Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (20 page)

The voice remained unchanged. Dan admired her cool. “It was between me and the girl. It had nothing to do with what happened afterwards.”

“How did you learn she was pregnant? Did she come to you for help?”

“A woman knows these things.” There was another slight pause, and Dan wondered if she was considering calling “Larry” again. “I think I had best not say any more,” she said with hostess perfection, the unassailable “thank you for your kindness” to someone whose name meant not the slightest thing to her. Though the voice remained unchanged, the tone of conversation had altered imperceptibly. “Thank you again, you've been most helpful.”

Yes, I'm sure I have,
Dan thought, as the call clicked to a close.
Though I'm still not sure what purpose I just served
.

He and Ked ate supper together. Afterwards, they watched some mindless TV about a Chicken Man that Ked seemed to comprehend far better than Dan did. Ked walked Ralph and went to bed. Dan was still putting away the dishes and mulling over his conversation with Lucille Killingworth when the phone rang. Bill's home number showed on the display. He grabbed it.

“It's Bill,” came the edgy voice.

“Nice to hear from you,” Dan said. “I was hoping you'd be in touch earlier.”

“I've been busy.”

“I gather you've heard the news about Daniella. They've decided it was an accident.”

“Yes, thankfully. Look — I'm not calling to chitchat. I'm calling to say that I know what happened between you and Sebastiano on the boat. He claims you initiated it and that you practically raped him.” Bill went on before Dan could speak, his voice hard. “You're a bloody hypocrite, you know. How many times did you tell me you don't bareback, but then you practically rape this boy?”

Dan was stunned. “I….”

“Anyway, I have no interest in ever seeing you again. You can go back to the gutter where I found you.”

Dan found his voice. “Where we met was Woody's. And you were the one in the gutter that night.” He expected Bill to hang up, but the silence hung on between them. “I can't believe you're jealous after what's been going on between you and Thom.”

“Don't try to turn this around!” Bill shouted. “Thom is my closest friend!”

“Far more than a friend, from the sounds of it.”

“You don't even know Sebastiano!” Bill sounded nearly hysterical.

“Let me get this straight — you're saying it's all right for you to fuck Thom on his wedding night because you're his friend, but it's not all right for me to fuck Sebastiano because I'd just met him?”

The question was met with silence.

“Bill?”

“I'm hanging up,” Bill said.

And he did.

Dan smashed the receiver down. “Fucking hell!” He picked up the receiver and smashed it down again. “You cowardly fucking prick!”

He listened for stirring sounds from Ked's bedroom. He unclenched his fists and tried a breathing exercise —
in
-two-three-four,
hold
-six-seven-eight — one that Martin had recommended. It didn't help. Dan doubted whether Martin had ever felt true rage in his life.

He went over all the things he should have said to Bill, going back to the night they'd met when Bill insulted Dan's neighbourhood and later asked Dan to have unsafe sex with him. What Dan should have said was,
Get lost, you loser!
Why hadn't he? Because Bill had been nice to him. Because Bill had accepted him and his sordid background and his cheap little world and his awkward ugliness, and let him drive his expensive car and make love to him in his tasteful townhouse and dirty his expensive satin sheets. Because he, Dan, was the real loser for taking whatever he was handed instead of demanding better. And because deep inside Dan knew he was to blame for this, just as he'd been to blame for his mother's death and his father's drinking. It was his fault — every loss and degradation he'd suffered, beginning with his mother's demise and his father's disgust with his only son.

Thinking of his father made him want a drink. He poured a Scotch and waited till the warmth in his gut muddled his affections. He began to feel bad for everyone — not just himself, but for Daniella and Sebastiano, whose quest for a new life had failed utterly, for Thom and Lucille, whose world had been rocked by the tragedy, and even for Bill, who he missed already despite everything, and for his best friend Donny who'd been forced to make Dan face reality. Which he now saw was something Donny had never wanted to do.

