The Virgin Detective Series

 Part 1. The Richard Kane Case

~ Prelude ~

On a warm late spring day about a year ago, Emil Haven IV sat down to write the jacket notes for his fourteenth novel. It was titled: The Virgin Detective: The Irish Connection.

Eleven months later, it had sold more than two million copies in English. It had also been translated into seven different languages, where it accounted for another two million in sales. And it was currently being bid on by three major studios and two streaming services, which would probably net him more than all his book sales combined. 

This was the first book in his Virgin Detective series. The book, and the character name, Eric Raven IV, were both fiction, but its success, both critically and among the detective reading public, had propelled Haven from the ranks of the ‘just barely getting by’ to ‘getting by rather nicely ‘in the detective fiction writing business. 

In actuality, Haven’s book was a highly embellished version of reality. A reality that damn near got the author killed. What follows here is the actual unvarnished story.

Emil Haven IV sat perched on the second-floor porch railing of his flat in an area of Toronto called The Beaches. He was looking out over one of them now, called Balmy Beach. Haven hated his first name, but because there was an IV behind it, he had a certain, family-imposed, obligation not to change it to something like Wes or Phillip. 

Haven was holding a half-consumed bottle of Grolsch beer in his hand. He was dressed in light cotton pants and a well-worn red V-neck T-shirt. He was in his mid-thirties and quite fit for a beer drinker. Mainly from running the length of the boardwalk in front of his house three or four times a week and doing more crunches than he could count every day. 

Haven was what you would call ruggedly handsome. But he had never really been conscious of it. His hair was long and wavy and well cut. His nails were manicured and he had a small tattoo around his right wrist; a snake eating its tail. At one point, it made total sense to him, but nowadays he wondered just how much of a hassle it would be to have it removed. He had a diamond stud in his left ear and a pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck. 

Haven was a mildly successful writer of detective stories, but the bulk of his income was in the form of regular cash draws from his trust fund account. He was, after all, a Haven and the Havens were Ontario royalty, with most of their money made in steel and iron ore mining in various parts of the world. But that was his grandfather’s world and fortune. His dad was simply another Toronto uber-rich guy who made money with money, and there was a lot to be made these days.

Haven could very well have chosen not to work at all and just be a playboy, but for some reason that he had yet to fathom, he was cursed with a work ethic. Writing whodunits, while quite an enjoyable pastime for Haven, served the very useful purpose of keeping him away from the drudgery of the family business.

Haven was watching the reflection of the nearly setting sun on the water and the endless parade of people passing by on the boardwalk below; people who mostly could not afford to live where Haven was living at the moment, and maybe never would be. These citizens were lumbering along, pulling dogs on leashes, pushing strollers, or just dragging themselves through the warm early summer evening. Haven didn’t look down on them so much as he considered himself fortunate that he would never have to worry about a lot of the things they worry about. Like money or job security or drug-addicted children or the cost of a new car.

 Satisfied that the world outside no longer held any interest, he finished his beer and slid off the railing. He walked over to a table set on the porch. On it sat a large MacBook and a pile of paper in two thick folders. He took both piles of paper and dropped them on the floor beside a large wastebasket half-filled with empty bottles of Grolsch. A small desk lamp was the only light. The piles he dropped to the floor were all the changes from his 13th novel. ‘A Month Of Sundays, A Phil Rossetti Mystery,’ which was, at that very moment going to press.

He sat down and woke the Mac. He opened the hard drive then a Pages file. At the top of the first page, he typed ‘The Virgin Detective’ A Novel by Emil Haven IV.

“Let’s just suppose this story actually happened. I, unfortunately, cannot confirm its veracity. Nor will I deny it. I leave it to the reader to draw his or her own conclusion, which invariably they do, given the option or not."

Haven continued to peck furiously, impervious to all distractions. He loved starting a novel. It always held so much promise for him. A tale to tell, churning and bubbling its way out of his brain. This would be his 14th novel and would remove the Unlucky 13 curse that afflicted him for more than a year and three major edits. The only thing that kept him sane was that there was a new idea in his head, rolling around like thunderclouds, and now that the dreaded 13th novel was complete, his new story, The Virgin Detective, was leaking out slowly as he typed.

~ 1 ~

Two men in well-tailored suits stood side by side at the arrivals gate at Kennedy Airport in South Brooklyn New York, USA. They were dark, swarthy bulldog types…serious hoodlums. One of them held a hand-written sign which read, “Mr. O’Leary.” 

Colonel Richard Kane, retired, a bearded, slightly academic-looking man walked by them, a large canvas haversack slung over his shoulder. He nodded almost imperceptibly to the two hoods and walked on. The two men fell in step behind him. As they walked the length of the airport, one of the men moved up beside Kane and mumbled something to him. Suddenly, virtually out of nowhere, two men with semi-automatic pistols materialized, focused on the threesome. The two men with Kane drew their weapons. Bursts of gunfire began and pandemonium broke out in the immediate vicinity. 

Kane dropped to the floor and rolled under a row of seats. Then, keeping low and scooting swiftly with surprising agility, he moved farther from the fray. He made it to an outside door, only to be accosted by a young hood, sporting a semi-automatic Colt 44. The kid gestured for Kane to drop his haversack. Kane did so. He bent over to lower it to the ground. For a split second, the kid dropped his guard. Kane’s left foot lashed out and connected with the side of the kid’s leg. It snapped at the knee. The kid started crumbling. As he descended, Kane swung around and caught him with a flat hand to the underside of the jaw, and followed through with easy, skillful force, puncturing his windpipe and slicing several vertebrae in his neck. The kid was dead before he hit the ground. 

Kane spotted the two soldiers dashing out of a set of doors about fifty feet down the terminal. He picked up his haversack and ran after them. They all arrived at a Cadillac limousine more or less at the same time. The back door opened and Kane dove in. The two hoods, none the worse for wear, were getting organized in seats across from him in the back of the limo. He nodded to them. One hood reached out and pulled the door closed. The car took off with a lurch. Once they were clear of the airport and heading out toward Long Island, Kane motioned to the small wet bar in between the two men.

“Mind if I pour one?”  Kane asked.

One of the hoods half nodded. Kane reached forward and fixed himself a scotch on the rocks. “Fix you lads anything while I’m at it?”

“We ain’t allowed to drink onna job. But thanks fer askin’” The hood on the left said.

Kane nodded and sat back with his drink. He twirled the ice in the glass. He took a long sip.

“Certainly was a warm welcome.” Kane said, feeling the scotch burn his throat as it went down.

“There’s a little tension in the city these days. Nothin’ we can’t handle, though.”

“So it would seem.” Kane took another sip of scotch, and several deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“You really with the IRA, like the Duke says?”

“Not anymore. Got retired by a gutshot a few years back  But before that I put in seventeen years with the Ulster Provisionals. You know what that is?”

“Some badass buncha Micks, I bet.”

Kane mused over the hood’s comment. He sipped the scotch. “Aye...some badass bunch of Micks.”

The limo rolled through the Long Island countryside. Through small towns and farmland, and finally into an area of posh estates. It drove up to an odd-shaped villa of bleached concrete and pulled up in front of the house. The back door was opened by a young boy with distinctive almond-colored hair and deep blue eyes. He took Kane’s haversack and disappeared into the house. Kane stepped out of the limo and looked around. Up close the house was awesome in its beauty. The two hoods climbed out behind Kane.

“Follow the kid.” One of them said.

“When do I meet with the Duke?”

“When the Duke’s ready to meet with you.” the other one said.

Kane was ushered into the house. He followed the young boy to a large room at the back of the second floor. The boy opened the curtains and the sliding glass door to reveal the ocean some hundred and fifty feet across the manicured lawn. 

Kane walked over to the doorway to take in the view and when he turned around the boy was gone and his door was closed. He walked around the room, feeling the bed, checking out the appointments. He entered the adjoining bathroom and slipped out of his clothes. He turned on the shower and climbed in. 

After the shower, he took a short nap and then dressed and stared out the glass door again. A few minutes later, the young boy opened the bedroom door and looked at Kane. He followed the boy to the kitchen where a buffet was spread out. Several well-dressed hoods sat noshing away and drinking cold beers. They paid very little attention to Kane as he loaded up a plate and filled a glass from a Chianti bottle. The young boy took the Chianti bottle and motioned for Kane to follow. 

Kane entered a solarium behind the young boy. Sitting at a glass-topped table, with a small plate of vegetables and a glass of mineral water, was the Duke, Lorenzo Chiba. He was tall and thin and could have been anywhere from seventy to eighty years of age. The Duke motioned for Kane to take a seat across the table from him. When he did so, Kane saw that two men were standing in the corners of the room, concealed from anyone entering by plants and flowers. The room was warm and humid. The Duke gazed at Kane through deep, brown, knowing eyes. He then cast a glance at the young boy, who put the Chianti bottle on the table and then immediately disappeared.

“My grandnephew, Marco. We’re teaching him the family business from the ground up so to speak...to serve the men he works with so he will have respect for the service they will provide him.”

“That makes very good sense…umm.”

“Just call me Duke, Colonel Kane.”

Kane nodded and lifted his glass of Chianti. He took a sip and put the glass down. He picked up the Chianti bottle and proffered it to the Duke. The Duke raised his hand in a gesture of polite refusal.

“No, thank you. I have enjoyed my share, believe me. More than my share, my doctors tell me. Please…enjoy."

Kane took a healthy sip from the glass and started his meal.

“I’m told that you had a little trouble at the airport. Nothing too inconvenient, I hope.”

“I arrived in one piece, sir. Beyond that, it hardly matters.” 

The Duke nodded thoughtfully. “My people tell me you served your cause for seventeen years.” 

Kane nodded as he continued to eat.

“And that these past few years you have been working in the Third World.”

“Military strategist and advisor.”

“And that this has made you a very rich man?”

“Not as rich as you, sir.”

“And how do you know how rich I am?”

Kane smiled and wiped his lips with a napkin. “My clients are of two types, sir. The very rich, who want nothing more than to get richer. And military men who want to be very rich themselves. I know a very rich person when I see him.”

The Duke leaned back in his chair and chuckled. It caused him to cough slightly. This, in turn, caused the two guards to move forward. The Duke waved them off.

“I’ve heard that the Micks are excellent observers of the human condition.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Kane pushed his plate away and poured another glass of chianti. 

“Let’s go for a walk, Colonel. I’ll tell you why I’ve brought you here.”

The Duke and Kane rose up out of their seats. One of the guards opened the outer door of the solarium and exited. The other stood by the door. After a few seconds, he nodded to the Duke. The Duke and Kane then left the solarium.

The two men made their way across the large and beautifully landscaped lawn to a pair of comfortable chairs overlooking the sound. The sky was starting to take on the deep orange-magenta hue of sunset. The waves broke loudly on the long stretch of shoreline in front of them. The two men sat. The Duke motioned his bodyguards back out of earshot.

“I bought this place for only one reason. I love the sound of the ocean.” 

“I live on the Celtic Sea myself. I know what you mean about the waves. They soothe the soul the way few other things can.”

“The Duke pulled a pair of Cuban cigars out of his inside jacket pocket. He handed one to Kane and lit them up.”

“Smoking is also on my doctor’s list of no-nos. But there’s only so much living a man can give up and still feel alive.”

Kane smiled and puffed on the cigar. The Duke stared out at the sea.

“I’ve talked to some people about you.” The Duke said. “But these are not people I trust a hundred percent. You might find it hard to believe, but I’ve picked up a few enemies along the way. People who would like nothing better than to lead me down the garden path.”

Kane merely chuckled and puffed on his cigar. “If you talk to anyone I’ve done business with, sir, they’ll tell you flat out, I’m only in it for the money. I’ve had a lifetime of politics and bullshit and I’m happy to be clear of it. I’m a soldier. You want a fire, I’ll light it. You want a country, a president or anyone else for that matter, deposed or the mineral rights to any tract of land anywhere, I’m your man. That’s the long and the short of it, sir.”

The Duke puffed his cigar thoughtfully. “As you’ve probably figured out, the situation for people in our business is getting very...competitive. I’ve never been good at confrontations. They’re expensive and wasteful. And besides, I’m too old to be breaking out the mattresses. So I’ve decided to move my organization to another place.”

“I see. And would it be accurate to say you’d be willing to pay me a substantial amount of money to...clear the way for your arrival?”

“You’re a very perceptive man, colonel. That’s exactly what I want.”

“I’ll need to know the downside risks.”

“Let me put it to you this way. Colonel. Is there a downside risk to shooting fish in a barrel?”

Kane merely flashed the Duke a sardonic smile. He was capable of putting two and two together.

“Then Canada will be like shooting fish in a barrel.” The Duke said.

Kane stared out at the ocean. The sky had gone to a gunmetal silver grey. The wind had picked up and was blowing straight at them. He turned to look at the Duke. 

“It sounds very much, sir, like you’re about to make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

They talked for another few minutes, then the two men got to their feet. Kane and the Duke shook hands and began to walk around the grounds. The Duke was leading the conversation, talking in a highly animated and excited way. He was a man with a plan and he was pretty sure he had found the right executioner.

~ 2 ~ 

The next morning Kane was dropped off at the Pierre Hotel where he registered under his own name. He then spent the next day and a half wandering around Manhattan. When he got back to the hotel that evening, there was a package waiting for him. In his room, he opened it to reveal a number of different items--A well-used Canadian passport with his picture in it. An expensive billfold containing several hundred Canadian dollars. A folder with several documents in it; A Canadian Social Insurance Card. Ontario Hospitalization Card, two credit cards, all in the name of one Richard P. Kelly. 

The next morning Kane was sitting in the front seat of the first-class cabin of a 737 jet flying to Canada. There were only two other passengers in the cabin with him. A couple sitting four rows back. 

He lifted a thin, but very expensive-looking briefcase from the floor onto his lap. Out of his jacket pocket, he pulled a small Philips minidisc recorder. It was no larger than a small paging device. He looked carefully around him, then pressed the rewind button. After a few seconds, he pressed the play button, fiddled with the volume and then put the recorder up to his ear. The sound was that of the Duke’s voice. ‘Let me put it to you this way Colonel…Is there a downside risk to shooting fish in a barrel...Then Canada should be like shooting fish in a barrel’.

Kane switched off the recorder and flipped the disk out of it. He dropped the recorder into the briefcase and slipped the mini disc into a small plastic case. He closed the briefcase and returned it to the floor. He then removed his left shoe and, after looking carefully around, brought it up to his lap. He reached in and pulled back the liner to reveal a hollow area in the shoe’s heel. He inserted the microdisc into the heel and covered it over with the insole liner.  At that instant, a flight attendant appeared behind him.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Kelly?” she asked.

Kane was startled. The shoe popped out of his hand and tumbled to the floor. Deftly, he flipped it over and slid his foot into it.

“Nothing but a pebble, miss.” 

The attendant nodded and moved on toward the front of the plane. She then turned suddenly. “Can I get you anything?”

“Some scotch would be nice, miss.”

~ 3 ~

Emil Haven IV was standing in his kitchen, peering into the refrigerator.

If you’re wondering how I figure into this story, you can stop wondering. The fact is that I don’t just yet. But I need to introduce myself here so you’ll have some background.

My name is Emil Haven the Fourth. And I have just been informed that my thirteenth novel, a potboiler from my mildly successful Phil Rossetti series is on the presses. 

Haven pulled some cold cuts from the fridge and started making himself a sandwich. On the counter was a can of diet iced tea.

It’s not exactly what dad wanted me to do. “Havens don’t write pulp fiction”, was his only comment on my career choice. Oh well, you can’t please everyone.

Haven took his sandwich and his iced tea out onto his deck, plopped down onto a comfortable-looking outdoor chair and put his feet up on the railing.

Suffice it to say, I’m at a crossroads in my literary career. Which means I’m bored. I’m looking for a story that’s different from the last thirteen I’ve written. A true story would be nice. But where the hell would an armchair detective like me ever come across a real life drama as exciting as those I conjure from the depths of his depraved psyche? 

There is an answer to this question. And that’s precisely how I became involved with Colonel Richard Kane.

~ 4 ~ 

Kane exited customs in Toronto and spotted Albert Rubino standing by the gate holding a sign with the name “Kelly” printed on it. Kane approached the younger man, with his briefcase in hand.

“I’m Kelly.” he said. 

“Mr. Kelly. Hi. I’m Albert Rubino. I come up from Buffalo to get a few things together for you.” 

Albert began walking. Kane moved with him. 

“Indeed. What sort of things?”

“If you don’t mind a hell of a lot, Mr. Kelly. I’d rather not say any more until we’re out of this building.”

“Certainly.”

Kane and Albert moved to the luggage carousel and Kane fetched his bag. Then the two men exited the terminal. Albert motioned Kane toward a new Thunderbird parked right at the curb. Beside the car, a uniformed security guard leaned casually against a pillar. Albert walked up to the guard and slipped him a bill. Albert then leaned into the driver’s side and popped the trunk.

“Throw your bag in the trunk and hop in, Mr. Kelly.”

Kane did so. They drove off, heading for downtown Toronto.

In the car, Albert reached in between the seats and pulled out a thick manila envelope. He handed it to Kane.

“The highlights of what I’ve found out about the Taglias and the Romanos is in that envelope, Mr. Kelly. I been researching them for the last year.”

Kane opened the envelope. It was crammed with pictures, newspaper articles and a pair of CDs.  He was drawn to one article in particular. It was a column by a writer named Jim Clancy. He looked at Clancy’s byline photo and smiled to himself.

“That’s very good Albert. But suppose you give me your own executive summary.”

“Pardon me?”

“You know, the whole story in a nutshell.”

“Oh, I get you. Yeah, sure. Lemme see. Well, the Taglias are the bad boys. Vice, gambling, drugs - speed and coke mostly. All the smack here’s controlled by the Tongs. And the crack is a nigger thing. Patty Taglia is the head of the family. He’s a crazy little guinea. Hangs with his cronies in a cappuccino bar down in Little Italy. I’ll run you by the place on our way to your house.”

“What about the Romanos?”

“The Romanos are as close to being totally legit as any family anywhere. They’re strictly gambling, bookmaking, sports book, mobile casinos, that sort of thing. They’re big into the legalized gambling lobby group. And for the past few months they’ve been negotiating with Patty Taglia to sell him all their underground connections. But there’s a lot of bad blood here and Patty Taglia would still like to see the Romanos all in their graves and just take the business, rather than being nice about it and buying it. Sal Romano, the son, he took over the business about three years back. He’s got a thing about making the Romanos legit. Guess he’s got a hard on to join one of those white-bread country clubs. Anyway that’s about it in a nutshell.”

“What about my inside sources?”

That’d be John Vallone. He’s a tax lawyer for the Romanos. And Rocco Tucci. He’s Patty Taglia’s bookkeeper. He’s also married to Angela Pesco, the daughter of Taglia’s consigliere, Aldo Pesco. Their names and numbers are in the file.”

“So one of these families appears to be moving toward legitimacy, why would Mr. Chiba want to start a war between them?”

“Are you askin’ me, or just thinkin’ out loud?”

“Yes, I’m asking.” 

“As far as I can see, the Duke wants to check out as a legit businessman. He would like to be able to take over the Romanos, and plow the Taglias into the dirt. He just figures a little range war can’t hurt, and he can ride into the rescue. At least that’s what my contacts in Long Island tell me.” 

“Thank you, Albert. That was very enlightening. I’m curious. What is it you do in Buffalo?”

“I run the sports book there. Lot of gamblers especially hockey and football since they have both NHL and NFL teams there. I’m also the border guy. Anybody wants to come up into Canada, or get back into the States, I make sure that happens without a lot of deep diving into backgrounds, all that annoying shit. Mostly it’s just buying off customs guys on either side of the Peace Bridge over the Niagara River, which is the border. It’s a good conduit for moving people, drugs, money and guns,”

Albert steered the car up Spadina Avenue to College Street. He hung a left and travelled west along College for several blocks, slowing down in front of a nondescript cappuccino bar on a corner just past another main street called Bathurst.

“You’ll find Patty Taglia in there when he’s not at a Blue Jays baseball game or the track.”

“Hard to believe that a powerful fellow like Taglia would hang out in such a dump.”

“What can I tell you, Mr. Kelly? He’s a low-class Guinea.”

The car backtracked a bit. Eventually, it arrived at an older brick house on a tree-lined street called Palmerston. Albert pulled the car into the driveway. The two men got out. Albert grabbed Kane’s bag from the trunk and they entered the house.

The place was nicely furnished, but a little cold looking, mainly because nobody actually lived there. Albert put Kane’s bag down in the foyer.

“If you’ll just follow me to the basement sir, I’ll show you one thing, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Albert led Kane through the kitchen to a stairway down into the basement. The basement was a huge playroom with a wide floor-to-ceiling window leading out onto the back deck. There was a sauna in the corner, an adjacent shower stall, a couple of couches, several video games and a large pool table dominating the centre of the space. Albert walked over to a painting on the wall near the sauna. He took down the painting to reveal a small control panel built into the wall. 

“This is your security panel.” Albert said. “It’s fully automated except for this one button here.”

Albert pressed the button and suddenly a drawer, cut invisibly into the underside of the pool table, popped open. Albert walked over and pulled it further. It was about four feet wide, six feet long and about eight inches deep. In it sat an arsenal of weapons including two assault rifles, several pistols, a few dozen boxes of ammunition, fragmentation grenades, smoke bombs and knives.

“This stuff is all clean and untraceable. We weren’t certain of your preferences, so we threw in a little bit of everything. There’s also twenty five grand in cash for anything you might need to buy, you know, discreetly.”

Kane picked up a large luger-shaped 44 semi-automatic.

“A Desert Eagle. I haven’t had one of these in my hands since Angola maybe five years back.”

“Glad you’re pleased, sir.” Albert handed Kane a business card. “I’ll be leaving now. There’s a car in the garage. All the keys are hanging by the back door. There’s plenty of food in the fridge and cupboards. You need anything, including a quick airlift, just call me. I’ve got a couple of people here who can help you with whatever you might need.”

“Thank you, Albert. You couldn’t have been more helpful.”

Kane and Albert shook hands then walked upstairs together and Albert left by the front door.

~ 5 ~ 

A few days later, Haven riding in an Uber up Yonge Street, through the mid-town area of the city. The Uber let him off in front of the Toronto Library. He crossed the street and walked done to a one way street called Cumberland. He turned right walked to the Pilot Tavern.

A wise old writer, who was my mentor for many of my formative literary years, once told me that the most orgasmic experience involved in writing a book, paradoxically, is all about when you get to stop writing. As the years and the books rolled on, I’d come to realize just how right he was.

The Pilot Tavern was a dingy place and always had been. It was originally on Yonge Street, so the story goes, but got swept away as part of the so-called gentrification of the area. Now, it sat next to a small downtown mall and big gap where yet another apartment building was going be built across from a pair of massive office towers that housed a lot of advertising agencies, a TV network and other big city businesses. It seemed like every time he came downtown there were fewer and fewer places to park.

The Pilot was usually filled with television crew types, freelancers and advertising people, sipping from a limited selection of imported beers in thick pint-sized glass mugs or a choice of wines limited to red and white. And today was no exception.

At the end of the bar, leafing through a newspaper sat Jim Clancy. He was dressed in a well-worn seersucker suit that matched his well-worn facial features, slightly dumpy body, thinning reddish, but mostly grey hair and the ruddy complexion of someone who spends an unhealthy amount of time indoors. 

Clancy was the embodiment of the old-time newspaper writer. A relic in this modern city. He was also a writer of true crime stories, a couple of which had been optioned and turned into movies, and which paid for a very nice house over by  Withrow Park on the east side of the mid-town core.

Haven flopped onto a stool beside him. The bartender walked over. He slapped a coaster down in front of him. 

“Pint of Connors, Terry.” Haven said to the bartender, And give my friend Jim Clancy, ace reporter, one of whatever he’s drinking.”

At this point Clancy finally noticed Haven. 

“Lemme guess. You finally put another one of them feeble potboilers to bed and you’re feeling magnanimous.”

“No flies on you, Mr. Clancy.”

The bartender brought the beer. Clancy quickly finished off his first glass and raised his second. 

“Here’s to you lad. I’m filled with admiration for anyone who can actually finish something in a world that’s workin’ overtime to shorten our attention spans.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

The two men chugged their brews.

“So tell me. Aside from the celebration aspect, what else is on your mind?” Clancy asked.

“I’m not exactly sure how to put this to you, Jim.”

“How about right between the eyes?”

Haven heaved a sigh. “I don’t know...I’ve noticed over the past while that I’ve become...a little tired of these Rossetti books.”

“No. Really? After only...what is it, a dozen of the devils?”

“Thirteen as of today. But I thought I’d like to try a different approach. Maybe a non-fiction story.”

Clancy chuckled at first. Then the chuckle turned into a guffaw. Then the guffaw turned into a low key belly laugh.

“That was funny?”

“Well, in a way, I suppose it was.”

“Explain that to me, if you please.”

Clancy took a deep breath and as he spoke his attitude changed from light to slightly serious.

“It’s just that writing non-fiction necessarily entails more than a few forays into the real world, Haven. A place where you have absolutely no credentials, and would probably get eaten for breakfast by the first authentic bad guy you met up with.”

“Come on. We’re being a little overly dramatic now aren’t we?”

“Let me tell you a few things about the real world, Haven. The real world is one where those glamorous nine-millimetre Berettas you’re so fond of havin’ your characters tote around can turn a healthy body into so many pounds of hamburger in a few seconds. And what’s not hamburger is wallpaper.

“The real world is where a junkie will kill you for the dimes in your fuckin’ penny loafers. Where you can get the clap just from sharin’ an elevator with the right hooker. It’s way too ugly and dangerous a place for the likes of you, Haven. But take heart, and think of it as the only downside of being a poor little rich kid.”

Haven took a long chug of his beer and slammed the glass down on the bar. He stared off into space. He then turned to Clancy.

“Well, I’m glad I asked.”

“I’m not gonna bullshit you, lad. I like you too much for that. Personally, I’ve always wondered why you don’t go after some of your daddy’s rich friends if you’re looking for juicy non-fiction. Now that’s the real criminal element in this society. I mean, you’re good enough to be able to put a serious crimp in their style, and get the applause of the people for your efforts.”

“You never told me that before.”

“Told you what?”

“That you thought I was good.”

“Well, don’t go wackin’ off over that. What the hell do I know after all’s said and done?”

“So, are you going to give me a lead? Or just ramble on ad nauseam about how I’m some kind of virgin in a whorehouse, which, frankly, I will continue to be, unless you lend me a hand.” 

“You’re a persistent little pissant, I’ll give you that.”

“Well?”

“Well…” Clancy said with a sigh, “We are all grown up here. And I guess it’s your life to toss if you choose. Tell you what…” Clancy stopped to chug the rest of his beer and fold up his paper. “Give me a bit of time to suss out somethin’ interesting and relatively safe for you. And don’t you go off doin’ any field research without consulting me either, you hear?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now I’ve got a column to write. You take it easy. We’ll talk in a few days. Congrats on the new book…and thanks for the beer.”

“Clancy slapped Haven on the shoulder and sauntered out of the bar.”

Across the street in a mall called the Cumberland Terrace, directly opposite the Pilot Tavern, Kane was standing with a coffee cup in one hand and one foot up on a wooden bench. He smiled to himself as Clancy left the bar and headed toward Bay Street. Kane then tossed the coffee cup into a trash bin and walked away.

~ 6 ~ 

Two days later, Kane opened the door of the Palmerston Street house to a nondescript man in a cheap grey suit. His name was Tyler Forbes. He was carrying a thick briefcase. Kane showed Forbes into the house. On the dining room table, he opened the briefcase to reveal a number of electronic devices. He took a small gizmo from the case and activated it. He and Kane then walked through the house, and the man pointed out to Kane a number of bugs that had been planted there. 

After they had walked through the house, Kane and Forbes stepped outside and walked to Forbes’ car, an older station wagon that looked like he lived in it. Forbes lowered the tailgate, set his case on it and opened it.

“You got twelve well-placed devices,” Forbes said. “Very sensitive, very powerful. Whoever’s listening is capable of hearing even the quietest fart with perfect clarity.”

Forbes picked up a transmitter, about the size of a small pack of cigarettes. He took out a tiny screwdriver and tweaked a small dial inset on the back of the device. He handed it to Kane.

“This is an Allied White Noise disrupter to which I’ve made a number of modifications. It will easily knock out any sensors across the entire VHF band. The net result is that you can have Led Zeppelin wailing in your kitchen, and the listener won’t even know if anybody’s home.”

“Do I need to adjust the frequency setting?”

“It’s pre-set. All you have to do is switch it on before you open the door to enter the house.”

Kane took the device and examined it. He looked up and smiled.“Will wonders never cease, Mr. Forbes.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Kane flipped open a small pouch he was carrying. He extracted sizeable stack of $100 bills and handed them over to Forbes.

“Five thousand dollars is the number we discussed, I believe.”

“I believe it was.”

Kane then reached into the pouch and pulled out a 3 x 5 inch color print of a teenage girl, in a Catholic school uniform. He handed it to Forbes who looked at it with shock and dismay.

“What the hell is this?” Forbes asked, with more than a little anger in his voice.

“Why it’s your beautiful daughter, Katy, a fine figure of a girl, Mr. Forbes. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to her, say if her father were to try and capitalize on information he might have about a person like me.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“We’re both in a dirty business, sir. I hope you realize that there’s nothin’ personal in all of this. Just coverin’ my arse.”

 Forbes said. “I understand perfectly.” But Kane knew the guy was both pissed off and cornered. Just where Kane wanted him to be.

“Glad to hear it, sir.” Kane said.

Forbes closed up his case and slammed the tailgate shut.

“Good day to you, Mr. Forbes. And thank you very much.”

Kane stood by the street as Forbes pulled away and shot him a bird as he did. Kane chuckled, he then turned and headed up the porch steps to enter the house, stopping first to activate the disrupter.

~ 7 ~

Five days later, Haven, well rested after the literary torture he had just gone through and looking fairly dressed up for him, in a pair of slacks, a crisp linen shirt and a light jacket, was driving up Bayview Avenue. 

There was some classical music playing on the radio. Beside him on the seat was a hard cover copy of his thirteenth book. “A Month of Sundays’, which had just been released.

They say that into each life, some rain must fall. Mine consisted of periodic visits to the Haven estate to assure Dad that, indeed, I hadn’t fallen off the edge of the earth. And to plod through the ritual of defending my chosen path to him. I’m not sure why I continued to play this silly game. Perhaps it’s because underneath the glossy exterior, Havens are simply as masochistic as the rest of the world.

Haven pulled up in front of an extremely large colonial-style house on The Bridle Path. There were cars parked all along the street. Even a couple of limos with drivers leaning on their hoods and shooting the shit.

Be it ever so humble. There’s no place like dad’s.

Haven parked his car and slipped out with the book. He walked up to the front door, which was opened by a butler.

~ 8 ~

Early that evening, Clancy was sitting at the Pilot Tavern bar doodling with his pen on a small notepad. Beside it, a newspaper was opened to the sports pages. In front of him sat a half-consumed pint of Toby. Richard Kane walked up behind him and slapped him on the back.

“Buy you a pint, lad?”

A look of sheer terror swept across Clancy’s face. Slowly,  he turned to look at Kane.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

“In the flesh. It’s been a long time, Shamus.”

“Not long enough for me. What the hell are you doin’ here?”

“Come to see how the other half lives.” 

“Yeah, well, we were doin’ just fine up to now.”

“I can understand you’re bein’ taken aback seein’ me here.” 

“That’s putting a candy coating on it to be sure.”

The bartender walked over. Kane pointed to Clancy’s glass. “Two more of these, sir.” Then he turned to Clancy. “I know we didn’t part company on the best of terms.”

Clancy lowered his voice. “You’re a damn maniac man. That’s the long and short of it. And that’s why I left. There’s only so much of a loon like you a man can take.”

“That really hurts, Shamus, especially after all we’ve been through together.”

“You mean all you put me through, with your crazy fuckin’ shenanigans.”

“Come on. We had ourselves a good old time. You got yourself some damn fine stories in the bargain.” 

“Up yours, Kane....What do you want from me?”

“First of all, I’m goin’ by Kelly these days. And all I need is some information.”

“How about directions to the airport.”

“Very funny, Shamus.” 

“NO! It isn’t. You screwed me up badly the last time. I’m not about to let that happen again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” Kane said, with much less joviality in his voice. “You are about to let it happen again. The only decision you have is how difficult you’re gonna make it for yourself.” 

“There you go threatenin’ violence. Hell, man, is that the only thing you understand?”

“No violence, Shamus. In point of fact, it doesn’t have to be anything more painful than lettin’ me have a peek through your data banks. Then I simply vanish from your life forever.”

“Right. And I’m the bleedin’ Roman Catholic Pope.”

Kane picked up his beer. He raised his glass in the general direction of Clancy.

“Here’s to a short and productive association.”

Half an hour later, the two men left the bar and headed toward Bloor street where they flagged down a taxi.

~ 9 ~

Haven moved effortlessly through the party, past the curious stares of the young debs scattered around the rooms, sipping expensive champagne. Past jock studs in high-priced business suits, past the older, more dignified-looking couples, who whispered surreptitiously to each other and shook their heads.

Dad’s parties are a study in urban decadence. But, for the people who attend, they are one of the best chances the city offers to see and be seen. To screw and get screwed, and yes, even to be conspicuous by your absence. As the host usually was.

In the study, Haven’s father, Emil Haven III sat behind a mahogany desk, watching a tennis match on a large screen TV. A couple of young men sat on the other side of the desk. 

Haven cracked the door open and stepped inside. His father noticed him and waved him in.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Haven said.

“Not at all. Mr. Ellis and Mr. Santora here are just trying to sell me a share of this new kid.”

On the TV screen, a young Raphael Nadal type was demoralizing an older Roger Federer type in what looked to be a pro tennis match.

Haven III cut the TV picture. The two men rose from their seats.

“Leave the video with me for a day or two, fellas. I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, go enjoy the party.”

The two men nodded to Haven III and left the room. No introductions were made. None were really necessary, because the father knew the son didn’t give a shit who the father did business with.

“Sit down, son. Pour yourself a drink.”

Haven laid the book on the desk, and poured a glass of champagne from a bottle chilling beside it.

“So you’ve cranked out another potboiler, have you?” Haven III said as he picked up the book and fanned the pages. “A Month Of Sundays. Intriguing title.”

“Yep.” Haven said.

“Getting bored with them yet?” He said as he got up from behind the desk and moved to one of the wing chairs.

Haven sat down in a wing chair opposite his father, who was dressed in a beautiful linen suit with a collarless pinstriped shirt. He was handsome with long grey hair and an angular face that was starting to show its age.

“Funny you should ask. Because I’ve actually decided that I’ve come to the end of the Rossetti series.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yessir, I do say.” 

“Does this mean you’re ready to settle down, come into the company and put all that expensive education to good use?”

Haven just smiled and sipped his champagne. “No, dad. As much as you’d like that to be the case, I’m afraid not.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Well, I thought I’d try my hand at a non-fiction piece.”

“Really?” 

“I’ve been talking to Jim Clancy, and he’s agreed to give me a lead. Maybe something on the Mafia. After all, he is the reigning expert.” Haven III got to his feet. He was definitely a bit agitated by this news. 

“The Mafia, you say?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, just do me a favour, will you son? Before you start your research, talk to me first. Maybe I can steer you in a better direction.”

“Oh, you mean like demolishing one of your competitors? A direction like that?”

“No son. But there are a lot of stories to be told that don’t involve consorting with those types of people. They’re quite dangerous and not all that bright.”

Haven stayed seated. He was not about to walk into this trap. “You know, I came here tonight to tell you I was going to start writing non-fiction, thinking you’d be thrilled that this Haven was over his ‘potboiler’ phase and was finally getting serious about his work,” Haven said, calmly. “But what do I get instead? More chapter and verse from the exalted Haven Book of Business Etiquette.”

Haven pauses for effect. “Dad…I’m thirty-five years old. I’m a moderately successful fiction writer. And I’ve made it without disgracing the Haven name. Now I’m planning to move to a new plateau. Granted it will never be as exalted as your perch on the family tree, but it’s the best I can do with my limited resources. I only wish that once, just once, you could give me even a slight pat on the back for my efforts.”

Haven III stood there dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, son. It’s just that I’ve always hoped that you would work your way though this and start thinking more seriously about your future.”

“Stop, dad!” Haven put the glass down on the desk. He turned to look at his father and shook his head. “You know, all I can think of right now is that all the time we’ve spent arguing, we could have just as easily spent being a real father and son.”

Haven picked up the book and walked out of the study. His father made no attempt to stop him. 

Ten minutes later, Haven, escaped the party after the obligatory handshakes, air kisses and renewals of acquaintance, with a bottle of champagne, appropriated from the bar. He had doffed his jacket. The champagne he had while schmoozing, had loosened his disposition. A few minutes later he was driving down Bayview Avenue. He was wailing along with an old Dylan song on the radio.

So now you know my father doesn’t understand me. Big news, right? You see, dad has real difficulty relating to anyone or anything he can’t actually own outright. So our relationship has been on the rocks ever since I realized that the kind of life he had laid out for me had nothing to do with what I wanted. It drove my mom away when I was just a kid. She was in Florida now and probably a hell of a lot happier.

~ 10 ~

Haven drove along Danforth, through the Greek Village. The streets were teeming with tourists and locals alike, strolling or just loitering in front of ice cream stores, restaurants and coffee shops. He turned onto Carlaw Avenue and headed south.

Jim Clancy would have just wired his column into the newspaper and would be pleased as punch to see me with a bottle of Remy Pannier, right about now. 

Haven eventually found a parking place about three houses down the street from Clancy’s. He walked up the driveway and saw a car he didn’t recognize parked there. He paused for a moment to assess the situation. He then moved up the driveway and into the backyard. 

Clancy’s study was an extension on the back of his large brick house. The windows on one side ran from floor to ceiling. The back door was sliding glass. Outside the door was a large deck. Haven walked around to the stairway. But as he began to climb the steps onto the deck, he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Inside the study, a man he had never seen before was sitting at Clancy’s desk working busily on his computer. Clancy was reclined on the adjacent couch, apparently asleep or unconscious. Haven considered the situation. He then quietly retreated down the deck steps and back down the driveway. 

Haven sat behind the wheel of his car pondering the conundrum. Now here was a real-life mystery, and it was staring him right in the face. Who was that man working on Clancy’s computer? he asked himself. Well, he supposed he could have knocked on the door and asked. But something told him that wouldn’t produce the desired results. No. This should be played another way, he thought.

Haven took out his iPhone, and dialled Clancy’s number, Richard Kane answered “Hello, Clancy residence.” Kane said

“Hello...I’m looking for Jim Clancy.”

“Sorry, he’s umm...indisposed at the moment. Asleep that is.”

“Who is this?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m just a friend, a colleague actually.”

“Well, I’m a relative from Ireland. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Yeah. Tell him Haven called. He’ll know what it’s about.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Haven.”

“Umm...do we know each other?”

“I hardly think so, Mr. Haven. Goodnight to you.”

Haven hung up the phone and walked back to the car. He headed towards the Beaches. It was warm night and there were a lot of people and cars on Queen Street as he crawled along toward home.

A relative from Ireland? Could be. Clancy flaked out on the couch made sense too. And the relative could have been an email checker or writer or stockbroker. It all seemed to compute. And the fact that I shouldn’t be indulging in flights of fancy while a little tanked up on expensive champagne made the most sense of all.

Haven continued to crawl carefully along Queen Street through the warm summer late evening.

~ 11 ~

The next afternoon Kane was in the basement of the Palmerston Street house wearing a terrycloth bathrobe. He was using the pool table as a desk, and laying out file cards with individual names on them. Beside the file cards was a thick printout from Clancy’s files, which Kane was using as the basis of his research. Satisfied that he had all the names of the players in place, he retired to the sauna to do some thinking.

~ 12 ~

Haven met up with Clancy in the Hard Rock Cafe at Skydome, on the west side of the downtown core, right next to the CN Tower. It was early afternoon. They sat at the bar and drank beer while the Blue Jays took on the New York Yankees on the playing field below. The Rogers Centre and the Hard Rock were both packed, like they always are whenever the Yankees were in town.

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back.” Haven said.

“Yeah. Well, maybe I have, like that’s any of your business.”

“I came by your house last night. Looked like you’d been on quite a little blitzkrieg.” 

“That’s the truth. I was celebrating.”

“With a friend?”

“What makes you say that?” Clancy said, with more than his usual emphasis.

“Somebody I don’t know was jacked into your computer while you were out on the couch.”

Clancy took a long slug on his beer. “Aren’t you the nosy little stinker?”

“Not at all. I just stopped by to share some high-octane champagne with you and to chat about that lead you were gonna give me. Nosey had nothing to do with it this time.”

Clancy grunted a grudging agreement.

“So who was the guy?”

“Not your concern, Haven.” Clancy snapped.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive area.”

“Don’t confuse sensitivity with the individual’s right to privacy.”

“Sorry. I won’t mention it again.”

“It’s alright. It’s just that some things are best left alone, if you take my meaning.”

“Okay, Mr Grinch.” have said lightheartedly.

Clancy took another sip of his beer. “Listen...he’s just an old acquaintance. We had a few drinks last night for old time’s sake and I passed out. Yesterday’s news.”

“And he rifled your computer files. What the hell was he looking for, Jim?”

Clancy leaned in close to Haven. “Listen carefully, Emil, because I’m only gonna say this once. This old friend of mine is bad news. Right up there with World War Three bad news. You don’t want to know any more than that! Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand perfectly...Let’s have another beer and watch the game.”

“Now that’s the most sensible thing you’ve said since we got here.”

Haven waved the bartender over and ordered another couple of beers.

~ 13 ~

The Tucci house was in the mid-town part of the city known as Forest Hill. It was an older house that had been done up with all the typical ‘Italian’ touches, but tastefully executed. In the house, Rocco Tucci was sprawled out on the couch in the family room, watching the Blue Jays game on a huge TV. He was a chubby, darkish skinned little man, with busy, intelligent eyes. The phone rang. It rang several times. Rocco didn’t budge from the comfort of his sofa.

“Ang! Get the phone, baby!”

The phone stopped ringing. Rocco is right into the baseball game. A moment later Angela Tucci, a woman much too beautiful for a guy like Rocco, poked her head into the room. 

“It’s for you, couch potato.”

With that, she tossed the phone at him. He barely managed to catch it.

“Hello, Rocco Tucci. Yes. Oh yeah, Mr. Kelly.  Right…. Yeah.. yeah, umm...tonight is short notice...Yeah, sure I want to help…all right...tonight at ten...Yeah, I know the place.”

 Rocco clicked off and lifted himself up off the couch. He walked into the kitchen and put the phone back in its place. Angela was sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and a small stack of magazines. Rocco looked a little pale.

“Do we have anything on tonight?” Rocco asked.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I gotta meet somebody at ten. Might take a while. I’ll call Lena’s. We’ll go do an early dinner or something.” 

Angela finally looked up and saw that Rocco wasn’t really himself. 

“Hey Roc...You don’t look so good. You feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just been working my butt off on this deal. Feel a little dragged out is all.”

“Yeah, well maybe you oughta have a nap if you’re goin’ out late tonight.” I’ll pick something up for dinner.”Angela said. 

Rocco took a can of beer from the fridge and popped it open. 

“Yeah, I should do that.” Rocco sauntered out of the kitchen. Angela watched him leave, pondered it for a moment, and then put her head back down into her magazine again.

~ 14 ~

John Vallone was sitting with two other very well-dressed men at an outside table at a Yorkville restaurant. The two others were chitchatting in a catty sort of way, but Vallone sat removed from the conversation, deep in thought. 

Vallone was a handsome man in his early thirties. He had all the outward appearances of a mover and shaker. But his eyes were dark and moody. Suddenly, his phone started to beep.

“John Vallone...Yes...hello. I’ve been expecting your call for a few days now...Yes...tonight at ten will be fine….Yes.... um....yeah, I know where that is. Right. Look forward to seeing you.”

Vallone disconnected and slipped the phone back into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a $20 bill to cover his share of the late lunch and left the table.

~ 15 ~

That evening, Haven was driving along the Danforth. Beside him on the seat were a couple of DVDs, a bag of Chinese from a restaurant called the Garden Gate in the Beaches and a six-pack of Grolsch beer.

I was on my way over to Clancy’s with some reparations for my uncalled-for nosiness. I was also hopeful that, after several brews and the mellowness that generally ensues, Clancy would part company with a few choice story nuggets from which I would seek my non-fiction fortune. 

 

~ 16 ~

The Tradewinds motel was one of several that sat on Highway 2 at the far east end of the city, which was also known as Kingston Road. The only difference was that the Tradewinds, as a sign at the entrance indicated, was closed for renovations. John Vallone and Rocco Tucci arrived only a few seconds apart and pulled into the parking lot. Rocco got out of his El Dorado first. He eyed Vallone as he got out of his Porsche. The two men knew each other because they worked for the same family in New York.

“Johnny. Howya doin’?” Rocco said

“Good, Roc. How ‘bout you?”

“I was doin’ fine ’til I got a call from this Kelly puta.”

