Race Page 12

  I looked satisfied so she continued.

  “Then DXM, found in Vicks formula. Finally, methamphetamine, more potent than amphetamine.”

  “That’s a lot of components in one drug,” Beadsworth said.

  “Yes, but not uncommon. That is why it is so dangerous. This particular tablet contains components that give you the speedy effect with ephedrine, caffeine, and methamphetamine. The relaxation effect with DXM. And the altered state of consciousness effect with Ketamine.”

  “So it can numb you, relax you, and then pop you back out?” I asked.

  She thought about it and then said, “Yes.”

  Beadsworth and I looked at each other.

  “But, it will not take immediate effect,” she said.

  We both blew a sigh of relief.

  “Is there any way for it to take immediate effect?” Beadsworth asked.

  “Intravenously. That’s the only way I can think of.”

  She handed Beadsworth a brown envelope: The Certificate of Analyst.

  Beadsworth didn’t look inside; he just nodded and thanked her.

  SIXTEEN

  The ride through downtown was tough. I was upset. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get myself in a good mood. I kept seeing Barnes’ face—bloodied on the floor. I couldn’t shake off the fact that it could have been me.

  I shook my head.

  That was too much to think about.

  As we drove by I saw people sitting outside on benches eating and chatting away. I wished I were outside eating on one of those benches. I wished I worked in one of those big financial buildings. All I would do is get up in the morning, dress, and go to work. Work eight-to-four, or my favourite, nine-to-five. Not ever having to worry about your co-worker getting hurt.

  I hate to admit it.

  My mother was right.

  She’s always right.

  On my sixteenth birthday my mom got me an entire year’s subscription to Business Weekly magazine. She hoped by reading these I would somehow be enticed to enter the world of finance or commerce. I remember now what a lousy birthday that was. I was hoping for the latest Nike Air Jordan’s. I can truly say my heart was broken.

  It suddenly struck me.

  “Shit,” I yelled. “Tomorrow is—”

  “Is everything okay?” Beadsworth said.

  “Yeah, great,” I said. “Just thinking.”

  “You want to talk about it,” said Beadsworth.

  “Talk about what?”

  “I mean what happened at the House of Jam. You’ve been unusually quiet.”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said and abruptly shut up.

  We drove in silence, passing more of Toronto’s magnificent buildings. “Can you drop me off here?” I said.

  He stopped the car. He didn’t say anything.

  I said, “I just need some time to myself.”

  He nodded and drove off.

  ***

  I walked down Yonge Street. I saw a store and entered. The place smelled nice. A girl behind the counter smiled as I walked up.

  “I’m looking for a perfume,” I said.

  It was obvious. This was a perfume shop.

  “For someone special?” she asked.

  “Very.” I smiled.

  “Do you know what she likes?”

  “Perfumes. That’s all I know.”

  “That’s not a problem,” she said, and began showing me different brands from the display counter. She handed me a strip of hard paper and sprayed one of the brands on it. I smelled it. Nice.

  She sprayed another. Nice too.

  Then another.

  And another.

  By the fourth one my nose had had enough. After that, all of the brands smelled the same.

  “Any you think she might like?” the girl behind the counter said.

  “I’ll take that one,” I said pointing to the first brand, not because I thought it was better but because it was the one that registered most accurately in my nose.

  I thanked her, paid, and left the perfume shop with a bag containing Elizabeth Taylor’s Black Pearl.

  ***

  With the bag of perfume under my arm I strolled out onto the street. There were too many things on my mind. What was I doing in Operation Anti-RACE anyways?

  I was walking along the sidewalk when I felt something—on the road—follow me. I could feel a presence, as if a car was right behind me, moving at my pace.

  I stopped. I sensed that it stopped, too.

  This was bullshit. I turned.

  A familiar orange and navy green taxi had come to an abrupt halt. The driver instantly looked away as if he was sightseeing.

  I shook my head.

  I went over and knocked on the window. The driver rolled down and innocently looked at me.

  “Sir,” I said in my police-like tone. “Are you following me?”

  “No, sir,” he said.

  “Then you’re stalking me. That’s illegal in this country.”

  “No, I was not stalking.” He shook his head.

  “Then what were you doing?” I demanded.

  He paused and then said, “I was waiting to run taxi over you.”

  I laughed.

  Mahmud Hanif laughed back.

  I got into the back.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

  “Nowhere special,” I said, stretching in the back, but then suddenly I went upright. “Did you turn on the meter?”

  “It’s not working,” he said. He tapped the meter.

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “Let me see.” I leaned over and began poking into the small machine.

  “No,” he protested. “It will break.”

  “I thought it was broken,” I said.

  “Yes, but it will break more.”

  “Turn it on.” I was now serious.

  He hesitated.

  “Now.”

  He complied.

  “Good,” I said falling onto the back seat.

  “Something wrong?” he said. “You don’t look good.”