By the second drink Dan was thinking of Bob Greene, remembering the stability they'd had during those three short years in Leaside. Was that all the happiness you were allotted in life? As strange and ill-fitting as the relationship had been, the love was real. In fact, it was one of the best things that ever happened to him. At the time, he hadn't realized he'd lucked into an archetypal gay relationship: the patient older man and the confused unlovable kid who needed to belong. He had been happy with Bob, but he couldn't bring to mind now the last time he'd felt anything remotely like happiness.

He picked up the bottle and peered through it. The world appeared more pleasant coloured by the amber liquor. One more drink, he knew, and the cynicism would creep in beside the self-pity. He wouldn't be thinking of the love that had worked between him and Bob, but of the older man with money and the kid with the sizeable cock. So why not skip the drink and go straight for oblivion? Go right from the Sermon on the Mount to the Crucifixion. The way he ruined everything by going too far.

For a fleeting second, he saw the repulsed faces of the men and women he'd asked for spare change on his arrival in Toronto. Their expressions had said it all. They'd known him for what he was: a piece of shit who got nothing because he deserved nothing, and never would. That was why bleakness had followed him all the days of his life. Except for Kedrick.

Except for Ked.

This thought radiated against the darkness and lifted him up. He remembered the first time he'd been handed the bundle of warmth wrapped in blankets and looked down at his son's wrinkly red features. The tiny miracle he'd participated in. All the things he and Ked shared that belonged to no one else: comforting words whispered in the dark before bed, hands held climbing stairs, moments of anticipation and worry as Dan watched him grow and learn. He recalled the first time his son had asked his advice and the wondrous trust creeping across Ked's face as Dan helped solve his problem. The glow he'd felt knowing his son looked up to him. All the good that had been and would always be. So who had judged it otherwise, and why? Dan had, of course. Whatever others said about him or did to him, it was he who'd accepted it. No one had made him what he was but himself.

The phone rang and his heart zigzagged. It would be Bill calling to apologize, to say he loved Dan, always had, and just wanted to talk things out. Dan picked up and listened to the mechanical whir of a line being transferred. Only an 800 number. He hung up before some desperate telemarketer came on the line.

He walked to the door and fingered his jacket. He could go over to Bill's and try to talk to him. But what was the sense? Bill might change his mind tomorrow, but Dan wouldn't be able to push him into anything tonight. He stood there fighting the feeling. Wanting to give in, but not give in. He was doing exactly what he'd done as a kid when anything upset or troubled him. Holding it in and pushing it down till he'd conquered his feelings. Till they no longer scared him, a dangerous reef lying blackly below the surface of the water, the boat's vulnerable bottom skimming only inches above.

He breathed out, pushing hard against his diaphragm to empty everything. He wanted to shrink, get smaller and smaller, till he disappeared. He stood in the hallway, looking from his coat to the door. His eyes fixed on a wall calendar, a bucolic scene in a country lane with children and chickens and a nurturing mother watching over her brood. It had always seemed full of life's complex mysteries, promising all that and more every time he looked at it. But now it had changed. Now it was just a picture in the same way his coat was just a coat and the door just a door. Empty. In some way he couldn't define, things had lost their meaning, their substance slipping away without his recognizing it. He stood there among the lifeless objects and realized they were just that: lifeless.

Maybe it was better that Bill had barely spent any time here. Otherwise Dan might spend years remembering where Bill had stood, the things he'd touched and the expressions on his face. The ghost of memories past. He'd be haunted by Bill long after he was gone.

Dan shook his head. What was he doing? Bill had dumped
him
, when Bill was the one to blame. Fucking hell!
I am a loser,
he thought. He slumped in his chair and looked at the void surrounding him. He poured another glass and left it sitting on the arm of the chair. He felt a little better just knowing it had been poured. He stared at it for a long time, then lifted it to his mouth and drank.