“Well, Rocco. We were planted to find out facts. Now it’s time to share the wealth.”

“I suppose. But I don’t have to like it, you know.”

The two men walked down the sidewalk that ran along the length of the main building, toward the back of the property. There they came to a series of cottages, set into the hillside. They continued into the dark, towards the farthest cottage. They stepped onto the porch of the cottage. Before they had gone two steps the door creaked open and Kane stuck his head out.

“Ahhh, gentlemen. Do come in.” Kane held the door open. Tucci and Vallone entered, eying him carefully as they did.

The cottage was spacious inside, with two sofas, a couple of occasional chairs, a dining room table and chairs and a coffee table. Kane has arranged the room so that the two couches faced each other. On the coffee table, in between the two couches sat a digital recorder and a microphone on a small stand. On the dining room table sat an electric coffeemaker and a box of Tim Horton’s donuts. Kane closed the door behind Tucci and Vallone. He walked over to the coffee machine.

“Can I offer you some coffee, gentlemen?”

The two men shrugged to each other slightly and, put at ease by Kane’s friendly tone, walked over and helped themselves.

 A few minutes later, Vallone was seated on one couch, Tucci on the other. Kane straddled one of the wooden chairs next to the table in the centre. 

“Now I want to keep this as simple as I can, so here’s the plan.” Kane said. “I switch on the machine and you both tell me everything you know about the Romanos and the Taglias. You do it a bit at a time, one at a time, starting with you, Mr. Vallone. Mr. Tucci, you will listen carefully to what Mr. Vallone says about the D’Angelos and then tell me the same things about the Taglias. Any questions?”

“Yeah. Why does Vallone go first? I got a wife to get home to.” Tucci said.

“Mr. Vallone is a lawyer. I assume he will lay out his narrative in a much more logical way, which you, Mr. Tucci, can replicate and shorten this entire process.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Look, Mr. Tucci, I’m not here to debate points of procedure. I’m here to get some research done. And this is how I’ve chosen to do it. Now I was told you would be cooperative. I suggest you start acting that way.”

“Take it easy, Rocco.” Vallone said. “The man’s got a point.” 

Tucci just grunted and said nothing else.

“All right. Now, Mr. Vallone, I’d like to get a feeling for the hierarchy of the Romano family.”

~ 17 ~

At Clancy’s house, Clancy and Haven were sitting in the back porch, several bottles of beer lay scattered about the room. Haven was reclining on the couch. Clancy was sitting at his desk, scrolling through his computer files.

“I got to tell you, Haven, I’m havin’ trouble hookin’ you up with someone who won’t have yer balls for breakfast.” 

“You really must think I’m some sort of wuss.”

“Nothing wrong with being genteel, my friend. Only wish the world contained more genteel types. Be a hell of a lot better place.”

“What about your friend? The Irishman. What’s his story?” Haven asked.

Clancy swivelled in his chair and leaned forward into Haven.

“Out of your league, Haven.” 

“Here’s a big idea. Why don’t you tell me who he is and let me decide if it’s out of my league, as you say.”

Clancy took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I can see I’ll get no rest until I tell you who he is.”

“No. No. I don’t want to make you feel that you’ve thrown me into the deep end. You don’t have to, tell me anything, Jim.”

“No. I want you to know once and for all, and that’ll be the end of it.” Clancy got up and walked to the fridge, where he grabbed himself another beer.

“His name is Richard Kane. He’s a retired IRA Colonel. Provisionals. The kind of people who give the devil himself a real run for his money. He’s not to be messed with as he’d just as soon kill you as look at you.”

Clancy walked over to the back door. He stared out into the darkness. “I met him almost thirty years ago now. He played me like a Jew’s harp. Fed me stories. Got me believin’ his propaganda. I was a kid. Out to kick the world’s ass. Win my Pulitzer writing about the dreaded Provisionals from the inside…Inside the belly of the beast. 

“We lived on the edge back then. But everything gets old, and the edge gets dull. And eventually, all you want is out. Well, here I am, on the outside, and there he is, buyin’ me a beer in the Pilot like it was nineteen eighty-six again. My penance for a sinful youth.”

Clancy came back to his chair and sat down. “That’s the long and short of it. I’ve no idea why he’s here, or what the hell he’s up to but you can just bet it’s something evil.”

Haven leaned back on the sofa.

“The man is a stone killer, Haven. Period.” Clancy said, and took another slug of beer.

I knew it. I knew there was something to all this. My pulse was racing and, in spite of the booze jamming up my system, my body was pumping adrenalin at the same rate it usually does when a big idea was forming in my head. This was the story I’d been looking for. And it was right under my nose all along.

~ 18 ~

At the Tradewinds Motel, several hours have passed. It was nearly two am. Tucci and Vallone were exhausted. Kane, on the other hand, seemed to just be doing fine. Both men had removed their jackets and their guns sat them beside themselves on the couches. Kane flipped off the tape recorder and got up out of his chair. 

“Well, gentlemen, that was what I would call a four-star debriefing. Thank you. “

Kane then walked around the couch behind Tucci. He slapped Tucci on the shoulder, and in the same motion, reached down and grabbed his Beretta In the next instant, he put three shots into Vallone’s chest. Then, holding the gun on the stunned Tucci, he quickly moved around the couch and took Vallone’s Smith and Wesson 38 and pointed it at Tucci.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Tucci screamed.

“Let’s just say it will make a most intriguing start to this war. Key personnel from each family found dead, apparently killed by each other.”

“You have no fucking clue what you’ve just done, asshole. You’ll never get…"

Kane fired a single shot into Tucci’s skull. He died instantly. Kane wiped down both guns, then carefully placed Vallone’s pistol in his hand, then flipped it to the floor. He repeated the process on Tucci with his gun. Kane then carefully wiped the rest of the place down. He gathered up his recorder, the donuts and the coffee machine and slipped out of the cottage just as the first light was breaking.

~ 19 ~

Haven woke up the next morning with a serious hangover. He stumbled into the bathroom and cranked up the shower. He climbed in and let the steaming hot water slowly penetrate his body, easing his pain and stiffness. He quickly dried himself and threw on some shorts, a T-shirt and his runners and headed out to run the boardwalk all the way out to the end of the spit and back.

Evenings spent with Clancy were often paid for the following morning. There was a freight train driving through my head and my body felt as if it had been involuntarily subjected to years of simultaneous sadistic workouts. 

Half an hour later he was in the shower again, then, wrapped in a terrycloth robe, he walked into his kitchen and switched on his coffee machine. He then padded to his porch and looked over into the driveway.

At least I had the sense to leave the car at Clancy’s house. And that was good. I needed an excuse for another visit because, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember if he’d given me a story or not. I did recall something about a Colonel Kane. But the rest was as hazy as my eyesight this morning.

Haven went back inside. He flopped down on the couch and flipped on his TV. The Cable News display was on. The time read 12.02. The headlines were being displayed. There was one about the war in Ukraine, and another about US politics, something he was sick to death hearing about, and yet another about some natural gas deal with Europe. Then the ‘Breaking News’ headline graphic appeared with dramatic music to accompany it. 

MEN FOUND IN BIZARRE 

DOUBLE MURDER.
     ORGANIZED CRIME LINKS SUSPECTED.

Haven leaned forward in his seat. He flipped the channels and caught the story on the noon CTV news. An announcer was standing in front of the cottage at the Tradewinds Motel. Behind him was a flurry of police activity.

“At 7:00 this morning, members of the renovation crew at this east-end motel made a grizzly discovery. The bodies of two men were found, dead from gunshot wounds, each apparently inflicted by the other. Informed sources tell us that the men were both highly placed in the Romano and Taglia crime families. Their names are being withheld pending notification of kin.”

The camera pulled back to reveal an Italian man wearing a suit of shiny grey-green material. He had slicked-back hair and dark eyes. He was Inspector Gino Botticelli.

“I have with me Inspector First Class Gino Botticelli, Metro Homicide. Inspector, what can you tell us about this case?” 

“Well, one man was shot three times in the chest. The other received a single shot to the skull. Both men appear to have been seated facing each other at the time of the shooting.”

“You’re painting a very bizarre picture here, Inspector.”

“It’s a very bizarre double murder, Bob.”

“Anything else you’d like to add?”

At this point, another cop came up to Gino and handed him a slip of paper. “Yes. The names of the victims are Rocco Tucci, who was in the employ of the Taglia family, and the son-in-law of Aldo Pesco, the Taglia’s consigliere. The second man was John Vallone, originally from New York, a business consultant retained exclusively by the Romano family.”

“Is this killing what it appears to be on the surface?”

“A smart investigator will tell he’s waiting for forensics and the autopsy to determine if it was physically possible for this event to have taken place the way it appears to have.” 

“Thank you, Inspector.”

Haven stared intensely into the TV screen while the announcer wrapped up the segment. In his mind, Haven was re-playing part of his conversation of the night before with Clancy.

‘That’s the long and short of it. I’ve no idea why he’s here or what the hell he’s up to. But you can just bet it’s something evil.’

Haven got to his feet and dashed off into the bedroom. Twenty minutes later an Uber was rolling along Clancy’s street. Haven was sitting in the backseat, scribbling in a small notebook.

“Let’s face it, not every mind in the universe would automatically link the recent arrival of a retired IRA Colonel to the deaths of two local mafia types. But then, not everybody saw this Colonel rooting around in the files of one of the country’s leading organized crime experts.”

The Uber dropped Haven off in front of Clancy’s house. He entered through the back door. He climbed quietly to the second floor and found Clancy in his bedroom, still dead to the world. 

I had a very strong feeling about the link between Kane and the two dead mafiosos. If this was going to be my next book, I knew I had to start researching it immediately. And what better place to start than at the top?

Haven quietly moved downstairs into the back porch again. He sat down at Clancy’s desk. He woke up his computer and found the files he was looking for. One named ‘Taglia’, then ‘Romano’ and a third named ‘Kane’ He inserted a memory key into one of the USB slots and copied the three files. He then closed everything up taking care to leave it exactly the way he found it. After that, he left by the back door, retrieved his car and the parking ticket from down the street and headed back home to read his newly acquired info.

~ 20 ~

On Long Island, later that day, Duke Chiba, was watching the news stories regarding the murders of Tucci and Vallone on his computer. He was in the company of a man named Waldo Prescott, his consigliere. Prescott was a smarmy-looking establishment goon, with two chins and a pin-striped suit. The Duke shut off the TV and turned to Prescott.

“This is not the way I hoped this takeover would go, Waldo.”

“Nobody’s made the connection. Yet.” Prescott said.

“That’s just a matter of time.”

“If you want to make an omelette, you’ve gotta break some eggs, Vincent.”

The Duke sat silently in contemplation for a moment.

“You don’t understand, Waldo. John Vallone was like a son to me. I raised him from the time he was eight years old. I put him through Harvard Law. He was going to run the whole Canadian operation. He was going to be my…” The Duke’s voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Vincent. I merely assumed that both Tucci and Vallone were expendable.”

“Tucci maybe. He was just a weasel. But Johnny was one of a kind. And now, I have to jeopardize this entire operation to avenge his death.”

The conversation was obviously over. Prescott got up to leave. Duke picked up the phone. But before he spoke into it. He turned to Prescott.

“I want Johnny’s body brought here for burial. Make it happen.”

“Do you really want to risk that?”

“Ask me another question like that, and you will be floating in the Hudson, Waldo.”

Prescott nodded and left the room. The Duke picked up his phone and spoke into it. “Go find Bruno and bring him to me.”

~ 21 ~

At the Toronto Sun newspaper, Clancy was in the office of the news editor, Peter Masterson. An editorial meeting was just breaking up. Masterson walked Clancy to the elevator.

“So you’re really convinced someone's trying to start a Mafia gang war?”

“All the signs point to it, Pete. The Romanos going legit has left a big void. But with these killings, the Taglias won’t be gettin’ their mitts on the pie without a fight. The perfect scenario for a third party to sweep in and take it all.”

“So would you care to speculate on who the third party might be?”

“You know I never speculate on things like that. Give me twenty-four hours, though, and I’ll find out.”

“You got it, but no more. Mafia stories cool off faster than scrambled eggs. And we can use a good shot of crime news to offset all the political bullshit.”

The elevator arrived. The two men shook hands and Clancy got in. In the basement parking garage, Clancy strutted to his car, whistling an Irish tune. He opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. Kane was sitting in the passenger seat, the Desert Eagle in his hand, cocked and ready. 

“Close the door, Shamus.”

Clancy took a good long look at the pistol and then complied with Kane’s command. Clancy lit a cigarette. He was very nervous. A thousand nightmare memories had come back to haunt him.

“Guess you know why I’m here now.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Then perhaps you should know the whole story.”

“What? That you were hired by some American crime family to start a war between the Taglias and Romanos. Then after they were sufficiently, weakened, your client would simply slip in and take over the store. Mafia Politics 101, Richard.”

“I’m impressed Shamus.”

“And I’m astonished that someone like you would be stupid enough to kill John Vallone.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” 

“You really stepped in a pile of shit with that move, Richard. John Vallone was orphaned when he was about eight years old. Guess who took him in and raised him like a son, sent him to Harvard and then up here. He’s the fucking heir apparent and you put three holes in his chest.”

Kane was astonished at the revelation. “Start your car, and let’s get out of here.”

“The best laid plans of mice and men, Richard. If you’re gonna steal my research, the least you could do it read it”

“Shut your gob, Clancy, and let me think.” And for the first time in Clancy’s association with Kane, the man looked both puzzled and maybe a bit frightened.

~ 22 ~

At the Pilot, Haven sat at the bar with Inspector Gino Botticelli. They were sharing a large plate of buffalo chips and drinking cokes. Gino because he was on duty, Haven because the idea of another beer made him feel nauseous. 

“Saw you on TV this morning. You really ought to do something about your wardrobe.” Haven said

“Hey. It’s my signature look, alright?”

“I believe you where thousands wouldn’t Gino...So how’s the investigation going?” 

“You know I can’t talk about it, Haven. Besides waddaya you give a shit a couple of wiseguys do each other in?”

Haven shrugged “I don’t know. Looks like a good story to me.”

“Well, it is interesting.”

“But is it a double murder?” Haven asked.

“Haven! I told you I can’t talk about the case.”

“I’ll take that to be a no.”

“Jesus Christ. There you go again.”

“Shucks, Inspector, I was just askin’ a few harmless questions.”

“Harmless my ass. You know how many different theories there are floatin’ around about this killing?”

“Dozens at least.”

“Right. Everybody’s a goddamn detective.”

“Have you talked to Jim Clancy?”

“I tried. He hasn’t answered all day. No doubt he’s out being a goddamn detective too. 

“Come on Gino, you gotta believe something’s not right here.”

Gino heaved a heavy sigh and cast a sideways look at Haven. “In a nutshell, the probability that two men, two suits like those mafia pencil pushers, could have got off shots that accurate in a shootout is right up there with you and me winning the lottery. Are you happy now?”

Without so much as a goodbye, Haven slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter, slipped off his stool and headed out the door. 

Gino picked up another Buffalo chip and chomped on it.

~ 23 ~

In the Beaches, Clancy’s car was parked in the west lot just below Lakeshore Road, several spaces from any other vehicles. 

Kane was playing the digital recording he’d made at his meeting with the Duke. The recording ended and Kane slipped the recorder back into his pocket.

“You know I couldn’t give a shit about this buncha guineas, Shamus. Their little holy wars. Their little drug and gambling fiefdoms. It’s all quite a bore. Frankly, I don’t know what sustains your interest in it.”

“What do you want from me, Richard?”

“I figure this recording is worth somewhere in the neighbourhood of five million American, ’Cause now that there’s a couple of corpses. It can all add up easily to an indictment for the geezer from Long Island.”

“Where do you get the arrogance to believe that they’ll actually give you the money?”

“Oh...they won’t give me the money, Shamus. They’ll give it to you. And you’ll bring it to me. And I’ll be on my merry way.”

Clancy put it all together in a single terrifying instant. “You have to be dreaming, Richard. After you killed someone who Duke Chiba considered a son?” Clancy rubbed his face. “I had a sneaking suspicion about your sanity back in the day. But now, man, I’m dead certain you are just shot from guns.”

“Be that as it may, it’s the name of the game, Shamus. And think of the story you’ll get out of it. You could retire on the book you’ll write about this.”

Clancy realized that there was no point in arguing with Kane. Wasn’t back then, sure as hell wasn't now.

~ 24 ~

Bruno Chiba, a powerfully built and very moody-looking Italian man in his mid-thirties, sat on his bed. Behind him, still groggy with sleep, was a young man with a preppy-looking mop of hair. Bruno was staring into an iPad at the news clip on the double murder in Toronto. In the doorway one of the Duke’s men stood. Anger swelled inside Bruno. Almost involuntarily he was lifted off the bed, and hurled the iPad into the large mirror on the closet door with a loud and piercing primal scream. The young man in the bed woke up. He saw the broken mirror and Bruno trembling with rage. He quietly slipped out of the bed, gathered up his clothes and got the hell out of there. 

“Who’s responsible for this?” Bruno asked, working hard to remain calm.

“Duke says it’s some Mick named Kane”, the man said. “But he’s operating under the name Richard Kelly. Duke hired him to start a little family feud up in Canada.”

“Give me everything you’ve got on this Kelly creature.”

“Sure thing, Bruno. And listen, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Bruno sat back down on the bed. “I suppose the old man wants to talk to me.” 

“No hurry, Bruno.” 

The man left the bedroom as Bruno sat back down, put his head in his hands and began to weep.

~ 25 ~

Haven sat at his desk reading through the files he appropriated from Jim Clancy. He got up from the computer and rubbed his eyes. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He grabbed a couple of cold chicken wings from the fridge and sat back down at the desk.

From my reading, I quickly concluded that Colonel Kane was indeed a nasty piece of work. And after about 17 years in the IRA fighting a holy war, he went into the business of starting them for other people. The Taglias and Romanos were another story. The Romanos were selling all their illegal interests to the Taglias and that made them both particularly vulnerable to attacks from without and within. And the Taglias were no prize either. Violent, old-school mafiosos. My theory was that Kane killed Tucci and Vallone. But how did he manage to get them together in the same place in the middle of the night? I was convinced that he couldn’t have done it unless they were all working together somehow. So the next step would be to find out more about Tucci and Vallone.

Haven looked at his watch. It was about nine at night.

~ 26 ~

At Clancy’s house, as the sun was just going down, Clancy was sitting at his desk. Kane was sitting beside him and punching Clancy’s landline. When he finished, he handed the phone to Clancy.

“Now be cool, Shamus.”

Clancy glared back at Kane. But there was a real weariness in his eyes. “Yes...Vincent Chiba please...How I got this number is none of your business… My name is James Clancy, I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Kelly.” About fifteen seconds later, another voice speaks to Clancy.

“This is Vincent. Who is this?”

“Hello, Mr. Chiba, My name is Jim Clancy…Yes…I understand that two of your people are dead. But that’s not the point of this call. So please just listen quietly sir, for I won’t be repeating myself. Mr. Kelly has a recording of a conversation which took place between the two of you on the twelfth of this month. Yes... He prefers to call it insurance…Five million in unmarked bills in exchange for the master and Mr. Kelly’s agreement to forget the conversation ever took place. I will handle the exchange myself. We’ll be in touch.”

Clancy hung up the phone. He had broken out in a cold sweat. Kane slapped him on the back. “I always knew there was more than just a little larceny in your soul, Shamus.”

Just then there was a knock on the back door. It was Haven. Clancy’s eyes went wide with fear. Kane got to his feet and opened it.

“Good evening. You must be Emil Haven. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And you are?” Haven said.

“Richard Kelly. An old friend of Clancy’s.” Kane said.

“I hope I’m not disturbing anything.” Haven said.

“No. Not at all. Mr. Clancy and I are just doing a little business deal. In fact, we were about to have a drink to celebrate it. Isn’t that right Shamus?”

“Right.” 

Clancy got up and wandered into the kitchen. 

“Look, I’ve come at a bad time,” Haven said. “Jim, I’ll talk to you later.”

Kane wrapped an arm around Haven’s shoulder. “No, I insist you stay for one drink at least.” 

Clancy glared at Kane who released his arm from Haven’s shoulder.

“Let him go, Richard. Emil, give me a call tomorrow. We’ll talk then." 

“Right then...Well, goodnight.” Haven said.

Neither Kane nor Clancy replied. Haven slipped out the back door. He made his way quickly to his car.

Talk about your bad timing. That one could have gotten me into the Guinness Book of Records. Or an early grave. 

~ 27 ~

Duke Chiba sat at his table in the solarium. Bruno paced the floor restlessly. “The Mick is trying to shake me down. So you don’t just need to eliminate him. You need to find a recording he has as well. And you need to eliminate anyone else who’s involved. Including this Clancy.”

“I understand.” 

“Albert will meet you at the airport. He’ll take you to the Palmerston Street house, although I doubt he’ll be there waiting for you. Albert will also tell you how to find this Jim Clancy.” 

“Anything else?” Bruno said flatly.

The Duke shook his head. Bruno started to leave the room. The Duke rose up out of his chair. 

“Bruno...I know we haven’t had much of a father-son thing. I just want to say, I appreciate your doing this for me.”

“You’re an arrogant old bastard to assume I’m doing this for you.” Bruno said, then turned to leave the room. The Duke settled back into his chair, profoundly saddened.

~ 28 ~

Haven dragged himself out of bed just after 11:00 the next morning. He wandered around the house for a moment and saw that his answering machine was blinking. He pressed ‘play’. “Haven, it’s Jim Clancy. I want you to meet me at the Pilot this evening around seven. It’s important”.

The machine flipped off. Just then Haven’s landline rang.

“Hello? Oh hi, Gino. How’s it going? Yeah...four o’clock. Sure … St. Mary’s. Right. I’ll meet you there.”

Haven hung up the phone and then headed to the shower.

~ 29 ~

St Mary’s was a large church on Bayview Avenue. Haven parked in the church lot then walked into the churchyard and around the back to the cemetery where he found Gino, who was leaning on his car. Down the hill, a funeral procession was moving slowly along the road. Finally, the procession stopped and a casket was taken out of the lead limo. Gino and Haven walked partway down the hill.

“All the players are here to honour the fallen Rocco Tucci.”

“What about Vallone?”

“He’s a Big Apple boy. Body was shipped home this morning. Tucci was from New York originally too, but no next of kin was found.”

Gino and Haven hung back from the crowd surrounding the gravesite.

Gino pointed out the players to him. Gino also pointed to a beautiful brunette woman. “The grieving widow, Angela Tucci, used to be Pesco. Next to her is pappa, Aldo, the consigliere of the Taglia family. Then there’s Patty Taglia, the short fat, stupid-looking one next to Aldo. Then on the other side, you got your Sal Romano, and his pappa, Luigi.” 

“What about the rest?”

“Bodyguards, soldiers, go-fers and various other forms of lowlife guinea. For such a big circus, there are very few real performers.”

The casket was lowered into the ground and the crowd began to move slowly away. The Romano contingent quickly vanished into limos and took off.

Gino and Haven walked down among the Taglias. They stopped in front of Patty Taglia and his party. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Corporal Botticelli.” Patty said

“That’s Inspector to you, Patty.”

“Whatever. It still smells no matter what you call it.” Patty walked away. Gino turned to Angela. 

“I’m sorry about Rocco, Angie. We’re doin’ all we can to find out who killed him. We’re pretty sure it wasn’t Vallone.”

“Thanks, Gino.” 

Haven, who was quite taken with Angela, nudged Gino. “Oh, yeah, this is a friend of mine. Emil Haven. Emil, Angela Tucci.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Angela said as he took his hand. 

“The pleasure is all mine…Mrs..."

“Angela.”

“Angela. I’d also like to offer my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you.” 

“Are you all right, Ang? You know if you need anything.” Gino said.

Aldo, who had been standing by in the background, moved forward. “We don’t need anything from you, Botticelli, but some good police work.”

“Keep your shirt on Aldo. We’re doing the best we can.”

“Angela turned to her father and clutched his arm.” 

“Daddy, I want to talk to Gino for a minute.”

Aldo glared at Gino, then moved off down the hill toward the limos. She took Gino’s arm and walked him the other way, Haven moved with them, but he was very much a third wheel here.

“Gino, you gotta understand that these killings have really shaken everybody up. Patty’s worried that there’s a new player in the game and nobody knows who it is. Sal Romano is afraid for his respectability. I’m upset because I lost my husband. You shouldn’t come around here, bein’ a cop.” 

“I am a cop Angie. You know how I work. And you know I get the job done.” 

“Yeah, but Gino, you’re famous for your bad timing. That’s how you missed marrying me five years ago.”

“Look, Angie, I’m only doin’ my job, alright. This just happens to be the lousy part of it.”

Angela let go of Gino’s arm and turned to Haven “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Haven. I’ve read all your Rossetti books. I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you. Sorry we couldn’t have met under happier circumstances.” 

“I’d love to talk to you about your work. Maybe once this all cools down.” Angela said.

“Whenever you like.” Haven said.

Gino and Angela turned and walked away. Haven, on Gino’s silent request stayed put. A moment later Gino came back and they started walking up the hill.

“I think she likes you, Haven.”

“Yeah, that’s all I need, a love affair with a Mafia widow.”

“You could do a lot worse.”

Gino and Haven walked up the hill to their cars. “Why didn’t you talk to her about how Rocco actually got to that motel?”

“I will. She needs some time to breathe. I’ll give her a day.”

~ 30 ~

At the Palmerston house, Bruno climbed out of Albert’s car, a short way down the street. Albert took off. Bruno walked around to the back of the house, looking in whatever windows he could see in. When he got to the rear of the house, he looked into the garage and saw the black T-Bird parked there. He pulled a key out of his pocket and entered the house. 

Bruno walked through the house and quickly descended the stairs. He popped the hidden drawer under the pool table and examined the contents. He pulled out a Browning Hi-Power Semi-Automatic and jacked a clip of mercury-tipped 45-calibre loads into it. He took a second clip and put the gun and clip into his shoulder bag. He also took out a ten-inch blade in a leather sheath. He closed the drawer and left the basement.

~ 31 ~

At the Pilot, Haven sat at the bar nursing a pint of dark beer. He looked at his watch. It read 7:45. He paid his tab and left. 

He drove across town to Clancy’s house. He cruised by it slowly one time. The house was dark. Haven parked down the street, then he walked back and moved slowly up the driveway, and into the backyard. The back porch was dark. Haven tried the door. It was unlocked. Cautiously with his heart beating in his throat, he entered the house.

Haven moved quietly through the house. He checked every single room. The place was empty. He returned to the back porch and sat down at Clancy’s desk and switched on the lamp. He rummaged through the debris cluttering the top of the desk but found nothing helpful. He looked over at the phone. The answering machine was blinking. He pressed “Play”. He heard a woman’s voice. The voice was barely above a whisper and it spoke in a highly guarded tone.

Mr. Clancy, this is Tulip. I’m ready to tell you everything I know. Meet me on the Island Ferry, tomorrow, the one that departs at 2:45. If it’s cool, I’ll be carrying a red tulip. If I don’t have the tulip it means I’m being followed.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. There were no other messages on the phone. Almost as an afterthought, Haven pressed the “Memo” button. He heard voices. They sounded a bit remote, but distinguishable all the same. One voice Haven recognized was Clancy’s. The other he was unfamiliar with.

“I’m trying to locate Richard Kelly, Mr. Clancy. I have reason to believe that you know where he is.”

Then he heard Clancy’s voice. He sounded a bit frightened, but putting up a brave front.  

“I’ve seen him. Twice in the past week. But I have no idea where he’s holed up. Believe me, lad, I’d tell you if I knew. He doesn’t mean a goddamn thing to me.

“I’d like to believe you, Mr. Clancy, but since I don’t know either of you, I’m a little skeptical."

“You’ve got a point there. But that doesn’t alter the fact that I don’t know where he is. Do you honestly think he’d tell anyone?”

“I think you’d better come with me, Mr. Clancy. We’ll go to a place I know where we can get to the bottom of this without the possibility of being…”

Haven had heard enough. He was starting to tremble as he picked up his phone and called Gino. “Hi, it’s Haven. Listen I’m over at Clancy’s. I think he’s been taken. And it might have something to do with the Tucci and Vallone deaths..
Yeah. I’ll wait here...No I won’t touch anything.”

Haven hung up the phone. He leaned his elbow on the desk. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly in a heavy, trembling sigh. Then suddenly he sat up. He turned to the tape machine and listened to the message from Tulip. He pulled a small notepad from his pocket and wrote down the time and place, then erased the message.

In a matter of minutes, Gino’s unmarked car and two cruisers appeared on the street in front of Clancy’s house. Kane, in a rented Dodge, drove by, slowing down to check on the action, then moved on past. At the top of the street, he turned and parked his car. He crossed over and walked down the other side of the street. As Kane walked slowly by, Gino and Haven walked down the driveway together, then down the street to Haven’s car. 

“Look, we’ll find him.” Gino said. “This guy on the tape, sounded like he wanted this Kelly more than he wanted to hurt Clancy.” 

“I don’t know, Gino. He sounded like a proper psychotic to me.”

“Look, just leave the cop stuff to the cops. It’s why we make the big bucks. Go home and get some shuteye. You look like hell, you know.” 

“I’m just worried. There’s something seriously wrong going on here.” 

“Maybe. You don’t know that for sure.”

“You don’t know it’s not true either.”

“Fair enough. But there’s only one way to find out. And that’s to find Clancy, or this Kelly or Kane, as soon as we can. Now get outta here or I’ll throw you in jail for obstructing an investigation.”

They arrived at Haven’s car. Haven unlocked it and slipped in. Kane casually moved back to his car and started it up. He followed Haven discreetly  down the road.

Fifteen minutes later, Haven pulled into his driveway. Kane turned off his lights and turned the corner of Haven’s street. He glided into a parking place and watched Haven exit the car and enter his house. He saw a light go on the second floor. Kane then pulled out of his parking spot and left.

~ 32 ~

Next day, there was a fairly long lineup of tourists and locals alike waiting to board the island ferry. But the line moved along at a brisk pace. Haven, moved with the crowd, but kept a watchful eye on both ends of the line, looking for Clancy or a lady with a tulip.

Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be feeling like a real adventurer. But this was uncharted territory for me, and I don’t mind telling you I was damn good and scared. I hoped that the person called Tulip could somehow lead me to Clancy, and life would then miraculously return to normal. Then I would write another potboiler and never trouble anyone with my pie-in-the-sky fantasies again.

Haven entered the gaping ass end of the ferry boat. He cruised around the boat casually looking, working hard at blending into the environment. He climbed the stairs to the upper deck and spotted the lady. She was leaning against the front railing and holding a tulip, just as she said she would be. Haven moved closer and then, to his astonishment, he realized that she was Angela Tucci.

Haven stopped and considered his next move. He watched Angela, certain that she hadn’t seen him. He circled the deck and came up on her blind side. 

“Hello.” Haven said, because he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything more witty or clever.

Angela turned around, a bit startled. “Well, Mr. Haven. This is a surprise.”

“Yeah...you uh...took the words right out of my mouth.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk. Come with me. Please.”

Haven took Angela’s arm and led her further down the deck, away from the crowd. Angela offered no resistance.

“Look, I know about the tulip. That you were expecting to meet Jim Clancy here. But the fact is Clancy’s disappeared.”

“Did you tell anybody about my meeting with Clancy?”

“No. I do respect your privacy. I actually only came to see if Clancy would show. And I guessed from the tone in your voice...on your message to Clancy...you sounded like you needed somebody to talk to.”

Angela laughed. Then she turned to look out over the lake. “You got a degree in armchair psychology to go with your armchair detective’s licence?”

Haven shook his head. “Armchair jokes aside, I’ve managed to piece together a hell of a lot more than either the police, the Taglias or the Romanos about these killings. But I guess we’ll just write that off to beginner's luck.” he said with just a touch of sarcasm.

Angela moved in closer to Haven. “You know who killed my husband?”

“I think so.”

“You think you’d like to share that thought with me?”

“I don’t know. You don’t really take me seriously, do you?”

“Suppose I apologize for the crack. Suppose I tell you that I do respect your deductive powers, having read all of your books.”

“Well, that’s definitely working in your favour.”

Angela nodded. At this point, the ferry docked on the island and people were streaming off.

“So. Can I buy you a drink and tell you the story?”

Angela took Haven’s arm and they strolled off the boat together.

The tulip dangled from Angela’s free hand. She dropped it over the rail and into the lake.

At the concession stand, Haven bought two cans of Diet Coke and shoved them into his shoulder bag.

Haven and Angela caught a trolley, which took them around to the far side of the island. They walked through a wide path in the trees and emerged on a sandy beach, facing away from the city. They walked down the beach to the secluded far east end and sat down on an old log. Haven pulled the beers out of his bag and cracked them. He handed one to Angela.

“Here’s to the strange way people sometimes meet.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Angela said.

They both sipped their beers and sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the warm sunshine. 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve been here in like fifteen years.” Angela said.

“Really?” Haven replied. “When I was younger, before novels, I worked in a big ad agency for a few years. The agency used to have parties, where they’d rent a big boat, cruise all around the islands, then dock on the north side of the island. All the dopers would make a beeline for this end of the beach to get high. A lot of people got laid here as well.”

“The odd writer too, I imagine.” Angela said.

“Yeah. That was when safe sex only meant not getting caught.” Haven said. 

Angela chuckled. “So you were gonna tell me a story.”

“Yeah. I was.”

“Did it have anything to do with my husband and probably John Vallone, being a plant from the Chiba family in New York?”

“Actually, no. But it certainly fills in a piece of the puzzle I didn’t have. But, if you knew that, why didn’t anybody, like Mr. Taglia for example, do something about it?” 

“Mr. Taglia doesn’t know his ass from his elbow. I, for one, was hoping that Rocco would hang him out to dry. He’s an evil little bastard whose only talent is giving people grief. I hated Rocco for being a slimy mole, but I hated Patty Taglia even more. So I didn’t rat Rocco out…well until now.”

“Well, let’s face it, it can’t hurt him now, Angela.”

“So what’s your theory, Mr. Mystery Writer?”

“Well, a man named Kane, Colonel Richard Kane came to town a while ago…”

I’ve always believed that it’s important to have someone to bounce your theories off. All the better if they’re gorgeous, intelligent and big fans too. This Angela was a very attractive woman. Good God! A Haven and a mafia widow. What would dad think?

~ 33 ~

The basement of the old hardware store on Gerrard Street was cluttered with unpacked boxes. Back in the far corner of the room was a small clearing. There, battered and bleeding, Jim Clancy sat tied to a chair. A single light bulb hung just above his head. Across from him sat Bruno Chiba, straddling a second chair. Clancy was half dead from the torture Bruno had put him through. Bruno was eating from a bag of popcorn. Every now and then, he flicked a kernel at Clancy’s head. 

“I don’t believe you crazy Micks. You think you’re scoring extra points with Jesus by takin’ all this punishment?”

“Do I look like some kind of martyr, man? I hate Kane as much as you do. If I knew where he was I’da driven you there myself.”

“You sound sincere as the pope, man. But something deep inside me tells me that you’re lyin’. Maybe I’m just a dumb guinea, but you’re on the wrong end of a serious shakedown. And that, coupled with the fact that I’ve never yet met a Mick who wasn’t up for scamming hard-working Italians, just naturally makes me a skeptic.”

“A goddam bigot, you mean.”

Bruno picked up a short length of garden hose and casually slashed Clancy across the face with it. Clancy yelped, but it was obvious he was nearly out of gas. Bruno got to his feet. He paced restlessly in the confined space, periodically whacking Clancy with the hose. As Clancy began to fade, Bruno grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up. Bruno leaned in close to Clancy.

“You don’t understand. This Kane, this Mick bastard, killed someone very close to me. And now he has to repent for his sin.”

Clancy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped into unconsciousness. Bruno let him go. He pulled out his Browning Hi Power. He rested it at the base of Clancy’s neck, then fired two shots into Clancy. The shots brought Albert down from the first floor. He looked over the scene.”

“Did he talk?”

Bruno shook his head. 

“He was a good writer. I used to read his column all the time.”

“I’m going back to his house. Maybe that other Mick’ll show up there. You get rid of the body.”

“No problem. Send Frankie down on your way out.”

Bruno nodded and trudged up the steps, as Albert tended to the body.

~ 34 ~

Haven and Angela entered Haven’s flat carrying a bag of Chinese food from a restaurant called the Garden Gate, or as the locals called it, the Goof, due to some unlit letters in the ‘Good Food’ neon sign over the door. Haven tossed the beer in the fridge, taking out one for himself and one for Angela. Angela wandered around the place taking it all in.

“Tell me, is there anyone who will be worrying about you? I mean you’ve been gone all day.” Haven asked.

“They’re all too preoccupied with their own crap to care about mine.”

Haven walked over to the stereo and put on some music. Angela walked into his office and sat down at the desk. 

“So this is where it all happens.”

Haven leaned on the door frame and took deep slug of his beer.“Actually it happens all over the place. This is where it gets typed out. 

Angela wandered to the back of the flat. Haven followed her at a leisurely pace. Angela pushed the bedroom door open and looked inside. She walked around the bedroom, then walked over to Haven, threw her arms around him and kissed him, softly at first, then with slowly increasing passion. 

Half an hour later, Haven and Angela were sitting on the sofa in the living room, devouring the Chinese food.

“You know, Rocco hardly ever made love to me. Guess he was really hung up about what he was doing.”Angela said.

“His loss.”

“That’s sweet. You’re sweet.”

“And you’re incredible.”

“Well, thank you, Emil.”

“Haven will do. That’s what my friends call me.”

Haven leaned over and kissed Angela on the cheek. She kissed him back. The passion ignited again. But Angela cut it off.

“Listen. Do you think we could eat a little more of this food before we....you know? I mean, I’m famished.”

“Well…all right.” 

They continued eating and Angela told Haven all about what it was like being a mafia wife. Haven was fascinated and realized that she could be a whole book of her own. 

As they were finishing up, Haven’s cell phone beeped. Haven let it go to message, but listened to it. It was Gino’s voice.

Haven, if you’re there, please pick up. It’s about Clancy.  

Haven activated the phone.

“I’m here Gino. Did you find him?...No...Oh, Shit, shit, shit!…Yeah, I can do that. Right...Yeah...Yeah...I’m alright.

Haven disconnected. He had gone completely white. He got up and started pacing.

“What happened?”

“It’s Jim Clancy...They found him...at Cherry Beach about an hour ago. He was dead.”

Angela got to her feet. They held each other for a long time.

Half an hour later, Haven’s car was parked across the street from the parking lot at the bottom of Yonge Street where Angela had left her car. Haven looked blank. Angela stared at him but she wasn't sure what to say. She took out her phone then said. “Open your cell phone and tell me your number.” she said. Haven did. She punched in his number. Haven’s phone rang once. “You’ve got my number now. Call me anytime.”

“I will, Angela. And I promise you, I’ll nail this Kelly or Kane asshole. I don’t know how, but I will.”

Angela leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I know you will. But be careful. I’m not through with you yet.”

Haven found himself chuckling in spite of the cloud hovering over his head. “Yeah...I’m not through with you yet either.”

They embraced. It was long and tender and sweet. Finally, Angela pulled away and slipped silently out of the car.

Haven drove the car uptown to the morgue.

You can sit around and write about killing and that’s all right because the characters are imaginary. They never really lived, so they don’t really die. But this was my friend. This was a real live human. Gone forever. And for what reason? Maybe there’s no answer to that. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the whole thing. Somebody dies for no reason. Then somebody else, and somebody else. Pretty soon....who can say? Guess staying alive is quickly becoming something of an art form these days.

~ 35 ~

 Haven parked in front of the City Morgue on Grosvenor Street. He headed in to make the formal identification of Clancy’s body.

An hour later Haven and Gino, in separate cars, pulled up to Clancy’s house. Down the street, Bruno Chiba sat slumped in the front seat of the T-Bird. He watched the scene carefully. Gino and Haven made their way up the driveway and into the house.

Gino sat down on the couch. Haven sat down at the computer and flipped it on.

“What exactly are we looking for here, Gino?” Haven asked.

“I honestly don’t know. Like most murder investigations, we’re making it up as we go along.”

Haven opened up Clancy’s work-in-progress file. He scanned through it. “It seems he was preoccupied with this Taglia-Romano venture. Lots of notes on the players. Lots of notes to call contacts. Names all coded. Tulip, Daffodil, Carnation. That sort of thing.”

Gino got up and walked over to the answering machine. He replayed the memo that was the recorded conversation between Clancy and the stranger.

“You sure you don’t recognize the voice?” Gino asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Haven replied.

“Did he ever give you that lead he was promising? You know, for that non-fiction story you were planning to write?”

“No. We talked about it a couple of times. He danced me around a lot. Never committed to anything.”

Gino had been watching Haven intently. A thought was bubbling in his brain.

“You know more about the Romano Taglia killings than you’re telling me, don’t you, Haven?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Come on. Clancy was obsessed with the Taglias and the Romanos. Two of their guys get popped, then he gets it. Tortured and shot to death, execution style. All the time you guys are hangin’ like Fric and Frac, chuffin’ beers, goin’ to ball games. You pickin’ his brain for stories. I don’t know. Just maybe he let something slip. Something important.”

Haven leaned back in the chair. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and took a deep breath.

“A badass cop I know once told me never to shoot off my mouth about a crime unless I could prove it in a court of law. You remember saying that to me when I was still wet behind the ears and you were taking pity on a poor little rich kid down slummin’ at the Criminal Courts Building?”

“Of course I remember. Best advice you’ll ever get from a cop. But we’re talking about real murders here, Haven. Three of them, in fact. And we’re talkin’ about a certain badass cop whose bad ass is stuck way out there on the firing line. He will consider speculative theories from all informed sources.”

Haven hesitated a moment, gathering his energy. “I have two pieces of hearsay. One from a source I won’t reveal, who told me that Rocco Tucci was a plant, working for a New York mafia family, the Chibas.”

“Vincent Chiba. They call him the Duke. He’s bad news. Vice, weapons, some drugs, all kinds of gambling, stolen cars, they run the gamut as crime families go. Never been indicted though, and hardly ever been seen in public.” 

“The second bit is from Clancy.’ Haven said. “A dude named Richard Kelly whose real name is Kane, a retired IRA Colonel, shows up. The guy is a mercenary now. Mostly third-world stuff. Clancy used to know him in Ireland back in the day. Another baddie. He was in town pumping Clancy for information on the local crime scene.”

“Did you ever see this Kane. Talk to him at all?”

“Yeah. I saw him here, with Clancy.”

Gino got up and patted Haven on the shoulder. “It’s too circumstantial to stand up in court. But it’s a hot enough lead to cool out the brass and buy me some time. I want you to get with our sketch artist, Craig Jasper, tomorrow morning as early as you can.”

“I can do that.” Haven replied.

“Anything interesting in there?” Gino asked, gesturing to the computer.

Haven shut down the computer. “Not really.”

“Yeah. Well, we’ll be going over the whole house with a fine-toothed comb in the morning.” 

Haven got up to leave.

“Hey. When I uh, called you earlier. I wasn’t breakin’ anything up, was I?” Gino asked.

“Nothing earth-shaking.”

“Get out of here, stud.”

Haven shot a smile back and left by the rear door. 

A few minutes later, Haven climbed into his car. Bruno made a note of the license plate then took off in the opposite direction.

Haven entered his flat. It was dark but he didn’t bother to switch on any lights. He just walked down to the bedroom. He entered and flipped on the light on his bedside table. When he did, he heard the sound of a pistol being cocked. He looked up in the direction of the sound and saw Kane sitting in his rocking chair. The Desert Eagle in his hand was levelled at him.

“Good evenin’ Mr. Haven.”

“Mr. Kelly? What can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, since you asked, you can tell me where Jim Clancy is.”

“Come on. You gotta know that.” Haven said.

“One thing you should know about me, son, is that I never ask a question I already know the answer to. Now where the bloody hell is he?”

“He’s on a slab in the Morgue, you bastard.”

“He’s dead?”

Haven stared at Kane for a few seconds. “You’re honestly surprised, aren’t you?”

“What happened to him?” 

“He was found at Cherry Beach. He’d been beaten, tortured and shot, then dumped there.”

“My God.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had a long day. I could use a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. Does your friend, the Dago cop, know anything about me?”

“How should I know?”

“Well...you know about me.”

Yeah, I know your name, if it is your real name, and I also know that Jim Clancy is dead after you paid him a visit. But I know nothing about you. And I really don’t want to.”

Kane got up and walked around the room.

“I don’t know whether I believe you or not. But regardless of that, Clancy was gonna do a spot of work for me. But he can’t now and, well, it still needs doin’.” 

“And I’m recruited to do this spot of work now...is that it?”

“You’re very perceptive. But then you are a mystery writer now aren’t you?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothin’ too difficult, really. Just handle a little swap for me with a man in New York.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll kill you and hire somebody else.”

“But you’ll kill me even if I do help you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Actually, I don’t think I will. ‘Cause once I have this thing you’re gonna get for me, I will simply disappear, just like I was never here.”

“Come on Colonel. I’m a mystery writer as you said. I know a bit about smart bad guys and one thing is certain, they never leave any evidence hanging around. And you don’t strike me as any sort of idiot.”

