“Now what?” Iask.
“Now, I go towork. You stay here,” Jason says, getting out of the truck.
“Where are yougoing?”
“I know a guywho works as the concierge. I went to school with him. I’m going tosee which floor the girl went to. The hotel has cameras in everyelevator and hallway.”
Jason gets outand enters the hotel. I sit and watch the entrance for the nextfifteen minutes before he reappears. Walking briskly across thestreet, he gets in, catches his breath and starts the truck.
“Well? Whathappened?”
Jason smilesand drives away.
“Shouldn’t wewait until she comes out to follow her some more? There’s a lot ofother stops on the paper she hasn’t gone to yet.”
“Nope. We’redone.”
“Explain?”
“We don’t needto follow her anymore because I found out everything I need to knowalready.”
“Seriously?What happened in there?”
“I followed herto the seventh floor. I watched as she knocked on a door and then aguy answered, kissed her and they went into the room. I gotpictures of the whole thing on my cell phone.”
“So, who wasthe guy?”
“A prominent BCjudge.”
“No shit!?”
“Doing thisjob, you’ll find very little surprises you after a while.”
“So, the oldguy that hired you, what does he do?”
“Ahh. That’swhere the story gets interesting. He’s a judge too.”
“No way,” Isay, excitedly. “This sounds like a bad triangle.”
“That’s not ourproblem, Jules. We are hired to do a job. We do it and getpaid.”
“Well, thiscertainly beats the shit out of pulling wrenches for a living,” Ilaugh. “How much did that old guy give you to follow his youngtart?”
“Twogrand.”
“What?”
“Let’s go forbreakfast, It’s on me.” He winks and then turns up the tunes.
* * *
Over threeweeks, our workdays are much the same. We follow our mark, writedown each stop we make and take pictures. While working with Jason,we’ve followed a lady who was suspected of cheating on her husband,tailed a teenager whose parents wanted to know if their son wassneaking out at night, and surveyed a guy who was stealing hairsupplies from a salon.
* * *
Today is thelast day I’ll be riding shot-gun with Jason—he leaves for Europetomorrow morning. I shower, get ready for him to pick me up andcheckthe time. I’ve got a half hour before I need be in the lobby.I turn on my laptop and check my messages—I rarely go online, so myinbox is usually filled with spam. I scroll through the fifty or sojunk mails, deleting as I go. When I see a letter from Katie, Istop. Immediately, I picture my beautiful little sister, Abby.Tears roll down my cheeks as I remember the last time I saw her allthose years ago. We were both crying as the lady social workerushered Abby into the backseat of her car. When they drove away,the pain of losing her brought me to my knees. That was the momentI decided to shut off emotionally.
Katie is Abby’sex foster-sister. When Abby and I would speak on the phone, shewould tell me how much she missed me but said she loved it at hernew home with Katie. Everything seemed to be going well, until thatone fateful day that changed everything. The two girls went skatingon a pond in the back of Katie’s family property. Abby fell througha patch of thin ice, and Katie was too little and too weak to saveher. Since then, Katie has been riddled with guilt. I don’t blameher for what happened, how could I? She was just eleven years oldat the time, only two years older than Abby. I haven’t heard fromKatie in so long, though to be fair, when she wrote to me in thepast, I rarely responded. I think the reason I avoid contact withher is because I don’t want to hear her talk about Abby. It hurtstoo much.
The subjectline in her email reads, I’m closer to you than you think. Curious,I open it. ‘Dear Jules, I moved to Vancouver from Cloverdale. I’mworking at the Main Street Police Station as a dispatch operator.I’d love to see you. Get back to me. Let’s make it happen. Cheers,Katie.’ I hit reply and start typing when my cell beeps. It’sJason. He’s downstairs. I close my laptop and head out.
We spend theday at the office. Jason goes over basic information about where todraw the line when accepting new cases. He tells me that one of therules is that if a man calls to find a female, we don’t give himany information until we talk to the woman first. “There’re toomany wacko’s out there,” he explains. “Another rule is, if we’re ona stake out and see someone getting hurt, we are obligated to callthe cops.”
“Seems likecommon sense to me,” I say.
At the end ofthe day, Ed takes Jason and I for dinner at the Italian eaterydownstairs. Afterwards, Jason drives me to his place, a small butlux apartment in False Creek. His furniture is simple, butexpensive. He’s not into knick-knacks or a lot of crap on the wallsor counters, much the way I would have a place, if I had his kindof money. He shows me the gym room and then the pool before takingme to the security office and introducing me to the guards. Afterthe tour, he hands me the keys to his truck.
“So, you’rereally leaving in the morning, huh?” I say.
“Yep, and I’msuper excited about it.”
I ask him if heneeds a ride to the airport, since I will have his vehicle, but hetells me that he’s got it covered. We hug, and I thank him. Hepromises to write and keep me informed about how things aregoing.
* * *
Back at myapartment, I start sorting and packing. This suite was furnishedwhen I moved in, so all I really need to pack are my clothes andtoiletries. I’m happy about moving into Jason’s posh
