Blackbird (8 page)

              “One phone call in three months and it’s for a favor. You suck, Cole. What is it?”

              Robert grinned hearing the smile in his friend’s voice. “I need you to find out who owns a particular house. Can you do that?”

              “Of course I can do that. It’s what property lawyers do. Not that I’m strictly property now. You thinking of buying another house? Something wrong with the one we closed on last fall?”

              “No, I just need to know who a certain house is registered to. You’re not?”

              “No, I do criminal law now too. Way more exciting. So you just want to know for curiosity’s sake?”

              Robert froze not knowing what to say. “Well…yeah.”

              “That’s not exactly above board. But for you, I’ll make it happen. Give me the address and I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

              Robert rubbed his forehead, not quite believing what he was doing. “It’s 87 Oceanview Drive.”

              “Not exactly a happening neighbourhood. What would you want with an address there?”

              Robert deflected as best he could. “You bring the wife down here tonight and have whatever you want. Dinner, drinks, it’s all on the house.”

              “Wow, sweet. If I can actually find a parking spot in downtown Halifax I’ll take you up on that. You and Billie should really consider moving to Dartmouth.”

              “So get a cab. Drink all you want and have someone else drive you home, you cheap bastard. I don’t think Billie would go for that. She calls it, ‘the dark side’.”

              “Pfft. Whatever. You must really want to know who lives there. Ok, I don’t judge. Call you back.”

              Robert heard the click in his ear and put the phone down. He played with his pen, clicking it over and over, and when he’d had enough of that he stood and began to pace. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. Finally after half an hour his phone went off.

              “What took so long?”

              “Geeze. That’s gratitude for ya. You know my going rate is three hundred dollars an hour. Should I bill you?”

              “Sorry, sorry.”

              Rich couldn’t contain his laughter. “Relax would you? I’m kidding. Ok, so here’s what I found out. 87 Oceanview Drive is registered to Mr Ye-Jin Gwok and Mrs. Hyori Gwok.”

              “Come again?”

              “That’s the name on the house. I googled it. It’s Korean. Googled that too. Robert, are you in some type of trouble with the Korean government? Cause I’m always here if you need a lawyer.”

              “In trouble? Not yet, but I’ll keep you on speed dial,” he said, writing down the names. “Thanks Rich. Just give your name to the wait staff when you get here. I’ll make sure they know. Whatever you want.”

              Robert hung up without saying good-bye and immediately brought up a search engine. Typing in the man’s name he got nothing, but Mrs. Gwok was a different story altogether. Hyori Gwok was a social media butterfly, and all profiles were wide open. There were several pictures of the Korean couple, who looked to be in their early sixties, standing outside the little home he’d seen Chelle enter, along with pictures of their grown children and two large dogs.

              After retiring early they spent their winters in Florida. Robert knew this because there were just as many pictures of the couple sunning themselves on a little patio. He sighed. Unless Chelle had been adopted by Koreans there was no way this was her house. After looking through hundreds of photos he deduced that she wasn’t likely even a friend of the Gwok’s, and no house sitter would be using a key kept above the door. She’d have a key of her own.

              He kept on clicking through pictures, hoping against hope to see some sign that she was known to them. “Fuck, Chelle, what are you doing?” he whispered to himself.

              Billie burst through the door just as he was powering the computer down. Her face was flush with anger, her hands spread wide. “Are we getting out of here or what?”

              “Sorry, sorry. I just had a few things I had to finish up first.”

              “Honestly, Robert, it’s like sometimes you forget about me. Work always comes first. Shouldn’t I come first?”

             
No,
he caught himself thinking. Although at that moment he didn’t have the heart, or maybe the balls, to tell her the cold hard truth. When you ran a business, and indeed several business, they always came first.  His father had liked to recite the tired old line,
the buck stops here.
Robert always cringed a bit when he said it, thinking it so cliché. Time and perspective had changed his opinion on that of late.

              “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, rising to give her a kiss. “Let’s get out of here. I’m beat.”

              “Aren’t we going to dinner?”

              Dinner was the last thing he wanted to do, he wanted to go home and collapse after everything that had happened in the last few days, but he didn’t want to displease Billie. He didn’t need her more prickly than she already was, and besides, he needed to talk to her. The conversation was going to be uncomfortable enough and perhaps if they were in a public place she’d be more inclined to see reason.

              “Dinner, yes of course.”

***

              Robert sat across from Billie as she chattered away about her girl’s night out the night before and pushed her salad around on her plate without really taking a bite. He only half listened as he thought about everything else. He thought of his mother, his brothers, he even made a mental note of everything that was wrong with the restaurant they were eating in, and everything that was right for that matter. It never hurt to keep an eye on your competition. All of these things flitted through his mind, but for some unknown reason, he mostly thought of Chelle.

              “Robert, are you hearing me?”

              He was caught. “Sorry,” he said, not even attempting to lie. He was too drained. “Rough day. I was thinking of my mom.”

              “Oh.” Billie stopped chattering for the first time since they’d sat down and for a moment Robert thought she was going to say something kind. Offer him a word of comfort or ask him how he was dealing with it. “She’s probably asleep by now. They put people to bed early in places like that, don’t they?”

              The idea of his mother being ‘put to bed’ like a child made him angry. “Yes,” he said, knowing he couldn’t even hope to have a conversation about this with her. There were obviously going to be some things he’d have to carry alone. As the wedding inched closer he had a feeling there were going to be a lot of things he carried alone in this marriage. “I suppose they do.”