“That’s one way of lookin’ at it. But I have a feeling about you, Mr. Haven. I think we will let this play out just to see what actually happens. That would be a hell of a story. Tell you what? Here’s a swap. Your continued existence will be the fee for doin’ this thing for me.”

Kane directed Haven out into the dining area, where they sat down at the table. Kane put the gun on the table in front of him. Haven had never seen a Desert Eagle up close like this. He stared at it for a moment.”

“It’ll put a hole in you that you could drive a lorry through.” Kane said.

“I can well imagine.” Haven said and took a deep breath. “Alright, let’s say I do this thing for you and you disappear. That still leaves the question of who killed Clancy.” 

“My assumption is that it was somebody who was tryin’ to get to me.”

“Because you killed Rocco Tucci and John Vallone?” 

Kane was not about to admit to anything. “You believe what you want to believe, son. From what I understand, it’s nothing that anybody could prove anyway. So the point, as they say, is moot.”

Kane reached out his hand. “Gimme your phone.” 

Haven reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone.

“I’ll be snoozin’ on the couch in the living room. And I have to tell you, I’m a very light sleeper. So no shenanigans. Because I will kill you if I have to.” 

 Kane walked into the living room and lay down on the sofa.

~ 36 ~

The next morning Haven came out of the bedroom. Kane was on Haven’s phone. The Desert Eagle sat on the table beside him.

“Non-consecutive, used thousand dollar bills. But there’s been a slight change of plans regarding Mr. Clancy...His name is Haven. Emil Haven. Yeah, the mystery writer. He’ll be arriving at LaGuardia at two twenty. How he gets back with the money intact, I’ll leave that up to you and the chap you have at the border.” Kane stopped talking for about thirty seconds. “Sounds like a plan. But if he isn’t back here on schedule, a Mr. Daniel Hayes of the Southern District of New York will be receiving this master recording instead of you. Am I understood, sir? Good. It’s a pleasure doin’ business with you.”

He turned to see Haven standing in the doorway. “Good morning. There’s some coffee brewin’.”

Haven walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup. Kane joined him. “You’ll be flyin’ down to New York on the noon plane. I suggest you clear any appointments you might have for today.”

“As coincidence would have it, my day is free.” Haven said, completely omitting that he was supposed to go downtown and give a sketch artist an image of the guy next to him who was pouring some cream into his coffee.

“Good.”

Kane sipped his coffee. Haven popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. 

“So I’m going to New York to meet up with some heavy-duty gangster,” Haven said. “And he’s gonna give me five million dollars. Then I’m gonna bring it back here and give it to you in exchange for some recording you’re gonna give them. So I have a couple of dumb questions. “One…What makes you think I won’t just take off with this money? Five million bucks is a lot of freedom. I could light out for South America or something?”

Kane starts to laugh. “Look...Don’t take this personally, but you’re just not the type to be doin’ something like that. You couldn’t live on the run. Look around you man. You’re settled here. Your career is here. You’re not the globetrottin’ fugitive type. Not by a fuckin’ longshot.”

“I could easily become one if it meant staying alive.”

“Yes, I suppose you could at that. Maybe I should just kill you right now then?”

“Right. Then what would you look like to those Mafia types, changing your courier for a second time? It’ll sound like amateur night to them.”

Kane laughed. Haven sipped his coffee. “My second question is about getting across the border.”

“Right. You won’t be flying back to Toronto. You’ll be flying to some place called Buffalo, where you will be picked up by a guy named Albert Rubino. He works for the Chiba family and he will get you across the border to a town called Fort Erie. From there you will take a bus back to Toronto. Albert’s an excellent planner. He’ll take good care of you.”

“You’ve got this figured down to the short strokes.”

“God is in the details, Mr. Haven.” Kane took a sip of his coffee. “You think I’m evil don’t you?”

“Well, I’ll tell you Colonel, you may think you’re terribly clever, but I lost a very good friend because of you, and I have a feeling that death follows you pretty much everywhere you go.”

“I understand how you feel.’ Kane said. “Clancy’s death was the last thing I anticipated or wanted, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Haven walked off down the hall with his coffee. He turned into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

~ 37 ~

Haven arrived at LaGuardia carrying only a thick briefcase, with some magazines and newspapers inside. Two of the Duke’s lieutenants escorted him out of the terminal building.

Half an hour later, the limo pulled up in front of a storefront in Queens in the middle of a long row of shops. The street was relatively quiet. As Haven stepped out of the limo, he could smell bread baking in the store next door.

The interior of the building they led Haven to was a large open space. Several tables littered the area. In the rear, two men were shooting pool at an antique table. Off to the left, a bartender dried glasses with a white towel behind the long bar. In the far corner, the Duke sat, reading the Wall Street Journal. He beckoned Haven with a slight wave of his hand. Haven walked over and sat down opposite him.

“Mr. Haven. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir. Sorry about the occasion.”

The Duke just shrugged his shoulders. “You know, I’ve read all your books. I like your character, this Phil Rossetti. In another life, I coulda been a PI just like him.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a shame that someone like you has to be involved in all this unpleasantness.” 

“Believe me, sir, I was recruited quite against my will.”

“Oh, I believe you. Anybody can write like you doesn’t need to make a buck shaking down old men like me.”

The Duke took a sip of his coffee. “May I hear the recording? Before I give you my money I’d like to know this is all for real.”

Haven opened the briefcase. He took out a small envelope and slid it across the table to the Duke. The Duke produced a Sony recorder, then opened the envelope and extracted the  micro-disc and slipped it into the machine. He listened for a moment then shut it off.

“Have you heard this whole recording?”

“No, sir. I‘ve heard none of it. I prefer to stay ignorant.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Colonel Kane instructed me to tell you that you would receive the original of this disc within twenty-four hours of my safe return. That he would give it to a Mr Rubino.”

The Duke listened to a bit of the recording then stopped it.

“I assume he’s keeping a copy of it for himself.” Duke said.

“I don’t know sir. But...uhh...if it were me, I would. Just for insurance.”

The Duke raised his hand slightly. One of the lieutenants at the pool table picked up a white plastic garbage bag and brought it over to the table. Inside were fifty packets of 100 one thousand dollar bills.

“Five million. Put it in your briefcase.”

Haven took out the magazines and newspapers and loaded the bills into the briefcase. His hands were shaking. He was up to his neck in it now. Haven finally snapped the case shut.

“You know, he’s going to kill you the minute he gets his hands on the money.” Duke said. “And he’s not going to send me the original either.”

“If you’re so sure about that, why are you giving me this money?”

“Because I’ve got the feeling that you understand the way the world is.”

“I like to think so. Though lately, I’m not so sure.” Haven said 

“If I had a way to play this that would guarantee your survival, you’d be very interested, I assume?”Duke asked.

“Definitely.” 

“Good. Then I think we can do some business here.”

Haven was silent for a few seconds. “What exactly is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to lead a man to Kane. A man who will dispose of him, get my recording, and bring back this money.”

“And leave me alive?”

“That’s the deal. Of course, I’ll compensate you for your time. Say ten percent of what’s in your briefcase.”

Haven leaned back in his chair. He was thinking hard about it. “What exactly is it that keeps your man from killing me, you know, just to tie up loose ends?”

“You have my personal guarantee that won’t happen.”

The Duke then handed Haven a burner phone. “My man will call you once you are back in Canada. His name is Bruno.” 

Haven took the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He got to his feet and picked up the briefcase. 

“You strike me as a man of your word, sir. I’ll be counting on that.” Haven said.

“You’ve made a wise decision.” 

“Let’s hope so.”

Haven walked to the doorway of the club and headed to the waiting car.

Inside, the Duke turned to one of his lieutenants. “Contact Bruno. Have him set up a meet with this little sausage. Tell him I want my recording back, my money back and the Mick dead.”

“What about the sausage?” the lieutenant asked.

“Tell Bruno I leave it to his discretion. I’d prefer to keep my word, but it’s Bruno’s call in the end, and there’s no controlling that.”

“True enough.” the lieutenant replied and walked out of the club.

~ 38 ~

Gino sat at his desk in the College Street station, sipping coffee and studying his bulletin board. The Tucci/Vallone/Clancy murders were laid out on file cards and pictures The phone rang. Gino picked it up. “Botticelli, Homicide…Hey Craig...you got a sketch for me from Haven? What...he didn’t show? That’s unusual. Yeah, I’ll give him a call.”

Gino hung up the phone, then picked it up again.

Kane was sleeping on the couch when Haven’s cell phone rang. Kane just let it go to message. A few seconds later, the landline phone sitting on the end table rang. Kane sat up and opened his eyes but didn't move. The answering machine kicked in.

“Haven. I just got a call from the sketch artist. He told me you were a no-show this morning. Call me as soon as you get this message and I hope you’ve got a real good excuse. This is a murder investigation you’re holding up.”

Kane sat up. He took a deep breath and got to his feet. He walked over to the machine and erased the message. He then sat down at the computer and opened a text file. 

On the page he typed:

10:00 P.M. Jim Clancy’s House. 

Bring the money and nothing or no one else.

He printed out the message and left it on the kitchen counter on his way out.

~ 39 ~

At the Buffalo airport, Albert Rubino picked Haven up and drove him across the Peace Bridge where they were waved through customs. Albert let Haven off on a street in Fort Erie called Niagara Boulevard and pointed to a variety store. Haven entered the store and bought a bus ticket to Toronto.

 The bus wasn’t due for another hour, so he walked across the street to a nearly empty restaurant and took a seat in the back. He ordered a sandwich and a coffee. After the waitress set down his food, he opened up the briefcase on the seat beside him. He started fanning through the bills until he felt something a little thicker than the currency. He took out the bundle and pulled out a wafer-thin piece of silicon with a configuration of lines etched on the top side of it. He returned the bundle to the briefcase and closed it. He studied the thin rectangle, then tucked it into his jacket.

After his lunch, he still had about half an hour to kill, so he walked down the side of the building to the Niagara River. He sat down on a bench there and looked out at the swiftly moving water on its way to Niagara Falls and out through Lake Ontario to the Atlantic. He looked at his watch again, then got up. He saw a small set of stairs that went down close to the water’s edge. He walked down and set the silicon rectangle afloat in the river. It was quickly swept up in the current.

Three hours later Haven was deposited at the Dundas Street Bus Station in Toronto He stashed the briefcase in a locker there and took an Uber home. When he arrived, Kane was nowhere to be seen. But there was a note sitting on the kitchen counter. Haven took a shower and while he was drying off, the phone the Duke had given him started to ring.  He picked it up “This is Bruno. When are you doing the exchange?”

“Tonight at 10:00. He gave Bruno the address.”

“Where’s the money?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“I’m gonna need that money.”

“And I’m gonna need some assurance that you don’t leave me the same way you left Jim Clancy.”

Bruno said nothing for a good ten seconds. “We’ve never met. So you don’t know anything about me. But John Vallone, one of the guys Kelly killed, he was a very special person to me. All I want is to make sure that his death doesn’t go unpunished.”

“I get that. But that doesn’t have anything to do with me. So I’ll make you a deal. I will make the money available to you if you promise to grab it and get the fuck out of Toronto and leave me out of this whole mess. I’ve got nothing on you and you’ve got no reason to kill me.” 

“OK. I can live with that.”  

“Call me when you’re finished with Kelly. The money is in a public locker. I’ll leave you the key somewhere. And let you know where. Take it, grab the money and split.”

“I’m a man of my word, Mr. Haven.”

“Let’s fucking hope so.”

I had no idea how I was gonna pull this off. But the one thing I have learned through all of this is that criminals are not to be trusted. So whatever I decided, it would have to involve me being nowhere near where these two guys were going to hook up.

~ 40 ~

Haven grabbed his phone from the dining room table where Kane had left it then went downstairs and got into his car. He did a loop around the block making sure he wasn’t being followed, then he called Angela Tucci. 

“Hi, Angela.” 

“Haven. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Look, I know we’ve just met. But I need to ask a favour of you.”

“You can always ask.” 

“I know for sure now who killed your husband, and I know that the people he was working for have sent someone up from New York to get rid of him.”

“That’s a lot of knowledge.” 

“Yeah. And I guess you could say, I’ve set a bit of a trap for them. Hopefully, the guy from New York walks away.” 

“What happens if it goes the other way?” 

“I’m not sure. But I would appreciate it if I could wait this whole thing out at your place. Nobody knows about us, and so nobody would look for me there. Plus it has the added advantage of getting to see you again.”

Angela laughed “Well, how can I refuse such a romantic gesture?”

Angela told Haven the address. Haven started driving uptown. On the way, he called Gino.

“Where the hell you been, Haven? I’ve been calling all day.” 

“I had to go out of town. Listen, I want to tell you something. Don’t ask me how I know this, because I don’t want to have to bullshit a friend.”

“This is me not askin’. Whaddya got, smart guy?” 

“At ten tonight, the guy who killed Vallone and Tucci and the guy who killed Clancy are going to both be at Clancy’s house.”

“And where the hell are you gonna be?”

“Well hidden, Gino. Because if either one of them gets loose they will be comin’ after me big time.”

“Well, we can’t have that. You’re pretty much the only civilian I can stomach.”

“I’ll take that as a vote of confidence.” 

“I’ll assemble the troops. And thanks.” 

“Good man, Gino. Be careful. Both these guys are killers and have nothing to lose at this point.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” 

Haven disconnected and continued driving uptown. 

~ 41 ~

Kane arrived at Clancy’s about quarter to ten. He was carrying the Desert Eagle. He ripped through the police tape and popped the back door. He moved through Clancy’s office, through the kitchen and he took a seat on one of the wing chairs in the living room. He cocked his large pistol and sat stone still in the dark. 

Bruno arrived at 10:00 on the button. He walked up the driveway with his gun tucked into his pants at the small of his back. He climbed the back stairs and drew his gun the second he saw the police tape dangling from the doorway. He quietly entered the dark house.

The gunfight that ensued was short and deadly. Kane’s plan was to hit Haven the second he walked through the doorway from the kitchen. Haven would not have any idea where Kane was until he saw the muzzle flashes from Desert Eagle. But of course, it wasn't Haven, it was Bruno and he wasn't exactly unarmed.

In the end, only four shots were fired, two of them dumb luck. Kane hit Bruno in the chest and knocked him back against the doorway. His second shot went into the door frame. In the split second that Bruno had left to live he got off two shots in the general direction of the muzzle flash. One hit Kane in the shoulder, the other went right through his left eye. And then it was quiet. 

Gino and the SWAT team moved in quickly, but there was nothing for them to do except mop up.  Gino rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs while the population inside the house slowly grew. Then he walked out to the backyard and called Haven.

“No more bad guys, amigo. They killed each other.” Gino said.

“Make sure you search Kane thoroughly. He’s gotta have a micro-disc recording of his conversation with Duke Chiba. Maybe you can get a trifecta.” Haven told him. 

I spent the night with Angela. We watched as much of the news as we could handle, and she thanked me for making sure that there was least a little justice still left in the world.

~ 42 ~

Two days later, Haven was sitting in his living room with the briefcase full of money on the coffee table in front of him. Gino had found Kane’s recording in the hollowed-out section of his shoe heel. He had forwarded it to the Southern District of New York prosecutor’s office and Duke Chiba was arrested, booked and held without bail pending a hearing for conspiracy to commit murder and a bunch of other stuff. 

The Duke contacted Haven on the cell phone he gave him, and Haven made up some bullshit story about having given the money to Bruno in exchange for Bruno not punching his ticket. For all Haven knew, the cops found the money when they went through Bruno's car. Haven figured he was pretty convincing from the way the Duke had responded. And with the only other people who knew about the money no longer among the living, all that was left was five million American dollars.

Say what you will about the wages of sin. I’d have to say I earned this. I mean really, was I not instrumental in solving these cases? Damn straight I was. Call it a just reward for the effort I put in and the mental anguish I had to endure. 

Early that evening, Gino walked into Haven’s flat. Haven was sitting in the living room with the briefcase in front of him.

“You wanted to see me?” Gino said.

“Yeah. There’s one more element to this case that you might be interested in.”

“Oh yeah?” Gino sat down on a small chair opposite Haven. “And what would that be?”

Haven popped open the briefcase and turned it around with a flourish.

“The shakedown money?” Gino asked.

“The shakedown money.” Haven said, nodding.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No kidding.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Five million Yankee dollars. And you know what? We’re probably the only two people on the planet who know about this.” 

“What about the Duke?”

“If he says anything about it, that’s an admission of guilt and complicity. And from what I hear he’s fighting this all the way. Besides, we had a chat and I’m pretty sure he bought the tale I told him.”

“So what are you sayin’?”

“How long have you been doing, you know, your cop thing?”

“Nineteen years and a large bit.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve been doing my writing thing for just a little less.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Something happened that I didn’t count on.”

“What… through an amazing series of flukes you stayed alive?”

“Besides that.”

Gino shook his head and then looked down at the money.

“Five million Non-sequential, old, unmarked, untraceable Americano buckaroos.” Haven said. “Money that will, what, languish in limbo in some evidence room. Or end up getting mysteriously stolen. The ultimate evidence room temptation.”

“No. No fuckin’ way we could get away with this. I know the department. No way in hell I could spend any of this without it attracting a lot of attention to myself.”

“You won't have to. Because I will.”

“I’m not getting it.”

“We’ll invest it in our own agency. Our own company. Botticelli and Haven Investigations. Or whatever. You’ll be the sweat equity partner, and after a few years of success, you will have earned some pretty amazing bonus bucks, which I will launder into our accounts. It’s your dream, Gino. You can’t tell me any different. And it’s the perfect money laundering scheme.” 

Gino was lost in thought for a moment. He was furiously debating with himself.

“So you’re sayin’ that on the one hand, I could continue on, in a cheap suit and domestic car making seventy-two five a year, cattin’ around, diddlin’ aging Ginas from the old neighbourhood and being a good cop. While, on the other hand, we could go into business together, globetrotting supersleuths, driving high-end European automobiles and living the life of Riley.” 

“That’s about right. KI don’t know about the globetrotting though.”

Gino closed up the briefcase. He sat there for a moment, thinking intensely.

“You gotta be nuts to pass on a deal that.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

~ 43 ~

Ten months later, Haven was sipping a Dairy Queen shake and making his way down Kingston Road toward the Beaches. Still in his good old Audi.

Haven parked in a small lot behind some stores and offices along Queen Street. He walked around to the front and entered a newly renovated building and climbed the stairs. He walked past a reception area and flopped down in an office overlooking the street.

Well, this story does have a good ending. I did end up with a new fictional character, Eric Raven the Fourth, The Virgin Detective. Dell Warner extended my contract and wanted to see one a year for the next five years, and I pretended to be grateful.

With sales of the Virgin Detective in the low millions, I was finally able to realize my dream. It’s called The Virgin Detective Agency, for now. Gino will be joining me in a few months as soon as he gets his 20 years in. A pension is a pension and he’s earned it. I spend my days researching criminal activity, studying to get my PI license and dealing with all the talk shows and podcasts that a writer who has finally hit the big time has to deal with.

In fact, the only downside to this whole debacle was the loss of my good friend Clancy. But Gino and I down a pint in his honour at the Pilot most every chance we get.

The door to Haven’s office opened and Angela stepped in.

And of course, I got the girl too. What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t get the girl? I mean, that would really suck, right? Oh yeah. The money? I’ll just leave that up to you to decide, bearing in mind that you gotta be nuts to pass on a deal like that.

Part 2. The Aronson Case 

     

~ 1 ~

B&H Investigations was formed three months before the B, Inspector Gino Botticelli, was due to retire from the Metropolitan Toronto Police Force and be able to claim his full pension. Not that that mattered all that much because B&H was flush with cash, as the result of a caper that had almost gotten the H, Emil Haven IV, measured for a coffin. 

Haven was a mystery writer and he wasn’t half bad at it. In fact, his most recent book, The Virgin Detective, The Irish Connection, had made him a boatload of money, mostly in terms of foreign sales, but also through the sale of the film rights, to a company in New York, who were planning to serialize it for video, and were also in the process of taking a closer look at the other books in Haven’s 13-book catalogue which starred a fictional police detective named Phil Rosetti.

But mostly, Haven was a trust fund kid, thanks to his grandfather, who made billions in the mining business when it was socially acceptable to be in that business. Haven’s father, Emil the Third, transformed the business by selling everything and using the capital to start investing, and despite all his pleading, could not get his son to even consider joining.

It was a sunny day in early June when Gino Botticelli walked out of the 23rd Precinct with a gold watch and a big giant ‘Have a Great Retirement’ card signed by every living soul in the place. He was a well-liked Detective with a stellar conviction record. But he had put in his time and was also taking out his full pension and a couple of medals along with the watch and the card.

His first stop, at about four that afternoon, was the Pilot Tavern, where his new partner was waiting for him. They drank a beer and then adjourned to a restaurant called Sansano’s on the Danforth, which was one of the main east-west thoroughfares in the city. 

Gino didn’t drive because he was planning to kiss off his cop career with a lot of booze, so he left his car at home. His friend and soon-to-be partner, Emil Haven IV, agreed to be the designated driver.

The two men originally met years ago, downtown at the courthouse where Haven would sit in the gallery and learn about courtroom procedure. 

One day, when Gino had been called to testify, he ended up sitting beside Haven who was taking copious notes. They struck up a conversation. Haven was a fledgling crime fiction writer and Gino, a recently minted Detective Inspector. As the saying goes, they hit it off and became good friends. 

Over the years, Gino and Haven used each other to talk speculatively about hypothetical crimes. After a few years, Haven gained Gino’s confidence and Gino would talk over his actual cases with him. Haven was intellectually gifted with a Masters in English from the University of Toronto. He was also on the long and winding road to literary success with a planned series of detective novels featuring a sleuth called Phil Rosetti, which he modelled on a hybrid of himself and his friend, Gino.

The restaurant, Sansano’s, was a favoured hangout for wiseguys of every shape and kind. On any given evening, there could be drug dealers, weapons sellers, smugglers, counterfeiters, shakedown artists, even a few suspected hitmen in the crowd of diners. Gino knew them all, and had even gotten a couple thrown into jail. But as much animosity as there was seeing Gino slide in for dinner, Sansano’s was neutral ground, because it was far and away the best Italian restaurant in the city.

Carmine Sansano, the owner, a short blunt dago who brought his restaurant from Italy thirty years before, welcomed Gino like a long-lost brother. Then he turned to the crowd of diners and said. “This is a very good day for all you putas, because today Inspector Gino Botticelli, who has probably been a thorn in a lot of your sides, is officially retired.”

With that a round of very loud applause erupted. Gino lifted up his hands and quieted everybody down. “I may be off the job, but you guys need to keep your business on your side of the street, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

There was some more applause and a couple of cat calls, and, just like that, it was back to business as usual. Carmine sat them down and gave them menus. “It’s all on the house tonight, Gino. I owe you a lot more but this will have to do for now.”

“You’re a good man Carm. We’ll have a bottle of Valpolicella to start.”

With that, Carmine left the table and talked to one of the waiters. In a few minutes, they were sitting behind two glasses of the rich red Italian wine.

Haven raised his glass, “Here’s to your retirement and the success of our joint venture.”

“Salut.” Gino said and they clinked their glasses.

They studied the menu for a bit and then gave the waiter their orders. 

Gino poured a second glass of wine for himself. 

“So here we are, pal, right smack in the middle of the private sector.” Gino said.

“And I have a retirement present for you.” Haven said. “You’ll be pleased to know that three weeks ago, I closed the deal on my entire building.” 

Haven lived in a duplex, right on the boardwalk in an east end area called Balmy Beach. A few months earlier, his landlord told him that he was putting the building on the market and offered him first choice. The asking price was a little under three million.” 

“What if I paid cash, you know real cash?” Haven asked.

“Well, that would make a lot of difference, say about four hundred grand.” the owner said.

So for two point six million in cash, Haven now owned the whole house he was living in. The best part was that he didn’t have to dip into his trust fund money to do the deal. In a caper that damn near got him killed several months earlier, there was a five million American dollar financial transaction involved, and through a horseshoe up his ass, Haven was able to both stay alive and hold onto the money. Anyone else who knew about it was either dead or convinced that the cops had it and weren’t about to bring it up, even in a casual conversation. So Haven figured it was his six point four million in Canadian dollars to do with as he pleased.

And what he pleased was buying the house that he lived in and giving his friend and partner the first floor flat to live in, renting some office space on Queens Street, which was pretty much a ten-minute walk from his house, and buying a beautiful diamond engagement ring for the new love of his life, Angela Pesco, formerly Angela Tucci, widow of one of the people who got killed in the same caper where Haven ended up with all that cash.

“The first floor and half the basement are yours. Just pay for your own utilities and half the property taxes which are about $6400 a year. I’m sure a retired cop can easily scrape that together.”

Gino smiled. Moving out of the west side apartment where he currently lived had always been a dream of his. And he had to admit he really liked the area where Haven lived. Lots of women wandering around. A couple of good bars and restaurants on Queen Street, the whole nine yards.

“So when can I move in?”

“When can you rent a truck to haul all your shit over?”

“You mean it’s empty?”

 Yep, just had it cleaned and repainted a couple days ago. It’s Gino ready.” Haven said as he lifted his glass.

One week later Gino was moved in, sorted out, hooked up and loaded for bear.

~ 2 ~

B & H Investigations had been Haven’s idea, and now that he was an on-the-charts author, and closet millionaire, who no longer needed his coal-stained trust fund money, he found a second floor office right at Queen Street & Lee Avenue which was pretty much dead centre of the Beaches. The floor had a reception area and five offices. Haven took one of the front facing spaces and left the other one for Gino. The rest of the space was used for a meeting room, a spare office, a full kitchen, with an adjacent bar, for parties. and a small room that housed the copier and the office supplies. Haven didn’t hire a secretary/receptionist because he wanted Gino in on the decision. 

In the four months that Haven had to wait for Gino’s retirement, he got to work, blocking out a series of stories for the Virgin Detective novels. He was contracted for five years, producing one book a year, with an option for extension depending on sales. It was always about sales.

Haven hoped that by the end of his contract period, he would be well-versed in the private detection trade, even have his licence, that he would get to stop writing novels and concentrate exclusively on solving real cases. 

The blocking out was the toughest part of the job for any writer of detective stories. His preferred style was more on the character side. He abhorred the proliferation of action-packed ‘thrillers’ that clogged up the marketplace these days catering to the severely shortened attention spans that so many people seemed to possess. 

No, he believed in a slow burn, steadily building, character-driven style, which, of course, was why his audience skewed toward the older generations.

By the time Gino walked into the office for his official first day Haven had his five stories roughly blocked out and would write them at his leisure, one a year.

Gino stood in the reception area and scanned around the space. Then he looked over at Haven, smiled and shook his head. “You really know how to pick’em, pal.” He said. 

Haven showed Gino to his own office, which was furnished with a beautiful teak desk, a high-backed office chair and two smaller chairs opposite the desk. Behind the desk was a credenza for his files. On top of the desk were a brand new Apple MacBook Pro and a smaller iPad with a passwords hand-written on a Post-It note. It was sitting beside a box of business cards with his name and number on it.

“He looked at the sample card taped to the top and said, “Hey, that’s not my number.”

Haven ignored the comment “If you don’t like any of this stuff, we’ll have it returned and you can pick your own.” Haven said.

Gino flopped down into the big desk chair and leaned back. He looked out the window at the Queen Street people and vehicle traffic. Then he turned to Haven and smiled. “This is way more than I expected.” 

“So you like it?”

“What’s not to like? Let’s face it Haven, you are a man of great taste. Must be that Bridle Path upbringing.”

“Must be.” Haven said as he sat down in one of the chairs. “Open the middle drawer.”

Gino did and pulled out a brand new Iphone and a set of ear buds. “You thought of everything.” he said.

“Just transfer your phone book from your antique cop phone and you’re in business.”

~ 3 ~

A few hours later, Haven and Gino walked down the street to the Stone Lion pub and perched themselves on bar stools while the TV showed the local news. They ordered beers and roast beef sandwiches.

Gino raised his bottle and clinked it to Haven’s. “Well here we are in free agencyland.” he said.

“Guess it will feel a bit weird for a while.” Haven said.

“For a while. But hey, it’s not like we’re scramblin’ for work. I’ve got a full pension, low overhead and a dandy place to hang my hat. I could live like that for at least a couple weeks before I was climbin’ the walls, looking for work.”

“I’ve sent a notification to every criminal law firm in the city. So it’s not like they don’t know about us.’ Haven said. “Sooner or later something will pop.”

“It happens when it happens. It’s the nature of the beast, Haven.” Gino said.

They returned to the office after lunch and at 2:00 pm three ladies showed up to be interviewed for the receptionist/secretary/gatekeeper job that Haven had advertised for in Now Magazine.

They all had about the same skill sets, but a girl named Bridget Shaughnessy had far and away the best personality. Bridget was a no-nonsense Irish lady of about thirty-five, with a dozen years of law firm experience. She had red hair and a gorgeous face with a body to match. The only reason she considered applying was that her firm had grown from hungry and ambitious to blue chip and boring as batshit, as she put it. 

Bridge, as she preferred to be called, had already given her notice at her firm and was confident of finding work quickly. So Haven and Gino simply told her she could start whenever she liked, and they would figure out the rest once she was settled in.

They shook hands on a generous salary, and she left, promising to be on the job the following week. Haven gave her a key and told her that he and Gino didn’t usually start until about eleven in the morning, but they would be happy if she wanted to work nine to five or even ten to six. She said she would think about it and see them next week.

“Well, that was easy.” Gino said. “And a redhead to boot.”

Haven walked back to his office and stared at his block-out board for a while. About an hour later his phone rang.

“B & H Investigations,”  Haven said.

“I see you don’t have a receptionist yet.” said Haven’s dad, who was up to speed on his son’s new project. 

“As a matter of fact, we do. Just hired her.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

After a bit of small talk Haven said. “So dad, I know you’re a busy titan of industry, why don’t you tell me why you called.”

“Okay. A friend of mine, another titan of industry, is being blackmailed. It seems an indiscretion of his was filmed, and, well you’ve written enough crime novels to know the rest.”

“I don’t suppose he would want to go to the police.” Haven asked.

“You don’t suppose correctly. That would ruin both his marriage and to some extent, his business as he would automatically lose half his assets.”

Haven Senior gave his son all the necessary information. Haven told him he would talk it over with Gino and see what, if anything they could do. 

“Most appreciated, son.”

“Anytime, dad.”

Over the past few months, Haven had done his best to mend fences with his father. It helped a great deal when he told his dad that he was on the home stretch of his writing career, and going into business with Gino. Haven Senior had met Gino a couple of times and had, in his own weird way, determined that he was both an honest man and a good detective. After Haven’s career change announcement, a certain amount of civility was restored. And now, with that phone call, a certain amount of trust and respect was also in evidence.

~ 4 ~

The meeting was set for one o'clock the next day at the top of the trail of a place called Edwards Garden. The man they were meeting was Jason Furlong and he was the owner and founder of one of Toronto’s largest construction firms. Furlong Construction specialized in industrial buildings and had crews operating all over southern Ontario. 

Furlong was a fairly tall man with the kind of sinewy body that told Haven and Gino that he had worked his way into his position of power via the blood sweat and tears route. He was dressed in jeans, a collarless pinstriped shirt and a light linen sports coat. He was definitely a comfort-over-style type. His hair was short and light brown and he wore a logo-less black baseball cap and sunglasses.

Introductions were made and they began to walk along the trail that led down to Wilket Creek.

“Your dad says good things about, you, Emil. He also says good things about your partner here, to which Gino just nodded and grunted something. 

Then Gino cleared his throat. “Suppose you lay it all out for us, Mr. Furlong,” Gino said, “And remember, we’re only gonna be as effective as the information you give us. If you leave out something important, it’s only gonna slow the process down.”

“I understand, Mr Botticelli.”

“So start at the beginning.” Gino said.

Furlong took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it all started about ten years ago when I married the wrong woman, and was too dumb to have a prenuptial agreement made. I was already fairly wealthy at the time.”

“How wealthy is that?” Have asked.

“I was worth a couple hundred million. It’s more like three-quarters of a billion now. The good part of the marriage lasted about two years and then it started to go south. She wasn’t cheating on me. But she was spending my money at a fairly rapid pace. And, of course, the romance died. I didn’t say anything at first. I really loved her, and managed to convince myself that this would pass.”

“But it’s ten years later, and we’re living almost totally separate lives. If I were to divorce her. I would lose half of everything I busted my ass to build, and it would take years to deal with that. I was looking at an early retirement. This could add another ten years to that at least.”

“OK, so that explains your situation. But I’m pretty sure that’s not why we’re here.” Gino said,

“No. About a year ago I started a relationship with the office manager in my company. A beautiful woman named Cheri Dawson. We, uh, we fit together pretty well, but I wasn’t willing to lose half my worth by divorcing my wife, Elizabeth. And Cheri never put any real pressure on me. Then about a week ago. I got an email with a snippet of a video of Cheri and I making love. It came with a blackmail note demanding ten million dollars or the video would be sent to my wife which would give her grounds for a divorce and major settlement, maybe even more than half my assets. My problem is that a lot of my money is tied up in investments, equipment and real estate. It would take me at least a month to free up that much money, and they’re demanding it in ten days.”

Gino’s detective brain was churning. So was Haven’s but with significantly less horsepower.

“And you’re sure that your girlfriend isn’t in on it?” Gino asked.

“I’m as sure as I can be, short of actually asking her.”

Gino pulled out a notebook and a pen. He handed it to Furlong. “Write down her address. We’ll go have a look at her place. You could be right, but we’ll find out one way or another.”

Furlong took a deep breath. “You know I feel a little better having told someone about this.”

“Yeah, well that will happen.” Gino said. “But let me ask you a couple things. One is who else knew about this relationship?”

Furlong shook his head. “As far as I know, no one. I certainly hadn’t told anyone. I’m not sure about Cheri. But she’s a pretty sensible girl.”

“OK, then second question. Who, in your business world or your personal life, is pissed off at you? And I mean pissed off enough to do something like this?”

Furlong laughed. “This is a tough business. I’ve had to do more than my share of clawing and scraping. But I can’t think of anyone who would go to all that trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to imagine, but it happens every day, sir. One last question.” Gino said. “This Cheri, is she the only affair you have ever had?” 

“Yeah, while I was married. Before then, I had relationships with several women.”

“OK” said Haven, catching on. “We’re gonna need those names as well plus any information you might have on them.” He handed Furlong a card. “Just email it to us ASAP and we’ll start checking things out.”

Furlong then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small memory key. “The email with the video clip is on there. It came from a Gmail address I didn’t recognize. I sent a reply to it, but it had just disappeared.”

“Let’s hope they call you next time. If they do, make sure you record the call, then let us know.”

The three men walked back to the parking lot. Furlong got into a big shiny GMC pickup and left Gino and Haven standing beside Haven’s older Beamer.

“Well, it looks like we’re in business, Haven.”

When they got back to the office, they played the email video that Furlong had given them. It was only a few seconds but it told the whole story.

“It’s pretty grainy,” Gino said. “They probably shot it with a phone of some kind and it looks like it’s shot by hand through a window. There’s too much jiggling for it to be a set-up camera. So what does that tell us?”

Well” said Haven, “A couple of things. First, the blackmailers knew where Cheri Dawson lived. They also knew she was having an affair with Furlong.”

“Yeah. So who would have that kind of knowledge?”

“A friend. Someone at her work, a neighbour, a relative?”

“But Furlong said she was pretty discreet, so maybe we can rule out anyone at her work.” Gino said. “Let’s take a ride over and scope out her house and her neighbourhood.”

“Don’t we want to interview her?” Haven asked.

“Last resort. I’d like to figure how it was done and if we can pick up any clues, and go from there.”

~ 5 ~

Cheri Dawson lived on a quiet little street on the east side of the city in an area called Leaside. The house she lived in was a bungalow. Gino and Haven walked up the driveway and into the backyard. It was the middle of a weekday so they were pretty sure she would not be home. When they got to the rear of the house, they saw that there was a nice deck about ten feet deep that ran across the entire rear end.They climbed the three steps to the deck and walked to the far end where there was a large window. There were curtains on the window but they were open. They looked in and saw a large bed, a dresser and two night tables both with lamps on them.

“This is the place,” Gino said. And immediately, he started looking around. “Whoever shot this video, just had to quietly climb up on this deck and fire away. Nobody’s gonna see him or her, because of all those evergreens running down the property line. You couldn’t ask for a better setup.”

Gino climbed down off the deck and moved up the side of the house, scanning the grounds for anything the shooter might have left behind. But he came up empty.

The two men walked down the driveway and stared at the front of the house for a moment. Then behind them from across the street, they heard a woman’s voice. “If you’re looking for Cheri, she’s at work.”

They turned around to see an older woman sitting on her front steps smoking a cigarette. They walked across the street to talk to her.

“You.” she said, pointing at Gino. “You look like a cop.” Then she looked at Haven. “You I can’t figure.”

“We’re private investigators, ma’am” Haven said. “We were just checking something out for Miz Dawson.”

“She’s a sweetie, she is. Nicest kid you’d ever want to meet. She can’t be in any kinda trouble now can she?”

“No ma’am.” Gino said. “You sit out here a lot, do you?”

“My old man won’t let me smoke in the house. So yeah, I guess I do.”

“Evenings too?”

“Sure.” 

“Ever see anything strange, you know last few nights?”

“You mean the kid on the scooter?”

“Yeah.” Gino said, barely able to believe their luck.

“Sunday night, it was. I remember because we just finished watching Yellowstone, so it would have been around eleven. I came out for my puff. Some kid rides by the house, you know real slow. He’s on one of those scooters that you kinda sit on.”

“Like a Vespa.”

“Yeah. Not like a motorcycle. Anyway, he parks up the street and then walks back down and up the driveway. I thought he was some kinda delivery guy but he wasn’t carrying anything. Cheri was entertaining her gentleman friend. The kid was up the driveway for about ten minutes then he walked back down and got himself on his little scooter and took off.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“Naa. He was wearin’ a helmet, the kind with the dark glass over the eyes. Had on a denim jacket, jeans and white sneakers. I made him to be no more than twenty, just from the way he moved. He didn’t see me. But old people, you know, these days, we’re fuckin’ invisible.”

“That’s really helpful ma’am.”

“Helga. Helga Peterson.”

“Well thank you for that information, Miz Peterson.” Haven said. “Do us a favour though, don’t mention this to Miss Dawson. We’ll figure it out and hopefully without upsetting her unnecessarily.” Gino said. 

He handed her a card, which she stared at for a few seconds.”

“Private eyes, eh. Well, you’ve got yourself a bit of a mystery here then don’t ya?”

“If you see any more weird stuff, please let us know.” Haven said.

“Will do.”

Thanks again for your help.” Gino said.

They walked back to the car. “Looks like we caught a break.” Gino said.

“Looks that way.” Haven replied. But he knew from writing umpteen mystery novels that it could just as easily be a dead end.

~ 6 ~

Wiley Dupree was a world-class hacker whom Haven had met four years earlier, while he was writing his tenth novel, in the Phil Rosetti series, a cybercrime story. 

Wiley was an American from New Orleans, who had left the USA under rather nefarious circumstances, with a large bank account assembled from substantial chunks of withdrawals from the Cayman Islands accounts of about a dozen of the richest crooks in the states of Louisiana and Florida.

Though Wiley was confident he had left no trail of crumbs for anyone to follow, he had convinced himself that hanging around was a rather high risk proposition. So he simply packed up and headed north. When he hit Toronto, he rented a flat in a duplex in the Beaches, which just happened to be two doors down from Haven’s residence. The two men met at a restaurant called The Garden Gate or as it was more commonly known, the Goof, standing in line waiting for their takeout orders. They struck up a conversation and decided to grab a booth and eat there. 

Wiley was very forthcoming about his former occupation. He also told Haven that he was thinking that he might be able to put his formidable skills to work for the Metro Toronto Police Force. A few days later, Wiley was introduced to Gino.

Even though Wiley was an illegal immigrant, Gino jumped at the chance to have a hacker of Wiley’s skill in his back pocket and convinced the department to petition the government to grant Wiley special immigration status. So a deal was struck. Wiley became the department’s cyber-crimes consultant, a semi-frequent dinner partner for Haven and sometimes Gino. 

Wiley showed up at Haven’s apartment at about 7 PM that night. He carried an extremely powerful Daewoo laptop computer in a hand-tooled leather case.

Gino, Haven and Wiley sat around the table in Haven’s dining room. Gino gave him the Gmail address and Wiley went to work. Haven got out three bottles of Grolsch beer to keep them all lubricated while Wiley worked his way through the maze of back-tracing the email server that the Gmail account was created on.

About ten minutes later Wiley announced his findings. “This account seems to belong to someone named Grace Aronson. No website to speak of but she does have a Facebook page.” He turned the laptop around and slowly scrolled down the images on the Facebook page. 

Grace Aronson was a good-looking woman who looked to be in her early forties. She had long blonde hair and the light complexion of someone who probably came from Scandinavia. About a dozen pictures down, they came to a shot of Grace and a young man, who was definitely her son. Same blonde hair, same facial features. His name was Jonas. 

Wiley then did a search and came up with a Facebook page for Jonas Aronson. The banner image was one of Jonas sitting on his scooter. The only information on Jonas’ site was that he was in his third year at Glendon College, which was the Liberal Arts wing of York University. It was located on Bayview Avenue, very close to where both Haven’s father and Jason Furlong lived.

“Can you email us the URLs for both pages?” Gino asked. 

“Sure thing.” And Wiley went to work. A few seconds later Gino’s phone pinged. Then so did Haven’s.

“Wiley, you are a magician.”

“Who me? Naa, in this end of things I’m probably just a high-ranking amateur.”

They shot the shit for a while longer and then Wiley packed up his laptop and headed home five hundred dollars richer.

“We need to see Mr. Furlong, first thing tomorrow.” Gino said. “And figure out how all these pieces fit together.”

The next morning Gino and Haven arranged to meet Jason Furlong at the Boardwalk Cafe at the far west end of the Beaches. There they would get coffees and find a quiet bench to sit at while they talked.

Furlong was there when they arrived. He was sitting at a table about thirty yards from the restaurant. Haven went in and got coffees for himself and Gino. When they were all seated, Gino took a sip of his coffee and asked, “Does the name Grace Aronson mean anything to you?”

Furlong was taken a bit aback. He said nothing for a good long time. It felt to Haven like he didn’t know how to respond.

Finally he said. “Yes. I know Grace. We were very close at one time. But that was more than twenty years ago.”

“Would it surprise you to know that she has a son named Jonas who goes to Glendon College?” Gino asked.

Again Furlong was silent for a time. “Nothing would surprise me about Grace.” he said finally.

“So here’s how it goes according to what we think at the moment.” Gino said. “Twenty years ago Miz Aronson got pregnant. Presumably by you. But you didn’t know. So she had a son, and she raised him on her own, because for whatever reason she didn’t want to tell you. Then she finally tells her son who his father is and for some reason we have yet to figure out, he starts stalking you with the aim of blackmailing you. Now he’s not any kind of professional extortionist and so it was relatively easy for us to figure out who he was.”

Furlong sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Grace was a gorgeous woman. Blonde and blue-eyed, movie star beautiful. And I will never actually know what it was that made her decide to break it off. I was all set to ask her to marry me.” There was a real sadness in his voice.

Nobody said anything for a while. Then Gino said. “Maybe you should meet up with Jonas. Ask him why he’s doing this. I’d say, all things considered, that would be your best option.”

Furlong took a deep breath. The strain of this conversation was starting to show on his face. “Perhaps you’re right.”

~ 7 ~

The Glendon Campus was small and cozy. It was a Liberal Arts college and so there were a lot of places for people to sit around and discuss stuff. Gino and Haven decided that Haven would make the trip and talk with Jonas Aronson. Gino believed that he was still too much of a cop and that might spook him. But Haven, with his great wardrobe and his writer’s reputation, would probably make him feel more comfortable.

Haven drove onto the campus and down a hill to the parking area. It was June so the campus was sparsely populated, mostly by adults and summer school students. He then climbed back up and walked around through the halls and around the grounds until he spotted Jonas, sitting with a couple of other kids his own age. They were having a heated discussion about something. Finally, the two other kids got up and walked back toward the dorms.

Jonas was gathering up his stuff, when Haven approached. “Jonas Aronson?” he asked.

Jonas looked up at Haven. There was a hint of recognition in his eyes. “Yeah. I’m Jonas.”

“Emil Haven.” Haven said and extended his hand, which Jonas shook.

“The Virgin Detective.” Jonas said. “I loved that book. Read it in practically one night.”

Haven motions to Jonas to sit down on the bench, then sat down beside him. “Well thanks. It’s nice to know I have a fan.”

Jonas laughed. “I would kill for your fan base.” he said, and he sounded pretty serious about it.

“So you’re a writer too?” Have asked.

“On my way. Or at least I hope so. Either that teaching English Lit.”

“OK, well, you’re probably wondering how I knew who you were?”

“Yeah. I was.”

Haven took a deep breath. “Well here’s the thing. I also own private investigation firm, and we know exactly what you’ve been up to. Jason Furlong is our client.”