He felt calmer. He was in control again — the inner him that knew how to avoid life's obstacles. He could put himself on automatic pilot and wait for the soft immolation that came in the aftermath of these emotional implosions. He fingered the glass. If he stopped now, he'd be fine. He picked up the phone and dialled.

“I just wanted you to know that Bill and I are through.”

There was a brief pause then, “Congratulations! That's the smartest thing you've done in years.”

“I didn't do it,” Dan said. “He dumped me.”

There was another second of silence as Donny absorbed this. “You're kidding! He dumped you? That's priceless! Aren't you glad now you're still talking to me?”

“Why? So you can mock me in the midst of my misery?”

“Ah! Baby — don't think of it like that. It's the beginning of your freedom, a newfound period of emotional sanity. Tomorrow you will rise up like the phoenix from the ashes. Tonight I want you to go out and conquer somebody. Anybody!”

“Listen, I don't really feel like staying on the line right now.”

Donny's voice became soothing, sensing the seriousness of Dan's mood. “I can come over, if you'd like.”

“No, don't do that.”

“Are you sure? Tell me you're okay about this.”

“I'm okay,” Dan said. “Actually, I was thinking I'd stay home and get drunk.”

“I'm sorry if I'm making light of things. Is this going to be a big crash?”

“Maybe.”

“Shall I call you later to make sure you're all right?”

“If you like.”

He hung up, brought the bottle to the living room, and sat in the chair facing the window. He needed to find the dullness and slip into it till everything that bothered him had moved far, far away from where he sat in the gloomy interior of the room, of his life.

He put his hand on the bottle and uncorked it. He lifted it and watched a long, thin stream spill down and pool in the bottom of his glass.

The dreams were cruel, but the reality crueller. Dan woke to a vile taste, an acid finger probing his throat. Someone had a hand over his face, smothering him and holding him down. He fought wildly against the nothingness surrounding him, the unseen appendage holding him prisoner. He lurched to the kitchen sink and gagged till the residue spewed from his mouth. Heart pounding, he gasped for breath and sank to his knees. When he could breathe freely again, he poured a glass of water and ran the tap to wash the sickness away.

Ralph watched him with curiosity. His tail thumped briefly and stopped. Humans were unpredictable. Outside, a dazzling greyness had taken over the sky, another gloomy morning just around the corner. Dan went back to the living room to survey the scene of his recent debauch. The chair still bore the impressions of his body. An empty bottle sat upright on the floor, a lone sentinel standing guard. Apparently he'd lost the battle not to drink it all. It had poured an awful lot of drink before it quit on him. Just like a good friend.

He was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He obviously hadn't thought of going upstairs to bed. The acid-etched neurons of his brain fired in fits and starts as he remembered his conversation with Bill. It hadn't been long, but it felt final. Strangely, he felt good about it. There was no emotional hangover, just a good solid physical one coming on full gallop. Better that way then.

He also remembered talking to Donny and the promise to call back. He went to the front hall. Sure enough, the answer machine flashed its little red message of hope. A pungent whiff hit his nose — something unpleasant, like old garbage. He turned to the front door. There were two dark elongated shapes like a stain on the floor. The anger rose inside him. Dan felt himself choking again, only this time on his rage.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” He heard Ralph rise off his bed in the kitchen and scurry out of the room. Dan was after him in a flash.

“Fucking dog!”

Ralph snarled as Dan grabbed at his collar. He felt the flesh on his hand tear and well up with pain.

“You son-of-a-bitch! Don't you fucking bite me!” He kicked out at the dog's back legs. Ralph was thrown off balance, toppling and skidding as he tried to scramble through the door.

“Dad!”

Ked's voice came from behind him. Dan whirled to see his son standing in the doorway in his underwear.

“Your fucking dog bit me!”

Ked ran across the room and crouched beside Ralph, wrapping him in his arms. “Dad, he's just a dog!”

“He bit me and he shit on the floor again!”

“I'm sorry!” Ked wailed. “I didn't let him out this morning. Please, Dad! Don't hit him. He bit you because he's afraid of you!”

