“Hey, Dad. Lookat the blond kid on the phone. Do you think it’s the same person asin this photo?”
Dad leans over,“Looks like it to me, yep.”
“That’s what Ithought.”
Still, I don’tknow for sure, so I’ll wait to phone his parents until I get apositive ID. I scroll through the other pictures, with my dadwatching over my shoulder. When I see the old guy, I expand thescreen. “Look at this ragged old man, thinking he’s all gangster.He even had a driver open his car door for him, how pretentious,” Ilaugh.
Dad leans in totake a closer look, “Wait, let me see that,” he says, taking myphone away. “I don’t believe it. I don’t fucking believe it. Thatson of a bitch,” he says, angrily. “That’s Fournier. He’s a pieceof fucking garbage,” he adds, elevating his voice.
“Dad, calmdown, and please lower your voice. Why are you getting so upset?Who is it? Wait…did you say, Fournier?”
“Yes. I did,”he says, standing up.
“Weird. Thatwas the name of the pub we were in back of when I took thesepictures.”
“Really? Thatscum bag has a bar? I should blow it up or set fire to it. Thatpiece of shit shouldn’t be able to own anything.”
“Dad. Please,sit down and tell me what’s going on?”
“He ruined mylife, Jules, and yours.”
I am soconfused, all I can do is stare at him.
“After yourmother was taken from us, and I was sent to prison, I had a lot oftime to think about who could have killed her and why? At the timeof her murder, we owed money to the wrong person. That person wasFournier. Back then, he was the biggest drug supplier inVancouver.”
“Owed himmoney? For what?”
“For dope.”
“Go on,” Isay.
“I told you howSlinky delivered our package that night, right? And how after heleft, I was lying on the floor from the spiked dope? Well, I nevertold you this, but I always thought I saw a pair of cowboy bootswith gold tips in the room. Fournier is the only person I ever knewto wear tacky looking gold tips on his boots. Now, I see thesepictures of him. I know he had to have something to do with whathappened.”
“Why didn’t youtell me this before? About the guy and the boots?”
“I wasn’t sureif what I was remembering was real or because I was doped up.”
“But why wouldhe kill mom and mess with your drugs? If you owed him money,wouldn’t he want you alive, so you could get his money?”
“No. If hedidn’t think we could raise the cash, he’d make examples of us. Ifthe cops wouldn’t have taken me to the hospital that night, Iwould’ve died. I think that’s what Fournier intended, for me andyour mother to have died.”
His eyes areboth enraged and gloomy.
“This is a lotof information to sort, Dad. I don’t know what to believe. Have youtried to get a hold of Slinky since you’ve been out? I mean…maybehe could shine some light on what happened that night.”
“No. Slinky isan addict and a criminal. If word got back to my parole officerthat I’d been in contact with him, they’d throw my ass back in acell, and I’d never see the light of day.”
“Why?”
“One of theconditions of parole—I can’t have anything to do with knowncriminals.”
My fatherstands up and paces the room while I try to process everything hejust told me. Fournier, the skinny, tacky looking old man I tookpictures of tonight could be the person that killed my mom andframed my dad for her murder? If it’s true, I was just feet awayfrom the man who ruined my childhood and took away everyone Iloved. All of a sudden, I feel a powerful surge accumulate in thepit of my stomach and rise up through my chest. If this man,Fournier, is guilty, I’ll kill him. I will take from him what hetook from me, everything. This time, I don’t run to the bathroom tocry because this time my tears aren’t of sadness. They’re ofrage.
“Dad, sit withme. Stop making yourself more infuriated. We need to talk aboutthis.”
Dad reluctantlysits in the chair in front of the couch, fidgeting with his hands.“There’s nothing to talk about, Jules. As soon as I saw hispicture, I knew it in my heart that the sonofabitch was involvedwith what happened.”
“I believeyou,” I say. “But we can’t just go busting into his bar and hopethat he confesses to murder. That’s not going to happen. What weneed is a strategy, a plan.”
“Likewhat?”
“I have noidea. I’ve been a P.I for exactly two days. I’m pretty sure thatdoesn’t qualify me for detective. The only thing I can think of isto find Allen, the missing teen and notify his parents. If he’sinvolved with a dealer of Fournier’s magnitude, he’s in over hishead. Secondly, I need to locate Slinky and find out the truthabout what happened the night Mom was killed. He might even knowthings about Fournier that can incriminate him, who knows?”
“If Slinky isin fact still around and not dead, he may be able to tell us whathappened at the apartment that night, but he sure the hell won’thelp us go up against Fournier. He knows better.”
“But Slinky wasyours and mom’s friend, right? Wouldn’t he want to see Fournier godown for what he did to her?”
“It doesn’twork like that, baby girl. Addicts are drug minded. They can beloyal one minute and stab you in the back the next. It’s nothingpersonal. It’s just survival.”
“Sounds like apretty fucked-up way to go through life.”
“It was.”
ChapterEight
Lying in mybed, I hear faint whimpers from my father room. I feel badly forhim, but I know him well enough to know that he wants to be leftalone.
I need to sleepand rest my mind, so I’m sharp, but all I can think about isFournier and how to make him suffer. I reflect on the chain ofevents that has possibly led me to my mother’s killer. I guesseverything really does happen for a reason.
My cell ringson the nightstand. I lean over and see Katie’s name. As much as Ilike her, right now I’m consumed by feelings of revenge andresentment. It’s probably not the best time to