Jonas said nothing. 

“We assume that your mother told you who your father was and now you’re essentially blackmailing him for ten million dollars. I hope she also told you that he knew nothing about you. The only thing we don’t know is why you are doing this. You’re not a criminal, so there must be a good reason. Now Mr. Furlong has no desire to see you arrested or have the recording you made go public. All he really would like to know is how he can help.”

Jonas didn’t say anything for a long time, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. Haven knew the feeling and could easily spot it in other people.

Finally he took a deep breath and said. “My mother is sick. Pancreatic cancer. She needs a treatment that’s only available in Mexico. We need the money to go and live there and pay for the treatments and the drugs she will need afterward. The ten million was just a number I pulled out of the air. I have no real idea of how much this will all cost. But I’m figuring it out. My mother is a good person, and she’s all I have.”

Now it was Haven’s turn to take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Jonas. I really am. I’ve lost good friends to cancer. I know exactly how you feel. So listen. Why don’t we all get together and figure out how your mother can be helped? I’m sure Mr. Furlong would be more than willing to take care of any of your expenses.”

“Do you really believe that? I mean I caught him having an affair with another women. How trustworthy do you really think he is?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Haven said. He handed Jonas a card. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, I’ll arrange a meeting at this address. Call me tonight and I’ll give you the time.”

Jonas took the card and nodded.

~ 8 ~

Every corporation of any size has a guy like Rick Seymour. These are the guys that handle all the nasty shit that nobody in the executive suite wants to get involved with. 

Rick Seymour was that guy for Furlong Construction. He was the creator of sabotage against any competitor who needed to be set back a distance to allow Furlong Construction to win a close bidding war. He was the guy who made deals with all the suppliers, mostly to Furlong’s advantage. He was also the guy who made sure that any of Furlong's executives who fucked up were told in no uncertain terms that one fuckup is all you get. His portfolio of skills was quite broad. And his knack for innovation was quite effective. 

So when Edward Furlong mentioned the situation involving one of his old girlfriends, that was all Seymour needed to know. 

Unfortunately for Seymour, he wasn’t given the whole picture, mainly because it wasn’t known by Furlong at the time, and so when he confronted Grace Aronson that Saturday morning, while her son was swimming in the Glendon pool, he was met by a woman with a bit of a temper. After he explained who he was and what he knew of the situation, he found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to defend himself against a knife-wielding early forty-something blonde in full vengeful bitch mode. The resulting conflagration, in which no attack actually took place, unfortunately left Ms Aronson dead from what appeared to be a heart attack. Despite his desperate attempts to revive her, she had bottomed out and was no longer of this life. 

Seymour stood in the empty east-end house and thought it through with all the calmness of the true psychopath he was. He then sprang into action, moving her into her bedroom and laying her on her bed, doing his best to make it look like what had happened was only in the bedroom. He then methodically went through the house and erased any evidence that he had ever been there. He quickly searched for any evidence of a tape or computer file that would have revealed his boss’ indiscretion but found nothing. He left by the rear door, hopped over the back fence and walked down the alleyway to the street where his car was parked. As clean a getaway as he could have imagined.

As Seymour was driving back to the office, he thought up several fake stories to tell his boss. But in the end opted to just tell him the truth. The woman was quite mad, and judging from the plethora of medication on her bedside table, who could really blame her.

Furlong, sitting in Seymour’s office and took the news without batting an eye. “I don’t suppose you found anything on the kid’s computer, or a digital camera laying around anywhere.”

“No, sir. The place was clean. I figure he just has the video on his phone.”

“Well, I’m on my way over to meet with him, now. Hopefully he doesn’t know that his mother is…gone. If this doesn’t work out, we may also have to deal with him too, Rick.”

“Yeah, well let's hope for the best, sir.”

~ 9 ~

The meeting was early that afternoon at the Queen Street office of B&H Investigations, which made the most sense since it needed to be quite private. The four of them sat in the small boardroom with coffees in front of them. Jonas had come directly from Glendon.

“You inherited your mother’s good looks, Jonas.” Furlong said. “I don’t suppose she told you that she never informed me that she was pregnant.”

“And what would you have done if you knew?” Jonas asked.

“That’s impossible for me to answer. I might have asked your mother to marry me, and we would probably have lasted a few years. But she was the one who ended our relationship.”

“Would you have insisted on an abortion?” Jonas asked.

Furlong shook his head. “No Jonas. I would never have suggested that. I would have accepted the responsibility, and even if we weren’t together I would have provided for you both. I was more than capable of doing that, even back then.”

“My mother has cancer. There is no treatment available here. So we would have to go to Mexico and live there for at least a year.”

“And that’s what you wanted the money for?”

“Yes.”

“You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble. You could have just called me and explained the situation.”

Jonas chuckled. “Yeah right. And by the time I got through your firewall of corporate minions, it would have been too late. I chose the more expedient route.”

“And it never occurred to you that I would hire some people like Mr Botticelli and Mr Haven here.”

“I was willing to take my chances.”

“Well, here we are. Tell me what you need.” Furlong said.

Jonas opened his laptop and then opened a spreadsheet. He then turned the screen toward Furlong, who stared at it for quite some time.

“I just compiled this last night. So it’s not ten million. It’s just a shade over three and a half million?”

“And if I give this to you, what happens to the recording you made?”

“You can have it.”

Furlong rested his head in his hands. “And what happens to you, if this doesn’t work and your mother passes away?”

“I really haven’t thought it through that far, sir.”

“Would you consider coming to work for my company? Learning the construction business?”

Jonah stared at Furlong for quite a while. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” Furlong said. “Maybe an attempt to make up for lost time.”

“I’d have to think about it. I’ve never had a father, so I don’t really know what kind of a son I would be to you.”

“Well, if you inherited anything at all from me, you might find you’re quite comfortable.” 

“It’s a generous offer sir. But like I said I would like to think about it. But for now, if you’re willing to finance our time in Mexico, we would both be very grateful.”

Furlong was struck by Jonas’ sincerity. In the back of his mind, he was starting to feel genuinely guilty about what was about to happen to this young man. How his life would be turned upside down, and how disorienting that could end up being for him, losing everything.

“I’ll need a few days to make the money available to you. In the meantime, please, don’t do anything with that recording. I implore you. It will do much more damage than you can imagine.” Furlong said.

Jonas got to his feet. “I’ll call you in three days and we can arrange for the exchange. And I will think seriously about your offer.”

Jonas left the room after nodding to Gino and Haven.

“Well, gentlemen,” Furlong said. “You seem to have pulled this off in record time. Please send me a bill for your services. I’ll make certain it gets paid immediately.”

They all got to their feet and shook hands. Furlong left Gino and Haven standing in their reception area. Gino had a look on his face that Haven had seen before. 

“What?” Haven asked.

“This ain’t over. Nothing goes this smoothly.”

“Take the win Gino. It’s a good omen.”

“Maybe.” Gino said and walked back to his spanking new office.

~ 10 ~

When Jonas Aronson returned home later that day, he looked around for his mother. He knew that she would not go out on her own. Finally, after searching the whole house he found her in her bedroom, on her bed, looking very peaceful but quite dead.

He stood there in shock for a good five minutes. Then he called the police. The first people who arrived were a uniformed couple, male and female uniformed officers, who walked through the house looking for anything out of the ordinary but could find nothing. Jonas told them about her mother’s condition and that she had been on a leave of absence from her work for the past six weeks, since she had become too weak to manage the stresses of her job. Jonas had no idea what do to. The officers told him they would call a detective who would come and investigate the scene, but in their opinion his mother had simply laid down on her bed and died.

Jonas went out onto the back porch of his house and sat down. He cried for a good half hour. Then he took out his phone and dialled Haven’s number at H&B Investigations.

“This is Haven.” Haven said as he answered the call. He was sitting in Gino’s office, talking about what to do next.

“Mr. Haven this is Jonas Aronson.”

“Jonas. Is something wrong?”

“Mr Haven, my mother is dead.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry to hear that, Jonas. Do you know what happened?”

“No. I just got home a while ago and found her lying on her bed. She looked like she was taking a nap. But she didn’t wake up. When I touched her arm I knew she was dead.”

“Jesus. Is there someone you can call? A relative or anyone?” 

“No sir. There’s just her and me.”

Haven’s heart went out to the young man. “Listen, they will probably send a detective to check things out. I’ll come over and hang out with you and we can figure out what to do.”

“I’d really appreciate that, sir.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Haven disconnected. “You’re not gonna believe this but Jonas Aronson’s mother is dead.”

Gino looked up at him and shook his head slightly. “God damn. I told you this wasn’t over.”

Haven took a deep breath. And then he said. “I volunteered to go over there and help the kid deal with all of this. Maybe you’d like to have a look around yourself.”

Gino got to his feet. “I would indeed.” 

~ 11 ~

When they got to the Aronson house, there were three vehicles parked nearby. A Metro patrol car, a dark sedan and an ambulance. Jonas Aronson was sitting on the front steps with a detective who was standing on the sidewalk in front of him with a notepad in his hand. Jonas was answering questions. He looked to be in pretty rough shape.

When Gino and Haven approached, the detective turned to Gino and smiled. 

I heard you were retired, Gino.” He said. His name was Jake Ross and he and Gino had come up through the ranks together. Gino shook Ross’ hand. 

“This is my new partner, Emil Haven.” Gino said. Then he turned to Haven. “Haven, this is my old patrol partner, Jake Ross.”

The two men shook hands.

“What brings you two here?” Ross asked.

“Jonas here is our client.” Gino said. “We’ve been helping him find out who his real father is.”

Then Gino turned to look down at Jonas, who looked exhausted. “Sorry to hear about your mom, Jonas. Maybe Inspector Ross here can fill us in on what happened.”

Ross and Gino walked down the driveway together. “Not much to tell Gino.” Ross said. “Looks like she just laid down and popped off. No signs of a struggle or foul play of any kind. The uniforms are canvassing the neighbourhood, but there was hardly anybody around. The kid said his mom had pancreatic cancer. Maybe the stress of it all was too much for her. Coroner says it looks like a heart attack. But right now, it looks pretty much like death by natural causes. So unless you know something that might change it, that’s probably how it’s gonna go in the books.”

Gino shook his head.

“Anything you want to tell me, Gino?”

“Naa…just, you know a little leftover homicide cop is all.”

“I get it, but this looks pretty much cut and dry, and you know I’d be on it like Jack the Bear if I suspected something hinky.”

“Okay. Just go easy on the kid. He’s a good kid and he’s got nobody left right now.

“Well, according to some of the documents we found in the mom’s desk, he’s gonna be two million richer. Insurance, plus whatever this house is worth, probably another million and a half. So that should tide him over.”

“Two million, eh?”

“Yeah. 

“By the way, did you ever find the father?” Ross asked.

“Not yet. But it’s early days.”

They turned to walk back up the driveway. So how are you likin’ the private sector?”

“Can’t complain. My partner is pretty wealthy. Bought a whole duplex and literally gave me the bottom floor to live in. Plus we’ve got some pretty nice office space down in the Beaches. I might even end up with a tan.”

Ross laughed. “Now that would be something to see.”

They walked back to the front steps where Haven was sitting with Jonas.

“OK, son.” Ross said. “If I have any more questions, I’ll let you know. Sorry for your loss.” Ross climbed the steps and entered the house.

“So what happened here?” Haven asked Jonas. 

Jonas shook his head and took a deep breath. “After our meeting, I went back to school, hung out a bit then grabbed my books and rode home. On the way, I picked up some dinner for us, like I always do on Saturdays. When I got home, about six, there she was, just lyin’ on her bed like she was taking a nap. I tried to wake her up….”

Haven put his arm around Jonas’ shoulder. 

Just then one of the ambulance drivers came out of the front door. 

He looked at Jonas. “We’re gonna take your mom to the morgue, son. When you have made funeral arrangements, they’ll release the body.”

Jonas just nodded. He got to his feet. It was almost like he had accepted the reality. “Thank you. It might take a few days. I’ve never done this kind of thing before.”

Haven got up. “Don’t worry Jonas. I’ll help you out with all of this. We’ll get through it and get you all sorted out.”

They moved down onto the front lawn as the body was taken out of the house and wheeled down to the ambulance.

“Why don’t you get some stuff together and you can come and stay with me for a couple of days. We’ll get your life in order.”

Jonas just said OK, and went into the house. A few minutes later he came out with a bag and his computer.” He locked the house and they all got into Haven’s car.

~ 12 ~

It took about a week to get Jonas’s affairs straightened out. They included a visit to the family lawyer to read the will and his mother’s funeral, which was sparsely attended. Her will specified cremation. At the end of the week, the insurance money was deposited into his Royal Bank Savings account. 

Once Jonas had resigned himself to the fact that his mother was gone he slowly came back to being himself, which was a sharp, ambitious, resourceful young man. Since Haven was cut from pretty much the same cloth, they quickly became good friends, and Haven did his best to advise Jonas on what to do with his life. 

Jonas decided to keep the house because it was small and easy to take care of. He also decided to finish his final year at Glendon and get his BA in English and then apply to teacher’s college, because that was one of the two things you could do with a degree in English. He would worry about writing when he was older. Two weeks later, Jonas, Haven and Gino had a goodbye dinner at the Red Lion, at which point he turned over the recording he had made of Edward Furlong and Cheri Dawson.

Haven and Jonas agreed to stay in touch and Haven made it very clear that if he had any issues he couldn't figure out, he should not hesitate to call.

After Jonas left, Gino ordered two more beers.

“You know,” Gino said. “The way you handled this whole thing was really quite masterful.”

“I guess I can relate to growing up with just one parent.” Haven said.

Just then Gino’s phone rang. Haven watched as his brow furrowed. “Really… So are you guys following up on that, or just writing it off to coincidence?…OK good. Keep me posted.” Gino disconnected and put his phone down.

“Apparently a witness has come forward who saw someone walking down the alley behind Miz Aronson’s house about the same time as the coroner's estimated time of death.”

“Are they gonna follow it up?”

“They don’t have much to go on. Guy was tall, walked with some authority and didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Only thing is the witness had never seen him before.”

”So the witness got a good look at him.”

“Not really, he caught sight of him walking away.” Gino said. Then he took a slug of his beer. “I told you this wasn’t over.”

Haven leaned back in his chair and let his mystery writer’s mind go to work. He sat quietly for a good minute, until Gino reminded him that he was still on planet earth.

“I was just thinkin’ about who would stand to benefit if Miz Aronson was no longer alive.” Haven said.

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same thing.”

“I think we should go have a chat with Mr. Furlong. Gotta return this recording anyway.”

“Wait a minute.” Gino said. “That recording is the only thing that connects Furlong to any of this. Maybe we should hold onto it. We can just tell him the kid destroyed it. But it’s a back pocket thing if we ever need it.”

“Well, you’re the ex-cop. I defer to your judgment on that.” Haven said.

They met at Furlong’s office which was in its own building on Don Mills Road up by the Trans Canada Highway, which everybody in Toronto called the 4 oh 1.

They met in a good-sized boardroom with a nice view of the Don Valley some fifty feet below. Furlong’s secretary, an older lady, named Diane Royce, whom Haven found out had been with Furlong since he started his business, led them from the reception area to the boardroom. She pointed to the coffee that was sitting in a carafe on a side cabinet. They both poured themselves a cup and sat down. A few minutes later Furlong walked in with another man, a little taller than Furlong and a whole lot harder looking. 

“Gentlemen. This is my second in command here, Rick Seymour.” Hands were shaken and everybody sat down.

“I understand that Miz Aronson has passed away. I was sorry to hear that.” Furlong said. “Have you been in touch with young Jonas?”

“Yeah. He’s spent the last few days with us, while we helped him get sorted out.” Haven said.

‘He didn’t happen to mention if he was interested in my offer at all?”

“No. He, ummm, well he had a lot of other things to deal with.” Haven said.

“And the recording?” Furlong asked.

“It’s in a safe place. We’re holding onto it until the investigation is completed.” Gino said.

“But the news reported that she had passed away from a heart attack. Surely the police can't be suspecting foul play.” Furlong said.

“Evidently, someone was seen in the alleyway behind the Aronson house. A witness came forward once they had found out about Miz Aronson.” Gino said.

Both Seymour and Furlong froze for just long enough for both Gino and Haven to notice.

“The police,” Gino said, “Like to have all their ducks in a row before they close a case.”

Furlong leaned back in his chair. “But this has nothing to do with me, so I don’t understand why you are holding onto the recording.”

“Like I said, the case is still open.” Gino said, watching the body language of the two men carefully. He could definitely feel a bit of tension in the room. “But you can rest assured that the video will be destroyed when her case is closed.”

Rick Seymour leaned forward in his seat. “You seem to know a lot about this case,” he said to Gino. “Is there anything that could cause that recording to become public?”

“Not at the moment.” Gino said. “But I did this stuff for about twenty years. Sometimes…well something just explodes for no reason. We’re hoping that’s not the case here. But whether you like it or not, Mr Furlong, you are connected to this case. We’ll just have to see how it plays out. In the meantime, you can consider our job here done.”

“I’ll have our accounts department invoice you ASAP.” Haven said.

“Of course.” Furlong said.

“Just so you know,” Haven said, “We haven’t brought your name up in connection with Ms Aronson’s case. I can’t speak for young Jonas though. But after my last conversation, I’m almost certain that he will just carry on. His mother was well insured, and he will be OK.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do.” Furlong said. 

Haven and Gino got to their feet. “We’ll let you know how things shake out.” Gino said. “We can see ourselves out.”

When they got back down to the car, Gino looked over at Haven. “That motherfucker, Rick Seymour.” Gino said. “I know what he is and I know what he does for this company. Maybe he didn’t kill Jonas’ mother. But I’ll bet he scared the shit out of her and got her frightened or angry enough to have a heart attack.”

“They both looked a little bit weird when I said we were keeping the recording.” Haven said.

“Yeah, they did. And wouldn’t it be just dandy if they decided to come after it.”

“You think that will happen?”

“You’re the writer Haven, how would see it playing out?”

Haven started the car. “I’m starting to feel like a piece of bread in a shit sandwich.”

“Good. It’ll keep you on your toes.” Gino said. “Let’s get out of here. The suburbs give me the willies.”

On the way back to the Beaches, Gino called Jake Ross. “Hey Jake. Have you closed down the Aronson case yet…Yeah…It's kinda sketchy. But something might be coming together out here. So keep an open mind. I might just call you again real soon. Thanks, pal.”

Haven chuckled.

“What?” Gino asked.

“You can take the cop out of the force, but…you know the rest.”

“Yeah, I guess it do. This private sector shit’s gonna require some getting used to.”

~ 13 ~

Late that afternoon, Angela Tucci arrived at Haven’s flat. She let herself in with a key he had given her a few months earlier. She and Haven had met when her husband was killed by a man named Richard Kane, who was sent to start a gang war in Toronto for a New York crime family that had their eye on the greater Toronto area market. 

Angela unpacked all the groceries she was carrying and went to work preparing dinner for Haven and Gino.

At about six PM, the two men walked through the door and entered the kitchen. Haven got the first kiss, which was pretty substantial. Gino got an affectionate caress and a kiss on the cheek.

“The veal needs a few more minutes.” Angela said. So they all sat down at the dining room table and Haven poured some red wine. 

“So how are things with B&H Investigations?” Angela asked.

“Comin’ along. We got our first client three days ago and wrapped it up rather quickly.” Haven said.

“Yeah, only it’s not quite over yet.” Gino said.

“What do you mean?” Angela asked.

“Well, Gino’s got this theory somebody involved in the case didn’t exactly die of natural causes. That maybe she was helped out, and maybe we’ve met the guy who helped her.” Haven said.

“So are you gonna tell the cops?”

“Tell them I’ve got a theory about something they consider pretty cut and dry?” Gino said. “Not yet. We have no evidence and if we do this and I’m wrong, well, I lose a lot of credibility, which I’m not prepared to do.”

“But you’re gonna stick with it, right?” Angela asked. “I mean, that poor kid of hers is all on his own.”

That poor kid’s not so poor.” Haven said. “His mom had a two million dollar life insurance policy and her work had her insured for another five hundred thousand. Plus he has a house on the east side that’s worth about another million and a half or so. I think he’ll be OK.”

“But if someone did help her along. I mean that’s gotta be some kind of crime, right? Angela said.

“All depends.” Gino said. “The guy we’re looking at for this, he’s a pro. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some evidence somewhere.”

Just then the oven bell dinged and Angela jumped up. The two men also got up. Haven tossed the Caesar salad, and Gino set the table. Then they all sat down and talked about more pleasant things, like when Angela and Haven were gonna make it official. Angela told them that she had already put her Forest Hill house on the market and that it would probably be sold within a couple of weeks. Then she could start redecorating the flat that she and Haven would inhabit. 

Mostly Angela was interested in how Gino was adjusting to civilian life. They went way back, and had almost gotten married themselves.

“You know, it’s interesting.” Gino said. “I thought it would be a piece of cake. But it turns out that thinking like a cop is a real advantage in our business. So I guess I have to learn to turn it off in the evenings and on the weekends.”

“We’ve got to get you a woman, Gino.” Angela said.“That’s all there is to it. That’s gonna be my next project.”

“Wait a minute, Angela.” Gino protested. “I don't think I need any help in that area.”

Angela just laughed. “Gino, I love you, but if there was ever anyone on this planet who needed a total makeover, it’s you. This area is filled with beautiful women, a lot of whom are looking for a successful guy for fun and games. But this Columbo schtick, it’s gotta go.”

Gino looked over at Haven who held up both of his hands. “I’ve been telling you that for years. Maybe it is time. New neighbourhood, new career, new image.”

Gino took a deep breath. He didn't say a thing. He just smiled at Angela and they all knew right then and there that she was gonna remake him.

“Tomorrow. You and me, Gino. We go up to Yorkdale and get you a new wardrobe. I’m sure that B&H would consider it a useful expense.” Angela said.”

“No complaint from me.” Haven said. 

And with that settled, Haven poured some more wine and they all toasted Gino’s new image, whatever the hell that would be.

~ 14 ~

It was another job for Wiley Dupree. This time, it was to hack into the computer systems of Furlong Construction, specifically the computer of one Rick Seymour.

Early the next week, at a little after nine in the evening. Wiley sat in the spare office at B&H Investigations, and connected himself to a server in Hamburg, Germany, by way of Buenos Aires and Johannesburg, South Africa.

“OK, I’m in,” Wiley said. What am I looking for?”

Gino was sitting opposite him. “Well if I were Mr Seymour and I was in charge of security for the company, I might be tempted to record…maybe all the conversations I have with my boss. I would use that as my Get Out Of Jail Free card if the shit should ever hit the fan and I needed to make a deal with, you know, the Mounties or the cops.”

“Okay.” Wiley said as he was scanning through Rick Seymour’s files. There appears to be small remote drive connected to his computer.”

“Take a peek in there. Or is it password protected?” Gino asked.

“Actually it is, but this idiot listed all his passwords on a fucking Post-It Note on his hard drive.” Wiley looked up at Gino. “People never cease to amaze me. Here it is.”

Wiley hit a bunch of keys and opened up the external hard drive. “Okay, you were right Gino. It’s a bunch of MP3 files. Fifty-three to be exact.”

“Alright. Can you copy them off onto your computer. I’ll get a memory key. How much space do they take up? 

“No more than 500 megs.” 

While Wiley copied the files, Gino went into his office and brought back a small black memory key.

The files only took about thirty seconds to download because of the speed of Wiley’s processor. Copying them over to Gino’s key took about ten minutes.

“So what’s the story with this dude, Gino?” Wiley asked.

“Not sure yet.” Gino replied, “But he’s definitely some kind of bad guy who did some harm to a lady who was already very ill. At least that’s what we suspect.”

After a few minutes of baseball banter, Wiley popped the memory key out of his drive and handed it to Gino.”

“Another three hundred?” Gino asked.

“Works for me.”

Gino went into Haven’s office and opened up a small steel box in one of his desk drawer. He pulled out three one hundred dollar bills and brought them back to Wiley who was just zipping up his computer case. He handed Wiley the bills.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Gino. I keep wanting to call you Inspector.” Wiley said.

“Yeah, we all have some shit to get used to. Thanks for your help, as usual Wiley.”

“No problemo.” Wiley said. “Hope he’s the bad guy and I hope you nail his ass. By the way, I like your new look.”

“Yeah, you can thank Angela for that?”

“Haven’s Angela?

“That’s the one.”

“Well, she really nailed that look for you, man.”

With that, the two men shook hands and Wiley was out of the office and down the stairs. A few minutes later, Gino left himself.

~ 15 ~

The next morning Gino was sitting in Haven’s office with his laptop open.

Fortunately for Gino, Rick Seymour had gone to the trouble of using dates to label each of the recordings he made. So Gino only had to listen to only half a dozen recordings until he found the two he was looking for. They were, of course, on the day before and the day of Grace Aronson’s death.

The conversations clearly implicated both Furlong and Rick Seymour.

The first conversation: 

Furlong: Her name is Grace Aronson. I’ve written down the address. She’s been off work for several weeks now. I need you to go over there and confirm her condition for me. I’m not gonna give this little pissant a dime unless I know this is for real.

Seymour: And what happens if I find out she’s just fakin’ it to shake you down?

Furlong: I’ll leave that up to you. But if she is, you need to make sure you leave there with any incriminating evidence she may have.

The Second conversation, the next day:

Seymour: “Some bad news. I went to see Miz Aronson. Was just starting to ask her some questions when she went ape-shit on me. Grabbed a knife and tried to attack me. She was pretty easy to subdue, but while that was happening, she just collapsed. Out like a light. I checked her pulse. There was nothing.

Furlong: “I don’t suppose you found anything on a computer, or a digital camera laying around anywhere.”

Seymour: “No, sir. The place was clean. I figure he just has the video on his phone.”

Furlong: “Well, I’m on my way over to meet with him, now. Hopefully he doesn’t know that his mother is…gone. If this doesn’t work out, we may also have to deal with him too, Rick.”

Seymour: “Yeah, well let's hope for the best, sir.”

Haven took a deep breath and shook his head. He was thinking hard about what to do with this illegally acquired evidence. But he sure as hell didn’t want to end up in jail by going straight to the police. He also knew that Gino was thinking the exact same thing.

“We could copy this off and send it anonymously to your pal, Jake Ross.” Haven said.

“Yeah, but the circle of people who knew anything about this death is pretty small. That could come around and bite us in the ass.” Gino said. “The only way we can actually finger these guys is if we get them to admit to us what they did. Legally, it’s involuntary manslaughter at best, and with the kind of lawyer that Furlong can afford to hire, it’ll get knocked down and both him and Ross will never end up doing any serious time.”

Haven knew enough about murder and manslaughter to know that Gino was right. So there they were with a ton of evidence they couldn’t use. 

“We do have one thing.” Haven said. “We have Jonas’ original recording. Maybe we should think about how to use that.”

Just then the office door opened and Bridget Shaunnessy entered with a file box with a bunch of pictures and other stuff in it. Haven and Gino walked over to the reception area and greeted her. 

“I like the ten till six option. Lots of seats on the streetcar.” she said.

“How far do you have to travel?” Gino asked.

“Actually not all that far, I live near Queen and Dufferin?”

“No kidding,” Gino said. “I used to live around there myself.”

They spent the next half hour or so talking to Bridget about her duties. Haven sat her down in front of his massive corkboard where all his outlines were tacked up with different colour push pins, and told her he needed each of the five outlines transcribed into separate Pages files, so he could start writing the stories. Bridget just nodded and said “Sure thing, Mr. Haven.”

“Just Haven, will do.”

“OK, Haven.”

While they were sitting in Haven’s office, Gino came in and took the other chair.

“OK, so, you know that this business is half Haven’s writing career and the other half doing private investigation work for our clients. Now you come from the legal profession so I don’t have to talk to you about confidentiality.” Gino said.

“No, I understand totally.” Bridget said.

“Good. Now we have just finished up a case so I will send you the details. So just check out our site and make your own email address and send yours to both of us and we’ll be in business.” Haven handed her Furlong’s card. 

“This is our first client, so you should open up a billing file. I’ll send you a number and the details in a while.” 

Bridget just smiled and got to her feet. She was about five foot three and beaming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here and not where I was.”

“That’s good.” Haven said. We’re also thinking about adding another person.” He turned to Gino. “Apparently Wiley really loves this office. He said he’ll bring his own server and hook us all up, because our Internet service is, in his opinion, the pits.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who is Wiley?” Bridget said.

“Wiley Dupree. He is a computer magician. Very nice fellow.” Gino said.

“Oh, a hacker, eh?” Bridget said.

“Sometimes, yeah. But he mostly works on the right side of the law.” Gino said.

“Well, that’s good then. The more the merrier.” Bridget said as she waltzed out of Haven’s office.

Gino just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “She’s gonna be a lot of fun to have around.” he said.

“Yeah, I think so.” Haven said. “I also think I might have a way through this Aronson thing.”

~ 16 ~

At Furlong Construction, a dweeby-looking kid in his early twenties named Dwayne Chisholm was in Rick Seymour’s office. Seymour was sitting behind his desk. Chisholm was sitting on the window ledge. 

“It was about nine thirty last night.’ Chisholm said. “The mainframe was hacked and they made a beeline right for your computer.” Chisholm had a small iPad in his hand. They entered the computer at 9:28, hit your hard drive at 9:32, copied fifty-three small MP3 files off your remote drive and were gone by 9:41. I tried to trace the source but it just led me on a merry chase around the globe. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were looking for and had their shit completely together. They were pros, and high-level ones at that.”

Seymour sat quietly taking it all in. He was sort of listening to Chisholm but most he was thinking about the people he knew had done this and why. He knew exactly what they were looking for but he also knew that it could not be used in evidence against him because it was obtained without any kind of search warrant. Still in all, they could be fed anonymously to the police and that would definitely cause them to focus on him. Or maybe they would contact him and demand a ransom. 

He nodded to Chisholm. “Thanks for the heads up, Dwayne. Let’s just keep this between us for now.”

“Most assuredly, Mr. Seymour. I’ll keep looking to see if I can figure out where this hack originated, but it’s real uphill work. Like I said, these guys are super pro.” Chisholm said as he got up to leave.

Seymour got up out of his chair and headed down the hall to Furlong’s office. Furlong was on the phone but waved him in. After Furlong hung up, he folded his hands in front of him. “What’s up Rick?”

“I was just thinking about the Aronson kid. I think it might be a good gesture for you to arrange to visit him. I mean he is your kid after all. Maybe you could even renew your offer to come and work here.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing myself.” Furlong said rubbing his forehead. “I suppose you would like me to find out how much he actually knows about what happened to his mother.”

“That would be useful, sir.” Seymour said.

“Are you worried about this coming back to bite us?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But to my way of thinking, the only way that could happen is through the kid.”

“Has something happened that I don’t know about, Rick?”

“No sir. You pay me to be cautious. I’m being cautious.”

“Alright. I’ll drive over there today.”

Seymour got to his feet. “That would be helpful, I think.” 

~ 17 ~

Whenever Haven needed to figure something out, he went for a run. He had a couple miles of boardwalk that ran right past his house, so he headed home, got changed and headed west out to the spit. He had a place on a pile of rocks where he could just stare out at Lake Ontario and feel like he was right in the middle of it. It always managed to clear his head. 

This case was the first time he really had to wrestle with a moral dilemma. All the dilemmas he’d had to deal with up to this point were ones of his own creation and he could resolve them pretty much any way he needed to in order to keep the story going. 

But this was a real-life dilemma, and a kid he had come to like had gotten hurt badly as a result of the actions of the very people who had hired himself and Gino to resolve the situation. It pissed him off, and he knew enough about himself to never make big decisions when you were in that state.

Could it be that Furlong just didn’t want to help Grace Aronson? Or could it be that he just wanted the problem out of his life in the most permanent way possible. Well, it was in his life now, and it could go either way. Gino, of course, would be all for resolving the situation and getting some justice for Grace Aronson and her son. And as Haven sat there on that rock, staring out at the wide expanse of lake in front of him, he decided that he did too.

~18 ~

Jonas Aronson was surprised when he answered the door and Edward Furlong was standing there on his steps. 

“Mr Furlong.” Jonas said. “Please, come in.”

Furlong entered the house. He looked around at the modest furnishings and thought about Grace raising a son on her own.

They sat down at the dining room table. “Can I get you anything some coffee or whatever?” Jonas asked.

“No that’s fine Jonas. I just came by to see how you are doing. And to offer my sincere condolences.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

“I also want you to know that if there is anything, anything at all that you need…”

“No, I’m fine. My mother owned the house outright. I own my car and there was a very substantial insurance payout.”

“That’s good. I just wanted you to know that I was prepared to help you and your mother in any way possible.”

“Thank you.”

“But there’s one thing that’s been on my mind since the outset. And that is why your mother never contacted me when she discovered she was pregnant.”

“I wish I knew the answer to that. But honestly, it never came up. When I asked her, I was maybe twelve or thirteen, she said, it was just one of those things, and she was happy just to raise me on her own.”

“And how did you find out about me in the first place?”

“After she got diagnosed, several months ago. I sort of took over the family finances. One day. I found a letter she had written to you, but never mailed. I didn’t tell her about finding it. I tried contacting you directly several times, but you have very protective people working for you. So one day I decided to follow you. That led me to the house where I made the video. And that led to all the rest of it.”

Furlong said nothing for quite a while. “And so, what happened to the video? Did you destroy it?”

No, I gave it to Mr Haven and his partner. They told me they would try and resolve everything for me.”

Furlong got to his feet. “Well, I’m very sorry about what has happened. And at the risk of sounding like a broken record, please, contact me if you need anything at all.” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “This is my direct private line.”

Jonas took the card. The two men shook hands and Furlong left. Furlong looked very calm on the outside. But inside he was seething. When he got into his car, he pulled out his phone and called Rick Seymour.

“Rick. It’s Haven and Botticelli. They’ve got the recording, of course and it’s more than likely they’re the ones who did the hack last night.”

“You knew about the hack?”

“Rick, it’s my company. I know about everything that goes on in it. I suggest you figure out a way to deal with this and soon.” Furlong said and disconnected.

~ 19 ~

Gino and Haven were sitting on Haven’s balcony, while the sun was setting somewhere to their far right. They both had cold bottles of Grolsch in their hands and both had their feet up on the rail.

“I’ve been thinking about what to do with this Furlong guy and his minion.” Gino said. “Cause sooner or later, they’re gonna come after us.”

“Yeah, well that’s the plan.” Haven said. “We let them. We get them in a room to arrange the exchange and we record the whole fucking thing. Easy peasy.” Haven said with a confidence that surprised even him.

Gino just chuckled. “Said the crime fiction writer who controlled the narrative because it came out of his own head. In the real world, things don’t quite work that way.”

“Oh, and how do they work in the real world?”

“Well, first of all, this is not gonna be some tidy little meeting. Furlong will send his guy after us and with explicit orders to bring back the recording or die trying.”

“Now who’s sounding like a fiction writer.”

“That’s what I’d do if I were him. Just remember, Grace Aronson may not be around but there is still Furlong’s wife and half of his net worth on the line. Guys like him will do whatever it takes to hold onto that.”

“So you’re saying my little plan’s not really worth a shit.”

“Pretty much.” Gino said and took a long slug of his beer. “What we have to do is watch and wait. Seymour will show up sooner or later, looking to take the recording from us by force. That’s when we get him talking. And if we get lucky, we get him to incriminate himself. And if we get real lucky, we don’t get shot and or killed.”

“Not crazy about the shot and or killed part. Never have been.”

“I think we’ll be OK, because we’re gonna give him exactly what he’s looking for. And he’s gonna do the same for us. I hope.”

~ 20 ~

Rick Seymour carried a Smith & Wesson 45 semi-automatic with a suppressor that he purchased from an underground gun dealer in the city of Oshawa about 20 miles east of Toronto. The gun was unregistered and had its serial number expertly burned off. It cost him about $1200 which he expensed to Furlong Construction with a fake invoice for repairs to his company car.

It was close to 11 PM and the usual crowds on Queen Street were starting to thin down as the restaurants were closing. Seymour looked up at the second-floor office of B&H Investigations and saw that there were lights on in one of the front offices. 

Quietly and skillfully he picked the lock on the ground floor and walked up the stairs. He entered the office and walked past the reception area toward Haven’s office. Haven was sitting at his desk. Seymour looked around. The rest of the floor was dark. He entered Haven’s office. and took a seat opposite his desk.

“I suppose you have come for the video.” Haven said.

“You’re very perceptive.” Seymour said and drew his pistol and laid it on Haven's desk.

“I know you didn’t actually kill Grace Aronson, Seymour.” Haven said.

“Oh yeah. And how do you know that?”

“I’m not sure if you have taken a good look at yourself in a mirror lately, but you are pretty fuckin’ scary looking. And I don’t mean that in a Herman Munster kind of way. You just have this intensity about you. So I can see how a lady like Grace Aronson, who was quite ill to begin with, could have indeed suffered a heart attack, without you having to do very much at all.

“You don’t know shit about that, Mr. Haven.”

“Well suppose you fill me in on the details.”

“Do you think I’m some kind of idiot? You’re probably recording this entire conversation.”

“Confession is good for the soul, Mr. Seymour.” Haven said.

“The only good thing that’s gonna happen here is that you’re gonna give me that video, and I will be on my merry way.” Seymour said. He picked up the gun and cocked it. “Now I would appreciate it if you hand it all over, along with the audio recordings you hacked from my computer.”

“You know what happened between you and Miz Aronson is gonna come out one day.”

Seymour just pointed the gun at Haven. “The recordings, if you please.”

“What are you gonna do, shoot me? I have footage of you picking my lock downstairs and coming into my office brandishing a weapon. You’re fucked six ways from Sunday, Mr Seymour.”

“Then I really have nothing to lose by putting a hole in your head.”

“Is that a threat?” Haven asked.

“Nope, it’s a promise, now hand over the fucking recordings!”

Gino entered the doorway to Haven's office. He was holding a stun gun levelled at Seymour.

“That sounds like a death threat to me.” Gino said. 

Seymour swivelled his chair to face Gino. He brought his gun up and pointed it at Gino. But Gino was expecting that so he fired the stun gun into Seymour’s chest. He dropped the gun and then quickly slipped out of his chair and onto the floor, as the current caused his body to convulse like crazy. 

Gino deactivated the current, then rolled the semi-conscious Seymour over and strapped his hands together with a thick zip tie.

“Now we call the cops, Haven.” he said. 

Gino took a look at the stun gun in his hand. “This is a handy little thing, isn’t it?”

 

~ 21 ~

Based on the incident at Haven’s office, Jake Ross obtained a warrant for Rick Seymour’s computer. Edward Furlong was also taken into custody as an accomplice. The charge was third-degree murder and it stuck. Both men were sentenced to ten years in the Kingston Penitentiary. Seymour drew an additional eight years for possession of an unregistered hand gun and silencer, and the death threats he uttered to Haven.

Haven sent the recording that Jonas had made to Edward Furlong’s wife, which she used to gain control of half of the company and sell it to a large construction company which made the incarcerated Furlong a bargain basement offer for the other half of the business.

Jonas Aronson graduated from Glendon with a BA in English, Over the summer Haven found him a good investment agent who put his money to work for him in the market. Jonas then enrolled in Teacher’s College. One year, later he was teaching grade nine and ten English at a high school just a few blocks from his house.

B&H Investigations was paid in full for their work and got the cheque into the bank before the company went to hell. Gino had, at Haven’s urging, taken up running and the two of them would start their days, weather permitting, with a three-mile run on the boardwalk.

Three months later, Haven took and passed his Investigator’s exam and the company was officially in business. They celebrated with dinner at Hy's Steakhouse downtown. Haven with Angela and Gino with his girlfriend, Trudy Jacobs. She was a manager at the Royal Bank at Queen and Lee, which, oddly enough, was right next door to H&R Investigations.

Then one day, about a week later, a lawyer named Frederick Atwater called.

Part 3. The RedFred22 Case

~ 1 ~

Frederick Atwater was a partner in a downtown law firm called Feeney, Atwater and Hughes. They were pretty much a corporate affairs firm, but Atwater specialized in the quickly emerging practice area of cybercrime litigation.

Atwater, like the majority of lawyers in the city, received notification of the formation of B&H Investigations, and a further follow-up notification that a cybercrimes expert named Wiley Dupree had also joined the firm.

This combination of an ex-big-time hacker, a successful mystery writer and a former Metro Robbery Homicide cop was exactly what Atwater was looking for.

Cybercrime was a relatively new area of the law and firm boundaries were yet to be defined by governments. In fact, very few governments could even agree on what cybercrime actually was. But Frederick Atwater knew. Because in another life, before attending Osgoode Hall Law School, Frederick Atwater was one of the original cyber-hackers. This, of course, was not something that he ever made public, and so far, it had not come back to haunt him in any way. Quite the opposite in fact; it turned out to be a real asset to his clients, many of whom had been hacked and needed protection against the massive wave of hacking that was shaping up with the rapid development of AI.

Frederick Atwater wasn’t as interested in the law and order side of the hacking game as he was in the political side. He had hopes of being appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, where he could be part of the lawmaking process. But before he could realize that aspiration and achieve that goal he needed two things. 

One, he needed to make sure that his hacker history was completely invisible from view.

 And two, he needed to develop a reputation as a cybercrime fighter extraordinaire. And for that, he needed, among other things, a team like B&H investigations

~ 2 ~

Emil Haven was currently at work editing the second novel in his Virgin Detective series, which he preferred to do at home. So he was only available in the afternoons. This was fine with Frederick Atwater who walked into the office at 4 PM that day. The secretary/receptionist, Bridget Shaughnessy, showed him into the meeting room where Gino, Haven and Wiley Dupree sat waiting.

Once they were all seated, handshakes done, coffees served and notepads opened, Atwater started by reaching into his briefcase and pulling out three sheets of paper. “Because I have not yet retained you yet, I will need you to sign these non-disclosure agreements.”

‘Of course,” said Haven. But in the back of his mind, he was wondering what the hell this was all about.

All three men read and signed the agreements and passed them back to Atwater.

“Thank you,” Atwater said as he slipped the signed documents into his briefcase. “First and foremost, your client in this matter is me. I have been a partner in my firm for about seven years now, and over the past five of this seven years, have managed to develop the cybercrime area of our practice to the point where we are quite literally  the ‘go-to’ firm in that area of law.

“I have several associates who handle the bulk of the grunt work. But one of the things I have learned in the past five years is that our government, especially our justice system, is almost clueless when it comes to creating laws in this area. And that’s understandable. It is a relatively new area of law. My goal is to develop my profile to the point where I can be nominated for and appointed to a seat on the Supreme Court of Canada.”

“So you want to be the one of the people who makes the laws.” Haven said.

“Yes. And once I have told you my whole story you’ll see that my experience in this area makes me extremely well qualified for this position.”

Wiley leaned forward in his chair with his thumbs pushing into his eyebrows and his eyes closed.

“You know, back when I was first starting out in the
business there was somebody. Nobody knew anything about him. He went by the handle RedFred22.”

Atwater leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I now know that I have come to the right place. I was indeed RedFred22.” He said.

‘Wow.” Wiley said. He looked at both Gino and Haven. “This won’t mean much to you guys. but we are sitting here with a legend. RedFred22 was one of the real innovators in the hacking trade and the beauty of it was that he was willing to share most of his knowledge with anyone and everyone.”

“A great deal of water has flowed under that bridge, Mr. Dupree. I’m proud of a lot of it. But at the same time I’m concerned that once I step into the public arena, it may very well come back to haunt me. So not only do I need whatever  RedFred history exists out there identified and hidden. I need to make sure that anyone who attempts to attack me is found and dealt with.”

“By dealt with,” Gino asked, “What exactly do you mean?”

“Nothing sinister or illegal I assure you.” He leaned forward. “There are people who would not want to have me on the Supreme Court because they know I would start making laws that would adversely affect their activities. So they will attempt to sabotage my efforts or even worse, they will attempt to blackmail me with whatever information they might have.” 

“And how do we go about finding these people?” Haven asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Wiley said. “We can monitor all of Mr. Atwater’s digital communication and I can ID anyone who’s either trying to derail him or shake him down. This will make it easier for us to operate.”

“I’m curious about one thing, sir,” Gino said. “How are you able to afford to do all of this, because getting into politics can be quite costly.”

“An excellent question. Mr Botticelli.” Atwater said.  “There are two answers. One is that I come from a rather well-to-do family. The second is that this is not a spur-of-the-moment decision I was approached by a consortium of business owners who are backing me. These are people who want to see the cyber world, particularly the AI business reined in.”

They talked for another half hour and agreed on a retainer and an hourly rate. Atwater signed the contract that Bridget brought in, then wrote them a hefty cheque and before he left, he handed Wiley a slip of paper, with the name and password for the RedFred site.

Then Gino, Wiley and Haven grabbed some more coffee, sat back down and talked it through. Wiley would start by monitoring Atwater’s communication and, at the same time, start digging into the history of RedFred22.

While Wiley was the first to admit that this was not what one would call a perfect solution, it was certainly a place to start. The real effective stuff, as he put it, could only take place after a threat was made. But in any such case, the advantage would be theirs. At this point, all they could do was let Wiley do his thing and be ready to respond to any hard-core situation that might arise.