Dan felt the anger subside, the fury loosening its grip. He was yelling at his son, for god's sake. What was wrong with him? “I'm sorry,” he said, suddenly ashamed.

Ked broke into sobs. “Don't you see everyone's afraid of you?”

“I'm sorry,” Dan said again quietly, filled with remorse and self-contempt.

Still sobbing, Ked turned to look at his father. “Dad, why do you hate everyone?”

“I don't, Ked.” Dan shook his head. “I don't hate everyone.” He knelt and tried to wrap his arms around Ked, who was still clinging to Ralph. Ked wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I don't hate anyone,” Dan said quietly.

“Then why do you try to hurt everyone?”

Dan pushed the hair off his son's forehead then reached slowly down to pat Ralph, carefully, so the dog wouldn't flinch. Ralph's yellow eyes watched him warily.

“I'm sorry,” Dan said. “I have no excuse for what I just did. None.”

He stood and went to the bathroom and bandaged his hand. He got out the mop and bucket and cleaned up the mess at the front door. When he finished, he returned to the kitchen. Ked lay in the doorway with Ralph, playing with his ears and stroking his fur. Dan came over and crouched, holding out his hand to let the dog sniff the bandage.

“Bill and I broke up last night,” Dan said softly.

Ked looked up. “I'm sorry, Dad.”

Dan shook his head. “Don't be sorry. It was time.”

“Is that why you were upset?” Ked asked.

“I don't know.” Dan shook his head. “I just don't know.” He stared at Ked. “Are you afraid of me?”

Ked sobbed and looked away, sniffling into Ralph's fur.

“Oh, Ked.” Dan wrapped his son in his arms. “I'm so sorry.”

Dan hugged his son so hard he feared he might hurt the boy. Ralph looked over and licked his hand. Dan squinted away a tear and reached out a hand to pat the furry head.

“Good old Ralphie,” he said.

“It must be hard for you to have to look after me all by yourself,” Ked said through his sniffles.

“No, it's not hard. Having you for a son is the thing I love most about my life. Sometimes I think it's the only thing.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Finally, Ked said, “Okay.”

Withrow Park was a blizzard of leaves wreathing mothers with strollers, dog walkers, and skateboarders in a profusion of energized calm. The yellow on the ground mirrored the leaves above. The annuals were still fringing the edges of the paths in laser colours, despite temperatures that skirted down each night toward some impassable limit. Ked let Ralph off the leash and watched him bound away. He ran right up to the edge of the park before he came to some invisible dog boundary then turned to look back.

“Good boy, Ralph!” Ked called out as Ralph rolled on his back in the grass. “He loves it here,” Ked said.

Dan stood watching for a moment. “Do you remember when we first got him and you wanted to call him Suzie?”

Ked laughed. “Yeah. Poor Ralph.”

“I wondered about you for a while after that.”

Ked was listening to his iPod, his chest looped with wires linking head and body. “Wanna hear something cool?”

He offered the earphones to his father. Dan held them to his ears and heard a thin boyish treble singing against a violin in a cloud of reverb.

“Nice. Who's this?”

“Owen Pallett. He calls himself Final Fantasy, but he's mostly just a solo guy who accompanies himself on violin with a feedback loop.”

Dan tried to look impressed.

“He's gay and he lives in Toronto.…”

Was this Ked's subtle hint that Dan should track down Owen Pallett and ask him out? Maybe he should let Ked filter his dates from now on. He couldn't do any worse than he'd done on his own.

“And,” Ked continued, “he gives money to Doctors Without Borders.”

Dan took that in. “That's cool, I guess. As long as he looks after himself and his loved ones first, of course.”

Ked rolled his eyes. “Can't you ever just relax, Dad?”

Dan looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

Ked sighed. “Everyone knows you've done all the right things for me. So just relax, okay?”

“I can relax,” Dan said.

