Blink & Caution (21 page)

Go on, Blink. Stop stalling. Get yourself arrested.

T
here’s no way you’re staying in that coffee shop. It’s nice and cozy, people playing board games. It smells fantastic, but there’s no back door that you can see. You are not going to risk getting cornered like that, guard or no guard. How much do you trust Kitty, anyway? Except you do. You will never understand why she came after you. Why she gave you back your money. It’s not as if anyone like this has ever happened to you before. There is something about Kitty, an idea inside you trying to peck its way out of its shell, and while you can’t exactly see what this creature of an idea might turn out to be, you know that it will have beautiful plumage.

Alyson has beautiful plumage, but she isn’t really beautiful herself. She’s pretty — that’s all. Your stepdaddy used to sing this song to your mother when he was drunk. “She ain’t pretty; she just looks that way.” That’s what you think about Alyson. Funny how that is.

With the introductions made, you head off down Princess again with her by your side. You insist. She is peeved at the “secret-agent game,” as she calls it, and you’re still checking over your shoulder and looking down every street you come to. Kitty makes funny faces at you whenever you catch her eye. She’s about thirty steps behind you.

“Are you sure you’re old enough to drive?” Alyson says.

“Trust me,” you say.

“I haven’t got much choice,” she says. “But for Christ’s sake, don’t walk so fast.”

You slow down. A voice is telling you you’re crazy to listen to this girl, but it’s not Captain Panic’s voice anymore. It’s Kitty’s. It’s as if she’s beaming warnings at the back of your head.

Alyson stops walking. “Can we just do this?” She’s looking at you, hard. She’s angry but also nervous.

“Sure,” you say.

By now you’ve walked all the way to the waterfront. There’s a little park and a bench tucked between some droopy evergreens looking out over the harbor. A ferryboat slides into view on the green water. The overcast sky is deepening like bruises.

“Okay, enough of this, double-oh-seven,” she says. “You said ‘trust me’ a minute ago. Well, you’re going to have trust
me,
as well.”

You nod. You almost say,
Yes, miss.
She sits, and you take one last look around. Kitty is sitting on a low parapet keeping guard. Your own personal guardian angel in a denim gaucho jacket.

You plunk yourself down beside Alyson — but not too close.

“Okay, shoot,” you say.

She sits with her long legs tight together, her back straight, her black-gloved hands together on her lap, her left hand in her right. She’s not looking at you; she’s looking out at the water.

“I’ve got to explain some stuff,” she says. “About my father.” She pauses, takes a big breath, like this is going to take some time. “He’s the president and chief executive officer of this business.”

“I know that.”

“But that’s not who he really is,” she says. “I mean, he didn’t used to be this big high-powered business type. He studied geology in college and became a prospector. He loved that, I guess: the whole outdoor thing, alone in the woods for days on end. That was before I was born. He spent a lot of his time up north and a
lot
of his time with First Nations people.”

She glances at you now, to make sure you’re clocking this. You nod for her to go on.

“So all the stuff in the papers about him being dismissive, hostile, arrogant, and not giving a shit about their land claim — that is so not true.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she says, and her voice isn’t hard anymore. “The court injunction against the Indians and everything? Dad felt really bad about that, okay? Because he has no ax to grind with them.”

You nod once and wonder if there’s something else you are supposed to do, like maybe take notes. It feels likes a lecture.

“So, anyway. The land legally belongs to QVD. But Dad hates the press that makes him seem like this tycoon who doesn’t give a damn about people’s rights. He does. Give a damn, I mean. If it were totally up to him, I think he’d be happy to take an offer from the government.”

“Forty-eight million.”

And it’s as if she suddenly remembers you’re there, the way her head snaps back in surprise.

“That’s what your dad asked for,” you say, because you remember reading it.

“Right,” she says. But she’s looking at you differently now, kind of calculating, like she’s wondering who you really are. Good. Up to now she was looking at you like maybe you should be raking her lawn or something — picking up after her dog.

“That was the initial offer, yes. But I think Dad was going to come down from that. That’s why he was in Toronto on Wednesday. He was supposed to meet with the minister of Indian Affairs. Just from stuff he said at home, to Mom and me, I think he wanted to make an offer that showed, you know, a spirit of goodwill or whatever. Something that paid for the investment QVD put into this claim so far but that showed they weren’t, you know . . .”

You’re not entirely sure what she means, but you don’t want to show it, so you nod slowly, and her face lightens a little.

My, my, my. When was the last time a rich girl like this gave you the time of day? You’re only half listening. Her face intrigues you. The sculpted eyebrows, the sheen of makeup properly applied. There’s a hardness around her mouth. Maybe just stress. She’s high class, that’s for sure, with her diamond-shaped face, Hollywood teeth, and jewelry-store eyes.

“Are you listening, Brent?” says Alyson.

And you nod, like you knew where this was heading all along.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just need for you to understand the background a bit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, the thing is, that’s what I think Dad would do. And it
is
his company and all, but when they went public — I mean, when they starting selling stocks in order to grow the company . . .”

“Grow the company?”

“By selling shares, they could get investments in order to, you know, get bigger. Do more.”

“Right.”

“Then Dad and his partners suddenly had all these other people he had to satisfy. It’s not just his company anymore. And the stockholders, they want a profit on their investment — well, obviously — and so does Dad, of course, but . . . Is any of this making any sense?” she says.

“Yeah, sort of. But why don’t you just cut to the chase?”

She smiles back. It’s a tight smile, not much twinkle to it, but some of the ice melts in her eyes. “Right. Okay. And this is just . . . I don’t know . . . just an idea based on what
you
told me
you
saw.” She emphasizes the word “you” both times, as if she’s saying that whatever is going to happen is your fault.