After Wiley went back to his office, Gino and Haven carried their coffees to Haven’s office.

“How’s the writing going?” Gino asked.

“It’s a little tougher this time. It always is at the beginning of a series. You’re still working out the main character and how he moves through the world.” Haven replied. “It’s all the more difficult because the real-life stuff is a hell of a lot more interesting.”

“So why don’t you back off?”  Gino said. “Hire a ghostwriter to write out your contract then retire. You already have the stories outlined.”

Haven leaned back in his chair. “You’re not gonna believe this, but I have never thought about doing that.”

“Yeah, I believe it. You’re what we like to call a workhorse. Always gotta be doing something.”

“We are what we are, Gino,” Haven said. “I’ll get through it like I always do. Just be a shame to back out now, just when I’ve finally started to get the hang of it all.”

Gino looked at his watch. “Gotta go. Gonna meet the missus for dinner.”

“Getting serious?”

“We’ll see.”

Gino got to his feet and headed out the door. Haven walked down the hall to Wiley’s office. Wiley was doing something with a lot of code on his computer screen.

“Good meeting?” Haven asked.

“Shit, yeah. Red fucking Fred 22. There are about a thousand people I would love to tell about that.”

“So was he a good guy or a bad guy?”

“We were all bad guys, according to the criminal code at the time. But he was more interested in figuring out shortcuts and workarounds and sharing them, so I guess that would make him a good guy, helping bad guys get better at being bad guys.”

“Did you ever feel guilty about what you were doing back then?”

“Naaa. We were all young and stupid. Mostly we were doing it to show our friends how cool we were. It wasn’t about the pot of gold. it was more about riding the rainbow.”

Haven chuckled. “That’s a pretty good line. Maybe I’ll use that one of these days.”

“Knock yourself out. I’ll want a piece of your royalty of course.”

Haven chuckled because he knew just how minuscule a piece that would be.

“I’m heading home to go for a run. I’ll keep my cell with me in case anything pops sooner rather than later.”

“Okie dokie.” Wiley said as he turned to his machinery and got lost.

~ 3 ~

Haven liked to use his running time to think things through. The man he had just met seemed like he was really on the level. And for a lawyer, it was a natural progression to seek a judgeship. But because Haven came from wealth, he also knew that this man had to have been connected in ways he was not willing to disclose. Haven wondered a lot about who was backing him. And why him? What was so special about him out of all the lawyers who would seek a Supreme Court judgeship? It couldn’t have just been about cybercrime.

When he returned from his run, he grabbed a quick shower then, took a beer from the fridge and walked out to the deck to call his father.

Emil Haven III, Haven’s father, was the head of the Haven family. He used to to CEO of a number of different mining, manufacturing operations and investments that kept the Haven fortune fat and happy. But over the past several years he had divested the corporation of all its heavy industry and \now focused on playing the market and providing capital funding for promising new ideas.

Haven and his father had had their disagreements, mostly over Haven’s choice of career, which took a little more than the mandatory ten years to mature into something genuinely respectable. But more than that, Haven senior regretted that, with his retirement, the Haven business brand would be be relegated to the pages of Canadian business history. 

Once Haven had achieved some notoriety and real success as a writer, and then had gone into the investigation business with his Italian friend Gino, his father started to see the real entrepreneur emerge in his son. If he couldn’t have him in the family business, at least he could have some parental bragging rights. Haven senior was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. And that pragmatism was what eventually healed the father-son relationship.

“This is Haven.” his dad said when he answered the phone.

“What a coincidence. This is Haven too.” Haven said.

“And how are things down on the lake these days?”

“Moving right along. We, uh, signed a new client today. His name is Frederick Atwater. Does that name ring a bell?

“Well certainly. He is the go-to lawyer for all things cyber-related. He is one of the most well-informed lawyers in the country in that field.”

“How do you know him?”

“We met about six months ago at a very expensive seminar he gave on cyber crimes. With the downright madness and speed of AI development, smart CEOs need to be able to keep an informed eye on things. Not just from the operational perspective, but also from the more distasteful area of cybercrime.”

“So what was your take on him?”

“Well, there were some pretty heavy hitters in that crowd, so my assumption was that he is well-connected. He also struck me as blatantly ambitious. He made no secret about his desire to be appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, and have a real influence on the laws governing cyber activity in that area which, in my opinion at least, are essential for both business and government going forward.”

“Sounds like he made quite an impression on you.”

“Indeed he did. I’m curious, though, about why he would need yourself and Mr Botticelli?”

“We have a new partner. His name is Wiley Dupree, a former hacker who now specializes in cyber security. Like you say, dad, it’s something we need to keep an eye on going forward.”

Well if your question is, is Mr. Atwater the real deal, my answer would be an emphatic yes.”

“Would you consider hiring him…if the situation arose?”

“Oh, in a heartbeat. The man is a genius. He had things figured out that caused us all to sit up and take notice. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear we were being lectured to by a world-class hacker. ”

“Okay. I appreciate your candour. How’s everything else?”

“Fine and dandy. You’ll also be pleased to know that I finally met someone.

Haven’s father was a divorcee. Haven’s mother had had enough and buggered off to Florida with her tennis coach. She was a restauranteur by trade and, with part of her divorce settlement money, opened a very posh restaurant in Coral Gables. “We’d love to have you and your ladyfriend up for dinner one of these nights.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Haven said. He was careful not to probe too deeply. They shot the breeze for a little while longer. Haven told his father about his plan to work out his five-year contract with Dell and then just continue to work with Gino and Wiley, solving real-life mysteries.

They disconnected. Haven sat on his deck, finished his beer and thought about Frederick Atwater, trying to figure out what the hell was bugging him about the guy. Haven had always prided himself on his instincts and they were whispering to him right now. After a while, he got tired of thinking about it and went back to work polishing The Virgin Detective Volume #2. He still didn't have a title worked out for it he figured that he would have one by the time he was finished with his editing.

~ 4 ~

The next morning, close to noon, Haven walked into the office. He said hello to Bridget, hung his bag up on his door, got himself a coffee and sauntered on down to Wiley’s office.

Wiley was doing something mystical on his computer and barely noticed Haven as he flopped down on one of Wiley’s chairs. Haven knew him well enough not to interrupt. After a few minutes, Wiley lifted his hands off the keyboard and leaned back in his chair, looking out into the space above his computer screen at nothing in particular.

“Being a mystery writer,” Wiley said. “I’m sure you understand the concept of the Wild Goose Chase. You may have sent one of your characters on one at some point.”

“The Wild Goose Chase,” Haven said ‘Is subterfuge to hide, distract and confuse.”

“Exactly.”

“So are you telling me you are on a Wild Goose Chase, Wiley?”

“The thing of it is I don’t really know. I was so in awe of being in the presence of RedFred22 that my objective thinking gears got all gummed up. After he left and I got going on my search I started to think more clearly and it occurred to me that if he actually was RedFred22, who was legendary, how would there possibly be any digital footprint for me to follow? I mean, it ran counter to the whole idea of what he was, or claimed to be.”

“Maybe he’s just paranoid,” Haven said. “Or maybe he feels that he made a mistake somewhere along the line. I mean it happens to the best of us. It explains why you’re in Canada and not New Orleans. Cybercrimes are getting easier to detect by the day. Maybe, he screwed up and is worried about his identity falling into the wrong hands.”

“Or maybe he’s putting us through this exercise to confirm that his online identity is safe because he’s still using it.’ Wiley replied. “Let’s face it, an active hacker is not going to be considered for dogcatcher let alone a Supreme Court judgeship.”

“So you think he’s just using you to test his vulnerability?”

“Yep, I do.” 

“Why is that?”

“Well, because I haven’t found any evidence of him operating recently. The last bytes I picked up were six years old. This means that he is safe ‘cause if he had retired there would be a noticeable absence of activity, which there is.
But I can’t, nor can any of my other sources, confirm that he’s actually gone dark. And in my business that only means that he’s still active and that he’s somehow managed to cloak himself.

All the while Wiley was scrolling down a web page when something caught his eye.

“Whoa.”

“Whoa what?” Haven asked.

“Cyber Woodcutter.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a dark web site devoted to hacking. Mostly just news but over the past week or so, it looks like, they have been running a little contest to see who could find and hack the RedFred22 site.”

“No shit.” Haven said.

“Sure as hell explains why Mr. Atwater showed up here when he did. The dweebs are hunting him.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Roger that.”

Haven got up and he and his coffee retired to his office.

About a half hour later Wiley’s computer beeped and he shouted to Haven and Gino, who scrambled down to his office.

 They looked at the screen. “Hmmm, now this is interesting,” Wiley said. “It looks like someone is in there, and it’s not Atwater, because he is in a meeting uptown, according to the location of his phone.”

“You mean he’s been hacked.”

“Looks that way. They’ve gone right for the tools and are uploading them.”

Wiley did some keyboard work, swore a bit, then did a bit more keyboard work.“This is gonna take a while, these people are good.”

At this point. Gino was leaning on the door jam with a cup of coffee.

“You know.” Gino said, “It could just as easily be him, downloading tools to upload to a new program.”

Wiley looked up from his keyboard. “I don’t think so, Gino. This hack is bouncing all over the place. But I’ve got a tracker on it. I’ll let you know when it lands and where.”

As they walked down the hall to their offices, Gino said. “Don't you find it a little strange that he hires us to make sure his hacker account is safe and then a couple days later it gets hacked. Where I come from that’s what we call hinky.”

“Yeah, it does seem kind of strange. But I think we have to see what Wiley comes up with.” Haven said. 

“Maybe he’s just testing us and he’s doing this hack himself. If we spot it, which Wiley did, then there’s nothing to be afraid of, and he can move forward with impunity, and probably get his Federal Judgeship.” Gino said. 

“It’s definitely a possibility.  Haven said. “But let’s face it, what you and I know about this stuff could easily fit on the head of a pin.”

“That’s true.” Gino replied with a shrug.

“I have a hard time thinking that he’s fucking with us. I mean the guy is already rich.” Haven said, “He’s already pretty powerful. And he really didn’t strike me as any sort of megalomaniac. I talked to my dad last night and found out that he is teaching the heads of big private sector businesses about the need for enhanced cybersecurity. That kind of runs counter to everything we have been talking about.”

“Does it?” Gino asked, “Or is it just a way to get next to some big business support for his judgeship bid or maybe even some high value consulting contracts.”

Wiley shouted for them, so they went back to his office and sat down. “I’m sure that this was a genuine hack. Not sure at all how they pulled it off. Or anything else about them just yet. But it will come. It usually always does.” 

Gino and Haven were both impatient people. So they decided to go for a walk along Queen Street.

“I don't know, my friend,” Gino said, “This all feels too convenient.”

“OK let’s suppose he hacked himself or hired someone to do it for him. What does he stand to gain by that?”

“Well, for one thing, he gets to test us to see how good Wiley is. Almost all the lawyers I ever dealt with were devious enough to think that way.”

“So does this mean he’s got something criminal in mind, or is he just paranoid?”

“Right now my gut is telling me that the guy is up to something,” Gino said,  “Either because he has a criminal mind and he’s using it to gain more power that will give him what he’s looking for, or he’s being manipulated into doing this under some kind of threat. Maybe if we can identify what his true motive could be, we can figure out the rest.” 

Haven turned to Gino. “You should have a chat with him, you know, a cop-to-victim kind of thing.”

Gino thought about it for a few seconds then nodded. “That’s not a bad idea.”

~ 5 ~

They agreed to meet downtown at a coffee shop near the St. Lawrence Market. Wiley got Gino wired up for the conversation because they never knew what would be said. They agreed that Gino would be kind of forceful with Atwater and see if he could shake something out of him.

It was a warm day and the two men sat outside. Gino was dressed in a suit with no tie, a look he preferred after years of being stuck in what he blithely referred to as a monkey suit. Atwater was attired in his lawyer’s uniform. Dark suit, light blue shirt and burgundy patterned tie.

They got their coffees and situated themselves at the outside edge of the array of tables. It was mid-afternoon and there were very few other coffee drinkers around.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, Mr. Botticelli?” Atwater asked.

“Wiley, Haven and I have been talking. Wiley’s been going about the business of finding out who might know about you, and during our discussions, he mentioned something interesting.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Well, it goes like this. Yesterday, late in the afternoon we discovered evidence of a hack on your site. He’s actively trying to trace the source of that hack. But in order to be thorough, he needs to go through more than a billion sites. A billion one hundred and thirty million to be precise. But because you are who you are, we also have a theory that the hacker could be you and the destination you are moving your material to could be a new site you have set up.”

Gino watched Atwater’s face and body language closely, looking for a tell, but he saw nothing. Either Atwater was a total psychotic or the real deal.

“The only reason we are thinking this way”, Gino continued, “Is that the timing is incredibly convenient, and as a former cop I have a lot of trouble believing in coincidence.”

“So you think I’m testing you?” Atwater said flatly.

“That’s the prevailing theory,” 

“I assure you Mr Botticelli that I am not. I believe this will be confirmed when Mr. Dupree finally traces the source of the hack. Until then, this is all what we lawyers call conjecture.”

‘Yeah it is but, you have to admit that the timing is a bit suspicious.”

“Yes I agree. And I wish I had an answer for you that wasn’t conjecture of my own.”

“And you say no one else has the password to your site.”

“I do indeed say that. Why on earth would I possibly want to share that?”

“That’s a valid point.”

“I want you to keep investigating,” Atwater said. “I want you to find this source and I want to have it eliminated. Because I assure you, it is not me. The tools I created for my activity are very powerful. They can easily be updated and become even more powerful. In the wrong hands, they can be…quite destructive. I have no idea how they managed all of this. My password is or should have been undiscoverable. This is putting my entire plan in danger. All someone has to do is connect the dots and I’m finished.”

Gino stared at Atwater. If anything, he was feeling the man’s fear.

“My hope,” Atwater said, “Is that Mr. Dupree is able to identify the culprit and that we can figure out a legal way to put them out of business, or barring that, a more physical or financial solution.” Atwater said.

“And what happens if we don’t find these hackers and deal with them?”

“Well, then we’re back to the original challenge. They could very easily derail the hopes of my federal judgeship. Which is why I need to know who they are and what their specific motive might be.”

“So this goes from a search to a search and destroy mission?”

“That’s about the size of it, Mr Botticelli,” Atwater said, then looked at his watch. 

“At least now we know how to focus this investigation,” Gino said. “But let me ask you this. Why didn’t you just get rid of the identity when you left the hacker business?”

“Because I figured that it might have some utility for me going forward, even if just for the purposes of education.”

Gino didn’t know enough about the ins and outs of the hacker trade to understand what that could possibly mean. And he really didn't want clutter up his brain with trying to figure all that out. A client is a client, he thought.

The two men got up and shook hands. Atwater turned and walked back toward the office towers on the other side of Yonge Street. Gino sat back down and did some thinking about just what Atwater was expecting them to do when they located the hacker.

 ~ 6 ~

Gino got back to the office an hour later. Bridget informed him that both Haven and Wiley had left for the day and that they should meet up at Haven’s flat. Twenty minutes later they were all sitting on Haven’s balcony drinking beers and looking out at the sparsely populated beach. The skies above them were a gunmetal grey.

“I pushed him and he pushed back and I came away believing him. So maybe the odd coincidence does happen.” Gino said.

Wiley absently rubbed his face with his hands. “Hope you told him this was gonna add more time to the meter. I’m still trying to trace that hack.”

“My read is that that’s not gonna matter much at all.” Gino replied.

“At least we know who we’re not looking for. File that under small mercies.” Wiley said as he finished off his beer and got to his feet. I’ll go check on the search.”

“Good man, Wiley.” Gino said.

After Wiley had left. Haven stood up and leaned over the railing looking out at the lake. In the distance, he could see a freighter heading west to the Welland Canal, eventually heading then north to the larger lakes, likely to pick up a load of iron ore.

“You reckon he was levelling with you?” Haven asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t get any sort of bad guy vibe from him.”

“OK so best case, Wiley finds the hacker, sees what he’s up to and we call the cops. Worst case, Wiley finds the hacker who is more than willing to fuck Atwater over and we have to get kinda heavy.”

“You forgot about ‘what if Wiley doesn't figure out who the hacker is.” Gino said. “And for what it’s worth I don’t think the first option will fly with Atwater at all.” 

“So just the one option. And hope.”

“Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, as my dad used to say.” Gino said. 

Haven just smiled. Then he chuckled. “Have a little faith, Gino.”

Gino just looked out at the darkening sky, wondering about how little faith he actually had. 

~ 7 ~

His name was Sheldon Tibbles and her name was Eva Storey. They were a couple of Seneca College-educated nerds who lived in a small house on the north shore of Lake Ontario in a town called Grimsby, which was across the lake from Toronto. They were small-time hackers and full-time website creators and managers, with clients all over the Grimsby, Stoney Creek Hamilton and Burlington areas. Sheldon did all the heavy lifting design-wise. Eva was the salesperson and copywriter because she was great looking and, more importantly, a real people person, which Sheldon was not.

But Sheldon was a genius level programmer and he had devised a password detection system that worked at lightning speed while he rolled around the Internet looking for interesting and potentially profitable sites to hack, and then blackmail the site owners. 

They had been at this for a couple years now and had amassed a bitcoin stash of well over ten million. But it wasn’t the money, it was the game, as the old saying went. They never charged much in blackmail fees, always $100,000 which seemed to be the magic number that most companies were willing to pay to get back control of their systems.

They had penetrated dozens of sites in this fashion because most sites were protected with relatively simple passwords. and while they may have left a tiny digital fingerprint, they had their own formidable firewall. 

One day, Sheldon Sheldon read an article, on a dark web-based hacker newsletter called Cyber Woodcutter, about the legendary RedFred22 and his disappearance some six years earlier. It was called ‘Finding RedFred’ The article was a bit of a dare to hack the site that had been dormant for more than six years. This had become a challenging bit of recreation for the young couple, and probably another couple thousand or so hackers who were on the receiving end of the monthly newsletter.

Once they had taken up the challenge of hacking RedFred22, it was simply a matter of programming the URL into his password finder program, which he called Algolightning, and waiting.

Cracking the RedFred site, took three whole days and nights of his program coughing out alphanumeric password permutations. By Sheldon’s counter, they were way up in the tens of millions, when they finally hit it.

Once they were in and had a look around, they found the tools file and downloaded all of them, mostly so that he could analyze them and figure out how to use them, primarily for the purposes of making more money, which was their real goal. They didn’t think much about the legal ramifications of what they were doing, because they were smart enough, or at least they thought they were, to believe they were always stealing from thieves of one kind or another. They shared a very dim view of the corporate world.

But as smart and clever as Sheldon was, he had never come up against a guy like Wiley Dupree

~ 8 ~

The next morning Wiley woke up with a brainwave. He quickly dressed, wolfed down some breakfast and headed to the office. All the while his brain was churning. At the same time, he was kicking his ass that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He was so taken with being in the presence of the legend that he’d lost his intellectual balance, so to speak.

When he got to the office, his machine was still searching for the hackers. Wiley quit the search, because he had decided to go at it another way, 

 Wiley was now over the initial awe of meeting RedFred and his brain was starting to function in its usual way. This was when he realized what he should have done in the first place, which was to work from the inside out.

Wiley went online and opened the site with the password that Atwater had given him earlier. He then surfed into the time log and found the most recent entry, which was three days old. The entry code was cleverly complex so Wiley knew he was looking for a pretty serious hacker. He found the coding he was looking for and copied it off into the memo file of a decryption program he had created several years earlier.  He then closed up RedFred22 site and started to work on decoding the information he had picked up there. 

Ten minutes later he had the address of the server that Sheldon Tibbles used for his hacking. There, he also saw a long list of coded information which Wiley assumed was a history of all the different sites that Tibbles had hacked over the past two years.

Wiley then left the program and searched for Sheldon’s site, which he assumed was the front for legitimate business. He found it quickly off a simple Google search.. It was called NorthShoreGraphics.com. The masthead contained a picture of a quaint house on the Lake Ontario shoreline. Below on the home page banner were images of both Sheldon Tibbles and Eva Storey. At the bottom of the page, under a blurb about their web design and copywriting business, as well as a small map of their location complete with address phone number and email addresses.  

Wiley printed out the home page for both Gino and Haven. He then texted Atwater and told him to change his password for the RedFred22 site and that they would be in touch regarding further developments. 

A couple hours later, Gino and Haven walked into the office. Haven set a large Starbucks latte on the reception desk for Bridget, and they both went to their offices. After they dropped off their bags, they walked down to Wiley’s office. He was sitting at his desk with his feet up and his hands folded behind his head.

“I figured it out.”

“Already?” Haven said.

“Yeah. I checked out who were the last people on the site and tracked them from the rather well-disguised fingerprint they left.”

Wiley then handed both Gino and Haven a sheet of paper which was a printout of the homepage for the website, NorthShoreGraphics.com. 

“They’re in a town called Grimsby, wherever that is. They do web design and copywriting. But I guess one of them is a world-class hacker with some kind of alphanumeric password search program, because the password that Atwater sent me, man, it was pretty much unguessable, so it had to be done by a very high-speed program of some sort.”

Gino and Haven both read the sheet that Wiley had given them.

“Well, it looks like we're heading to Grimsby.” Haven said. 

“I texted Atwater and told him to change his password. I didn’t tell him anything else.” Wiley said.

“Good.” said Gino. I want these people completely out of the picture before we tell him anything.”

~ 9 ~

“Shit!” Sheldon Tibbles roared. 

Eva looked up from her work. “What’s that about?”

“Somebody was in the RedFred site. And about twenty minutes later the site closed up. I tried opening it again but it wouldn’t accept the password.”

Sheldon got up and wandered out to the back deck of the house. He looked out at the lake at the end of his small yard. Eva came out and stood beside him.

“Is this bad news?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Either the site owner figured out the hack and changed the site password to lock us out. Or he’s got some pretty smart people working for him and one of them did it. Either way, we’re fucked.” 

“But you got all the tools.”

Sheldon took a deep breath. “Yeah, but now I’m a little paranoid about using them. I mean if he’s got himself a watchdog, they’ll be on us from the first minute we activate anything. No, we’ll have to get rid of it all.”

“Wait a minute.” Eva said. “Think about this logically. This guy is or was a major-league hacker, which makes him a criminal. Who is he gonna turn us in to? The cops? That just doesn’t make sense. The guy changed the password because he got hacked. Every hack we’ve done has worked that way.”

“Yeah but, this was no ordinary site.”  Sheldon took a deep breath “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, I think we need to transfer our capital to another country.”

“This has really got you jumpy, hasn’t it?” Eva said.

“Yeah. I don’t have a good feeling at all about it. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“Paranoid is a good thing. Just don’t let it take you over. We’re halfway to our twenty million.” Eva said as she walked back into the house. Eva had figured that twenty million would set them up in a grand lifestyle in Morocco where she had always wanted to live, with a nice vila and an income of about a million plus a year, just based on interest alone.

Sheldon followed her in. He opened the big computer and backed up everything on it to a 12-gig remote drive. He then disconnected the drive and the cord and took it upstairs to the bedroom closet, where he stashed it in a compartment he had built into the back wall behind all their clothes.

When he came back downstairs he stripped the big computer clean and reset it to the factory specs. If anyone should show up they would find nothing incriminating. He hoped. 

Eva, on her laptop, opened a new bank account in the Virgin Islands. She then texted the Panamanian bank and gave the banker there her password and instructions to transfer their entire account. There was no argument from the banker because this was quite common, and he would make at least a a hundred grand in transfer fees. Once that was done, Eva printed out the account information and cut it out of a piece of 8.5 and 11 bond paper and stuck it in her wallet. She gave Sheldon the password as well. She then erased all of her text messages that had anything to do with either bank. She then went back to work on the website she was writing. 

“Let’s hope nobody shows up with guns or implements of torture.” Sheldon said, half-jokingly.

“You know, that’s not funny.” Eva said and took a sip of her Diet Coke.

~ 10 ~

The next morning they set out in Haven’s Beamer. They breezed along the Gardiner Expressway nicely, because they were heading out of the city, while the inbound traffic inched along i n the opposite direction. 

Fifty minutes later, they arrived in Grimsby and found their way to a street called Olive. Almost all the houses on the street were quite large and on the new side, The house they were going to was considerably smaller and looked to have been built many years before the rest. They pulled into the driveway. Gino led the way to the front door. He knocked and after about ten seconds Eve Storey answered.

“Eva Storey?” Gino asked. 

“Yes.”

“My name is Gino Botticelli, these are my associates Mr. Haven and Mr. Dupree.”

“Yes?” Eva said cautiously. “What can I do for you?”

“We are private investigators and I believe you have something that belongs to our client.”

Just then Sheldon came to the door. “What’s going on?” He said to Eva.

 “Are you Sheldon Tibbles?” Gino asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“As I was explaining to the young lady here, you have something that belongs to our client. We need to examine your computers.” 

“Are you from the police?” Sheldon asked.

“No, we are private investigators,” Gino said. “But I used to be with the Metro Toronto Police Force. Now we can do this the easy way, if you allow our associate, Mr Dupree, to examine your computers, or we can do it the hard way which would involve getting a court order and a good deal of pretty serious inconvenience.” This was all bullshit, but the look on their faces was nothing but fear.

Sheldon stared at Gino and then Haven and Wiley for a few seconds. “I’m not sure what you think we have, but you are certainly free to look around.”

They were shown inside the house and moved down a short hallway to a wide open room with three workstations and a large picture window that looked out on the lake.

“Mr. Dupree here will check out your computers.” Gino said.

“It might help if you told me what you were looking for.” Sheldon said.

Gino smiled. “Let’s save that until Mr. Dupree has checked out your computers.”

Wiley sat down at each of the computers, which were all open and got to work. As he went through the process he made little notes on his iPad. 

“What exactly are you looking for?” Sheldon asked, betraying a little paranoia, as they all sat down at a small meeting table in the middle of the room.

Gino and Haven said nothing.

Finally Haven said. “Here’s the thing. We have traced a hack to a certain location on the dark web back to you. When we did our research on it, Sheldon, it turns out that you are quite the digital whizkid. Very high marks in the Seneca College computer sciences program. Just the kind of credentials that would make you a pretty decent hacker if you were bent that way, which, according to my associate, Mr. Dupree, you are.” 

They then sat in silence while Wiley did his thing on all three computers. He finally turned around in his chair. 

“Two of the computers are clean. But this one,” Wiley said and he gestured to the large machine he was sitting at. “This one is interesting for what’s not there. It has very recently been reset.”

Then Wiley looked directly at Sheldon Tibbles. “Since the files we are looking for are not in your computer, I have to assume that you copied them off and have them stashed somewhere in your house here. Mr. Botticelli here is a retired robbery homicide detective and he’s capable of turning your house inside out to find whatever hidey hole you have stashed your files in, most likely on a remote hard drive. So we can either tear your house apart, which will leave a godawful mess for you to clean up, or you can just go and get the remote drive.”

The forceful matter-of-factness with which Wiley spoke scared the shit out of both of them. Sheldon immediately got up and headed to the bedroom. He returned a minute later with the hard drive and handed it to Wiley who hooked it up. He very quickly found what he was looking for. He then turned to Sheldon.

“Listen kid. I’m a hacker too.” Wiley said. “I know the game you’re playing and under any other circumstances, I’d be applauding you for your ingenuity and skill. But you just barked up the wrong tree this time. 

“Now, the password, as you probably know, has been changed and I can see that you have some sort of software that you invented or souped up to help you crack hard-to-crack passwords. I would strongly advise you to ignore going after this one again. Because if we find out that you are, and we will find out, we’ll be coming back and put you right out of business, by revealing to the authorities just how much you have been stealing from other businesses and individuals. This will, in turn, piss off a lot of people and your lives, as they say in the old westerns, won’t be won’t a plugged nickel. Are you getting the message?”

Sheldon was trembling. “Yes sir, loud and clear.”

Gino and Haven just sat there and marvelled at the menace that the otherwise easygoing Wiley was able to transmit. 

“Now.” Wiley said. “Is there anything else, anywhere in your known universe that has to do with this site?”

“No sir, you’ve got it all, I swear.” Sheldon said.

“Okay, you have dodged a bullet here,” Wiley said. “Mostly because I admire your ingenuity. Consider this your lucky break of the century. You seem like a nice young couple. But I have to tell you that people are very protective of their money, and one of these days, you’re likely to run into someone who will come after you with weapons of your personal destruction. So my advice to you is to back off. Because sooner or later…well, you know the name of that tune.”

With that Wiley took the hard drive and he and Gino and Haven got up and left Sheldon and Eva completely stunned.

“Do you think he meant that about people coming after us?” Eva asked.

“Well, you saw how fast he took our whole gig apart. I’d believe him if he told me black was white.” Sheldon said.

After they got into the car, Gino turned to Wiley, who was sitting in the backseat, “That was some speech you gave those kids back there.”

“Thanks Gino.” Wiley replied. “I quite enjoyed it myself. Hopefully it sunk in.”

As Haven pulled out of the driveway, to get back to the QEW and home again, he didn’t notice a black Cadillac hatchback parked half a block down the street. The man sitting behind the wheel was about fifty years old. His name was Arthur Bellow. His face was as hard as the life he had led. His hair was short and grey, and he wore a dark baseball cap. His eyes were brown and he had several days growth of beard. He was a scary-looking dude, to say the least.

He picked up his phone and punched a number on his speed dial. 

“Yeah, they found them alright…The skinny one came out with a hard drive. Okay. I’ll come back tonight….right.” 

Bellow disconnected and started his car.

When they got back to the office, Haven called Frederick Atwater and gave him all the details of what had happened earlier that day. He told Atwater that they had destroyed all the downloaded material from the RedFred22 site and was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was nothing else there.

This was, of course, a flat-out lie, because on the way back to Toronto they agreed to hold onto whatever was on the remote drive, mostly because Wiley was intensely curious about what was there and how it worked. But they also wanted some leverage in case anything went sideways, which all three men agreed was a possibility.

Haven also told Atwater that he would be emailing a final invoice. Atwater said he would put a cheque in the mail by the end of business that day

Finally, Atwater thanked them for their quick and efficient response, and offered them a monthly retainer of $1000, to keep their eye on the site for him. 

Haven asked him flat out why he didn’t just take the site down, but Atwater’s answer was, in Haven’s opinion, a bit vague. Haven wrote it off to eccentricity and disconnected.

That night the whole crew and their partners all went out to celebrate.

~ 11 ~

The next morning, at close to 3:00 AM. Sheldon Tibbles and Eva Story were sound asleep in a king-sized bed in the main upstairs bedroom of their house in Grimsby. 

Arthur Bellow parked his car in the lot of a nearby Tim Horton’s and headed down to the shoreline on foot. He had changed his licence plates to mislead anyone, patrol cars included. He walked along in the dark until he came to Sheldon and Eva’s house. Skillfully and quietly he picked the lock on the rear sliding door. It opened with a click. 

Bellow waited a full minute to see if that had caused any lights to come on in the house. He then quietly entered. He wore crepe-soled shoes and crept through the house and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He took out a 9-millimetre Beretta pistol with a silencer attached and a 12-round clip locked and loaded. He emptied the gun into the bodies of Sheldon and Eva. They died instantly. He then collected his brass, which had all accumulated on a carpet in front of him and headed downstairs.

He walked through the house with a barbecue lighter and methodically began to set fire to anything that would burn.

Two minutes later he left by the same door he had entered through and walked back along the shoreline to his car. He was noticed by no one. He got into his car and drove away into the night.

The next day, just a little after noon, Wiley shouted to Gino and Haven to come to his office. He had just downloaded a news story and he played it for them.

A reporter was standing in front of the burned ruin of a house. The caption below read ‘Double Murder in Grimsby.’

“People in this quiet Grimsby Ontario neighbourhood are in shock today, as the house behind me, on Grace Street, right on Lake Ontario, burned to the ground. Firemen sifting through the rubble discovered the bodies of both occupants of the house. Their names are being withheld pending notification of next of kin. But Grimsby police report that the bodies of the occupants were, in their words ‘riddled with bullets’. No witnesses have come forward, and police say this had all the earmarks of a professional killing.

We’ll have more about this grisly murder as new information becomes available.”

“Son of a bitch.” Gino said.

Haven was speechless. Then Wiley said, “There are a finite number of people who knew about them, and seventy-five or maybe sixty percent of those people are in this room.”

Haven sat down on one of Wiley’s chairs. “I’m starting to think we are attracting the true psychotics, guys. The question is, what do we do about it?”

“Well,” Wiley said. “I already have access to Atwater’s computer and phone. But I don’t think he’d want to be setting up something like this on either device.  Probably he’s got himself a separate burner for dastardly deeds. And if he does we have no way to connect him to those kids without that phone.”

“There is one thing,” Gino said. “It’s sitting on your desk.”

Wiley picked up the hard drive. “Yeah, let me think about that.”

Gino and Haven left Wiley’s office and then headed down to Queen Street. They started walking toward the water. They really needed to clear their heads.

~ 12 ~

Arthur Bellow accepted only cash and insisted on it being hand delivered, so he could count it out and make sure the guy handing it to him wasn’t having any guilt pangs or thoughts about throwing himself at the mercy of the justice system.

But when he met up with Frederick Atwater, the vibe he got was quite the opposite. This guy would have done the job himself if he felt like it. Bellow had become a pretty good judge of psychotic characters, being one himself and having done jobs for so many of them over the years. This led him to believe that a goodly percentage of the human population would resort to almost any level of harm to others to suit their purposes. 

They met on the deck overlooking the Toronto City Hall pool/skating rink. They were completely part of the crowd that included lunch hour city employees and all manner of business persons, students and, of course, tourists by the score.

“I trust everything went well.” Atwater said.

“Oh yeah, you got your money’s worth.” Bellow replied. Atwater handed him a thin envelope with thirty thousand dollar bills, which Bellow would launder at one of the casinos that ringed the city.

“Well, that’s all we can ask.” Atwater said.

Bellow then handed him a small card with a phone number written on it. “I use a new burner for every job, if you should need any more help. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“Tell me about it.” Atwater said as he pocketed the card.  

There was nothing more to say since the two men had very little in common. So Bellow just nodded and walked away leaving Atwater staring out at the sea of humanity that filled the city hall plaza. He then took a deep breath and headed back to his office.

~ 13 ~

 The next day was a Saturday. Haven had promised to take Angela down to the States to do some shopping. As they were driving along the Queen Elizabeth Highway or the Queen E, as the locals called it, toward the Peace Bridge in a town called Fort Erie, that would take them across the river to the shopping malls of Buffalo, they chatted about Haven’s most recent case. 

After he had outlined the whole thing, right up to and including the deaths of the two young hackers in Grimsby, Angela was quiet for quite a while. Then finally she said. “So what are you guys going to do about this? I mean it’s murder isn’t it?”

“It is if we can prove it.’ Haven said. “Right now all three of us are thinking about how best to go about that. I’ve been following things pretty closely and while the cops know that it was a murder, they have no idea who did it. And neither do we. If it was someone Atwater hired, he’ll be very hard to find. Wiley has access to Atwater’s phone and computer and came up with nothing, which means he probably set the whole thing up on a burner that he could buy at any variety store.”

“Sounds like he committed a perfect crime. Kinda like the one that got my husband and John Vallone killed.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. The only idea we’ve been able to come up with is to out him. Wiley has the tools to hack his site and make it public, which would kill any chance at all he would have to get a judgeship. He might even lose his law license.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“A guy I know told me that there’s always a but.” Angela said.

Haven thought about that for a while. “But, he would know it was us and probably send his hit man out to dispatch us as well.”

“That’s a rather huge but.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They talked about it some more, but they mostly ended up in the same place, which was them getting killed. By the time they hit Fort Erie and the Peace Bridge they were all talked out on that topic and shifted the conversation to more pleasant things, like shopping and maybe lunch.

It was a pleasant day and it gave Haven time to think, thanks to all the trying on of clothing. He knew that some course of action was required. But he also knew there was no evidence to back it up. On top of it all, Atwater was a lawyer and rich so he would no doubt be able to hire the best criminal lawyer in the country to defend him if charges were ever filed. And that brought him around to the only arrow they had in their quiver which was outing him as RedFred22 and ruining his dream of becoming a Supreme Court Judge.

But somehow it just didn’t seem like enough.

~ 14 ~

The following Monday afternoon when Haven got to the office, there was a man sitting in the reception area. Bridget informed him that he was a detective from the Grimsby police department. 

His name was Ron Kovak and he was investigating the suspicious deaths of Sheldon Tibbles and Eva Storey.

Once Haven and Kovak were situated in the meeting room and Kovak was given a coffee, Gino entered the room and introduced himself. Kovak then opened his notebook. 

“Wednesday, July 14 your car was observed in the driveway of the Tibbles/Story residence on Olive Street. Would you mind explaining why you were there?”

Gino touched Haven’s arm and then spoke. “We were investigating a computer hack on one of our clients.”

“And what client would that be?” Kovak asked.

“We are a fully licensed private investigation firm. We can only cough up that kind of information if you show us a court order.” Gino said.

“I can get one of those.”

“Then my all means do that.”

“What can tell me about your visit to the Tibbles/Story residence?”

“Mr Tibbles is, was, a hacker.” Gino said. “We knew they operated a graphic design business, but they also do, or did a lot of hacking and shutting down of corporate websites for ransom.”

“And how do you know this?” Kovak asked.

“Our other associate, Mr. Wiley Dupree, is a specialist in cybercrime and he managed to discover that they were the source of the hack we were hired to investigate.”

“You sound like you used to be in law enforcement, Mr Botticelli.”

“Yes, I was a robbery-homicide Inspector for most of my career with the Metro Toronto force.”

“You are quite the investigative group…a well-known mystery writer, a retired cop and a computer expert.”

“Those are the skills you need in today’s world.” Haven said. “We heard about what happened to those kids but believe me, we were simply there to caution them against any further activity toward our client. It was quite straightforward. In fact, they were pleased when I told them our client didn’t want to press charges.”

“Oh, and why wouldn’t he want to do that?”

“I don’t know sir.” Gino said. “We have a lot of different skills at our disposal but mind reading is not one of them. Perhaps he just wanted to avoid the inconvenience. Let’s face it, anything to do with the law these days is complex, expensive and time consuming.”

“OK.” Kovak said “So last cop question is your location in the early hours of the morning of July 16.”

“We were all here in Toronto.”  Haven said. “Mr Botticelli lives in the flat below mine and Mr. Dupree does not drive. And we all have significant others who will confirm that we were all here. Believe me, we were as astonished as anyone when we heard about this tragedy.”

Kovak was quiet for about fifteen seconds. “So that only leaves your client. And I would need a court order to get you to reveal his identity.”

“You would also need some sort of probable cause.” Gino explained. “Our client was satisfied with the result of our investigation and convinced that there would be no more intrusion. That was all he was looking for. You don’t really have enough to get a court order under those circumstances, and I think you probably know it.” 

Kovak chewed on this thumb for several seconds and then looked up. “I guess that covers it. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

“No trouble at all,” Gino said. You’re just doing your job.”

“Yeah, well we don’t get many double murders down our way, especially ones as brutal as this was.”

“We saw the news stories.” Gino said. “It had all the earmarks of a professional hit.”

“Yes it did, including a big zero in the way of evidence.”

Kovak got to his feet and laid his card down on the table. “I’ll let you know if I can get that court order. In the meantime, if you get any brainwaves please don’t hesitate to share them with me. We’re really spinning our wheels on this.”

Gino picked up the card. He and Haven shook hands with Kovak and he left the room.

“Poor bugger.” Gino said. “He’s almost in the same position we are.”

They both walked down to Wiley’s office where he was fiddling around with something in his big computer. He stopped and leaned back.

“Who was that? He looked like a cop.” Wiley said.

“Yeah, from Grimsby. Apparently, we were noticed by the neighbours and he needed to check us out.” Gino said. “What’s up with you?” 

“OK, well the good news is that the Tibbles kid was a genius and created an alphanumeric generator that is off the charts fast, which explains how he got Atwater’s password. He also managed to download the coding for half a dozen of the tools that Atwater had devised. But this generator is gonna come in real handy going forward.”

“It’s kind of illegal though, isn’t it?” Haven asked.

“Well, the law is a bit fuzzy on that,” Wiley replied. “First of all, it’s hard as hell to trace back because it sweeps its fingerprints quite thoroughly.

“Here’s a real luddite question.” Gino said. “What would happen if we leaked that program? You know, put the password up on the Internet.”

“Well, you’re right, it is a real luddite question.” Wiley said. “The answer in a three-word sentence…Very bad things. The amount of hacking in the world would increase so exponentially that most people would be forced to abandon the Internet and get back to, you know, things like the telephone and snail mail. It would, at first, grind world commerce to a halt, and then it would slowly come back. The next generation of billionaires will be the guys who come up with the shielding programs to protect against this kind of hacking. But in the couple of years in between, there would likely be a worldwide depression. Seems like a lot of hassle to go through to catch one killer.”

“Madone,” Gino said. “I had no idea.”

“Very few people do. But we’re almost totally dependent on this machinery now. Throw the right wrench into those gears and you can fuck up the whole damn planet. It’s likely the Tibbles kid knew that too but I’m pretty sure he was just looking to use whatever he could from the site to hack and extort.”

“This still doesn't get us back to what we do about Atwater.” Haven said.

‘No, it doesn’t.” Wiley said. “But there’s nothing like a good scare to wake you up in the morning.”

“Whoa…wait a minute. A good scare.” Gino said. He then sat down and got lost in thought. Wiley and Haven sat and watched. It was almost as if they could feel Gino’s brain churn.

Finally he looked up and said, “I’ve got it. And then he explained it to his two partners.

~ 15 ~

That afternoon Gino called Atwater and set up another meeting, kind of a post-mortem. They agreed to meet at a place called Clockwork Champagne & Cocktails, a bar in the Fairmont Royal York Hotel, at 7:30 that evening. Gino was wired with some pretty simple gear. He was reasonably certain that Atwater would not search him or admit his guilt in any way. But it was at least worth a try.

Atwater was already sitting at a table in the corner with a martini when Gino arrived. He ordered a beer and once it had been set in front of him he slowly filled his glass.

“First of all, my partners don’t know anything about this meeting. Mainly because they don’t think like cops,” Gino said. “But I have been thinking a lot like one these past couple of days, and one of the things that’s occurred to me is that you are responsible for the murders of the two kids in Grimsby who hacked your very illegal hacker site.”

Atwater took another sip of his martini. “That’s a very interesting theory Mr. Botticelli. But what it lacks, at least to my lawyer brain, is motive. I hired you and your associates to defuse this situation. You did so, rather quickly, and effectively, I might add, and I was more than satisfied with the work you did and the advice I received.”

“That’s all well and good, sir. But there are, as far as I know, only four people who knew about the kids in Grimsby. And you were the only one with anything close to a motive. Process of elimination. You’d be surprised how many crimes get solved that way.”

“Still in all, no motive.”

“Nothing more than ruthless efficiency. It’s a little paranoid if you ask me, but it’s a crazy world out there and there no such thing as too careful.” Gino said.

“You told me these ‘kids’, as you call them, were fairly high calibre thieves,” Atwater said. “How do you know that they didn’t piss off someone else and the timing of their demise was nothing more than a coincidence?”

Gino took a sip of his beer and thought ‘Man, this guy is as slick as they come.’ 

“To be honest, I don’t know. But remember, I’ve spent the better part of the past twenty years dancing around with smart killers. I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in cause and effect. They were the cause and you sir, I believe, were the effect. It might also interest you to know that we now have access to the program that they used to crack your RedFred site. If we feed that information into the right hands, it could derail your plans for the future. And, you know what, I won’t feel the slightest bit guilty about doing it. It’s not like you’re going to sue me or anything, because that would get you into the kind of trouble even you can’t manage.”

“So, it would appear that despite my innocence, you have me over the proverbial barrel.”

“Kinda looks that way to me too.” Gino said.

“Why do I have the feeling this is building to something?”

“Because you are a perceptive guy.”

“So what do you want? If you’re angling for an admission of guilt into some tiny microphone you are recording this conversation with, that will never happen because it's not true.”

“There’s no microphone. That would be self-defeating. And five hundred grand will do nicely.”

Atwater said nothing for a good ten seconds. “And then what happens?”

“And then you get on with your life and I get on with mine, a little richer than I was.”

“And you’re sure that’s all that would happen?”

“The last thing I would want you to do is to send your hit man after me. I might be able to dodge him for a while. But sooner or later something bad would happen.”

Atwater took a deep breath. “Give me three days to get the money together.”

“Okay. Unmarked bills preferably nothing larger than hundreds. We’ll meet back here same time exactly three days from now.”

With that, Gino got up and left Atwater fuming.

~ 16 ~

On his way back to the Beaches, Gino dropped into 55 Division at Coxwell and Dundas and asked for Jake Ross. Two minutes later Jake came down the stairs.

“Well, well, well.” Ross said. “That didn’t take long.” 

Gino got a mild chuckle. “Good to see you too, Jake. Have you got a room available?”

Ross sensed the seriousness of his old friend. “Sure. Let’s grab a coffee first.” 

Ross and Gino entered a small interrogation room with coffees in Styrofoam cups. They sat down.