Ked looked at him skeptically. “Yeah? Then let's see you.”

Ked took off toward the skating rink where rollerbladers whirled in soft circles and kids played hacky-sack. Dan caught up with him.

“Hey, Dad — that guy just checked out your ass!”

Dan turned. Sure enough, a jock type flushed when he saw Dan looking back. On top of a rise they watched an obese dad playing baseball with his son. The man's saggy tits jiggled as he tried to keep up with the energetic teenager.

“That'll be me in a few years,” Dan observed.

“Not if you renew your Y membership!”

Dan smiled. “How's the book going?”

“
Blade Runner
?”

“Yeah. Finish it yet?”

“No.” Ked shook his head. “I'm at the part where Jake realizes he lives in a city full of androids. Even some of the other bounty hunters are androids, only they don't know it. Almost all the real people have left Earth because of the nuclear fallout, so only the freaks and androids remain. Even the pets are robots, because no one can afford a real one.”

They watched Ralph run past them and stop to wait for them to catch up.

“Sounds more and more like the real future,” Dan said, wondering if he should be contributing to Ked's cynicism.

Ked's eyes were alight. “What if they just keep replacing everybody till there's nobody real left on Earth?”

“Who would notice?” Dan said.

“Exactly!” Ked said. “That'd be so cool! These androids could be living among us right now. Nothing real any more. They can even pre-set their emotions!”

“That's called Prozac,” Dan said, then felt bad again.

“But what I don't get,” Ked said, “is that it's not just good moods. Sometimes they pre-set depression and despair. If you can choose your mood, why would you choose a bad one?”

The city opened before them, the towers of the financial district stern and upright. The CN Tower dominated the horizon, venerating the twin altars of media and finance. Sleepy green boroughs spread outward, filled with thousands of houses. Dan wondered about the personal arrangements, the tentative lives each contained. He'd never felt at home here. How had he ever thought he could belong in this city of giants, let alone thrive and prosper? Though on some level he'd done just that.

“Just a guess,” he said. “But maybe what they want is to experience the whole range of emotions.”

Ked looked at his father. “Is that why you stay in Toronto?”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ked shook his head. “No. I know you hate it here. I heard you tell Uncle Donny it was a ‘soul sucking hellhole.'”

Dan snorted. “Don't listen to everything I say. Or to your Uncle Donny. Some days I like it here just fine.”

“Oh.” Ked thought about this apparent contradiction. “But then other days there are too many androids, right?”

Dan smiled. “Something like that.”

In the distance, Ralph stirred up a flock of pigeons that flew off over the trees. Ked watched for a moment then turned back to his father. “Mom says you like to be miserable.”

Dan looked at Ked. “Do you think telling me that is going to make me think better of your mother?”

Ked shrugged. “I guess not.”

A very determined-looking boy of two or three went past dragging a reluctant stroller, seemingly already aware of the great responsibilities life held in store.

“So why are you telling me? Do you want me to move away?”

“No, but it might make you think about what's bothering you so much.”

Dan stopped to consider his son for a moment. “Should I be paying you for this advice?”

Ked smiled. “Nah. You couldn't afford me anyway.”

“Smart-ass.” He gave Ked a loose punch on the shoulder. “So how am I doing with this father-son heart-to-heart thing?”

“Pretty good.”

“What else does your mother say about me?”

Ked paused. Dan could see the lightning flashes of thought flitting over his face, wanting to say whatever it was and wanting not to hurt him at the same time. “She says you're unforgiving.”

Dan considered how to answer. Was it true? All that came to mind was a question: “Do you think I am?”

Ked looked away. He took so long to speak that Dan thought he might not answer. “I'm just afraid that one day I'll piss you off and you'll stop loving me, too.”

Dan placed a hand gently on the back of his son's neck and pulled him closer. “That will never happen.”

Ked looked up. “Promise?”

Dan nodded. “That's one thing I promise. It will never happen.”

“Okay,” Ked said uncertainly.