  “Just that one of my co-workers was brutally beaten and of course I’m the one to blame. Also, I’m going nowhere in the force. In fact, I might just quit the force all together. Apart from that, everything is great. How ’bout you?”

  He narrowed his eyes and through the rear-view mirror looked at me hard. “You’re making jokes, yes? You call it sarkasim.”

  “Sarcasm,” I corrected him. “And no, I’m not joking. Mahmud, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Your covert operation not going good?” he asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “You’re not beating evil people?”

  “No. It looks like they’re beating us.”

  “You know what you need?”

  “What?”

  “Chai.”

  “What?”

  “Indian tea. That’s what you need. Hot cup of chai.”

  I just shrugged. I wasn’t a tea drinker.

  “Come, I’ll take you to a place where they make the best chai.”

  “Maybe later. I need time to collect myself.”

  “Collect?” he said.

  “Time to think.”

  “Yes.”

  ***

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. One camera tape from the House of Jam was missing. My gut told me it was the very same tape that had recorded the attack on Barnes. My gut also said that something was happening behind my back. Something that I was not supposed to know. What could it be?

  Why was I brought into Operation Anti-RACE? I was the very person who had ruined another drug investigation? Also, I was not even a constable. There must be more qualified officers than me. Of course, there are more qualified officers than me.

  Maybe, just maybe, I was brought in because I was an outsider: a civilian officer. Aldrich had said there would be a lot demanded of me and that he hoped I was prepared for it. What did he mean? Prepared for what
? Did Aldrich have plans for me? If so, what plans? If I was brought in from outside, there must be something for me to uncover.

  “There is an old saying,” Mahmud said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We dug out a mountain but discovered only a small mouse.”

  I thought about it. I had no idea what that meant.

  “Your big problem may only need a simple solution.”

  I nodded. “I hope so.” I gave Mahmud an address in Scarborough.

  I told him to park a block away. He parked and said, “That will be twenty-two dollars and seventy-five cents.”

  I shoved my hand into my pockets and could just manage thirteen dollars. “Do you know what IOUs are?” I said, embarrassed. Here I was forcing him to turn on the meter and I didn’t have enough money to pay him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “If you don’t pay next time I will follow you and for real run you over.” He smiled.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I patted him on the shoulder. “You’re now officially my best friend.”

  ***

  I found Beadsworth sitting in the car. I tapped on the passenger-side window. He unlocked and I got in. He was going over some papers that looked like a child had written on them.

  “My son’s homework,” he said, realizing I was staring. “Just making sure it’s correct.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I stared out to the building across while he continued double-checking the papers. I kind of admired him for that. He seemed like a devoted family man.

  “One boy and one girl?” I asked.

  He looked up from the sheet of paper. “Two boys.”

  “Which one got hurt?” I asked.

  He thought about it and then realized what I was talking about, “Noel—he’s the oldest—he broke his arm. He’s a goalie in his school’s soccer team. Then there’s baby Liam.”

  “How old is Liam?”

  “Five months.”

  I moved my head up and down, not knowing what else to say.

  After a few seconds of silence he went back to the papers.

  I glanced at the building across and all looked normal.

  “Where’s Nemdharry and Terries?” I asked.

  “Every morning a U-Haul truck drives into the back of the building and leaves shortly after. Today, Constable Terries followed it to Hamilton. Detective Nemdharry just went to meet her. We’re waiting to hear from them.”

  There was a loud tap at the window.

  I started.

  I looked over at Beadsworth, who was rolling down the glass. A man was leaning down, smiling.

  “I saw you working behind the wheel,” the man said. “Just thought I’d give you a surprise.”

  The man had smooth light brown skin and a long ponytail.

  “You got my message, David?” Beadsworth said.

  “Sure did,” the man answered.

  Beadsworth introduced me. “This is Officer Jon Rupret. This is Detective David Longfoot.”

  The man leaned in, extended past Beadsworth, and shook my hand. Suddenly, his smile faded. “Aren’t you—”

  “—David, we have a lot to talk about,” Beadsworth interjected. “Officer Rupret, why don’t you go for a walk?”

  “A walk?” I said, confused.

  “Yes, check out the area. Familiarize yourself with the surroundings.” Beadsworth had a broad smile.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, and got out.

  SEVENTEEN

  There was definitely something happening behind my back.

  I should have protested. I was on duty. I had every right to not go for a walk. Whatever they had to discuss they could do so with me. But I decided against it. I was now infamous for ruining the drug squad investigation and I sensed Detective Longfoot had recognized me.

  I walked east, not knowing where else to go.

  Scarborough is very multicultural. There are a lot of ethnic stores. I passed by a Sri Lankan clothing store. A barber shop—with Chinese barbers. An electronic shop…looked like owned by East Indians. A bubble-tea store, probably owned…hey, it was the same one I wanted to try out with Detective Terries.

  I leaned on the window and took a peek. The interior looked cozy.