“So what’s on your mind, Gino?” Ross asked.

“You heard about the double murder in Grimsby last week?”

“Well, sure. They don’t come along every week.”

“Okay, well I’m pretty sure I can hand you the killer.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“No. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have just pissed off the guy I think hired him. And maybe I pissed him off enough for him to put a contract out on me.”

“Oh, and who would that be? Or does that fall under your client confidentiality?”

“Yeah, it does. But if we can nab this shooter, you can get him to flip. We can kill two birds with one stone. Three actually, if you count the Grimsby murders.”

Ross chuckled. “It’s nice to know the private sector hasn’t changed you one fucking bit.”

“Cop skills are always useful. But in this case, because I set the trap, it’s not entrapment for you guys.”

Jake thought about it for a few seconds, but his cop brain was sharp and he knew that Gino was serious, “What do you need?”

“There’s a three-day window when this guy could show up at my place and try and blow me away while I’m asleep, which seems to be his M/O. But I think it will be sooner rather than later. So a couple of well-placed watchers. Good undercover guys. I can probably take him down without too much trouble. But I need your guys to signal me when he’s breaking in and then haul his ass away after he’s nabbed. You should be able to match his piece to the slugs in those two kids. He goes away for a long time and you sweeten the deal any way you can to get him to roll on his clientele.”

Ross was no idiot. He respected Gino’s abilities and always had. 

“Give me ten minutes, I’ll run it up the flagpole.” With that Ross got to his feet and headed upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back with a thumbs up.

“This will be big news if we can pull it off, Gino.” Ross said.

“Yeah, it will also be justice too. Not a lot of that going around these days.”

“Damn straight.”

They talked strategy for a few minutes. Ross got Gino the hardware he would need. They shot the shit in a general way for a few more minutes, then Gino headed back down to the Beaches.

~ 17 ~

Gino sat next to Haven at the Red Lion. Both men had beers in front of them. It was just before seven the next evening. Haven had decided to work at home all day on his Virgin Detective novel. He had finally completed the second draft and he was pooped.

“Here’s the thing,” Gino said. “I set it up so that the shooter would be coming for me on one of the next three nights. I’ve talked to the cops and it’s all good. But I want you as far away from this shit as possible. So you need to go stay with Angela till I tell you it’s safe.”

“What about Wiley?”

“I talked to him too. He’s going up to his girlfriend’s cottage and I also talked to Bridget and have given her a few days off.”

“You think this plan will work?” Haven asked. But he wasn’t about to put up any sort of resistance. When it came to cop stuff, Gino was the man and you didn’t argue with the man.

“Hard to say.” I know that Atwater got a real sour look on his face when I mentioned the money.”

“Well, half a million is half a million. He could probably get the shooter for what, maybe twenty, thirty grand?”

“Something in the area.”

“I’m not gonna tell you that this is kinda nuts because I have too much respect for you to do that.”

“Well…you’re right. But it’s the only way that we’re gonna get some justice for those kids. They didn’t deserve to die for that asshole and his ego.”

“Okay, I’ll call Angela and get my ass over there.”
 

“If he comes it will be well after midnight. Leave a couple of lights on before you head out. Might look weird to him if the whole house is dark.”

“You’ve thought this through.” Haven said.

“Like my life depended on it.” Gino replied and took a slug of his beer.

~ 18 ~

Bellow came on the second night. Same pistol with silencer. Same skillful lock-picking technique. He entered through the kitchen in the rear. He noticed the clock on the stove. It read 2:19. He moved into the dining room and down the hall that led to the master bedroom. The door squeaked ever so slightly as he pushed it open and saw that the target was in bed sound asleep, just the way he preferred them. He raised the pistol and shot off a series of seven pings. He turned to leave as quietly as he had entered when he suddenly heard a pop and felt the two darts from a stun gun enter his chest. He dropped the pistol and began to shake uncontrollably. He then collapsed on the floor.

Gino stood in the darkened hallway, holding the stun gun, trigger down sending voltage through the man’s body. He waited a full five seconds then released the trigger. The man was unconscious by then.

“Got you, motherfucker.” He muttered as he moved toward the unconscious killer, kicking the gun into the bedroom. He pulled the walkie talkie from his pocket and spoke into it, 

Less than a minute later, the two cops who had been his sentinels came into the house. They pulled the darts from Bellow’s chest, then rolled him over and handcuffed him. 

“He’ll be awake in a few minutes.” Gino said, as he bent down to search him. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and went out the back door where a pair of uniformed cops had just arrived. 

“He’s down the hallway with the undercovers” Gino said. “He’s takin’ a bit of a nap right now. Send the other guys out.”

The uniforms nodded, and a few seconds later the two undercovers were at the door.

One of the undercovers took the keys from Gino and pressed the signal key on the remote and up the street the lights on the Cadillac blinked. They walked up the street and opened the car. In it was a leather shoulder bag, sitting on the passenger side bucket seat. The undercover cop flipped it open and saw a small laptop and a cheap-looking phone in it, along with two bullet clips and a balaclava.

He then opened the hatchback and found a gun case with a Charter Arms 30 calibre semi-automatic rifle, a couple of scopes, a silencer and two full cartridges.

“Fucker was loaded for bear. Maybe he had some idea of shooting you from the beach.” One of the cops said.

“Exactly why I stayed clear of my front porch.” Gino said.

“There should be enough in her to cook his goose and a whole bunch of other geese as well.” the undercover guy said.

“Let’s hope so.”

“You’ll need to make a statement, but you can do that later once you grab some sleep. Your place will be closed off for a while for forensics.”

“I‘ve got the key to my partner’s place. It’s right upstairs. I’ll crash there and come down to the station later this afternoon.”

“It’s a hell of a thing you’ve done here, Gino.” the other undercover said to him. 

“Yeah, well, how’s the saying go? It was a dirty job but somebody had to do it.”

Gino climbed the stairs and entered Haven's apartment. He poured himself a glass of scotch and sat out on the deck. He put his feet up on the railing and stared out at the moon popping in and out of the westerly moving clouds.

He moved to the hammock, closed his eyes and conked out for a good eight hours.

When he woke he called Haven over at Angela’s. Haven was sitting at her kitchen table reading the Globe and Mail.

“It’s done. Everything went off like clockwork.”

“That’s good news, man.” Haven said. “Are you OK.”

“Never better. Another bad guy in the hoosegow and maybe some justice for those kids in Grimsby.”

“I keep thinking about our luck with clients. Hopefully it changes soon.”

“If this doesn’t scare away the criminal types, I don’t know what will. I gotta go to the station and make a statement, maybe I’ll get to observe the interrogation.”

Gino disconnected, then went and had a shower. He had brought up all the clothes he would need before his apartment was sealed off by the cops. Then he drove over to the 55 Division, where he gave his statement to a female detective named Janey Johnson. When he was finished with that, he walked down to the interrogation room, where Jake Ross was having a go at Arthur Bellow. Bellow’s lawyer, Thomas Purcell, was sitting beside him. 

Bellow knew that the best kind of deal he could make was being sent up to a prison more comfortable than Kingston. He would feel a lot better incarcerated with a bunch of drug dealers and thieves than he would with hard-core criminals who had nothing to lose.

So they worked out a deal. Bellow translated everything from the code that was on his computer, including Frederick Atwater’s transactions  Once Gino heard Atwater’s name mentioned he got up and left.

~ 19 ~

Frederick Atwater was arrested for conspiracy to commit three murders, and more than 200 counts of Internet fraud once his RedFred22 site was opened, courtesy of Wiley Dupree. Six months later he was found guilty on all counts, and since he had nothing to plea bargain with he was sentenced to life without parole in Kingston. Within three weeks of his arrival he was dead from multiple stab wounds inflicted by a lifer named Gerald Storey, the father of Eva Storey. 

When Haven saw the news story about Atwater’s murder all he could think was ‘Irony is everywhere.’

After the trial and sentencing and Atwater being sent off to prison, Wiley Dupree opened the RedFred22 site, and very carefully and quite thoroughly destroyed it, along with the tools that the late Sheldon Tibbles had copied. 

In his heart, he knew he was doing a good thing, but in his head he knew somebody else would soon come up with something even more dangerous.

Part 4. The Insider Trading Case

~ 1 ~

It was way after midnight. The small, older Chevy Nova parked along one of the side streets that ran into The Bridle Path in north Toronto. The two men who got out were dressed in black from head to toe. One of them carried a small shoulder bag. They jogged down the street that led to one of Toronto’s richest neighbourhoods. It was pretty quiet because a lot the rich folks who lived there were either away at one of their other homes, on an expensive vacation somewhere or sound asleep.

The house they came to was big and they were assured that nobody was home.

They crept up the driveway to the back door. One of the men reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a small device that looked like an older version of an Apple iPod. He switched it on and placed it over the lock on the rear door. A few seconds later the door unlocked. They opened the door and entered the house. The man with the device quickly opened the alarm box and disabled it, with a second device. To the security company that monitored it, it just appeared as if someone had come home through the back door. It all felt pretty routine. So they did nothing.

Once they were in the house the two men made a beeline for the first floor office. Behind one of the paintings, they found a good-sized wall safe with a digital lock. Man 1 pulled a third device from his bag. He placed it close to the keypad and turned it on. The Man 2 stood by the window keeping an eye on the street, which was dead quiet.

About a minute later,. the device the man was holding beeped. He then punched in the series of numbers it displayed on the keypad and the safe popped open. With a small penlight he held in his mouth, he looked through the documents stored in the safe. When he found what he was looking for, he returned the rest of the documents and closed the safe. The two men then left, activating the alarm and re-locking the door on their way out. They jogged around the corner and then up two blocks, got in their car and, with their lights out, headed down the driveway onto The Bridle Path. They turned left at Bayview Avenue and headed south toward the downtown area of the city. The entire event had taken less than fifteen minutes.

~ 2 ~

Phil Rosetti sat at the bar of the Pilot Tavern in mid-town Toronto. The bar was empty except for himself, a couple sitting at a table in the back and a bartender named Julius. The Pilot had been reserved by the Metro Homicide Squad for a retirement party for Phil. And now everybody was gone. Phil had put in his twenty years and at the ripe old age of forty-six he was retiring with a full pension, a dozen commendations and an arrest record that would likely be unmatched by almost any cop he knew.

Rosetti was not a drinker, so he sat at the bar long after everyone had left nursing a ginger ale. He was musing on the fact that he would no longer have to wear a suit to work and told Julius that was the worst part of the job. First the uniform and then the suit. 

Rosetti was six feet tall and thin, what some would call wiry. He worked out at a boxing gym downtown and had a mean left hook. He was handsome, but not overly so. His face, so the saying went, had a lot of character. He was also prematurely grey, but the job will do that to you. 

He lived in a nice house in the Beaches area of Toronto with a lady named Daisy Farrell, who was a defence lawyer and a pretty good one. Their relationship was a kind of push-pull battle with Phil trying to push bad guys into prison and Daisy trying to pull them out. They had met at one of Phil’s early murder cases. An asshole named Dewey Courier who had come home one night and, for no reason that made any sense, shot his wife Dottie to death with his hunting rifle. 

These days, Daisy was a partner in the criminal division of a large downtown firm. She ran six criminal defence lawyers and only went to court when there was a case that interested her or when everyone was too busy. Toronto, which used to pride itself on its peacefulness, was Canada’s largest city and  with it came the highest rate of serious crimes.

The department was sad to see Phil put in his retirement request. He was, by almost any metric, one of the best detective inspectors the force had ever had. But law enforcement, perhaps more than any other occupation had a wear-out factor that was astronomical. There was only so much that any right-thinking individual could take.

Despite their adversarial public life, Phil and Daisy were a solid couple. They had never gotten married because both of them had seen the negative effects of that institution up close and personal. But they loved each other and more importantly accepted each other for what they were. 

When Phil arrived home about an hour later. Daisy was busy in the kitchen. She had some music on. She, like Phil, wanted nothing to do with whatever passed for modern music these days. They had both grown up under similar parental musical influences and the philosophy that the real music had died sometime in the early 1980s. So they had a great collection of discs from the likes of Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, The Band, Steve Miller, Bob Seger, Steely Dan, Tom Petty and a strange amalgam of sixties, seventies and eighties talent called the Traveling Wilburys. 

Daisy was cutting up the Romaine lettuce for a Caesar salad. The potatoes were baking in the oven and the steaks were marinating in the fridge

The first thing Phil did when he entered the house was remove his tie. He kissed Daisy. “Welcome home.” she said. “Go take a shower and wash off all that cop stink.”

And he did just that. Twenty minutes later he came down in a pair of cargo shorts, sandals and the loudest Hawaiian shirt the world had ever seen.

He stepped out onto the back deck with the steaks on a plate and tossed them on the barbecue, which Daisy had turned on when he arrived home. Half an hour later they were sitting on the deck with their dinners in front of them. Daisy was drinking red wine. Phil had a tall glass of ice water.

“So, ex-cop, eh?” Daisy said, her smile was beaming. “And you made it out still walking upright and with no bullet holes in you. That’s quite the achievement, my dear.”

“I was just looking in my closet and wondering which suit I should keep for funerals. Otherwise I’m done with that shit.”

“I like the Beach Boys look. It’ll take some getting used to. And they can probably see that shirt from the space station. But I’m sure you’ll do OK. Have you been giving any more thought to the book?”

“Yeah. I have. But I’m gonna take a couple weeks to goof off and get my bearings. It’s gonna be strange for a while. At least that’s what the department shrink told me. He advised me to ease into it and find something non-cop-related to do.”

“That’s pretty good advice. But you know the offer still stands.”

The offer Daisy was referring to was to come and work as an investigator for her firm. A lot of cops ended up working for law firms after their retirement. The cop life was a hard gig to leave behind, especially if you were good at it.

“I appreciate the offer, hun. But I owe it to myself to at least try and find something non-cop to do.”

“I totally get it. Just sayin’ it’s out there for you if you need it.”

The rest of the dinner was all about Daisy and the crazy cases her department seemed to attract like a powerful magnet. After dinner, they cleaned up the dishes and came back out onto the deck and just sat there listening to the crickets and holding hands. 

~ 3 ~

Phil slept late the next morning. Daisy was long gone. She took the Queen street car to work because her office was just a few blocks south of Queen Street downtown and with the hours she worked she never really had to deal with any kind of Toronto’s historic rush hour madness.

Phil made himself some coffee and a bowl of Cheerios and took them both out to the back deck. He looked out at the magnolia tree that grew along his property line. It was in full bloom. He tried hard to focus his thoughts but it was no use. It was just a random cascade of possibilities. He figured he’d better find something to do fairly quickly because this kind of deep thought could drive him nuts.

After breakfast, he walked down to the boardwalk and headed out to the spit. He found a nice comfortable rock to sit on out at the very end and just stared out at the calm lake for a long time. Truth be told, he really wanted to write a book about his career, but he’d never done anything like that before, and it didn’t so much scare him as it did confound him. If he could figure out a place to start, he might be okay but right now, he was just brain-addled. 

“Give it time, Phil.” he said to himself out loud. “You’re just one day into this shit. Let the reality of it settle, and you’ll be fine.”

Phil wasn’t sure if talking to himself was the best way to get things straightened out in his head. But at least he had the common sense to have to have that conversation at least a hundred yards from the nearest other person.

As Phil walked back toward home, he started to think again about writing the book that had been on his mind for the last couple of years. So he walked up Lee Avenue to Queen and then back a few blocks to the Apple Store where he purchased a new MacBook Pro, an iPad and iPhone. He had stored up about $7000 in vacation pay and he thought, what better way to spend some of it than on getting himself equipped to write that book. The kid at the Apple store set it all up for him, and linked him to his home phone. 

That took the better part of an hour and since it was early afternoon he felt a bit hungry, so he walked a little further along the street to the Stone Lion Pub.

He went to the bar and ordered a hamburger and fries and a tall glass of lemonade. There were two other guys sitting at the bar chatting with each other, and one of them looked quite familiar. Both men looked to be about his own age. They were both well-dressed and drinking scotch. He stared at the man closest to him which caused the man to turn and look at him. Phil was sure he him from somewhere. 

The man Phil was starting at was Gino Botticelli, who, like Phil, was a retired cop. 

“You OK, man?” Gino asked. 

As soon as Phil heard his voice, he recognized him. “Botticelli.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Gino said. “Do we know each other?

“Phil Rosetti.”

Gino laughed out loud. “Holy shit. Of course. The technicolour shirt kinda threw me a bit. I’da made you right away if you were in a suit.” 

Gino then turned to the other man he was with. “Haven, this is an old associate. We came out of the academy together, lo those many years ago.” 

“Oh yeah?” Haven said.

“You remember when you were looking for a name for your character and I suggested Phil Rosetti? This is him.”

Haven started to laugh. “No shit. I thought you just dreamed it up.”

“My friend here, partner now, is a mystery writer.” Gino said to Phil. “We met a long time ago at the courthouse and got to be friends. Long and short, I suggested a name for his character, a detective and ex-cop. Talk about your Freudian slips.”

Haven held out his hand. “Emil Haven.” Phil shook his hand.

“So what are you doing down here, Phil?” Gino asked

“I live down here, over on Silverbirch.”

“No shit. Are you still on the job?” Gino asked.

“As a matter of fact, I just retired, like, yesterday.”

Gino gestured to the Apple Store bag on the bar. “So it looks like you’re getting ready to write your memoirs.”

“I don’t know. I had some vacation pay stored up so I bought some toys.” Then he looked at Haven “I’ll have to get hold of some of those books you wrote. Find out what I was really like.” Phil said.

“Come by the office anytime I’ll give you the whole set.” Haven said and handed Phil a card. “I’m onto a new series now.”

Phil looked at the card. “Private investigation, eh?”

“Yeah,” Gino said. “Haven here is filthy rich and well-connected in the white-collar world. Lots of corporate skullduggery.”

“So your office is right down the street.”

“Yeah, and we live at the bottom of Hammersmith.” Gino said. “Haven owns a duplex.”

“You know,” Haven said. “You should drop by sooner rather than later. We’re starting to grow and we could probably use another good investigator.”

Phil chuckled. “Well…OK. How about next week, say Monday?”

“Sure. Call me first and we’ll work out a time,” Haven said anding Phil a business card. Then he looked at his watch. “We gotta go, Gino.” He said. “Good to meet you, Phil. We’ll talk next week.”

Phil got to his feet, shook hands with Haven and hugged Gino, then he sat back down and dug into his lunch with some gusto. “Son of a bitch,” he said to himself. But not too loud.

Gino and Haven walked along Queen Street heading to a meeting at their office. 

“That guy any good?” Haven asked

“Let me put it this way,” Gino said. “There was only one guy in the whole fuckin’ department that I was jealous of.”

“That speaks volumes.”

“Yeah, it does.”

~ 4 ~

That evening, Daisy got home late, which often happened when she had a trial on. Phil, who wasn’t all that hungry after his big lunch, made her a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad, which she ate out on the deck.

“So, how was your day, sweetie?” Daisy asked after telling him all about hers.

“Well it was quite interesting. I bought a computer, an iPad and a phone and then I ran into an old cop friend named Gino Botticelli. He worked in the central division. He and his partner, a guy named Emil Haven, run a private investigation firm right here in the Beaches. The Haven guy is also a novelist and wrote a series of detective novels and guess what his character’s name was.”

Daisy just shook her head. 

“It was Phil Rosetti.”

“No shit!” 

“Blew me away. Gino and this Haven guy have been friends for a long time and Gino, I guess, subconsciously, suggested my name for his character.” 

“Wow. It’s funny that you never found out about it before.”

“Apparently, this Haven guy doesn’t sell many books in Canada. I looked him up when I got home. He sells mainly in the US, Australia and the British Isles. But the other thing is that their business is expanding and they’re looking for another investigator to join the company.”

“You didn’t commit to anything did you?”

“No. I’m not ready for that just yet. But I am gonna meet with him next Monday and see what’s what.”

“I hope you’re planning to move slowly with this. I mean you need some time to just take it easy.”

“You know. This morning, I walked out to the point and sat there on a rock for two hours thinking about that.”

“And what did you figure out?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“I just want you to be happy, Phil. But it sounds like you’re just thinking about switching jobs.”

“But suppose that’s the thing that makes me happy? I’m not gonna rush into anything. I just found it interesting. Plus Haven promised to give me a set of his Phil Rosetti novels.”

“Okay. Just go slow is all I’m saying.”

“Slow it is.”

And slow it was, as Phil spent the next five days piddling around the house and taking breaks to go to the gym. He taught himself the ins and outs of the three Apple devices he had purchased, cut and trimmed the lawn, did the shopping, and made all the dinners, all to Daisy’s delight. And on Sunday night, his head hit the pillow and as soon as he wound down, the first thought that came into his head was, ‘I am so fucking bored it’s unreal.’

The next morning around ten AM, he called Botticelli & Haven, and arranged a meeting for 2:00 with Haven and Gino.

He had noticed that both men were wearing suits when he ran into them at the Stone Lion, so he put on one of his own. But no tie. He wanted to establish that right off the bat. 

At 2:00 on the nose, he walked up the stairs and was greeted by a gorgeous redheaded receptionist who asked him if he would like a coffee, which he gratefully accepted. He watched her sashay to the kitchen, and pop into one of the offices along the way. A few seconds later Gino came out and showed Phil to a small meeting room, along the way they stopped off at an office that looked like some sort of high-tech mission control, and Gino introduced Phil to their resident computer expert, Wiley Dupree. Wiley nodded politely and then went back to whatever he was doing.

They then got seated in the meeting room. Bridget brought in his coffee and was introduced as well. 

They shot the breeze for a few minutes and then Haven entered the room, a little out of breath.

Bridget followed him in with a coffee as he took his seat. “Sorry, Phil. The day got busier than I thought it would be.”

“Not a problem.” Phil said.

“So Gino tells me you were actually a bigger shit-kicker than he was in the department.”

“Hey, we all had our jobs to do. And as I recall Gino pissed off as many bad guys as I did, maybe even more.”

“So I know you’ve only been retired for about a week. Are you sure you want to jump back in the water so soon?” Haven asked.

Phil took a deep breath. “The most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I left the force has been buying a new computer. I am bored shitless.”

“What does Daisy have to say about all this?” Gino asked, then looked at Haven. “Phil lives with Daisy Farrell, she’s a killer defence lawyer.”

“Daisy works long hours defending the scum of the earth.” I could take a couple of full-time jobs and she probably wouldn’t even miss me.”

“Well, you have the Botticelli seal of approval.” Haven said. That’s good enough for me. As you know I’m still writing novels and I have a deadline to deal with this week. So if you want to play, just say the word, and you and Gino can head out to see my dad, who has a case for us.”

“Just like that, you’re hiring me?”

“We don’t fuck around here.” Haven said. “We need another detective and according to my partner here, you’re worth your weight in gold. So yeah. Just keep track of your hours and we’ll work it out next week. At a hundred and fifty an hour for starters. And we’ll see where it goes from there.”

And with that, Haven got up and shook Phil’s hand. “Bridget has the books for you up at reception. And don’t let my dad freak you out. He’s a little on the arrogant side. Although he’s been pretty tolerable lately. But Gino knows how to handle him.”

Haven turned and left the meeting room, leaving Phil in a bit of a daze.

“What just happened?” he asked Gino.

Gino just smiled and said. “My partner is a very decisive guy.” Then he got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

~ 5 ~

They took the Don Valley Parkway up to Lawrence Avenue and then headed west to The Bridle Path. They drove past some of the most expensive real estate in the city and finally pulled into a massive driveway beside a large modern-looking white house. They got out and Gino rang the bell. A nicely dressed beautiful middle-aged women opened the door.

“Hello Gino.” she said. “He’s waiting for you in the study.”

“Theresa, this is Phil Rosetti, our newest recruit. He was a Metro detective like me. Phil this is Theresa Collins. She runs the house here.”

“Please to meet you, Mr Rosetti.” Theresa said and extended her hand. Phil shook it gently. 

“Same here.” he said

Gino and Phil walked down a short hallway and turned into the large study.

Emil Haven III was sitting at his desk doing something on his computer.

“Gino. Thanks for coming.” he said without bothering to get up and shake hands. “And who is this?” he asked looking at Phil.

“Phil Rosetti,” Gino said. “Our newest recruit.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Haven.” Phil said.

Both men sat down in chairs opposite Haven III.

“I take it you’re another retired detective.” Haven III said.

“Yes sir. As of literally a week ago.”

“OK. Can I offer you some coffee?”

Both men shook their heads.

“Alright.” Haven reached into a drawer and pulled out a file folder. There were several sheets of paper in it. On them were names, business names, addresses, phone numbers and email addresses.

“It appears the neighbourhood has a burglar. Over the past three weeks, he, or they, have broken into the houses of all the five people at the top of the list and absconded with some fairly valuable information.”

“Information usually means extortion is to follow.” Gino said.

“Yes. But that’s the odd thing. No one has heard anything at all as of yet.” Haven III said.

“So maybe whoever is doing this isn’t through.”

“That’s the consensus of opinion.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Phil asked “How and when do these break-ins occur?”

“That’s the thing nobody really knows.” Haven III said. “The assumption is that they happen at night. These people travel a bit for business and recreation, and all have other homes as well, so their houses are empty at least few nights a week. How the intruders find out when the houses will be empty is still something of a mystery.”

“I assume they all have alarm systems.”

“Of course. Another layer of mystique. How the hell do they get in and then into the wall safes where the information is?” Haven III said.

“Well, whoever is doing this has three things going for them.” Gino said. “They know when the houses are going to be empty. They have some way of bypassing the alarm system. And I assume they are taking things that the owners don’t want to have made public or you wouldn’t be talkin’ to us.”

“Yes, I don’t know a single person in this area who doesn’t have at least one thing they want to keep to themselves.”

“And no one has called the police?” Phil asked.

“Haven III chuckled a bit. “Please don’t take this personally, but people in this area would prefer not to have anything to do with the police. We would much rather deal with these situations privately.”

“You haven’t mentioned yourself, sir. Have you been victimized?” Phil asked.

“Fortunately not. But I do most of my business from here and Theresa lives here as well. But all of my neighbours know that I have a personal connection to Botticelli & Haven, and they have prevailed upon me to hire you on their behalf.”

“OK, well I’m wondering where these houses are located, you know, relative to each other.” Gino asked.

“One step ahead of you, Gino.” Haven III said as he pulled out  and unfolded a large Xeroxed map of the area. He had drawn red squares around the houses that had been broken into and blue squares around the houses he thought might make likely candidates based on what he knew about his neighbours. Inside each rectangle or square were handwritten dates.

They flipped the map around and had a look at it. 

“I assume the dates indicate when there will be no one home.” Gino said.

“As close as they could figure.” Haven replied.

“Sir?” Phil said. “Do you have any idea what we should actually be looking for?”

“Unfortunately not. These people are very tight-lipped about that. But they did all tell me that only the documents in their safes were taken. None of their art, sculptures, jewelry, even cash or bonds that might have been in the safe, which stuck me as a bit odd.”

“Or maybe it just means that whatever they took has a hell of a lot more value. Plus, fencing stolen goods is tricky business these days.” Gino said.

“That could very well be the case, Gino. I know these people but I wouldn’t call them intimate friends. More like friendly neighbours. Not even sure what some of them do exactly. Who knows what they could be up to? ”

“OK,” Gino said folding up the map. We’ll get ourselves organized and get back to you if we have any more questions.”

That’s fine, Gino. And good luck.” the senior Haven said.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir.” Phil said. “What is it that you do?”

“Not at all.” Have III said. “ He tapped his computer. “I have a good deal of capital tied up in the market. Most of it is parked in high yield investments, but most of the rest I use to play the market.”

“Risky business.” Phil said.

“Less risky if you have the time to keep a close eye on things. And I do.” Haven III replied. 

Gino and Phil sat in Gino’s Beamer for a while, looking at the map.

“Looks like an old-fashioned stakeout to me, Gino.” Phil said.

“Yeah, maybe if we can spot one of these break-ins, we can tail the bastards back to where they’re hiding out.” Gino said. “You have a gun?”

“No. Left it at the office, so to speak, when I left the force.”

“That’s alright. you can use Haven’s.”

“Untraceable?”

“No…registered to the company, so once Bridge signs you up, you can use it too.”

“Are we gonna have to shoot these clowns?” Phil asked.

“I’ve been askin’ myself the same question. If they’re stealing secrets, and the secrets getting out could be damaging on any number of levels, which would seem to be the case if they don’t want the cops involved…I don’t know. It’s a tough call, my friend.”

“Yeah, well let’s find them first, maybe we just scare the shit out of them and hope that’s enough.”

They looked for the house with the present date on it. Gino started the car. He cruised down the street till they found it. Then they drove around the neighbourhood to get a feel for where they could stake it out. It was still summer, so there would be no reason to show up and time before ten PM. They found a couple of good spots to observe the house that would be empty that night and then headed back down to Queen Street.

Bridget got Phil signed up and took down his information so she could order some business cards. He also signed the company gun licence document and she handed him a Smith & Wesson 38 with a leather shoulder holster.

He walked down to Gino’s office. 

“I’m all signed up.” Phil said.

“Good. Go get some rest. I’ll pick you up at around nine, nine thirty and we’ll head up there.” Gino said as he dropped Phil off at his house.

“Roger that. See you then.”

~ 6 ~

When Phil got in the house, he realized that he had forgotten his phone when he went out that day. When he turned it on there was a message from Daisy. He didn’t listen to it but called her instead. She answered right away.

“Hey you, where have you been?”

“Sorry. I forgot to bring my phone with me when I went out today. What’s up?”

“Just checkin’ in to see how your meeting went.”

“Oh yeah. It uh, went fine. I’m…I’m gonna do a stakeout with Gino tonight.”

“You took the job?”

“I did. Sort of. Not officially. I’m just helping Gino and we’ll see how it goes.”

“What happened to taking a couple weeks off?”

“Ahhh honey, I was bored out of my skull. I had to do something. This won’t be permanent, I don’t think.”

“Hey, big boy. It’s your retirement. Your choice. What’s the job?”

“You know I’m not sure if I can tell you that right now.”

Daisy laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s a matter of national security?”

Phil laughed “No but it’s very sensitive area and rich people are involved.”

“So you won’t be home when I get there.”

“Are you working late?”

“Yeah.”

“So no, Gino’s picking me up at around nine thirty/”

“OK. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me too. But this is how I find out.”

“OK. Love you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Love you too.”

Phil disconnected. ‘Well, that wasn’t terrible.’ he said to himself and then went off to get something to eat.

While he was making a sandwich, he was thinking hard about the decision he had to make. Was he really doing nothing more than just switching jobs? Was there a way he could get through the days, and a lot of evenings too, all on his own? What the hell kind of a hobby could he have that would engage him more than solving crimes? It was a lot to think about. But he also knew he would be up late that night so he put it all aside in his mind, wolfed down his sandwich, set the alarm on his phone and laid down on sofa in the family room. Fifteen minutes later, he was out like a light.

~ 7 ~

They got back to The Bridle Path at around eleven that night. They got slowed down by the traffic heading up the Parkway to the burbs from the Blue Jays baseball game. They cruised around a bit and made note of the cars that were parked. Hardly anybody parked on the streets here, because the cops patrolled regularly and were very generous with giving out tickets.

They found a driveway on one of the corner houses that had already been hit, and backed in. At Gino’s request, Haven’s father had emailed everybody on his list beforehand so nobody was gonna come out and ask them what the hell they were doing there. The parking spot gave them a good look in three different directions. Gino was driving and Phil was manning the camera, a digital Nikon with a fairly compact telephoto lens. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a stakeout.” Phil said. 

“Tell me about it.” Gino said, like this was the crap part of the job. “I can’t see these clowns driving in, so I would imagine they would park a couple blocks away and hoof it. In an hour or so, we’ll take a little ride, maybe widen the circle a bit. This is a small neighbourhood. But so far all the houses they have hit have been on The Bridle Path.”

“What do you suppose all these people do? You know, that makes them targets?”

“Hard to say.” Gino said. My assumption is that a lot of them are like Haven’s old man. He plays the market but he also owns a couple of companies. He hired really good managers so he basically gets to work from home. But you can tell he plays the market by his computer setup. Anybody with more than one monitor on his desk is usually playing the market.”

Phil just grunted and nodded. They said nothing for a while. 

“You miss the job at all?” Phil asked.

“Not as much as I thought I would. A little at first, but it faded pretty fast, mostly because I knew what was coming. Haven’s a smart cookie. Got great instincts and a shitload of money, although he doesn’t seem to care a lot about it. But he studies crime to be able to write the books he writes. So he has a pretty decent detective mind.”

“You said he sold a lot more in the US and Britain than Canada. Any idea why that is?” Phil asked.

“Nope. They’re damn good books. They’re all set here in Toronto. Guess to people who don’t live here, they seem a bit exotic. Also it might be a marketing thing. They push him harder in those bigger markets ‘cause, according to him, it’s more profitable for them. So it may just be a numbers game.”

“I hear you.”

“Good advice for you when you start writing yourself.”

They shot the shit for a good couple of hours. But they didn’t get antsy. One of the most important qualities that any cop or private investigator needed was zen-like patience. Both Gino and Phil had it in spades.

Finally, close to one am, Gino spotted some movement at the far end of their field of vision. They looked like joggers, but they were all dressed in black so he could barely make them out they looked more like shadows than people. Quickly, they veered off the road and up the long driveway of the target house. Phil fired off a couple of useless shots into the dark. And then they waited. They watched the house and every so often they would catch a little flash of light from one of the front facing rooms.

“Son of a bitch. First night charm.” Gino said. He started the car, left the lights off and eased on down the drive onto the street. He drove past the target house and, half a block over, then backed into another driveway. About ten minutes later the two men in black came down the driveway of the target house, and started jogging back the way they came. They didn’t notice Gino and Phil in the BMW. Phil fired off a series of shots. They watched as the men turned up a side street and went about two blocks. They got into what looked like a Chevy Nova, drove down to The Bridle Path and headed over to Lawrence Avenue then turned left and eventually got onto the southbound Don Valley Parkway. 

Gino followed them at a safe distance with his lights on. Just another car coming off The Bridle Pat. There was hardly any traffic, so Gino stayed well behind them. Two exits later, they got off at O’Connor Road, turned left and travelled along almost to Coxwell Avenue. They then took a right and pulled up in front of a small brick house. Gino and Phil parked a little further down the street and waited until they were inside the house. 

~ 8 ~

Gino and Phil got out of their car and approached the house. The curtains on the front window were drawn so they couldn’t see what was going on inside. They walked up the side of the house to the rear. There was a small deck on the back of the house and a yard that looked like nobody really gave a shit about it.

Gino tried the back door and found it open. Quietly they stepped inside, and up three stairs into a narrow kitchen. They could hear voices from the front of the house, more than two. 

They walked down the narrow hallway with their guns drawn. They entered what appeared to be the living room where three people, a woman and the two guys in black were all huddled around a large computer screen.

Gino cocked his pistol. “Hey, assholes.”

The three of them turned around and saw two large guns pointed at them. Phil walked around the room looking for anything that might be a weapon and found nothing. The three people seated in front of the computer said nothing.

Gino perched on the edge of the sofa across from them, while Phil kept moving around the room looking for anything he could find. On the couch behind Gino he found a small canvas shoulder bag. He upended it and looked at the stuff that fell out. 

“Looks like we have some electronics here.” Phil said to Gino. 

“Probably how they were able to get in and disable the alarms, I would suppose.”

Then he turned to the three people who were sitting in their chairs and pretty much petrified.

“Did you honestly believe that breaking into the houses of rich people would be without any consequences?” Gino asked.

The oldest-looking of the three finally spoke. “Are you cops?” he asked.

“Yeah, we kinda look like cops don’t we? Gino said. “No we’re private investigators hired by the neighbourhood to put a stop your little crime wave. So now you get to tell us just what the hell you were trying to steal because you skillfully break into houses with valuable art and probably tons of jewellery and cash and I don’t see any of that shit around here. So what is it you wanted?”

By this time Phil had made it over to the computer desk and picked up several sheets of paper. On them were a list of companies, their stock market call signs and dates.

“Looks like they were stealing information” Phil said.

“Hmmm.” Gino said. Then he raised the gun slightly. “Information theft is a whole different ballgame. Which one of you is the computer geek?”

The girl raised her hand. 

“You guys,” Gino said pointed his gun at them. “Get your asses on the couch.

Phil took sat down in a chair opposite the couch with his gun in his hand and the paper and the canvas bag on his lap. Gino moved over to sit beside the girl as the guys moved to the couch.’

“What’s your name, sugar?” Gino asked.

“Heather.” the girl said.

“OK, Heather, suppose you show me what you have been up to and how much money you’ve made off it so far.” Gino said. He tapped the gun on her thigh. “And be thorough, ‘cause I’ll know if you’re fuckin’ me around.”

Heather opened up their trading account and scrolled down through all the trades she had been making. The list was quite long. The total was $11,474,000.

“So you’ve made eleven million off the trades you’ve done so far?”

Heather nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cash out into your money market account.” Gino said.

Heather moved the money from the trading account to her money market account that already had about four million and change in it.

“You have any backup, Heather?  Like a cloud server?” Gino asked.

“No. I don’t trust the cloud. We don’t keep this stuff anywhere on line.” she said with the kind of conviction that made Gino believe her.

“Good work. Now go and sit over with your boyfriends over there.” 

Heather got up and moved to the couch.

Gino got out his phone and held it to his ear. He called Wiley. “Hey, it’s me. I’m sitting in front of a money market account with about fifteen million in it.” He waited a minute while Wiley opened his computer. Then Gino read the account number and password to Wiley, who immediately accessed it. 

“Transfer that into a new money market account at your end.” Gino then waited until that was done, which took about three minutes. “Good…I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Gino then spent a few minutes looking around on the hard drive and then the table drawer but could find no back-up files. He assumed they didn’t want to leave any trail so they worked right off the hard copy they stole. He trashed and emptied trash with all the financial software in it, then turned to face the three thieves.

“OK, so we’re not going to call the cops and have you arrested because that’s the last thing our clients would want to deal with. So consider this your lucky day. Because fraud at this level is easily worth ten years in prison. And those are not pleasant places. I took your money as an object lesson. Do not fuck with rich people. They have resources like us. They are easily angered. And they have long memories. We’re also gonna take your toys, because that will further reduce the temptation to try this again.”

He looked over at Phil. “Take a walk through the house and check out the basement too. If you see anything interesting take it or wreck it.”

Phil left the room and started wandering through the house.

Gino slid his chair over in front of the three of them. “Now, there there’s only a few things left for us to find out. So, A), who is feeding you the inside information you are obviously getting and how do you know these houses are gonna be empty. And B) Where you get the tech to break do what you’re doing.”

They hesitated for a few seconds and then the older looking of the two guys said: “We have a connection, but it’s family and we’re not gonna tell you who, just that he’s figured out how to find out all this stuff. He feeds it to us and we hit the houses on the nights he tells us to.”

“Okay I can respect family loyalty. Does he get a cut of this money?”

“Yeah, we split it fifty fifty.” The older one said. “Look… all these people we hit, they’re all fuckin’ insider trading. According to our guy, there’s a lot of that going on in the TSE right now.”

“Okay, so where do you get the tech to pull these scores, because you do it without making any noise at all?” Gino asked.

“The younger of the guys held up his hand. “I build it. I’m just good at this shit.”

“Well you are quite the family, aren’t you?”

They said nothing in response.

Meanwhile, Phil moved through the house methodically, then headed down the basement stairs. A few minutes later he came back up.”

“They have a dandy little workshop downstairs. And I found a couple more interesting toys. Nothing else though.”

The three of them were almost in tears. Gino pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures of the three of them. Then he got to his feet. 

“You dodged a bullet here tonight.” Gino said. “If there’s a next time, and we find out about it, which we probably will, I’ll tell you this…you won’t be so lucky.”

With that, Gino and Phil walked out the front door and up the street to their car. 

“So what are we gonna do that money?” Phil asked.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow when we’re all together. Right now we solved the case. I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s gonna matter to Haven’s old man.”

~ 9 ~

Later the next afternoon, they all met up at the office. Gino summarized the case and explained about the fifteen million they took from the thieves, who likely found out about it from a broker around their own age who wanted to make some extra money.

“They told me that the information these kids get is part of an insider trading scheme.” Gino said. to Haven, “You know anybody with the TSE.”

“Yeah, a guy named Jim Rothwell. He’s an assistant director.” Haven said.

“Well, I’d get hold of him and tell him about this.” Gino said. “See if he can root out the crooked trader or broker.” 

 “I’ll do that.” Haven said.

“So once again we find ourselves in between the fucking rock and the hard place.” Gino said, shaking his head.

“This has happened to you guys before?” Phil asked.

“A few times, yeah.” Haven said, and he wasn’t very happy about it at all because it meant going back to his dad and telling him they had solved one crime to cover up a bunch of other crimes.

The toys that Phil had gathered up from the night before were sitting in front of Wiley. As they talked he examined them. Then he leaned forward. “Well, you know, technically, the case was solved.  But I think, you, Haven, need to have a quiet off-the-record chat with your old man about it. Nothing we can do without fucking ourselves in the ear is gonna change the way rich people operate in this world. I think we’ve been learning that over and over again.”

“The question is what to do with the money? I was thinking that maybe we should just stash it offshore somewhere. Save it for a rainy day.” Haven said.

Haven looked over at Phil. “What do you think, Phil?”

“That makes a lot more sense than, you know, dividing it up or anything.” Phil said. “I’d have had a hell of time explaining a three or four million dollar bonus to Daisy after my first week on the job. That could draw some real heat. I look at it this way, the job was to stop the break-ins and that job was done. End of story for me at least.”

Nobody really needed the money, so nobody really objected.

Then Gino said, “Haven, you have to ask yourself if this whole bag of shit is worth blowing your relationship with your dad, which I understand is finally pretty good.”

Haven sighed. “Yeah it is. But I don’t want this firm turning into some goddamn black bag operation.”

“I don’t think that will happen if you make that clear to your dad.” Gino said. “He had to have known what was going on. Don’t you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Haven said. “This doesn’t feel like his style at all. He likes the game too much to cheat. But, I guess it’s over to me either way.”

“I’ll be happy to go with you.” Gino said.

“OK I’ll set it up. But good work, guys. We may end up getting a pat on the back from a whole other source, once I talk to Rothwell.”

~ 10 ~

Later that afternoon Haven and Gino entered Haven III’s house on The Bridle Path. Haven III was at his desk as usual. He offered them some scotch, which they accepted.”

Once they were all seated Haven said,  “Okay, dad. The case is solved. I don’t think there will be any more break-ins. But I wanted to say something, so hear me out, please. 

“We found the stuff that had been stolen and we believe that it was a series of insider stock tips. I know, or at least I think, that you have a lot of investments but that you don’t play that kind of game. So there’s no way you could not have known what this stuff was.”

“You’re right son. I don’t that game at all. Plus most of my investments are entrepreneurial ventures that aren’t big enough to be on the exchange. But I did have an odd feeling about this. But these people are neighbours and friends and a few are customers. When they came to me, I knew it was a bit dicey. But if I had hired anyone else to deal with this, who knows what would have happened? And I believe that was their mindset as well. In a way, they took advantage of both of us. And if I’m being honest, I most likely would have done the same thing if I was in their position.”

“Alright, I just wanted to get that out there for the record.” Haven said. “We are busting our asses to stay as legitimate as possible. And we’re happy to have you as a client. But not if it’s some kind of coverup like this turned out to be.”

“I hear you son. But the business you’re in, sometimes you’re gonna run up against the law. It’s inevitable.” Haven III said. “So let’s talk about remuneration. There were five clients that got hit and they’re all rich. So I’d say $25,000 for each client. That work for you?”

“That works just fine, dad.” Haven said.

“I’ll find out where they want the invoices sent and text that to you over the next couple of days.”

“Thanks. That would be great.”

“And I don’t mind telling you this, both of you…you gentlemen make a hell of a team.”

“Yeah,” Haven said, fist pumping Gino. “We really do. But let’s just keep it on the right side of the law, if at all possible. OK dad.”

“I’ll do my best, son.”

They finished their drinks and left the house. “I noticed you didn’t mention anything about the fifteen mill.” Gino said. 

“We’ll save it for a rainy day.” Haven said.

“You really are a strange fellow, Haven. You have all the money in the world yet you don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about it and it keeps on coming.”

“Maybe it keeps on coming for precisely that reason, my friend.”

They climbed into Haven’s car and headed back down toward the Beaches.

“So what’s your report on our fictional character come to life? Haven said.”

“Phil? He handled himself admirably. But then I expected that would be the case. He’s the real deal, Haven. Not a flinch or a misstep from A to Z.”

“You think he’ll sign on for say a hundred and a half?”

“I think he’ll sign on for a lot less than that. But that kind of money is hard to resist. And he’ll be worth every penny.”

“Cause you know, you’ve told me some stories about retiring cops and how they are full of second thoughts.”

“Phil’s not finished being a cop. But I do think he’s totally finished with all the cop bullshit.”

“Well, we don’t have any of that here.” Haven said, with a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

Gino laughed because, so far it had been nothing but bullshit.“Nosiree, we surely do not.”

“So let’s make him an offer and see what he says.”