              “Anyway, I think the new uniforms are working out well. I think the girls get bigger tips this way, you know, show a little skin, it’s good for business.”

              “I got rid of them,” he said cutting straight to the chase.

              Billie’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open in horror like he’d just told her she had some deadly disease from which she’d never recover. “Excuse me?”

              “I got rid of them, Billie. I want people to come to Cole’s because they enjoy the food and the drinks, not to gawk at my female staff. I think it makes them uncomfortable, and there are enough weirdoes out there walking around, I don’t want to attract them to the place.”

              Billie took a deep breath and began very slowly, as if having to explain something to someone that was beneath her. “Now, Robert. I’m a woman, I picked them out. The girls like them. All except for Chelle. You talk about these shirts like they make the place a strip club. It’s just a little back. If you undermine me now nobody will take me seriously down the road. We have to be a united front. It sets a tone.”

              Robert squared his shoulders and leaned forward. She was right about setting a tone and he decided he was going to do that right here and now. “Billie, I don’t want those uniforms, so that means they’re gone.”

              “Robert I…”

              “Did you know that Chelle went home early two nights ago? I suspect not because you’d be singing a different song about the shirts if you had. She can’t wear them. She’s…”

              “She’s just being difficult,” Billie interjected, cutting him off.

              Right then and there he decided it might be best if he kept the reason why to himself. Even though the whole bar had seen, and it wasn’t exactly a secret, if Billie lacked the sensitivity to ask why, he wasn’t going to waste his breath explaining it to her. “She’s not. She’s right. And I’ve already switched back to the tee shirts. That’s that, Billie. When it comes to Cole’s and all the other bars there can only be one boss, and that’s me.”

              Angry and embarrassed Billie looked like she was about to cry. He had only meant to straighten things out, not humiliate her. Now he was wondering if he’d been too harsh. This was the woman he was going to marry after all. “Hey,” he said, “I’m sorry if that come out wrong. It’s just that my father built these places from the ground up. He ran things a certain way and I want to keep running things that way.”

              Billie didn’t look up. “It’s fine, Robert. At least now I know. You’ve got every right to run things the way you see fit.”

              He reached across the table for her hand, intending to ease some of the tension, but she pulled away, placing it on her lap. “Hey, you want to go look at the house after this? I know you’ve been dying to show me what you did to the bedroom. We could swing by there on our way back.”

              Billie looked up at him, smiling finally. A smile that Robert could see was forced. “Tomorrow ok? I promised my sister I’d watch a movie with her later. It’s the last of our sisterly nights at home, you know?”

              It was. They hadn’t lived together at all in the time they’d dated. Robert had asked but Billie had explained she didn’t want to live with someone until after they were married. Robert secretly thought she simply had it too good at home and was not in a hurry to grow up, but he bit his tongue and went along to make her happy. He decided tonight she needed some space, and frankly, so did he. He didn’t care about the house anyway, and there was somewhere else he wanted an excuse to go back to. “Ok,” he said.

***

              The car ride back to Billie’s place had been mostly spent in deathly cold silence. Robert found he didn’t care. He dropped her off and headed straight back to the bar, and to the one thing that had occupied his thoughts all day. Chelle.

              It was after closing time and all the patrons were long since gone, having stumbled out into the night. Chelle and Rick were putting up chairs and cleaning glasses. “Hey boss man,” Rick said noticing him. “What are you doing back here?”

              Rick was jovial little fella. No more than five foot four he had a wit and a charm that women seemed to enjoy. He had become a fixture behind the bar in the last year. So much so that if he wasn’t present the patrons, especially the female ones, asked about him. His lack of height never translated into lack of a girlfriend, despite his unconventional appearance.

              “I just had something to pick up in the office,” he said taking a seat at the bar so he could chat with them while they worked. “How’d things go tonight?”

              “Well, put it this way.” Rick took a deep breath and began shouting, “Slap! Shot! Shoot! Score! You just can’t stop the moose!” The words had become the battle cry of the Halifax Mooseheads.

              Robert had been so wrapped up in the whole drama with Billie he’d forgotten about the game. “I take it they won.”

              “Yeah, was a nail biter though. They got it in overtime.”

              “Sweet. That’s always good for business. You make lots of tips, Chelle?”

              Chelle had been smiling while listening to them talk and she looked up from polishing the beer mugs, giving him a grin. Something strange happened in his chest just then, and if he’d been an older man he would have thought it was the beginning of some kind of heart ailment. It thudded in his chest unexpectedly and he felt a rush of warmth flood his body.

              “Yup. Tips o’ plenty.”

              “Tips o’ plenty?’ Rick laughed. “That sounds like one of the elves on the cereal box. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya. I’m Tips O’Plenty. Where is me lucky whisky?”

              “Rick, you’re such a tool.”

              “Baby, that’s hurts.”

              Robert suddenly had the urge to have Chelle all to himself. “Well go hurt yourself down in the storage room. There are two kegs that need to be put against the wall.”

              “That hurts me old Irish feelings even more,” he said, sauntering across the room.

              When Robert knew he was down there he leaned over the bar grabbing a shot glass. “Hey, speaking of whisky, pass it over this way.”

              “One for the road?” she said, pouring the shot and leaving the bottle on the bar.