked me to talk with you. I’m Matt’s administrator.”

Lane noted that the woman almost looked them in the eye even though they were sitting. She had a round figure and wore glasses. Lane watched her eyes taking the measure of the three of them. Don’t underestimate her, he thought.

Mrs. Stuckart sat down across from them, “Mr. Lane and Mr. Mereli, you’re in the process of obtaining legal guardianship of Matt?”

“That’s correct.” Arthur didn’t look at Lane.

“We’ve got a letter on file from Matt’s mother. How is she?” Mrs. Stuckart asked.

Matt studied the faces of the adults around the table.

“Fine,” Arthur said.

“You can stop pretending. I know she’s got cancer.

I’m not stupid.” Matt’s voice broke.

Arthur’s mouth dropped open.

Lane studied Matt with growing respect.

Arthur cleared his throat. “She’s at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre.” Sweat rolled down the sides of his face.

“Do you three need time to talk?” Mrs. Stuckart asked.

Lane said, “If we started now, I suspect we’d be busy till midnight. We’d best deal with the suspension first.”

“Matt and I have talked already, and I’ve asked Mr. Smith to join us,” she said.

Lane detected something in her tone when she said “Mr. Smith.” The name appeared to give her indigestion. There was a knock on the door. Mr. Smith came in, and Lane felt the anger rising from Matt like heat on an August highway.

After introductions, Mr. Smith sat at the head of the table. Lane studied the man’s smile, his trendy haircut, the way faux friendliness was not reflected in his eyes.

Lane decided the time for listening had passed. “We’re going to talk with Matt about his choice of words. His reaction was not appropriate, but I’d like to ask Mr. Smith about his teaching style.” Lane looked at Mrs. Stuckart. He noted a brief, almost imperceptible smile cross her lips. Lane looked at Smith. “Would you recommend sarcasm in dealing with young people?”

“Of course not,” Smith said.

“Matt doesn’t react well to sarcasm,” Lane said.

Mr. Smith said, “I’m sorry if I gave Matt the impression I was being sarcastic. It was entirely unintentional.” He smiled.

Lane thought, I don’t believe a word of it.

“Do you believe in family values?” Mr. Smith’s voice was ripe with ridicule.

Arthur pushed his chair back and stood. “This meeting’s over.” Arthur looked at Mrs. Stuckart. “My nephew is not going back into this man’s class.”

Lane and Matt started to follow. Arthur was already out the door.

Matt broke the five-minute silence from the back seat of the Jeep. “What was that family values thing all about?” They were halfway home, and stuck in traffic on Glenmore Trail. On either side of the causeway, the reservoir water reflected sunlight.

Lane saw the sweat breaking out on Arthur’s forehead. Here we go, Lane thought.

“Lane and I are gay. Mr. Smith was trying to intimidate us. Family values was a thinly-veiled insult,”

Arthur said.

Lane heard fear of rejection in Arthur’s voice. Memories of former judgments and rejection by the vast majority of the members of Arthur’s family laced each word. Lane knew Arthur’s coming-out had been a nightmare of recriminations.

“Oh, I already know you’re gay.” Matt’s tone made it clear that he was far smarter than both the old men in the front seat. “I just don’t know how Smith knew it.”

“Well, he phrased it like a threat. The tone in his voice was unmistakable,” Lane said.

“That’s why I called him an asshole. That’s the way he talked to me,” Matt said.

“So, Mrs. Stuckart is going to get you out of Smith’s class,” Arthur said.

Matt said, “Guys like Smith don’t go away. They’re like my dad. They always find ways to make you pay.”

“Your dad’s a long way away,” Lane said.

“Half the kids in this school belong to the same church as my dad. He’s closer than you think. That’s how Smith knew about you.”

“So, what do you want us to do?” Arthur asked.

“Take me to see my Mom,” Matt said.

BOBBIE: Good afternoon. It’s Bobbie on the ride home.

I’d like to thank all of my listeners for the kind words, thoughts, and prayers. Today’s program is about grief and living with it. What do I do after the funeral is over and my child’s room is empty?

How can God fill up my life? Brenda, you’re caller number one.

BRENDA: I want to know how you stop hating your

ex! I mean, he killed your baby girl!

BOBBIE: I don’t know. I protected the children as best

I could. Other women in my situation know the laws in this country make it difficult. After my husband left, his behaviour became more and more violent. I blame myself for not seeing this coming. Bobbie took a long, shuddering breath.

Jay and Tony sat beside one another sipping coffee from white cups. They relaxed in front of the university library where the grassy courtyard was being sucked clean by a green four-wheeled vacuum the size of a dumpster.

Jay said, “It would be better if we waited a little longer. Let Rex get a little complacent.” He looked nervously at the machine. The noise meant the volume of their conversation was dangerously loud.

Tony took a thoughtful sip of coffee. He wore black today and drank his coffee the same way. “Did you ever notice that when you fart, a girl will always come up to talk with you? And it seems like the intensity of the odour is directly correlated with the level of attraction or repulsion to the female.”

“You’re starting to sound like a professor. Too may lectures are rotting your brain.” A noxious stench reached Jay. “And that’s not all that’s rotting!”

“Tony?” the young woman asked. Her hair was black, reaching to the base of her spine. She wore a red blouse and white slacks.

Jay felt like singing and hoped for a gust of wind to clear the air. She is stunning, he thought. I never thought I’d feel like this after what my sister did to me.

Tony said, “Rosie, this is Jay. What’s up?”

“Besides the fact that you stink!” Rosie turned up her nose with disgust.

Jay’s heart sank. She wasn’t going to stick around for long.

“It runs in the family,” Tony said.

“Uncle Tran wants the family to get together for dinner on Sunday at The Lucky Elephant and he wants Jay to come too.” Rosie smiled at Jay.

“Okay.” Tony looked at Jay. “You coming?”

If Rosie’s going to be there, Jay thought. “Sure.”

“See you there.” Rosie walked away.

Jay watched the way her body moved and fought the urge to write poetry. “She’s your cousin?”

“Yep. The real thing. Mom’s brother is Rosie’s father.” Tony smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Jay asked.

“You’re red in the face.” Tony began to laugh.

“How come I’m invited?”

“You know Uncle Tran. He’s always on the lookout for orphans. It’s his mission in life,” Tony said.