“The only thing I worry about is his wife, Daisy. The woman is an awesome lawyer and I’m pretty sure she wanted him to rest his bones a bit.”

“Well to hear him tell it, that bone resting is what’s driving him nuts.”

“True enough. All we can do is put it out there.” Gino said as the valley slipped by them. “And by the way, I think you handled your dad quite nicely. I doubt he’ll be bothering us with any more dicey old boy network shenanigans.”

“Thanks. It’s always a bit of thin ice with dad. Our relationship was torn apart when mom fucked off and it’s taken a long time for it to come back together.” Haven said. “Come to think of it, you never really talk much about your kinfolk.”

“There’s really just my parents and a brother. The folks  moved back to the old country. They run a small restaurant just south of Naples. My brother Sal, he fucked off to America. Lives in LA, gets a lot of acting gigs in tough Italian guy movies and series. He can even pass for a Mexican cause he’s dark skinned. He does OK for himself. Fucks anything that smiles at him. It’s a whole different kind of life. I went out to visit him once. I liked the beach. But LA is shot from guns. Three nutbars on every corner. More dumb ass pretty girls than you can shake a stick at though. It’s like a carnival that goes twenty-four-seven.”

“I went to California myself one time. Just for a week. That was more than enough. Spent two days in LA and then headed up the coast. Once you get north of Malibu, it’s a whole different place. Spent the rest of my week in Carmel looking out at the ocean.”

“We’re Canucks, Haven. What can I tell you.” Gino said.

“Fuckin’ eh. That with an E and an H.”

And on they drove.

~ 11 ~

When Haven got back to the office, he called his old friend, Jim Rothwell, and explained the insider trading scam to him. Rothwell told him he’d get right on it and keep him posted. They shot the shit for a bit and Haven explained what he was doing these days. Rothwell found it interesting, and told him that maybe they could do some business.

Gino and Haven met up with Phil the next day over at the Stone Lion for lunch. Once they were all seated with beers and a ginger ale in front of them and their lunch orders on the grill, Haven looked over at Phil.

“Gino and I had a short talk about you yesterday. A short talk was all that was necessary because everything he said about you made it clear to me that I would be nuts not to offer you a gig with us. So I’m thinking two-fifty an hour and only actually work when there’s a case active. I’ll also lease you a car, from the BMW dealership. I still have three years on my book contract which means three more books so I will be in and out. You can Gino will be running the show. He trusts you. I do too. So there you go. It’s not full time but it can be sometimes.”

“Two fifty and hour? Phil said. “And wheels?”

“Yeah, Bridget will take care of you after each job is done. She is the keeper of the corporate purse. Handles all the expenses and salaries etc.”

“Wow. I’d have to be some kind of gold-plated arsehole to turn that down.”

“You’ll have time to work on your book or just hang out. My dad will be sending a fair bit of work our way and it’s all big money white collar stuff. Our advertising pulls in a case or two a month and again, no shooting. Guns maybe, but just for effect. We’ll get you one of your own.”

“Do I need any sort of professional credentials to do this?”

“You might want to take the private investigators exam. That will get you certified.” Gino said. “But it’s a piece of cake.”

Phil took a deep breath. “Well alright. Sounds very workable, and it will keep my wife happy too.”

“They all shook hands and sealed the deal.”

They had a great lunch together. Haven told Phil the IRA/New York Mafia story. Three years later, they could laugh at it. But back then, he and Gino lost a mutual friend named Jim Clancy. Since then things had cooled down a bit but there always seemed to be some sort of weird twist to the cases they took on.

“I know what you mean,” Phil said. “Nothing’s really black and white anymore. It’s just fucking shades of grey.”

“You got that right,” Gino said, and he raised his glass. “Here’s to shades of grey.” and they all toasted a future they would have no control over.

~ 12 ~

That night, it was a Friday and Daisy had decided to knock off early and give herself a weekend. When she got home she dropped off her briefcase and walked down to the kitchen. There, sitting in a vase, was a very nicely arranged bunch of flowers. 

Phil was sitting on the steps of the back deck reading one of Haven’s Phil Rosetti novels. Daisy grabbed a light beer and went out to join him. She kissed him on the cheek. Then she said. “So what’s with the flowers, big boy? You must have fucked up big time.”

“Can’t I buy my old lady some flowers?”

“Well sure you can. But I can also inquire about the special occasion.”

“I took the job.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s part time at two-fifty an hour.”

“That’s a pretty decent rate Are you gonna have to kill people for that money?”

“Naa, they mostly handle white collar stuff, according to Haven and Gino and for a while it will just be me and Gino and their computer guy, Wiley Dupree, running the show. Haven’s still writing books. So he’s in there on and off.”

“Any other news you’d like to spring on me?”

“Yeah I get a car with that too and I get a fair bit of time to hang around here.”

“Sounds like the dream job.”

“Yeah it kinda is. So now that I’m making the big bucks like my wife, I thought, hey, let’s go to the Goof for dinner. It’s on me.”

And off they went. 

Daisy wasn’t going to give Phil a hard time about this because she could feel that he was happy and no longer worried about what the hell to do with his life after the job. So it turned out to be a different job, she thought. Hey, whatever floats your boat. And it would probably be a whole lot less dangerous than the last twenty years had been.

~ 13 ~

The money that was taken from the people who used insider information for profit was transferred to an account that Haven had set up in the Caymans. That money, like three of the five million he was left with after the business with the New York gangster, Duke Chiba, was sitting there too, accumulating interest at a rate of anywhere between 6 and 8% annually. The rainy day he was saving it for was in the eventuality that any of his now four people were to run into any hardship or financial difficulty. 

Haven had been rich all his life, having been left close $50 million in his grandfather’s will which he was able to collect a year ago at the age of 40, So money wasn’t important to him. The things he could do with that money, however, were very important. His idea was to help people who had been victimized by various types of crime. But so far, and perhaps this was because he was mostly dealing with the wealthy, he had not encountered any of them yet. 

But his career, such as it was, straddling the writing business and the private investigation business, was still in its embryonic stage. The business was pretty much paying for itself so he stashed the now eighteen plus million and just let it grow. 

The next day, which was a Saturday. He reserved a large table at the back of the Astoria on the Danforth and invited the whole crew and their significant others to a dinner party. Gino and the Royal Bank Manager, Trudy, Wiley and his digital artist girlfriend, Wendy, Phil and his lawyer/life partner Daisy, Bridget and her architect husband Jason and his soon-to-be missus and mafia princess Angela Pesco. 

Once everybody was served their various drinks, Haven got up and banged a glass with his spoon. Once everyone was quiet he said. “Before we get too inebriated, I just wanted to say a few words. Gino and I had this idea for a number of years and now, as we’re very close to our second anniversary, I just wanted to thank everybody for coming along on the ride. I don’t want us to get a lot bigger than we are now. So we will pick and choose our cases with great care and make sure we always stay on the right side of the line. More or less. So here’s to all of you.” Haven raised his glass. “Cheers.”

Everybody raised their glasses and shouted cheers right back. Then Haven sat down and this chapter of the Virgin Detective saga came to a close.

Part 5. The Bad-Ass Ladies Case

~ 1 ~

Once Angela Pesco made it known that she was in love with and planning to marry Emil Haven, her life became a complete mess. She was almost totally disowned from her family and the entire criminal organization her dad represented. 

Nobody in either Angela’s family, or the rival family in the city, ever gave Haven any credit for more or less destroying a hostile takeover from a New York-based mob family. But then again, it really wasn’t something that Haven wanted to be made public. He was just happy to get out of the situation with his ass in one piece, and, as he was promised, he got a great story out of it which kickstarted a new series of crime books, under the banner of ‘The Virgin Detective.’

Angela’s estrangement from her family and her old life didn’t happen all of a sudden, but slowly, almost one person at a time. The women she played bridge with all slowly excluded her. Then mysteriously, all of her shopping buddies had something else to do. And because her husband was, well, deceased and producing no income, she was forced to sell the house was owned outright and which her husband was smart enough to put in her name.

So the day she moved in with Haven, bringing only her clothes, designer shoe collection and a few mementos, she had close to three million in the bank, thanks to what Haven called “The Perpetual Housing Boom’ and a genuine ‘fuck you’ attitude towards just about everybody in her former life.

Angela and Haven had a long talk about it one evening. Haven understood her situation, having been estranged from his own father for a number of years over his relationship, or lack thereof, with his mother, which forced her to leave for Florida only to be heard from by him as an infrequent voice on the phone. But she seemed to be happy in her new life and so Haven and his father slowly patched things up.

“This kind of stuff happens in every family to some extent.” Haven told her. But of course, he was only guessing. What he knew for sure was that it had to be happening in a good percentage of at least half of the families in Canada, since the divorce rate was right up there close to 50%. 

Trying to be encouraging, Haven told her, it might take some time but she would be surprised at how even the deep wounds can heal.

Angela herself wasn’t too fussed by any of this. She loved Haven and all he stood for. He was a successful fiction writer and the part owner of a private investigation agency with an old friend of hers, Gino Botticelli.

“Things could be a lot worse.” she said to Haven as she sipped a glass of wine on the second floor deck of Haven’s house that overlooked Lake Ontario. “And if I’m being honest, I really don’t miss all that many people. My mom still calls me regularly. She’s keeping track of my dad’s attitude and tells me it’s softening, just a bit.”

“Well there you go,” said Haven. “A little progress already.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. Besides I have this place to make over and that will keep me busy for a while.”

Like most single men, Haven couldn’t really see what was wrong with his place. But his desire to make Angela happy was more important than a few pieces of furniture.

Haven owned a duplex at the bottom of a street called Hammersmith. He had purchased it with some ill-gotten gain from his adventure with a New York mafia family. He had a lot of expensive furniture in his flat, but because he had no design sense, the effect it created was very haphazard, due to the comfort-over-style proclivity most men had.

Haven was about halfway through the third book of a five-book contract with Dell for The Virgin Detective series 

The first two had been quite well received and his agent, Andy Brewer, was talking to several streaming sites for mini-series option opportunities. Dell would decide after seeing the third instalment, whether to extend his contract or not. But Haven had already made up his mind that five would be it for him, and that he would work with Dell to find a good ghostwriter, and just give him or her some ideas to work with.

On the ‘other business’ side, Haven’s father, Emil Haven III, turned out to be a very good referral source. Over the past six months, he had provided Botticelli & Haven with several very lucrative cases, mostly in the area of industrial espionage and fraud. It seemed that there was no shortage of white collar crime in the private sector, especially among Haven III’s so called network of friends and neighbours.

As the number of cases grew, so did Haven’s interest in working them with his partner Gino Botticelli, their other, part time investigator, Phil Rosetti, and their computer wizard, Wiley Dupree. They were a formidable team, and their reputation was growing steadily.

Haven thought he could manage both the writing and the the investigation careers, but that was dependent on him having his heart in both areas. 

But right now, he wasn’t sure.

“Why not hire the ghostwriter now? Let him finish the book you’re working on and the other two, then give it over to him to write under your name or even his own. It’s not like you need the money.” Angela said. “And it would free up your time to do work with the boys, (as she called them,) on the stuff you really want to do.”

Haven thought about it a lot for the next couple of days and then he got out his old phone books and called a buddy of his from the few years he spent in advertising before he started to write novels.

~ 2 ~

Jackson Doyle answered on the first ring. ”This is Jack.” he said quickly. 

“Jack, it’s Haven.”

“Haven? Haven? Haven? I used to know a rich asshole named Haven. Only lasted about two years in the business. You that Haven?”

“Fuck you, Jackson.”

Jackson laughed. “Haven, what the hell. It’s been eons.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I was busy.”

“I’ll say. On your second series I see. Not many assholes get that far in the world of fiction, my friend. Not many at all. So what can I do for you?”

“First of all, are you still in the business?” By which Haven meant the advertising business.

“In a manner of speaking.” Jackson said. “I have a couple of fairly lush retainers that pop off enough to keep me from falling asleep. But I’m out of the agency game. That’s all gone to hell and getting worse thanks to A fucking I.”

“I hear you. Listen. I’d like to buy you lunch tomorrow. Are you still in the Beaches?”

“Sure enough. Queen and Scarborough Road. How about you?”

“Bottom of Hammersmith.”

“So, I guess it’s the Goof for liver and onions.” Jackson said.

“The Goof is fine. Say around one?”

“You got it.”

“Any hints as to what this is in aid of?”

“Let’s make it a surprise.”

“Fair enough, amigo. See you tomorrow.”

Haven put down the phone. 

Jackson Doyle was one of the best writers he had ever met. Back in the day, he got a lot of his short stories published almost everywhere. Could have gone into it full time but back then, but before the AI shit hit the fan, ad agency work paid really well and it certainly wasn’t a hardship for someone like Jackson. So he just dabbled in fiction. 

It was, in fact, Jackson who suggested that Haven start writing fiction. They would get stoned and talk for hours about story ideas. It was Jackson who coached him through the first couple of Phil Rosetti novels and never asked for anything in return. Well, Haven thought, this would be a good way to pay him back.

~ 3 ~

The next day, Haven and Jackson Doyle were sitting down in front of plates of liver and onions, a food passion they both shared, at a restaurant on Queen Street, officially called The Garden Gate, but locally known as The Goof, because of the unlit letters in the ‘Good Food’ part of the neon sign.

Jackson Doyle looked more like a lumberjack than an advertising guy. With a full beard and an unruly head of hair. He was also built like one. Six foot three and nothing but muscle. He had a presence that was one of the most powerful that Haven had ever encountered and was happy that Jack was a friend and not any sort of enemy.

The first twenty minutes or so were spent catching up. Jackson lamented the sad, sorry mess the advertising world had become and the lack of quality of the so-called creative talent. 

Haven told Jack about the investigation agency and all the craziness that ensued prior to the release of his first novel in the Virgin Detective series.

Then they got down to business,

“Jackson,” Haven said in his sincere voice. “Of all the people I know who are writers, you are at the top of the heap.”

“Well that’s very nice of you to say, Haven.”

“So here’s the thing. I have two and a half books left on my current contract with Dell and I don’t want to do this anymore.  So I would like to hire you to write out my contract. I’ll pay you exactly whatever I get paid plus whatever the last three books make in terms of sales.”

“Then what happens?”

“Then I tell the Dell people what we have done and they give you a contract of your own. Or we don’t and you keep on ghosting for me.”

“So you’re basically giving me your career to have all to myself?”

“Yeah.”

“Well fuck, man, why would you do that?”

“I would do that because I can, Jackson. I’m a rich guy. You know that. I’ve been a rich guy all my life. And I have always been able to do exactly what I wanted. But when Gino Botticelli and I started this investigation agency, all of a sudden, that’s what I wanted to do. I thought I could manage both, you know, but I can’t. So I’m offering this to you, mainly because I know you can pull it off.”

Jackson didn’t say anything for a long time. But his brain was working hard and Haven could sense it, so he just ate his liver and fries and let his friend think it though.

“What’s the deadline on the book you’re working on now?” Jackson finally said.

“October first.”

“And you have it all blocked out?”

“Yeah and the other two as well.” 

“And you believe I can pull this off?”

“In your fucking sleep.”

“And who edits it at Dell?” 

“A lady named Serena Jasper. But there’s not a lot of back and forth between us. She loves my work and hardly messes with it at all.”

“And if we pull this off, what kind of money are we talking?”

“If the sales of the first two are any indication I’d say about two hundred and fifty grand a year for a couple years at least.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s world wide distribution.”

“What about movie or TV rights?”

“We’ll split that fifty fifty. Can’t tell you what that would be worth. Depends on a lot of stuff. You know that business is screwy to say the least.

“Understood.” Jackson rubbed his head. “OK. Give me the first two books, a digital file on what you’ve done so far on the third on and the outlines for the other two. It will take a bit of time to assimilate it all. But once I’ve got it in my head it should go pretty quickly.”

Haven just smiled. And he breathed a huge sigh of relief over the unburdening. He opened his bag on the seat beside him. He pulled out paperback copies of the first two books and a memory key that held digital copies of the first two books, what he had written so far on the third plus the outlines for all three remaining books

Jackson smiled. “You knew I would jump on this, didn’t you?”

“Well, I was sure as hell hoping you would.”

Jackson just smiled and tucked the books and the memory key into his bag. He then raised his Coke glass and Haven raised his.

“Here we go, Haven. Let’s both pray it doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

Haven just laughed. “Oh ye of little faith, Jackson.”

They spent the rest of the lunch talking about all kinds of things. Jackson freaked when Haven told him he was getting married to a former mafia princess. Jackson told him that he was still good looking enough to keep fucking around for a while, but the thought of settling down had crossed his mind a couple of times.

~ 4 ~ 

After his lunch with Jackson Doyle, Haven walked down the street to his office, said hi to his office manager/receptionist Bridget, then wandered into Gino’s office and flopped down in one of his chairs.

“What are you doin’ here, Haven? Haven’t you got a novel to finish?” Gino asked.

“Nope.”

What’s nope mean?”

“Nope means I just had lunch with an old friend and he’s gonna take over and ghostwrite out my Dell contract for me?”

“You can do that?”

“Sure. I was contracted to produce a book with my name on it. That’s what he’s gonna do. He’s actually a much better writer than I am.”

“Who is he?”

“Guy named Jackson Doyle. From my ad agency days.”

Gino just chuckled. “Well, I hope he pulls it off for you.”

“Oh, I’ve got no doubts about that. And if you read any of his stories you’d be thinking exactly the same thing. So what’s up here?”

“Nothing much. Wiley tracking some embezzler who works for a friend of your dad’s. Phil’s forced the missus to take a week off so they’ve rented a cottage out near Haliburton. And I just finished talking  to your dad’s friend at the Bank about locating a guy whose gone AWOL and needs to be found before he goes to court in a month. Another embezzler.”  

“That sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, I was gonna head out this evening and talk to some people who know him. See if I can scare up a lead or two. Wanna come along, now that you’re free and all?”

“Sure. I’m just gonna go for a run. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at six. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

“Okay.” Haven said and got to his feet. He then walked down the hall to Wiley’s office and spent a few minutes and filled him in on what he had done with Jackson Doyle, then he headed out and down Hammersmith to change for his run.

~ 5 ~

Angela left an email note on Haven’s iPad which was sitting on the counter. ‘Gone shopping in North York, back for dinner.’

Haven replied back to her. ‘Going out with Gino. We have a case. Had lunch with my new ghostwriter. It’s all good. See you later tonight.’

Haven, then got changed, and headed down to the boardwalk that ran along the beach. He ran it all the way out to the end of the spit and back, then grabbed a quick shower and warmed up some leftover lasagna. He was just finishing up when Gino walked in.

“You ready?”  he asked.

Haven ate the last bit of the lasagna,  then rinsed the dish and put it in the dishwasher. Dirty dishes were not allowed to hang around in his house anymore. Those days were over and done according to Angela.

They climbed into Gino’s BMW and started heading north.

“Where we going?”

“To visit the wife. Up near the edge of civilization. North Leaside.”

Haven and Gino were both downtown guys and felt like anything above Eglinton Avenue was the boondocks. 

Haven wasn’t even too thrilled about visiting his dad who lived on the Bridle Path just north of Lawrence which was the next main street up from Eglinton.

“So what’s the story?”  Haven asked.

“Guy’s name is William Fellowes. Works the the main branch of the Royal Bank down on King Street. Computer jockey. According to the Bank’s VP of finance, Walter Fenton, who contacted us through your dad, Fellows, over the course of a year, managed to re-route a dollar out of more than ten million accounts. Gave it some sort of fancy systemic name, and it was only a buck so it didn’t raise a single red flag. Everybody thought it was just business as usual. Nobody pays attention to the small stuff until one day somebody did. Anyway, they eventually caught him and he was arrested. But because he was a first timer and his father, Arthur Fellowes, has some political clout, he was released without bail pending a hearing one month from now’

“Did he ever give up the account number where he stashed the money?” 

“Nope. So the dude is out there with about ten million bucks somewhere.” Haven said.

“The cops have been watching all the trains and planes and gas stations. But I think this guy had it planned down to the short and curlies, with a new ID in place.” 

“So we’re essentially looking for a guy who knew how to make himself disappear effectively and then did.”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like a lot of billable hours.”

“Sounds like fuckin’ Mission Impossible.” Gino said. “But we trudge on for a few hundred bucks an hour.”

“You think he’s still in the city?” Haven asked.

“Yeah, I kinda do. But I can’t tell you why. Computer guys, they’re like nesters you know. We just have to find his new nest.”

The house was on a street of small houses off Mount Pleasant Road, just south of Eglinton. There was nothing remarkable about it. A woman answered the door. She was about five and a half feet tall, not bad looking, and nicely dressed. Her name was Monica Fellowes, the wife.

She invited them in, offered them some coffee which they accepted and sat down at the dining room table. On a hutch next to the table were a series of framed pictures. Monica looked to be in her early forties, and Haven assumed they had no kids because all the pictures were just of adults.

“So Miz Fellowes,” Gino said. “What can you tell me about your husband that would make it easier for us to track him down?”

Monica Fellowes just smiled and then shook her head. She then took a deep breath. “We were, well, more roomies than a married couple and had been for the past few years. I work for a large customs brokerage over on the west side and William worked at the Royal Bank downtown…a lot of really long days. We hardly ever saw each other, except for the weekends and over the years we had each carved out separate lives. So I imagine this was all in aid of  him escaping and creating a new life.”

“Do you have any idea who his new life partner could  possibly be?”

“Not really. William was a computer guy. Computers all day, computers most of the night. Maybe he met someone on line. I don’t know.”

Haven was staring at the photographs. “Who are all these people?” he asked.

“Mostly my family. I have three brothers and two sisters. We’re all very close.”

“What about your husband? We know his dad had enough pull to get him released without bail. He have any other brothers or sisters?” Gino asked.

“Yes. He has a sister,  but she lives in Calgary. She’s married to somebody high up in the oil business. Never came back to Toronto once she left about ten years ago. I’m sorry, I’m not being much help here.”

“That’s alright. The explanation of your relationship was a lot more helpful than you know.” Haven said.

“What’s going to happen to him? I mean if you find him?”

“Well, he’ll definitely have some time added to whatever sentence he gets. This is grand larceny, so he’s looking at five to ten years at least.” Gino said.

“Oh God. He won’t last twenty minutes without a computer.”

They talked a bit more but nothing of any substance emerged from, it.

Gino and Haven got to their feet and thanked Mrs. Fellowes for the coffee and wished her all the best.

Once they were in the car and heading back south.

 Haven said. “You know, we might just want to get Wiley on this. Guy’s a computer freak, chances are he’ll be using one to make his moves.”

“Give him a call,” Gino said. “At this point we’ve got nothing to lose.”

~ 6 ~

When Gino and Haven got to the office, Wiley already had the location of the account that William Fellowes had created to stash his money. It was a BankAmerica Secure Account, but nothing was secure from Wiley, who was one of the world’s foremost hackers.

Originally from New Orleans, Wiley Dupree left that town with several million that he appropriated from the money market accounts of some of the state’s biggest movers and shakers, aka crooks, so he had an innate understanding of how to move money around on the web.

Wiley lived a few houses along the street from Haven and Gino and when they got back home, he brought over his laptop and showed them just how Fellowes moved the money and where he moved it to.

“This guy is not half bad as these things go.” Wiley said “I really like the idea of a ‘dollar heist’, which is what it’s called. It’s been done successfully at least nine times that I know of.”

“Can you get the money out of there?” Gino asked. 

“Naw, you need a password to do that. And it’s probably unguessable cause the guy was a computer guy and likely made it twenty or more numbers, characters and letters. Probably has it written down on a card he’s carrying with him. All I can do is keep track of it for now and let you know if he accesses it and maybe, if I get lucky, follow it to where he transfers the money.” 

“What about that gizmo you got from the kids in Grimsby?” Gino asked. “You know the password finder thing.”

“Yeah.” Wiley said. “That’s kinda tricky to use on a case like this where we could be talkin’ the the cops at some point at some point. Things could get a little dicey. You know, questions we don’t really want to answer.”

Gino thought about it for a few seconds and found himself agreeing.

“We need to keep this on the up and up.” Wiley said.

“You’re absolutely right, Wiley.” Haven said. “Besides the way we find the money without getting ourselves into any shit is by finding this Arthur Fellowes.

Gino said nothing, but was secretly happy he was being overruled on this one.

“Also, for all we know right now, “ Wile said. “He may have accessed it a couple days ago and moved it somewhere else and just left a dollar in the account to keep us confused. The trouble is he can access that from anywhere and probably hide his location pretty well. I’d say he’d be working from a library or computer coffee shop computer, so even if we did track him down digitally, he’d still have plenty of time to get away.”

“But you can’t say for sure he’s still in the city.” Gino said.

“My guess is that he is.” Haven said. “He’s no dummy. He’d know the cops have all the exits covered and the rental car companies alerted.”

“But what if he’s not doing this alone. What if he had a partner?”

“Well, that’s a whole new ball game, now isn’t it?”

Gino picked up his phone and dialled a number.

“Hello Miz Fellows. It’s Gino Botticelli. One thing I forgot to ask you is if your husband has a cell phone…”

Gino picked up a pen and wrote down a number. “Thanks for that, ma’am.”

He pushed the number he had written down over to Wiley who punched it in and started to search for it. His computer whirred and hummed a bit and then displayed a call log.

“Look for the numbers with the most recent repeats.” Gino said. “That should give us some new leads.”

Wiley scrolled down the list of numbers and noted two. He typed them in one at time into his directory program. “OK, this first one is his office at the bank.”Wiley said. “Not sure why he would be calling that number so much. He fuckin’ works there. The next one is has a name attached to it. Charlotte Stevens.”

So he looked up Charlotte Stevens and found, among other things, a Facebook page. Charlotte Stevens looked to be in her late thirties and according to her profile she worked for the Royal Bank in administration. She was a very good looking woman with long light brown hair and a slender build.

“His partner in crime?” Haven said.

“Could just be.” Wiley replied.

Gino said nothing for several seconds. Then he said. “I’ll bet you a nickel she’s given her notice at the bank and is preparing to run off with our boy, William. Let’s find out where she lives and go have a chat with her.”

It took Wiley another few seconds to cough up an address.

“She lives on the east side, around Gerrard and Logan, 224 Victor Avenue.”

Gino got to his feet. He gave Wiley a fist pump. “Keep your eye on that money my friend.” Then he turned to Haven. “Let’s go Cisco.” he said

On the way over to Charlotte Stevens’s house, Haven said. “Are you sure you want to do this without cops. I mean what if he’s there, at her house?”

“OK. And you get the job of explaining to the cops just how much illegal hacking we did to find this all out.” Gino said. 

“Ooops.”

“Ooops is putting it mildly. Besides, this guy is a weenie. If we catch him I’m pretty sure he’ll come quietly.”

“That’s not how I would have written it.”

“But you’re not a writer anymore. You’re a private eye. A gumshoe. A little different mindset.”

~ 7 ~

They got to the house fifteen minutes later. There was a light on in the front room. So they knocked on the door. It took a little while but Charlotte Stevens answered. She was wearing a terrycloth robe and had a towel around her head.

She looked to be around the same age as Mrs. Fellowes.

“Yes?”

“Charlotte Stevens?”

She nodded.

“My name is Gino Botticelli this is my partner Emil Haven. We have reason to believe that you know where we can locate a William Fellowes.”

Charlotte Stevens didn’t say anything for several seconds but her face was getting redder. 

“Do you know where we can locate Mr. Fellowes?” Gino said. 

Charlotte Stevens shook her head.

“Is he here? Because if he is you’re in a good deal of trouble, as he is a fugitive.”

“No, no. He’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”

“Do you mind if we come in and look around?” Gino said

“She backed up and Gino and Haven walked through. Haven stayed with Charlotte Stevens and Gino went through the house methodically.

“You and he have been talking on the phone a lot. You’re not planning to run off with him are you? Because that would make you both fugitives and if you leave the country, it would make you international fugitives and frankly that is a whole world of hurt.” Haven said in as matter-of-fact a voice as he could muster. He could see the expression on her face change from one of mystification to outright fear. 

“I honestly don’t know where he is. He told me it would be better for me if I didn’t know.” Charlotte said.

“Well, he was certainly right about that.” Haven said. “Right now, you have done nothing wrong as far as the law is concerned. But if you are purposely concealing information on his whereabouts, well that’s not good.”

Gino came back just in time to hear her say. “I’m telling you the truth. He didn’t want me to be involved. He was going to try and get out of the country and then he would send for me. I didn’t have anything to do with whatever it is he’s been charged with. That’s all I know.”

Gino pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Listen carefully. The next time he calls you tell him that we’re looking for him and that he really has no way of getting out of the city. And then beg him to turn himself in. He’s not going to get away with this. We know too much already. Is that your blue car parked in the driveway?

She nodded.

“We’ll do our best to keep you out of it.” Gino said. But that will only happen if you don’t try anything dumb, like driving him out of the city.”

“That won’t happen. I have no intention of going to jail for just hooking up with the wrong guy.” She seemed genuinely frightened now. And that was a good thing.

“Next time he calls you tell him all about this. And tell him he doesn’t have a chance of getting out of this and the longer he tries, the worse it will get for him.” Gino said.

“He’s not a bad person, you know. He’s just…unhappy.”

“But he’s also a fugitive from justice, which is only gonna make him unhappier in the end.” Gino said.

They walked back to their car. Gino stopped and wrote down the plate number of Charlotte Stevens’ Honda.

When they got in the car Gino said. “Man, I really wish he hadda been hiding in a closet or something. Now we gotta wait him out and that’s so fuckin’ boring.”

“Is there any way we can figure out where he’s holed up?” Haven asked.

“Not unless he makes a move online and Wiley catches it Even then, that’s not a sure bet, because he seems to be using public computers. But…the guy is a computer freak, so Wiley’s probably our best bet. The cops have his licence plate but he’s probably already ditched that car. The only thing we can hope for is that he runs out of money and has to dip into his ten million piasters.”

They drove in a relative silence. Haven’s brain was churning. In all the books he’s written over the years he’d never encountered a scenario quite like this. He was sure embezzlement was pretty common, but this wasn’t about that. This was about finding a fugitive. And it was obvious to him at least that the bank didn’t have a lot of faith into the police.

~ 8 ~

What Gino and Haven didn’t realize was that Fellowes was actually still at Charlotte Stevens’ house. When he heard the knock on the door he quickly went out the back door and hid himself in between the two neighbouring garages behind a pile of firewood. Gino went out the back door while he was searching, but didn’t think to look behind the garages or in the garage where he would have found Fellowes’ car.

After Gino and Haven left, he waited about fifteen minutes, then jumped over the fence and through a neighbouring yard and walked around the block. All he encountered were a couple of dog walkers. Twenty minutes later he was back in the house. 

But Charlotte was pissed. 

“I’m not going to prison for you William. You need to find another place to hide out. Those two guys who were here, they’re not idiots. One had ex-cop written all over him and the other one was no dummy either. I saw them take down my licence plate number so that part of the plan is blown too. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t have some hacker somewhere keeping an eye on your account. Let’s face it William, you’re fucked.”

William said nothing for a while and then he spoke. “I did this all for you. For us, so we could go away somewhere and start a new life.” he said.

“You need to turn yourself in. Otherwise you're just gonna end up adding more years to your sentence.” 

William laughed. “You know what they would do to a guy like me in prison. Even one of those white collar country clubs. They would eat me alive, Charlotte. After five or six years of that I would be nothing like the guy you know now.”

 Charlotte walked around the living room. “That doesn’t alter that fact that if they find you here with me, I go down too. And that’s not gonna happen. I love you William, but everything has its limits. You can stay the night and then you have to get your ass out of here and away from me. I’ll come to you wherever you are whenever you get there. But in the morning you are gone.

William walked over to the bar and poured some scotch into a tumbler. He chugged it all down and then poured some more. 

He then flopped down on the couch. He was exhausted and depressed from all of this. He was angry with himself for being stupid enough to be caught in the first place and he was disappointed in Charlotte who he thought would stick with him through thick and thin. The level of anxiety he was feeling was off the charts. Then suddenly he felt severe pain in is stomach. 

He got to his feet, and then almost immediately fell to the floor unconscious. Charlotte sat down in one of her chairs and waited. Monica Fellowes told her it would take only a few minutes, as the drug was a concentrated derivative of Deadly Nightshade, which she purchased anonymously on the dark web. 

After a few minutes Charlotte walked over and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. He was dead. She reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. She opened it up and took out a folded up note with the account name and password neatly printed on it. 

‘Sorry, William. “ She said to the the dead man lying there. “But the idea of spending the rest of my days hiding out with you, well, not my cup of tea.” she said to the dead body lying on the floor in front of her.

She then emptied the bottle of scotch, and then, along with the glass, walked to the kitchen, where she carefully rinsed them with hot water. She also rinsed out the small vial that contained the Deadly Nightshade. She then crushed it with a meat tenderizing tool, and let the tiny pieces run down the drain. She placed the empty bottle in her recycling then dried the glass and put it back behind the small bar.

Finally, she picked up the phone. “Hi….It’s done…Yeah it was right where you said it would be… OK. I’ll do that.” 

After she hung up she got her keys then went out and moved her car out of the driveway onto the street.

Thirty minutes later Monica Fellowes backed into the driveway all the way up to the back door. She entered the house and saw Charlotte with a suitcase sitting at the kitchen table.

Together, the two women, put on rubber gloves and  dragged Fellowes’ dead body out the back door and stuffed it into the trunk of Monica’s car. Charlotte then went back in the house, shut off all the lights, brought her suitcase out and threw it into the backseat of, beside Monica’s.

It was an hour after dark as they headed to the Gardiner Expressway which would take them to the Queen Elizabeth Way, and down to Niagara. 

Close to an hour later, they turned off the highway and drove through a town called Beamsville. They then turned right and headed up onto the Niagara Escarpment. They drove along in the dark for several miles until they came to a side road that was bounded by woodlands. They turned down the road and drove for a mile or so. The paved road ended and a dirt road began. The woods on either side of the road were literally right next to them. 

After another mile or so, they came to a bit of a clearing where they could turn the car around. Monica backed the car up to the edge of the forest and she and Charlotte got out, stood beside the car for a whole minute, then hearing no noises, put their rubber gloves back on, opened the trunk and dragged Fellowes’ body out and into the woods about fifteen or twenty yards. They then got back in the car and left.

They drove to the small border town of Fort Erie and paid cash for a room at the Fort Villa Motel, which was close to the Peace Bridge that would get them into America. 

Monica’s connection with the customs brokerage business got her acquainted with a number of different people in the US, one of whom, although he would never come right out and admit it, was living slightly outside the law. One day, at lunch with this clients, who, after a few too many drinks, let it slip that one of his ‘connections’ in New York was a guy who could get you anything you needed to give yourself a new identity. He tended to work for people who had criminal records but needed a new identity so they could procure a liquor license or a job. Or just needed to be someone else for any number of reasons. Monica sweet talked him into giving up the name, which wasn’t all that difficult.

The next morning they waited till about 11:00 am and then headed for the Peace Bridge, just two of hundreds of women from Canada over to do a little shopping at the suburban malls of Buffalo.

~ 9 ~ 

Wiley rubbed his face with his hands. Then he took a deep breath and sighed. He’s been at it for three days and he was so sick of staring at his computer screen that he wanted to scream. 

Gino and Haven, checked in with him, which really just involved sitting in his office and not saying much. 

Finally Wiley said. “I don’t fucking get it. Ten million bucks sitting there and this asshole hasn’t touched it. Law enforcement has his ID, and he’s been on the news a few times so he can’t really travel anywhere. A smart human being would give himself up, take the eight or nine years then live fairly well for the rest of his miserable life.” Wiley then turned to Haven and Gino and said. “I think this mofo is dead, guys. Pushin’ up daisies.”

“Well,” Gino said. “It’s not like there wouldn’t be a few people who’d be happy to torture the info out of him and then kill him.”

Haven was thinking hard. Thinking like a crime writer. “OK, realistically, who stands to benefit from this guy’s demise. His wife or his mistress?” he said.

“Take your pick. My money is on the mistress.” Gino said. 

“I think we have to go back and talk to both of them. With a little more oomph.” Haven said.

“Well, it’s something to do.” Gino said. “It’s Saturday. Let’s slide by and see if we can’t catch them off guard.”

Wiley shut down his machinery. “I’ll stay on this at home.” he said.

With that Haven and Gino headed out to Leaside. 

An hour later they were driving back to the Beaches.

“Doesn't it strike you as a little odd,” Gino said, “That both of the houses looked to be locked up tight?”

“Yeah. It kinda does.” Haven replied.

“So if you were writing this, you know as a story, what would be happening?”

Haven said nothing for several seconds. “Well, it could very well be that the wife and the mistress are in it together. and that they offed poor William and headed off with the account information to parts unknown.”

Gino laughed. “Your brain is rubbing off on me, Haven, ‘cause I was thinking the same fucking thing.”

Haven called Wiley, who was sitting on his deck with a cold beer. “Dude, can you hack into the customs and immigration files in Niagara Falls and Buffalo, New York. But first look up Monica Fellowes’ plate number and see if you can get a match.”

“Will do.” Wiley said. He was on the speaker of Haven’s phone. “While I was sitting here essentially watching paint dry, I was wondering, you know, if one of these ladies could be capable of killing, well anyone, and so I started poking around and guess what I found from just a cursory search?”

“What?” Gino asked.

“Guess who were best friends in high school? A school in Scarborough called David & Mary Thompson.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.” Gino said. “Monica Fellowes and Charlotte Stevens? 

“Yep. Got the yearbook right here.”

“Son of a bitch.” Gino said. “Alright, so we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“But there’s more.” Wiley said. I also managed to hack Mr Fellowes’ s phone and guess what.…he was kinda paranoid. Looking for a way to get out of paying a shitload of alimony to his sweet wife, when he divorced her to live happily ever after with Mis Stevens, so he put a tracker on her car, and complete with a little site to track her movements.”

“Which I suppose you hacked.” Haven asked.

“Well of course. Once I had the plate number it was a piece of cake. The car is currently in a suburb of Buffalo. Judging from my Google maps, it looks like the parking lot of some fairly big shopping mall.”

“Goddamn. One of the best days of my life was running into you at the Goof, Wiley.” Haven said. “You are worth your weight in gold.”

“What’s the range on the tracker?” Gino asked.

“It’s satellite-based. So no real limit unless the Russians shoot down the satellite. It also has a pathfinder feature.”

“What the hell is that?” Gino asked.

Well, it’s basically a roadmap of where the car has been. I want to study it a bit and see what’s what.”

“Okay.” Gino said. “Keep your eye on the car, Wiley. We have to go see the client and get a document  from him so we can go get these babes in America.”

Gino turned the car around and headed north up Bayview Avenue. He pulled into the driveway of a large house in the same neighbourhood where Haven’s dad lived.

Gino got out of the car and knocked on the door. A grey-haired man, Walter Fenton, head of IT for the Royal Bank, showed him in. Gino went inside and ten minutes later came out holding an envelope.Twenty minutes after that, they were on the Gardiner Expressway heading for the American border.

Along the way they stopped and grabbed a burger and some fries at a Harvey’s Hamburgers along the highway.

Gino figured they would stay in Buffalo or somewhere close by and then head out the next day. Because Monica Fellowes didn’t know about the tracker, they would probably take their time getting to wherever they planned to go.

While they were sitting and eating their lunch, Gino said, “So I hear Angela’s got big plans for your apartment.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably all for the best. When she explained to me the interior design mess my apartment was I uhhh, well let’s just say I took it like a man and off she went. I think she’s been in every high end furniture showroom in the city. Listen you need anything that she’s gonna deep six, feel free.”

“Noooo…Fuck that. I did that I’d never hear the end of it.”

Gino said. “

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right?” Haven said.

“Just grin and bear it, amigo. You can afford anything she wants to do. So just let her do it.”

“That’s the plan, Gino.”

A few minutes later, they were back  on the road chasing the two women and the ten million clams.

~ 10 ~

Charlotte Stevens and Monica Fellowes were sitting at a
table at the Starbucks inside the Walden Galleria mall in suburban Buffalo. They both had large coffees and both looked nervous, Monica less so. 

“Well, here we are sweetie. Free and clear.” Monica said.

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Tomorrow, we’ll head down to New York City,’ Monica said. “We’ll get our new identities, then get this money transferred to a joint account at a big banking chain, and head off to anywhere we want to go.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Charlotte said, and her voice was almost trembling.

“Listen to me.” Monica said. “We planned this, we executed it well and we got away clean. We are now just two of about three hundred and thirty million plus people in this country. And we have ten million bucks. We can arrange to sell our houses by proxy after this all dies down, and it will die down because they have nothing to go on. No body and and no us.”

“I don’t know. That one investigator, the Italian one, he looked like a real man-eater.”

“They’re in a whole other country, Char. I’d be very surprised if they have a licence to operate here in the States.”

Charlotte just sipped her coffee. She had always been a worrier. She worried about this whole caper right from the time Monica got in touch with her a month earlier. Reeling in William was a piece of cake and he wasn’t a bad guy. Just another one of those guys who made a mistake and married the wrong woman. But, she thought, here we are, and even though she was frightened and saddened by what they had done, she had to admit, they really did get away clean.

Gino and Haven bluffed their way through customs with the chicken wing story. There was a very famous restaurant called the Anchor Bar on Main Street that specialized in chicken wings. Everybody in Buffalo knew about it because that was where the whole chicken wing thing in America began. Just the mention of it would easily get you passed through customs without a hitch, even if you were coming from as far away as Toronto.

From the bridge they drove to police headquarters on Court Street. Gino had an old connection there with a Desk Sergeant named Aaron Raiford. Raiford would get Gino and Haven in to see the Chief of Detectives and that would pave the way for them to go after these women.

It took about forty-five minutes and then they were on their way, heading north to the Walden Galleria.

On the way, Wiley informed them that they had left the Galleria and had driven to a place called Salvatore’s Grand Hotel, just off Transit Road, one of the city’s main north-south thoroughfares.

“I know that place,” Gino said. “Great steakhouse there. And a pretty decent sports bar.”

They found the car in the parking lot. So they parked and went into the sports bar, figuring the they would go to the restaurant. They kept an eye on the hallways and sure enough, around 7:30, the two women entered the restaurant.

“I figure they will stay the night and then head off to whatever destination they had in mind. Probably New York City, where they could get themselves new identities pretty easily.” Gino said.

“I’m trying to think of the legalities here.”

“Easy. They are both accomplices in a massive fraud, and if they killed Fellowes in the process you can add either first or second-degree murder to that. Our job was to get the money back. Either way, its’ comin’ back with us. What happens to the ladies is another matter altogether.”

“Okie Dokie.” Haven said. He was not gonna argue with Gino about cop stuff.

“If they killed Fellowes and dumped him on the way here, then the car becomes evidence, so it has to come back too.” Gino said. “So it will be a legal issue that we will probably lose. But as long as we have access to the account, the job is done.”

“So when do we take them?”

“In the morning out in the parking lot. We drive them back to Buffalo and let the cops figure out what to do with them.”

They ate their dinner in the sports bar and watched a Red Sox Game on one of the big-screen TVs. After the bar closed
they went out to Gino’s Beamer and waited, taking turns sleeping just in case they tried to pull a fast one and head out  before dawn or something. Haven had a hard time thinking they were that devious, although he’d heard enough stories from Gino about blown surveillance not to take anything for granted.

The thing they had going for themselves was the tracker on the car. But Gino insisted that the parking lot would be the cleanest place to take them, as opposed to pulling them over on the street somewhere and risk some overzealous cop bullshit. Gino didn’t have a whole lot of time or respect for uniformed cops, especially American ones.

~ 11 ~ 

At about ten the next morning, an hour before the checkout time, Monica Fellowes came out of the hotel. She walked to her car, which was in the third row and opened the trunk. She tossed her bag inside and when she looked around Gino and Haven were standing there.

“Sorry, Mrs Fellowes, but like they say in the old movies, ‘The jig is up.’” Gino said. He gently and skillfully fastened plastic cuffs to her. She said nothing. Gino turned her around. 

“Where’s your friend Charlotte?” Gino asked.

Monica Fellowes said nothing and cracked a strange kind of smile. Gino took out his phone and took her picture. He then ran into the hotel and went to the desk. “This woman. Name is Monica Fellowes. She came in with another woman. What room are they in?” 

The desk clerk looked at the picture and then clicked a few keys on his computer. “Seven Oh Three.” 

“Do you have a house detective here?”

“Yes sir. He’s in the dining room having breakfast. His name is Wilson Soames.” Then she described him.

Gino turned and headed to the dining room. He found Soames sitting with two other people.

“Mr. Soames. My name is Gino Botticelli. I’m a private investigator from Canada. I think there is a situation in room seven oh three.”

“What sort of situation are we talkin’ about sir?”

“Can we please check it out. I’ll explain on the way.”

Soames sensing the urgency in Gino’s voice, got up quickly and they headed for the elevator. On the way up to the seventh floor Gino explained things.

He used his passkey to enter the room. They found Charlotte Stevens on one of the two double beds. She looked like she was sleeping. But she was quite dead.

Downstairs, Haven put Monica Fellowes in the back seat of of Gino’s BMW and drove it up to as close to the hotel entrance as he could get.