“I’m wondering if the pressure from the board was just too much,” she says. “Maybe Daddy realized he couldn’t do what he thought was right, so he decided to . . .”

“Get creative?”

Her head swivels around to look at you, and there is something like respect in her eyes, or at least she’s dumped some of the condescension.

“You could put it that way. Get creative. Exactly.”

She takes off a glove and rubs at her temple with long pale fingers, like maybe she’s fending off a headache. Then her hand flops down onto her lap again, one white hand in one black-gloved hand. She looks as if she’s said as much as she can right now and you’re going to have to take over.

“And you think he’s up at this place, this lodge?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “But if he is hiding out, it would be a good bet. And if he is, that means he’s okay. Then Mom and I can breathe easy and just cross our fingers and hope this all turns out right.”

“So you want me to drive up to this place?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’d go myself, but my mother would freak out. I had to beg her just to let me go out this afternoon to meet you.” She glances at her watch. “I’m amazed she hasn’t phoned yet. She’s afraid I’ll be next — to get kidnapped, I mean. We’ve got security guards at the house right now. But I pulled a scene, and she let me go as long as I got back soon.”

Then she looks at you — really looks at you like she’s trying to decide whether you pass the grade or if this is the stupidest idea she has ever had in her life. And then suddenly she starts to cry.

You stare at her. Those are real tears.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sniffing. “I love him so much.”

You’d touch her arm if you weren’t afraid you’d dirty her peach leather jacket.

She sniffs again, finds a tissue in her purse, wipes her eyes carefully, so as not to smudge her makeup.

“It’s about two hours north of here,” she says. “There’s GPS in the Wrangler. I’ve already set it for the trip.”

You try to think clearly. She’s wearing some perfume or it’s her shampoo, maybe, but there’s this vanilla smell wafting off her, and it is messing with your brain.

“You’re the only person I can trust, Brent,” she says, mistaking the pause for a change of mind.

“That’s okay, but how are you going to explain about the car — the Jeep, I mean? You show up home without it. How do you explain that to your mother?”

She gets this shrewd smile on her face. “I’m on the university newspaper. Queen’s is playing U of O, and I’m supposed to cover the game up in Ottawa, but I had to back out because of . . . well, you know, all of this. So I told Mom I was going to lend Jason the Wrangler to cover for me. Jason’s another guy on the paper. He doesn’t have his own car. Mom’s fine with that. Just as long as I’m staying put.”

You nod. Good plan.

“So?” she says. And she looks straight at you, her eyes glassy from tears. There is no way she is lying.

You hug your arms to your chest. You’re trying to take in the fact that she’s in college. You kind of guessed that when you clapped eyes on her, but the fact of it disturbs you for some reason. This was all easier when you thought you were dealing with another kid.

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head.

“Please don’t do this to me, Blink.”

“What am I supposed to do about gas, food — that kind of thing?”

“Expenses?” she says. You nod. “Obviously, I’ll pay for fuel,” she says. “And I’ll give you money for, you know, food and all that. But, like, you could be there and back tonight, right?” She looks at her watch. “It’s only two o’clock. You could be back before it gets dark.”

“Yeah . . . but then what?”

“Right,” she says. “You’ll need a hotel or something. Sorry. I hadn’t thought that far. But I’ll pay for it,” she says. “I’ll pay you for you doing this. Is that what you’re getting at?”

You nod, but you wish Kitty were here. You wish you could consult with her. But Kitty is your secret weapon — your ace in the hole. Alyson can’t know about her.

“I really, really appreciate you doing this,” she says. She sniffs again, wipes her nose. “It’s a lot to ask. And I’m sorry I was so bitchy. I’m finding this whole thing really hard, okay?”

You nod. “That’s cool,” you say at last. “But how do you know I’m not going to steal that nice yellow Wrangler, huh?”

She laughs.

“I’m serious. Here you are, handing over your new ride to someone you don’t even know, but who you
do
know is a thief. Maybe I deal in stolen Jeeps.”

She nods. Then she stares closer at you.

“How come you blink so much?” she says.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Sorry. Right. That was rude of me.” She taps her brow with one long white finger ending in a perfectly manicured fingernail and says, “GPS works both ways, right? What you did with my father’s BlackBerry — planting it on somebody else. Slipping it into your father’s pocket?”

“Stepfather.”

“Whatever.”

“You know that?”

“I told you, Dad’s lawyer has been relaying us all the news from the cops — whatever he can get out of them. When it turned out the guy with the BlackBerry was the father — excuse me,
step
father — of the one whose prints were all over the room at the Plaza, well . . .”

You nod. Right. “Don’t rub it in,” you say.

Just then her cell phone rings.

“What’d I tell you?” she says as she reads the caller ID.

She answers, and it must be her mother. She turns away to talk and leaves you with your own thoughts. You don’t know if she can track your journey herself or how that works exactly, but the cops sure could. But if there were cops involved, they’d have jumped you by now. It would be a heck of a lot harder to nab you in a car than out in the open on foot in a city you’ve never been to before. And so maybe she’s telling the truth, but if she doesn’t want the cops to know about her daddy’s scam. . .

You glance back at Kitty. She gives the peace sign.

Can you do this? Drive up north somewhere, check out whether Jack Niven is hiding out at this place of his, and if he is, then beetle on back? And if he isn’t, well, then maybe he has truly been kidnapped. Sure, she’d want to know that. And it is true she can’t tell the authorities, because if this is a con game her father is playing — if that’s what’s going down — he’d be in big trouble.

Besides, Blink, admit it — you are
dying
to drive that Wrangler.