  ***

  Martin was in the basement of the BUBBLE T SHOP. The heavy metal door to the entrance of the basement was secured and locked. Only he and Ms. Zee had keys.

  Martin was not happy. The pill-making machines were sitting idle. After a lengthy meeting with Ms. Zee it was decided capsules were the direction they would go.

  According to the initial plan they would have been producing thousands of pills each and every hour.

  He circled the machines, scooping the dust with his finger. So many hidden meetings, so many bribes, so many lies went into acquiring these machines. Now, they sat with no use. Maybe he could sell them, but to whom?

  Martin found a chair and sat down.

  He adjusted his tie. He had come to the conclusion that Ms. Zee would never have Nex. She was paying him well, and she trusted him, but that wouldn’t last very long. Once the money ran out she’d turn on him—just like she did on Armand. That fool!

  They were all fools for believing him.

  Martin sighed. He had also believed Armand. His shoulders slumped. He had to find a way out. This bubble-tea venture was his idea. It was only to serve as a disguise for the production of Nex. Several others would be up and running in a matter of weeks.

  Once money ran out, Kong would have his head.

  ***

  I entered the shop. The place was dim. Tables and chairs lined the middle with couches and other seating to the side. There were a few people sitting and talking. Music piped from the corners of the walls. A friendly and welcoming atmosphere, if I may say so.

  I headed straight toward an Asian girl.

  “Hi, welcome to the BUBBLE T SHOP. My name is Susan. How may I help you?” she said with a pierced tongue.

  “Um, yes,” I smiled, looking intently at the menu on the wall behind her. There were so many names I didn’t recognize.

  “What would you like?” she said.

  “No clue.”

  “First time at a bubble-tea café?”

  “Yes, what is bubble tea anyways?” I inquired.

  “It’s simply tea mixed with tapioca pearls. We have it in several flavors: passion fruit, strawberry, mango, taro, honeydew, kiwi.”

  “I’ll take strawberry, please,” I said, not wanting her to recite the entire menu.

  “Okay.”

  I went and sat in the corner facing the doors.

  A few minutes later the girl placed a tall glass with a straw on the table. I looked at it. It was sort of pinkish. I took a sip and waited. Then took another sip.

  ***

  Martin gently shut and locked the metal door and went upstairs. He moved passed Susan and stopped. Sitting in the corner was someone he recognized, sipping a strawberry tea. Yes. He was a police officer.

  John Rupert or something along that line was his name. Their informant in the police force had provided names of all the members of Operation Anti-RACE. What was Rupret doing here? Inspecting the premises, perhaps.

  There must have been a leak. Someone must have tipped the police. They were after him. No. Stop. He controlled his composure. It was just a coincidence he was here.

  Martin took a deep breath. This was absurd. He shouldn’t be acting like this. He was a lawyer, a reputable business advisor. Not a criminal.

  Martin relaxed, but tensed up again when, in the distance, he saw Kong get out of his car and approach the shop.

  He knew the police had a picture of Kong. If this police officer saw Kong, their cover might be blown.

  He had to do something, but what?

  ***

  This tea wasn’t half bad. I sipped. I was glad I had come here. I could finally relax and chill out.

  There were a few more customers in the place now. A man in a suit stood behind the counter, staring at me.

  Once he
realized I saw him, he smiled and began walking toward me. I turned around but there was a wall behind me. I was cornered.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello,” I replied.

  “Is this your first time at the BUBBLE T SHOP?” he said.

  “Um…yes,” I said.

  “Oh, forgive my rudeness, I’m the owner of this shop,” the man said. He was standing very close. “How do you like our establishment?” He had a wide smile.

  “Nice. Good tea,” I held the half glass of strawberry tea in the air.

  “We want all our customers to be fully satisfied. If there is anything you don’t find to your liking you just let us know and we’ll do everything to have it corrected.”

  “Thank you,” I said. It’s good that these days businesses aim to please their customers.

  “What do you think of the wallpaper?” he pointed behind me.

  I wasn’t sure what he wanted but I turned, “Very nice.”

  “Do you think the colour is pleasing?”

  It was brown.

  “Um…I think so.”

  “Have a closer look.”

  He was very keen on my answer. “Yes…now that I have…um…a better look, I think it’s good. But it could be a little…darker.”

  “Darker? Oh, dear.” He looked heartbroken.

  “No-no, just a little. Overall it still gives the place a cozy…touchy…feely…” I was searching for more words. “Touchy, friendly feeling.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, wiping at his forehead. “This is my first venture and I want it to be a success.”

  “I understand,” I said, raising my hand in protest. “I’m more than happy to provide my insight.”

  “Thank you,” he said, looking around, more relieved.

  I’m always glad to help those in need.

  “The next time you come back,” the man said. “Anything you like will be complimentary—on the house.”

  “Hey, thanks. Sure, I’ll come back. Many times.”

  At that moment my phone went off. It was Beadsworth.

  I thanked the owner and left.