 A few minutes later Gino came out of the hotel. Haven got out of the car and they moved out of Monica Fellowes’s earshot. “The Buffalo cops are on the way here. Charlotte Stevens is dead. Probably died the same way that good old Monica’s husband did. Did you get the account number and password?” Gino asked.

“Yeah. It was in her purse.” Haven replied.

“Well, we’re probably gonna have to give her up and spend the rest of the day dickin’ around here, I imagine. But, we got what we came for. Doesn’t matter to me what prison this bitch rots away in.” Gino said.

Twenty minutes later a couple of detectives and a couple of uniforms arrived on the scene. Gino talked to them and handed Monica Fellowes over to the uniforms who put her in the back seat of their cruiser. Then he and Haven went into the hotel and had breakfast while they waited for the detectives to do their thing.

Monica Fellowes’ car was also taken, and the Buffalo detectives told Gino and Haven that they would work with whoever they had to in Toronto to make sure the other murder case got resolved as well.

Three hours, twenty questions and one big lie later, they were back on the road to the Peace Bridge and Canada. And Monica Fellowes was on her way to the county jail and an arraignment for at least one first-degree murder.

Back in Toronto, they stopped off at 55 Division where  Gino explained the situation to Captain Ray Marchand. He told Marchand that Monica Fellowes and Charlotte Stevens had likely killed William Fellowes and dropped the body off along the way to the US. He also told them that Monica Fellowes was being held on suspicion of murder in Buffalo and gave him the card of the detective in charge of the case. Finally he said that their computer guy would send them a map of the movements of the Fellowes car for the last two days. This would hopefully lead them to William Fellowes’s body.

Marchand only had one question and that was why the hell they were following the two ladies in the first place. Gino, master of credible bullshit that he was, explained that they had been hired to find Fellowes and retrieve them million dollars that he had embezzled from the bank and believed that he was with his wife, fleeing the country. Marchand seemed happy with the story, and offered his condolences that they had not found the money. Gino hated lying to the cops. But the money although the money was central to the murder case, Gino was confident that there was more than enough evidence to make it a slam dunk.

Gino and Haven then drove up to the Walter Fenton’s house and Gino turned over the card with the access code for the account that William Fellowes had created to stash the ten million. Gino introduced him to Haven. Fenton said some nice things about Haven’s father and thanked Gino and Haven profusely. Their reward for finding the money was five percent, which was half a million dollars, which Fenton assure them would be transferred to them within seventy two hours.

Five minutes later, they were heading for the Beaches again. As they were heading down Bayview, Haven’s phone rang. It was Jackson Doyle. 

“Hey Jackson. How’s it going?” Haven asked.

“Dude, I’m just calling to thank you. I have not had this much fun since we were in the agency business back in the day and fuckin’ everything that moved.”

Haven laughed because he knew Jackson was talking about a lot of fucking. 

“Well I’m glad to hear that.”

“I swear to God, they will never be able to tell that you have a ghost. I’ve just reviewed about three chapters that I’ve written and it flows flawlessly. This will be a piece of cake.”

“Send the the whole story when you’re done and I will read it right through.’ Haven said “If I have to tweak anything I will, but from the sounds of it, the tweaking will be near zero.”

“Or even closer. How are things with you?”

“Same old, same old. Chasing the bad guys all over hell’s half acre.”

“OK. I should be finished by the end of next week. And thanks again. This is doing wonders for my brain and my psyche.”

“Always glad when that happens.” Haven said as he disconnected.

 “Sounds like you have a happy ghostwriter.” Gino said.

“Yeah. Let’s just hope it’s everything he thinks it is.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No way. I want it to be good, even better than me.”

“But you’ll keep on worrying about it until it’s published, right?”

Haven didn’t say anything for a few seconds then he said. “Yeah, I suppose I will.”

~ 12 ~

Later the next day, Ray Marchand called to thank Gino for the route data for Monica Fellowes’s car. The body was found on the escarpment just outside of Beamsville.

He also told Gino that they were working with the Buffalo forensics lab to match up fibres on Fellowes’s clothing with fibres found in the trunk of the Fellowes car.

If they matched ,that would be enough to file conspiracy to commit murder charges against both women. But since only Monica was alive she would be going down for both murders, which would be many moons is prison. Her lawyer and the Buffalo District attorney could argue over which prison to send her to, but either way her goose was totally cooked. 

The bank, on the recommendation of Haven’s father’s, was more than happy to pay Botticelli and Haven the $500,000 reward for finding the stolen money and offered them a further $12,000 a year retainer for Wiley to consult regularly with their IT department and build in safeguards against this kind of activity in the future.

There would definitely, according to what Haven was thinking, be a pretty amazing Christmas bonus this year, for all his peeps.

Later that night, Haven was sitting on his deck writing a summary of the case for his files, and for future fictional reference. Force of habit. 

Angela was sitting on the small sofa with a glass of wine.

“So the guy went to all the trouble of stealing ten million dollars one buck at a time?”

“No, he likely just did it with a few keystrokes which  probably took less than ten seconds, and then it went on a kind of autopilot through the bank’s customer base.”

“But the balls on those women to kill him and leave him in the woods like that. They must have really hated the bastard.”

“I think it was more about the money than anything else.”

“So what happens to the wife? She’s the only one left.”

“Well, that’s hard to say until the cops and the prosecutors put the whole thing together. My guess is it will be two counts of Murder One. Gino thinks she’ll be doing two consecutive twenty five year terms. 

“You guys, you and Gino and Wiley make a hell of a team, you know.”

“Don’t forget about Rosetti. He would have loved to have been in on this one.”

Angela took a sip of her wine. “So how are you feeling about, you know, the other stuff?”

“Well, Jackson called me this afternoon. He sounded pretty pumped. The proof will be in what he sends me to read. I’ve got a good feeling about it though.”

“Good. Because you know what time it is?” Angela asked.

“No. What time is it?”

“It’s time to turn this hovel you call a flat into a home.”

She got up and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

“I’ve done all the research, you just have to come with me and show them your Visa card. Easy peasy.”

Haven leaned back in his chair. “Easy peasy huh?” 

“Yep. And you’ll love it.”

 “And if I don’t?”

“Sorry that’s not allowed. Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Yes please.”

After Haven finished writing his summary. He read it over and because his mind was still working like a writer of novels, he found himself wanting to embellish the three pages he had written, blow it out into at least a short story. He had to make a conscious effort to stop his brain from heading off in that direction. He told himself that was over and that he had done more than enough. Plus, he had given it away to someone who was probably a better writer than he was and there was no going back on a deal like that, unless of course Jackson somehow managed to fuck it up completely, which he seriously doubted.

Angela came back out and handed him a glass of wine. She sat back down and looked closely at him. 

“What’s the matter Haven?” she asked. “Postpartum depression?”

Haven sighed. “Something like that.”

“It will pass.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

“Me too.”

And they sat there in the balmy heat of a Toronto midsummer night, staring out at the lake and waiting for the next adventure to come along.

Part 6. The Shop & Go Case

~ 1 ~

It was late in the evening at the Shop & Go on Gerrard Street East just past Greenwood Avenue when they came in. There were two of them and nobody else in the store except for the manager, Dev Kumar, who was just getting ready to close up for the night. 

The two were dressed in black and wore face masks of famous movie stars One was Marlon Brando the other was James Stewart. They were both brandishing semi-automatic H&K 9 mm pistols.

One of them stood by the door with a gun drawn. The other walked over to the counter and stared at Kumar. He looked at Kumar’s name tag and said. “Let’s go open the safe…Dev.”

Kumar was not the owner of the store, just one manager in a chain of 54 stores scattered around the Metro Toronto area. In his management training, he was instructed that in the event of a robbery, he was to do exactly what he was told to do without question.

So he led the Marlon Brando masked robber to the back room where he dutifully opened the safe. The cash pickup from Brinks came every second or third day depending on the time of the week. So there was close to $93,000, in small bills, all neatly sorted and banded. The person in the Brando mask pulled a black nylon shopping bag from the pocket of his black jeans and handed it to Kumar.

“Fill it up, Dev.” he said, which Kumar did dutifully.

“Now sit down on the floor. If we see you before we’ve left the store, you’ll wish you hadn’t. But if you stay right here til we are gone, you’ll be fine. Now, do you have a cell phone in your pocket?”

Kumar shook his head, but was too terrified to speak.

“Good. Just do what I told you and you’ll be OK ”

With that, he turned and left the back room. The two were gone within a matter of seconds. Kumar quickly got to his feet and ran to the cash desk where he dialled 911.

This was the fourteenth robbery of Shop & Go stores in the past month and a half. The robbers always seemed to strike just when the store was getting ready to close, which was at 11 pm. They also struck while the safes in the various stores had sizeable amounts of cash in them, as it was the night before the cash pickup.

So far, these robberies had gone off without a hitch. No one was killed or even hurt, other than psychologically. No one could identify the robbers’ vehicle or anything else about them as they both wore virtually identical clothing and were literally covered from head to toe. All that was known was that the robber who talked to the store managers spoke very good English in an even tone. 

Gerald Sykes was the sole owner of the chain which he had started from one store on the Danforth some twenty years earlier. His financing came from a single private source in the person of Emil Haven III, who had lent his friend more than ten million over several years, to expand the number of stores from one to eighteen. Sykes had dutifully paid Haven III back with interest over the course of five years. Both men were smart businessmen and had re-met, after a dozen or so years out of school, at a business seminar a couple decades ago. In fact, it was Haven III who had suggested that Sykes make sure that he had insurance that would cover both fire and theft on any kind including robbery. 

Sykes had grown the chain from the original fifteen to fifty four stores scattered around the GTA and they were moderately profitable in a small margin business because Sykes was something of a retail genius, which is why the senior Haven was happy to invest in his business.

But after fourteen robberies, in a relatively short span of time, his insurance company had started to grow wary and let him know that unless he did something about these robberies they would have to consider cancelling his coverage. Sykes knew he could fight them in court, but the legal expense of doing that would have put an undue financial burden on his business.

~ 2 ~

Emil Haven was sitting on his balcony overlooking Balmy Beach with his laptop. It was early October and though it was not winter yet, there was a definite chill in the air. 

He was reading over the manuscript that his old friend Jackson Doyle had done. He had hired Doyle, who was an old ad agency friend and a great writer, to ghostwrite the last three books of his five book contract with Dell.

To say he was blown away with what Jackson had done with his story was putting it mildly. When he had finished reading it he called Doyle.

“Hey, I just read the manuscript. And I have to tell you, I was extremely proud of myself for choosing the exactly right person for my ghost.”

“Aww shucks, Haven…I’m blushing.”

 “You did a hell of a job here, amigo. I’m gonna read it over one more time and then pass it on to Serena.”

“Wow. You know I worried a bit after I sent it if to you that it might not be up to your standard.”

“Yeah well, you need to get over that, my friend. I’ll send you her notes when they come back/ There won’t be many, I assure you.”

“Not a problem. And thanks again for the opportunity.”

“You’re most welcome.”

With that Haven hung up the phone and started reading the novel one more time.

A few minutes later, Haven’s, Angela Pesco, walked out onto the balcony.

“So how’d he do?” she asked as she leaned against the railing close to where Haven was sitting at his small desk. 

“Way better than I expected.” he said. 

“Well that’s good. One less thing to worry about.”

“Yeah I’m gonna email this to Serena and let her do what she does, but we should be in great shape. Hopefully she doesn’t catch on.”

“What would happen if she did? From the way you explained it to me, your contract is to deliver stories. Isn’t  that what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.”

“You really don’t adjust to change very well, do you?”

“I don’t know about that. I adjusted to you and I also adjusted to that whole new interior of the flat. Now I’m adjusting to being a full time PI. That’s a fair bit of change, my dear. And I, for one, believe I’m handling it very well.”

Angela got up and got Haven in a bit of a headlock and then kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good boy.” she said. Then she asked “So what do you want for dinner.”

“I have a meeting at the office this afternoon. Dad is actually leaving his house and coming to the city. Don’t know how long that will go on. So maybe we should eat out.”

Angela chuckled. “Okay. So do I finally get to meet him?”

Haven thought about that for a moment and then said “I’ll tell you what. If, after our meeting, he’s receptive, I’ll bring him down here and you can do just that.”

Haven finished reading the manuscript and sent it off to Serena his editor. The only thing he wrote in the email was:
“I know we’re ahead of schedule, so no hurry.”

He then changed into something more businesslike and headed up to his office on Queen Street.

~ 3 ~

When he walked into the office he was greeted by the receptionist and office manager Bridget Shaughnessy. 

“Your dad called. Said he’s running ten minutes behind.”

“Okay.” Haven and walked over to his office. He dropped off his bag and then poked his head into Gino’s office. He was on the phone and just waved. He then walked down to the end office and said hello to Wiley Dupree, who was sitting and shooting the breeze with their part time associate investigator, Phil Rosetti. 

“My dad’s on the way.” Haven said. “He’s apparently bringing us a client in person. I know this guy, his name is Gerald Sykes. He owns the Shop & Go retail chain. He’s a good friend of my dad’s.”

“Okay,” Phil Rosetti said. “I heard about all of those holdups. Cops have fuck all in the way of leads or evidence. Whoever these guys are, they’re real pros.”

“My dad invested ten million into his business when he was getting it off the ground. That would have been about twenty years ago. Now he’s got like more than fifty stores all around the GTA. He’s got good video security but the guys who take these scores down are completely disguised. No clues. They have guns but have never used them other than to threaten. They’re a pretty formidable duo.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Haven,” Rosetti said. “Everybody’s got an Achilles’ Heel of some kind. Ask Gino. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Well we‘ll see what Mr. Sykes has to say.” Haven said “I’ve found the best ideas come from a good knowledge base.”

Twenty minutes later, Haven III and Gerald Sykes arrived. Sykes looked a lot less like a corporate executive than Haven III. But Haven gave them the nickel tour, everybody was introduced, coffee was gotten and the six of them sat down at the boardroom table.

“Well I have to say, son, I really like what you have done here. It has a very professional feel.” Haven III said

“It’s a far cry from the squad rooms that Mr Rosetti and I came from.” Gino said. 

“Okay.” Haven said. “We’re here to help you get out of this mess you have found yourself in, Mr Sykes.” Haven said.  “Mr Botticelli and Mr Rosetti will be your investigators. Mr. Dupree will see what he can figure out on line, and I will be your main contact.”

“I can understand your frustration with the police, Mr Sykes.” Phil said. “They are constrained by the law in any number of ways. And the fact that these thieves leave no evidence behind gives them nothing to go on. Out here in the private sector, we have people like Mr. Dupree here, who have nowhere near the amount of constraint to deal with. 

“The first question I would ask, sir, is if you have managed to piss someone off recently. Someone who might being doing this for reasons other than the money?”

Sykes leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Part of our growth plan had to do with taking over smaller mom and pop variety stores and modernizing them. We were really buying the location, and yes, I can recall one or two instances where there was, you know, a bit of animosity. Not from the owners, but from their children.”

“That’s interesting.” Gino said. “Were there any threats, you know sent to you by mail or otherwise?”

“No, they came right to the office and gave me a piece of their minds. In the end, all they were looking for was a better deal for their folks, likely to lessen their own burden. I did what I could in every case. But it wasn’t a lot because my business works on fairly narrow margins.”

“But nobody stood out?” Phil asked.

“Not really, no. No one ever struck me as the criminal type.”

The room was silent for a moment. Wiley was leaning forward with his elbows on the table and rubbing his temples.

“I had a dream last night. I was thinking about this all day yesterday after Haven told me you were coming in. In this dream, I came up with the idea of making an electronic piece of currency. Miniaturization in computer electronics has come a long way. And today before you came I did some research on something that might be interesting to try.”

“There’s a company, right here in Toronto that is making great strides in miniaturization technology. The company I’m thinking of is called Mr Jones. They named it after a Bob Dylan song. They specialize in miniaturization in a number of different areas. I would like to talk to them.”

“I don’t understand,” Sykes said. “What could they do for us?”

“I don’t know just yet but, I’ll tell you, if they can build a receiver and embed it into, say a five dollar bill, then you could easily track the money after it’s stolen. I’m more curious than excited because I don’t even know if they are capable of doing that at this point. But I would like to meet with them and see if we can’t put our heads together can come up with something. I mean it would be fantastic PR for them and it would be a massive deterrent to just about every level of robbery.”

Sykes thought about it for about 30 seconds. “I can see how that would work. But like you say, Mr Dupree it would be very good to know it could be done.”

“I for one would love to find out more about this technology.” said Haven III, who was always on the lookout for good investment ideas. “If they can do it but haven’t for whatever reason, I’d be interested in talking to them about funding a development of this kind.”

“That’s a great idea, Wiley.” Gino said.  But the real issue here is finding out who’s doing these robberies and stopping them. So Phil and I will reach out to our networks and see if anybody in the criminal world is living a little larger than usual.”

“Yeah,” Haven said. “The idea is great but, it’s tech and who knows how long that would take to develop and produce.”

“Just thinkin’ out loud.” Wiley said. But I have a question. I assume you have video of all these robberies.”

“Yes, of course.”

Okay well, I think they would be worth looking at. I have capabilities here to pull up pull up a lot of detail. Maybe we’ll find something when we do that.”

Sykes looked around the room. “Wow. I think I have come to the right place. Then he turned to Haven III. Thanks so much for setting this up, Emil.”

“My pleasure.” Haven III responded. “This is a first class outfit, Gerry, and I’m not just saying that because my son is sitting over there.”

Haven smiled. “I’m glad to hear you say that, dad. I’ll be working with Wiley on the digital side while the two ex-cops here, hit the streets and dig around.” 

With that the meeting was over. Hands we shaken all around, Then Sykes went into Haven’s office to figure out fees.

When they were seated, in his office, Haven said. “I’m gonna get an estimate together and send you along a cost. This won’t include the tech for developing a money tracker, just our time to figure out who these people are and how to put them out of business. I think you will find we are surprisingly affordable. The tech stuff, I can tell you from experience is longer term.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Sykes said. “What’s the story with your computer guy? He’s got genius written all over him.’

“Wiley,” Haven chuckled. “He’s from New Orleans. Made a lot of money and wanted to get out of the US when they elected Donald Trump as president. He ended up in a place two doors down from my house. We ran into each other at one of the local restaurants. I introduced him to Gino, when he was still on the job and he started doing cybercrime work for the Metro Force. When I built this office, a year and a half ago, mainly for myself and Gino, he liked it and moved in. We’ve been working together ever since. He still does the odd job for the Metro force, but he trained a couple of people there, so he pretty much does what he wants to do here. He’s been invaluable to us ever since. ”

“This is quite a little organization you have here, Mr. Haven.”

“Just Haven, sir. Mr. Haven is out front chatting up my office manager. And Phil, he’s the last piece of the puzzle. He’s a recently retired robbery homicide cop like Gino. He took over while I was busy writing a new novel, and he’s done a hell of a job. Plus, some of the places Gino has to go get things done, you know it’s a lot safer if he’s got a partner with some cop skills.”

They talked for a little while longer and agreed on a rate and a number of hours. Sykes then got to his feet along with Haven They shook hands. “I’ll get that footage collected and over to Mr Wiley, Haven.”

“We’ll figure this out sir, one way or another.” Haven said.

“I’m sure you will, son.” Sykes said and headed to the reception area along with Haven. Haven III slapped Haven on the shoulder. “That’s for taking this on.”

“The pleasure is all mine, dad.”

The two men headed down the stairs. Haven turned to Bridge. “OK open a docket call it Shop & Go. I’ll give you some numbers when we’ve had a chance to think about it for a bit.”

“Shop and Go. You mean like the convenience stores?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, they’re pretty big.”

“Un huh and somebody’s robbed fourteen of them so far.”

“You’re kidding. What about the cops?”

Haven laughed. We’ve got two of the very best ones and they’re on the case.”

Bridge smiled. “You know you look a lot like him. Your dad.”

“Yeah, well what can I tell you.”

“That was a compliment by the way.”

“Okay…thank you.” Haven said as he walked back to his office.

~ 4 ~ 

At two that afternoon Haven and his dad took Wiley out to lunch at a small trattoria on Queen Street. After they ordered, Wiley said,  “I called Al Gunn. He’s located in the small industrial park on Hollinger Road. But he said he’d be happy to meet us here at 3 PM.”

“So Wiley, you seem to be a long way from home” Haven  III said.

Wiley chuckled. “ True enough. But I’m not a big fan of anything that’s going on in the US and since I had no ties there, well, here I am.  And this partnership in just perfect for me. In today’s world, almost everything that happens has to travel through a computer in one way or another.”

Haven III nodded. “True enough.”

“So, it was either go north or go south and if you have ever been to Louisana in the summer you will understand why I didn’t want to get closer to the equator. Canada is a nice liberal country with four distinct seasons and some very good people. It’s also industrialized enough to have a challenging work environment for someone like me.”

“Emil said you were a hacker. Do you still do that?”

“Oh sure. Your son, Gino and I have solved a number of cases through hacking, and believe it or not, the cops we help out from time to time really appreciate it. They have ways of using the information that don’t get people like me into hot water, so to speak.”

The lunches arrived and they spent some time eating. Then Haven III said. “This fellow we’re going to see, what can you tell me about him.”

“Al Gunn is what we in the business call a construction manager. He builds programs and systems and does all the wiring himself.”

“Who does he work for?”  

“Well” Wiley said. “A lot of it is classified. Let’s just say he’s a bit of a national treasure.”

“And how do you know him?” Haven III asked Wiley.

Wiley chuckled. “I guess it’s through the great osmosis of the dark web. You need a certain thing, you go there looking and you usually find it. I needed something one day. I found Al. We met for coffee and realized that we were kindred spirits. There aren’t that many of us so we tend to value each other quite highly.”

“I see.” Haven Senior said. “I have several individuals in my life about whom I feel the same.”

By three o'clock, the restaurant population had thinned out. A one minute past three, a man walked in and looked around. He was only about five foot seven in height, but he was much more nattily attired than the average computer genius, who usually seemed to sport a bit of an absent-minded professor look. Instead, he wore a pair of dark slacks, an expensive- looking wine-coloured sports jacket and a tan cotton dress shirt.

He walked over to one of the waiters and pointed at the table where Wiley and the two Havens sat. Then he walked over to the table. All three men got to their feet. He and Wiley shook hands and did a quick embrace. Then Wiley introduced the Havens and they all sat down just as the waiter appeared with a coffee for Al Gunn. 

“OK, so who gets to tell me the story.” Gunn asked with a bit of a quick smile.

Both Wiley and Haven III looked at Haven. “I guess it’s me.” Haven said. “As you know Wiley and I work together, and my dad here is one of our frequent sources of business. This morning he brought us an interesting case, and Wiley had an idea about how to break it…”

Haven went on to explain all the details. Al Gunn, sipped his coffee and took in every word. After Haven explained the case and the issue, Wiley took over.

“I know you have been dealing with miniaturization for a while now. We were thinking that maybe that could be a way to catch these bastards.”

“You mean, by planting a signal transmitter in the cash they steal, so they can be tracked. Al Gunn said.

“Yeah. That’s the concept.” Wiley said. “That’s why we wanted to meet. Mr Haven here is an entrepreneur who will be willing to finance the development of anything you come up with and then put it on the market. I know you have done this a couple of times in the past.”

“Yeah. I’m not crazy about the business side of what I do. I file it under colossal waste of time. So yeah, I would be amenable to something like that. I suppose you would like it configured in the guise of a piece of currency.”

“That would be our preference.” Wiley said.

Al Gunn leaned back in his chair. Then he said. “Currency, you know is pretty fuckin’ thin.’So that would be the challenge. Is there a timeline?”

“Well, Haven said, “Our client is on the verge of having his theft insurance revoked, because there have been fourteen robberies so far.” 

“Hmmm. So tell me about these robberies.”

“There are two of them,”Haven said. “They dress completely in black, wear movie star face masks, then hit just before closing. They have guns but have never fired a shot at anyone. They get the manager who is usually the person who closes up to open the safe. A lot of the money is bundled so they just toss it into a nylon shopping bag and leave. They never empty the cash register. Just take the money in the safe. Nobody has ever spotted a getaway vehicle. And they do the same thing each time. Different stores all over the east side of the city.”

Al Gunn to another sip of his coffee. “Wait a minute. You said the money was all bundled. Do you know how it’s bundled?” 

“No.” Haven III said as he picked up his phone. “Jerry, it’s Emil. You remember when you were describing the robberies to us, you said that a lot of the cash in the safe was bundled. So how was it bundled?….Okay, thank.” Haven Senior closed his phone. “Thick rubber bands.”

Al Gunn leaned forward. “Well there you go. Not only do you have a solution you have a very ingenious product.”

“Can you explain that?” Haven senior said.

“Some rubber bands can be a quarter to three eights of an inch wide.” 

I could easily build a miniature transmitter chip and embed one into one of the elastic bands. Each store could have their own frequency, which is a pretty straight-ahead programming process, and a receiver so it could track the bands after they are stolen. All they have to do is call the cops and let them know where the transmission signal stops moving and that’s about it.

“ Son of a bitch.” Wiley said. “I’m amazed that nobody’s thought it it yet.”

“You’re not talking about a product, but an entire industry.” Haven III said, because that’s the way his mind worked.

Al Gunn just nodded. “Yeah. Unfortunately it would have to stay underground because you don’t want the bad guys catching on, although they probably would eventually. But, you know, that could actually work in our favour, because the thieves would never really know for sure who had it and who didn’t. But for now. I could easily program a transmission chip. That kind of tech exists all over the place, and that could take care of your client. The bigger market means getting into bed with a larger manufacturing company. And that could take a year and cost a few million at least. But don’t quote me on any of this. I’d have to do a bit of math first.”

Wiley just leaned back in his chair “I knew that if I got your brain going you’d come up with something.”

“Well, it’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to bug an actual  piece of currency.”

“Haven III looked at Al Gunn. “Can you give us a price for doing this for the client who has fifty four stores?”

“I’ll talk to one of the manufacturers I know.’ Gunn said. “The chips are no problem. Wiley could do the programming to hook it up to your client’s head office computer. Once the bad guys are caught they can go back to normal then start buying the manufactured products in, you know, a year or so.”

Haven senior handed Al Gunn his card. “Let’s get together at your earliest convenience and figure out how to get this going.” He said, handing Al Gunn his card. “I’ll do all the heavy lifting. You just take care of the design and manufacturing.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Al Gunn got to his feet and shook hands with everyone. He gave Wiley a lowish hug. “Thanks man, we’ll all make out like bandits on this.”

“Let’s get together once you have done the math.” Haven Senior said.

“Sure enough,” Gunn said. “I’ll get on it right away. Good to meet you all.”

After Al Gunn walked out the door, Haven III remarked. “That could possibly be the shortest meeting I have ever attended.”

“Yeah.” Wiley said. “ Al is not one of your ‘shoot the shit’ guys.”

“Obviously.” Haven III said. “Regardless, lunch is on me.

I’m sure you’ll solve this as quickly as you have everything else so far.”

After lunch, Haven invited his dad down to his flat to meet Angela, but he begged off, saying that he had three important things to do while he was downtown. But they agreed to all get together for dinner the following week. 

~ 5 ~

That afternoon, Gino and Phil walked into a bar on Queen Street West called Duke’s. The bar was filled with the usual suspects, mostly just sitting around, nursing beers. At the end of a row of tables adjacent to the bar sat a skinny guy who looked to be in his fifties. He had a week’s growth of beard short grey hair with sideburns that were out style of thirty years ago and a racing form in front of him along with a bottle of Molson’s Export. 

Gino ordered two beers from the bar and he and Phil walked down to the back and plopped down in front of him. His name was Terry Finlayson, but everybody just called him Fin.

“Well it took a long time but my two favorite cops in the whole fuckin’ world have finally made it to the private sector. Bet you’ve even got business cards and everything.” Fin said.

“How you been Fin?” Gino asked.

“It’s up and down you know, like the proverbial toilet seat.” 

Fin was a bookie, a gambler, a loan shark and a walking encyclopedia of everything that was going on in the city on the far side of the law.”

Phil took a slug of his beer. “It’s nice havin’ a beer in the middle of the day.”

“Retirement is not without its upsides, Rosetti.” Fin said.

Gino reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He laid three hundred dollars on the table in front of Fin, who had folded up his racing form.

“We’re tryin’ to get a line on the dynamic duo who are pulling down the Shop & Go jobs over on the east side.”

Fin sat quiet and still for almost a minute. That was part of his style. Then finally, he said. “Okay. Here’s the thing, gentlemen. I don’t know. I know that’s a first for me. When I heard about it a few weeks back on the news I naturally became curious, as info of that nature could be worth something. But the simple, unvarnished fact is I have no clue. So the only conclusion I can draw is that they are the new kids in town.”

“Nobody livin’ a little larger than they should be?” Phil asked. 

“Nobody outside of the usual pickpockets. But it is tourist season. Truth be told there aren’t many among the sane who would have the stones to pull all this crap. They are a fuckin’ plague, whoever they are. So while I sincerely appreciate the cash incentive, I don’t think I could live with myself if I took your money and spun you a yarn. But…” He stopped and slid one of the hundreds across the table. “As a consolation prize, I will give you some expert opinion.”

“OK”. Gino replied, picking up the other two c-notes.

“It’s my humble belief that this could very well be either A) Revenge, B) A serious grudge, or C) Some really lucky amateurs. Desperados…victims of the onslaught of Artificial Intelligence in the business world.”

Gino smiled at Fin. “You know you’re every bit as smart as you look. Let’s talk about that.” 

Half an hour later, Gino and Phil left the bar with a whole new line of enquiry which, as it turned out, was worth the whole three hundred.

~ 6 ~ 

They all gathered at Haven’s flat, towards the end of the day. Haven got things going by telling Gino and Phil about his meeting with Al Gunn. This would be primarily between Al Gunn and Wiley and would not necessarily be something that could be done instantly. But it sounded like it would be a promising solution and the fact that Haven’s father was interested in investing in it is as an actual product meant that it was, at the very least a big idea. 

Gino then reported on their meeting with Fin, whom he described as one of those guys in the city who knew everything that was going on inside and, especially outside the law. 

“The only thing we walked away with from that meeting was an idea that steered us in a direction we may not have thought about, which is that these people are amateurs who have just figured out an MO that’s kind of cop proof.” Gino said. “But we also need to go back and interview Mr Sykes again, turn the screws a little tighter and see what we can find out about his organization.” 

Gino looked over at Wiley. “The tracking device is a brilliant bit of thinking but I imagine it will take some time to get actualized. If these people keep takin’ down stores, Sykes is gonna lose his insurance and be in big financial trouble. So we need to get more info and we need it fast.”

Everybody agreed. Haven picked up his cell phone and called Sykes on the number that was written on the back of his business card. He arranged to meet up with Sykes at his home, which was in the same general area but not the same snack bracket as his dad’s house.

“Gino and I will do this.” Haven said. And they got to their feet. 

~ 7~

Gerald Sykes lived a little further south than Haven’s father in an upscale subdivision. But there were no mansions in sight. 

Haven and Gino pulled into the driveway at about 7 pm. The end of the day was just starting. Sykes came to the front door to greet them and showed them through to the covered back deck, where he had some lemonade in a pitcher. The three men sat down at beautiful table that looked rather rustic. Sykes explained that woodworking was his passion and that he built the table from a large slab that he bought over towards the town of Smithville, which was down on the Niagara peninsula.

After they were seated with glasses of lemonade in front of them. Haven asked. “So can you tell me a bit about yourself, I mean how you came to be in the business you’re in.

“I grew up in Welland, Ontario.” Sykes said. Went to Ryerson and majored in marketing. After graduation I just kind of stuck around Toronto. Worked in retail management for a while till I got the hang of it. Then decided to head out on my own.” He looked at Haven. “I met your dad at an investment seminar held by Deloitte. We kind of hit it off and I told him about my idea, which he liked. Next thing you know, he was an investor and over the years we became friends.”

“I noticed that there’s no one here. Do you have a wife or any kids.” Gino said.

“Yeah, I have both.” My wife and I are divorced. Have been for about eight years. We have two girls. One is a graphic designer. Lives in your part of town. The other is married and works in BC. She’s an actress. Mostly TV series stuff and commercials but she does alright. I guess I could move into a smaller house, but I’ve got an incredible woodworking shop in the garage. Moving that to someplace smaller would be a monumental amount of work.”

“The reason we’re asking,” Gino said. “Is because we talked to a key street source and he has heard nothing about the people who robbed your stores. This is really unusual, because the hardcore criminals, like anyone who would pull jobs like this, well, they all kind of know each other.” Gino said. “So we’re looking at the possibility that this could be either be an inside job or just some really clever amateurs..”

Sykes froze for several seconds while he took that all in. “Ahh man, I have a lot of trouble with the inside job thing. We structured the business to be supplier-based. Almost everything we sell gets delivered to us by the companies who make it or their distributors. The rest, mostly fruits and vegetables, the managers pick up from the market. My entire organization, besides the store managers and their staffs, and cleaning crews, consists of me, my operations manager who is a partner and a childhood friend from Welland, and our accountant who is an independent and close to retirement age I could see how you might look at it as an inside job, but there’s nobody inside the organization who stands to benefit. The store managers are well compensated and unionized. And I have never heard a peep from any of them. Same with the cleaning crews. I started this business to make a living not make a fortune. I make enough to afford my house, my alimony and my woodworking passion, which I will eventually turn into a business after I sell this company. But I’m a good five years from that.”

Gino and Haven were really hoping that this would be the work of some disgruntled employees. That would have made life very easy. But from what Sykes had just told them, they knew it was gonna be a longer haul.

But it was what it was. They asked a few more questions but all they got back was that his suppliers loved him all his store managers loved him. He was an all-around good guy.

They were stumped.

“The longer term good news is that our computer guy’s connection has been getting the signalling device idea together  He thinks he can get you outfitted in a matter of weeks.” Haven said.

That’s a great idea. Because I’m on the verge of having my insurance company tell me to take a flying leap.”

“Maybe not. Gino said. “Maybe you go to them and tell them you’re doing something that will protect your cash and maybe they’ll think twice about it. Maybe they’ll even think it’s a big idea for some of their other retail clients.”

Sykes thought about it for a bit. “You know that just might work.”

“Once it’s in place we can track any cash that’s stolen and nab these guys. Short of catching them red-handed, it’s the best solution we’ve come up with yet. Gino continued, “It will be an affordable solution and something you can invest in when it goes public, because my dad is going to be the principal driver and he will make sure it turns into a big business.”

“You know, your dad says you guys are smart cookies.” Sykes said.

While Gino and Sykes were talking, Haven was starting off into space. But he quickly snapped back.

“Well, the proof is in the pudding, sir.” Haven said. “And I have another idea I want to talk to Wiley about as well. I want to get back and re-examine the footage you’ve sent us.”

Driving back to civilization Gino and Haven decided that partnering with Haven’s dad and Al Gunn on this might be a good use of some of the money they have stashed in the Caymans. That would, however, only happen if his dad was amenable to it.

Gino agreed. “But it doesn’t really get us any farther with this case at this point in time.” he said.“So what’s this other idea you’re thinking about?”

“I don’t know. When we first looked at the footage, I noticed something.’ Haven said. “ But I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was. I want to go through the it again and hopefully jogs my memory.”

They drove on in silence for a while Then Gino said.

“You know…Whenever I found myself stumped on a case I did a little exercise which involved thinking like the perp. Or perps in this case.”

“Okay.” Haven replied.

“Right. So the first thing is that these thieves are taking seventy to ninety grand out of each score all in small bills, right.”

“Right.”

“So that kind of money in small bills takes up a lot of space.”

“Right.” 

“Which leads me to believe that they are not living in any kind of hotel. Because there are maids and people coming and going all the times who might have spotted them and there are no reports of that. The same sort of thing would apply to apartments. I mean someone would have had to see them coming and or going, you know. It’s been on the news enough.

“Okay.”

“So that leaves houses.”

“There are a lot of houses in Toronto, Gino.”

“Yeah.  But most of these scores, if you look at them on map, have taken place in the east side of the city. And since nobody has spotted any sort of getaway car, my cop brain tells me that they are hitting close to home because they are probably using bikes instead of a car as their getaway vehicles. And if they are, they’ll need to have themselves a garage that they can ride into and close the door.

“Okay, you’ve boiled it down to what, maybe 25% of the city and maybe 30 or 40% of those people. 

“The day after we got this client,” Gino continued,” I went down to 55 Division and used some residual clout to get a look at the incident reports. A number of the store owners, the ones who weren’t scared shitless noticed that only one of the thieves did the talking, that the other one stood by the door and kept watch. A couple of the owners thought it might have actually been a woman based on her build and body language.”

“So you think we’re looking at a couple. Like a Bonnie & Clyde.”

“Yeah. The bad news is that’s as far as I got.” Gino said.

“Actually that’s quite a ways. Doesn’t get us all the way but there’s certainly a logic to it. Maybe you should call one of your connections and feed it into the street cop system. See if anybody has spotted riders in dark clothing late at night.”

“That’s a thought.” Gino said

~ 8 ~ 

Though Haven and Gino didn’t know it at the time, they were actually closer than they thought to figuring the case out. 

Jonathan and Marianna Davenport lived in a beautiful bungalow on an east side street called Linsmore Crescent. Jonathan was an art director and Marianna was his copywriter partner. They had worked in the Toronto office of a good-sized US agency where they had originally met. 

They were a great senior creative team, one of the best in the agency, and they managed to survive the absorption of their agency into a larger firm, an independent Canadian company.

What they did not survive, however, was the onslaught of AI, and within two years of that merger they were both unemployed and like most older creative types they were ill-suited to the freelance market, which was already over-crowded with refugees as the high-end agency job market had pretty much dried up and would likely stay that way until the agencies realized that AI and real creativity were two totally different things.

They were fortunate in that they owned their house outright and had no big mortgage to deal with. After year or so, barely getting by on the odd freelance jobs here and there, they had burned though a good bit of their savings and neither of them had any real family wealth to fall back on. 

Marianna finally ended up taking a job at one of the Shop & Go stores on the Danforth while Jonathan continued to beat the bushes for work. 

They began to hate their lives and it really bothered Johathan that Marianna had to work in a lowly retail job to help them make ends meet.

During the course of her job safety training, Marianna discovered that if there was a robbery, they were to cooperate fully and give the robbers whatever they asked. The company was well insured and put the safety of its people above everything else. 

This simple bit of information got Marianna thinking. She brought it up one night at dinner with Jonathan and he laughed. “Yeah. I can really see us as stick-up artists.”

But Marianna had been thinking about it a lot and when she started to explain how things would work and how much money there was available, all in cash, she slowly but surely, over the next several weeks, convinced Jonathan that it might just be worth trying.

So they did a lot of riding around in the mornings to see which days the armoured cars showed up at the stores. Once they had figured out the pattern, they started their planning.

It involved bikes, which they already owned and used for most of the year, to ride to and from work when they worked at Bloor and Yonge streets. It involved dark clothing, dark gloves and movie star face masks which they could buy at any Walmart. And it involved weapons which they also had, thanks to Marianne’s father who had given them a matched set of Heckler & Koch SFP9 nine millimetre handguns. Marianne came from a small town a hundred and fifty miles north of Toronto and her dad was convinced that she and whoever she ended up marrying would need some protection. They were fully licensed and just after they were married Johathan and Marianna both underwent all the required training all courtesy of her dad. Sadly he had passed away a few years later, and left everything to his second wife, who immediately moved to Florida.

Because there was a little bit of the actor in all creative people it didn’t take long for them to figure out their complete  MO. After a couple weeks of getting up the courage to try their first job, they waited until about 10:30 pm then got dressed in their generic dark clothes and gloves and headed out. 

They got the hang of it very quickly are two months later they had taken down 14 stores on the east side of the city. The cops were left with no clues and next to nothing to actually investigate. Jonathan and Marianna were sitting on just a little more than a million dollars in cash.

But they were also faced with the dilemma that they had pretty much covered all the Shop & Go stores on the east side of the city. Going further afield, they reckoned, would increase exposure on the streets, which they figured the cops had to be glomming onto by now, This, in turn, would increase their chances of getting caught. They refused to try this same approach with any independent variety stores, because they may not have been insured and that would have made them feel like they were really hurting people. 

Because their overhead was low, they could live off the million for quite a while and hope the job market would turn around. Or maybe they could figure out some other sort of career. So they made up their minds to stop, at least for the time being, until they figured out a low risk way to pull off their robberies in other parts of town.

Since they were smart people, great planners and convincing executors, they believed that they were home free. At least for the time being.

What they didn’t count on was the brains of the foursome of sleuths at Botticelli and Haven.

~ 9 ~ 

The next day Haven, Phil, Gino and Wiley went through all surveillance footage from the fourteen robberies and spent the better part of the afternoon studying the footage.

As they watched they made separate notes and compared them when they were finished.

They agreed on quite a bit. But it was Haven who then  remembered the one thing that was plaguing his mind. And that was that the weapons that both thieves were using looked to be identical. This, according to Gino and Phil both, was very rare in the world of crime and criminals. 

Secondly, from the body language of the person guarding the door, they were convinced that she was female. Finally, they agreed that there was something a little off about the way these people moved. It was like they were acting out a part. There was no real sense of forcefulness about them like there was with most real criminal types. And the person at the door, very much appeared to be quite jumpy. These people, they concluded, were definitely slightly above-average amateurs.

 “I think we need to track the weapons.” Haven said  That’s the key to it. If two identical guns is rare, like you say, Gino, then we need to start looking at couples who have them and who have been displaced from the work force.”

“Wiley took a deep breath. “I hate to tell you this guys, but that workforce displacement number is way higher than you might think. AI has affected almost every area of the business world.” he said. “But…I’ll tell you the guns are interesting. I know because I checked into it when I first moved up here. You need to go through weapons training before they will certify you and give you a gun licence in Ontario. So if you put that together with the fact that the guns are identical, you end up with couples or pairs of people. And best of all, a place to find them.”

Everybody just sat back and smiled. 

“So how do we go about finding this stuff out?” Haven asked.

“Well, on the Internet, of course.” Wiley said. “If you’re wondering what I do on that horking big computer all day, well wonder no longer. Let me figure this out. It might take ten or fifteen minutes.

Haven, Gino and Phil got up and walked down to their offices. Phil didn’t really have an office per se, so he hung out with Gino.

Haven got a call from his dad and updated him on the case. He and his dad also agreed to a time and place to have dinner together. Haven then called Angela and gave her in information. This way Angela could also meet Theresa Collins who was his dad’s new significant other.

Fifteen minutes later, Wiley called them back to his office. He produced a printout of a list that he had with ten sets of names on it, and gave one to each of them,

“This is from the Ontario Gun Registry. These are ten pairs of people who have identical guns registered. Including the make and calibre of the weapons. and the addresses of each of the male female pair. Check out the address for Jonathan and Marianna Davenport. 

“Ahh man.” Haven said. They’re right smack in the middle of the east side.”

“And the others are all out of town. So it looks like we’ve got’em.

 Gino looked up at Wiley. “That’s really fine detective work.”

Then Haven said. “But I’m sure Gino will agree, it’s all pretty circumstantial. And if we turn it over to the cops, I don’t think they will have enough for a warrant.”

“Maybe that doesn’t matter.” Gino said  “We were hired to stop these robberies. I’m pretty sure that two heavy-duty ex-cops like myself and Phil could pretty easily scare the shit out of them. Unless…

“Unless what?” Wiley asked. 

“Unless we can blow the gun up and get enough detail to match them. Then I could call it in with enough to get a search warrant.” Gino said.

Wiley quickly found a good frame and went to work enlarging the gun being held by the thief standing at the door. When he got through, sharpening all the edges in Photoshop, the image was remarkably clear. He then repeated the process with a good shot of the other thief.

“And mission accomplished.” Gino said. “I can use this to get robbery homicide team to apply for a warrant.” 

Gino headed off to his office and got on the phone and to the investigating officers. One of them was a guy named Ray Wise, who Gino knew. He told Ray the story and emailed him a jpegs of the weapons along with the address for Jonathan and Marianna Davenport. 

~ 10 ~

Jonathan and Marianna Davenport were eventually convicted of 14 counts of armed robbery and both sentenced to twenty years in prison. The money, $974,500 was found hidden in their basement

With capital provided by the two Havens ($5 million each), Alistair Gunn and Wiley Dupree created a product they called Wired Against Theft or WAT!

Wiley created an online business with it, and within two years it was grossing close to $140 million in North America alone. Wiley and Al Gunn wrote a short training manual and then hired a North America wide digital training organization called Money Train that would go into the various businesses and train key personnel on managing the WAT program in their company. 

The two Havens recouped their investments with interest  and each retained a 10% share in net profits going forward. Wiley was a 20% shareholder, Gerald Sykes was a 10% shareholder and Al Gunn held the 50% that was left.

Gerald Sykes sold his business one year later and got to concentrate on building beautiful furniture out of wood. He and Haven III remained good buddies.

All proceeds from the WAT Program went directly, after taxes to the Cayman Islands account, which had now grown to close to twenty five million. One of these days. Haven thought, he would figure out what to do with all that. 

In the meantime, it was business as usual at B & H Investigations.

FIN