THROUGH WITH LUNCH, I tried calling Molly’s burner phone. There was no answer, so the phone was indeed turned off. Also, no voicemail, so she really went with a bare-bones setup, probably using a pre-paid SIM card.
I then called Vijay back and asked if there was some way he could look into the husband. And the wife. And maybe the kids as well.
“Man, you don’t want to do anything yourself, do you?”
“Come on, Veej. You’ve got all the connections.”
“Okay, but you owe me some work.”
I sighed. I could use the money. “You got it. As long as it’s not that repo goon.”
“The bailiff? But she loved your work.”
“No, Veej! Also, she was way too clingy.”
“And what a handshake, eh?”
I shuddered. “Anything else but the bailiff.”
“No problem, man. I’ve got a ton of other things for you—”
“Gotta go, my battery’s dying.” I hung up on him. I did that a lot—hang up on people, that is. Two reasons for this: I don’t enjoy talking on the phone, and they do it all the time on television. Go watch any TV show and see if anyone says “buh-bye” when ending a call.
With Vijay and Lacroix doing the heavy lifting, I decided it was time to look for these two miscreants who sold drugs to kids, and kids to perverts. Maybe I’d get lucky, and they’d be in the first place I looked. So often people were at the last place you looked, though if you were smart, you’d make sure the first and last place were the same place.
I wasn’t that smart.
Since I was already in the park, it was just a half-hour walk to the joint. Deep in the downtown of Kitchener, past the good stuff, and before you get to the expressway that takes you down to the commercial district on Fairway, there’s a lot of blue-collar housing and light industrial buildings. I don’t want to say anything negative about the area. It’s affordable. Probably a great place to live. But there are an unusual number of thrift stores, halfway houses, and dive bars in that part of town. So, take that how you will.
There’s one particular place near Ottawa and King. It’s a shabby, run-down building that sits by itself on a small lot just off the road. The place has been a lot of different bars in its time. It also used to be a couple of roadhouse-type restaurants, a hardware store, and for a little while, a place that sold adult videos. If I were forced to pick a bad part of town, it would be this singular building lot.
And, of course, this was the place that Olivia mentioned. Its current iteration was another bar. As I walked up, I marveled at the fact that an old board and batten shack would still be standing after all this time. There was a hand-painted wood sign which told people this was “Chandler’s Cafe.” There was no accent on the “E,” but I didn’t hold it against them.
The inside of the bar was how you might expect a dilapidated country roadhouse might look, so if that was the design choice they were going for, good for them; it was amazing work. Sawdust on the floor to get a head start on all the vomit, peanut shells tossed anywhere, and the stench of four or five prior drinking establishments and twenty years of clientele. There was an old jukebox by the right wall, but it was quiet and unlit. There was some new country music being piped in from somewhere—some sad and terrible place. Aside from the bar, it was all just tables and chairs. The cheap, wooden kind. If you were looking to get hit with a flying chair, make sure it was one of these. You’d probably survive it.
I tried to look as poor and sullen as everyone else. It wasn’t as hard as you’d think. I approached the bartender, a big red-headed guy with a big mustache and a big bald spot, wearing a stained white shirt that wasn’t big enough. He nodded at me, placing a bottle of Labatt’s 50 and a shot of whiskey down on the bar. Maybe I looked too sullen.
I placed twenty bucks on the counter and told him to keep the change. He raised an eyebrow at me, then shrugged and took it. I asked him if Alex and Jimmy were around. Either he didn’t hear me, or he acted like he wasn’t listening, so I asked a little louder.
“Who’s asking?” he said.
I looked at him like he was an idiot. “I am.”
He looked at me like I was the idiot.
I shrugged. “Their mom’s looking for them.” I also placed another twenty on the counter. At that, I got a new look. Either I was the biggest idiot, or I was his best friend. His smile creeped me out. He pointed over to the corner by the broken jukebox. There they were.
Well, this was interesting. Turned out the first place I checked was the last place I checked. It must have been my lucky day, after all. Now, let’s see how smart I really was.
I walked over, deliberately trying not to sync my walk with the terrible music. They were sharing a pitcher, both sitting with their backs against the wall. I had to give them credit: it’s how I liked to sit. But they made it weird by both sitting against the wall.
“Are you two on a date?” I asked as I sat down opposite them. They were a couple of good-looking Chads. The one directly across from me was taller, with a lot of blond hair and softer features. He had a very Nordic Aryan look. But his eyes were hard. He stared daggers at me.
The other one had a more gaunt British look, with ruddy cheeks and black hockey hair. This one looked a little more athletic, but less muscular. Seemed like he’d fight with a knife. He was alert, bordering on nervous—there was a twitch in his fingers. I think he’d be the one to crack first.
“Shove off,” said the blond one. But he didn’t say “shove.”
“Which one of you is Jimmy?” I asked. The black-haired guy looked up. “Cool, so Fabio here must be Alex.”
“Shove off!” said Alex again. And again, it wasn’t “shove.”
“Give me a second, bud. I’ve been looking all over for you guys. I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” asked Jimmy.
“Make it fast,” added Alex. “We’re busy people.”
“I’m looking for something,” I said.
“We can get you something,” said Jimmy. Alex gave him a mean look, so he shrugged and added, “I mean, maybe. Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“We don’t talk to cops,” said Alex.
I looked over my shoulder. “Good thing there aren’t any here.”
“Who are you?” asked Alex. It didn’t sound like a question.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine. Molly Waterman.”
There was a sudden, panicked look from Jimmy, but he covered it up with a cough.
“Who?” said Alex.
“Yeah, nice try. Where is she?”
“Who?” said Alex, looking directly at me this time.
“Look buddy, the family just wants her back.”
“Can’t help you.”
I tried a different tack. “The cops are on to you. You may as well just tell me.”
“We don’t know where she is!” blurted Jimmy.
Alex jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Shut up, man.” To me, he said, “You’ve got nothing on us. Now get the shove out of here before you shoving catch a bullet.”
I put my hands flat on the table and leaned out of my chair. “Make me.”
In response, Alex drew and placed a snub-nosed revolver on the table. It took me a second to register the danger. I hadn’t seen a .38 Special in a while. It’s a classic.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“It is what it is,” said Alex. “Now get lost.”
In a move which I’m still kind of proud of, I snatched the gun faster than Alex could and smacked him across the face with it. I then threw it off to the left, where it clunked on the floor and buried itself under a pile of sawdust.
The beefy blond stood up, touched his bleeding cheek, then whistled to the crowd. I also stood up, but Jimmy looked pale and sat still, waiting for his chance to bolt.
“You’re dead, pal,” said Alex. I could see the anger seeping through the cracks.
“Where’s Molly?” I asked.
“You think you can take me?”
“I like a fight as much as the next guy,” I said, looking over at Jimmy. “Maybe not the next guy.”
“You’ve got ten seconds.”
“Look, I just need to know where she is. Her family’s trying to find her.” I looked over my shoulder again, this time at the crowd of people closing in. I caught the bartender slamming a short Mossberg pump-action on the bar. Also, he was drinking my beer.
“Five seconds,” said Alex.
I leaned forward. “In three, I’ll break your nose and your neck before anyone else touches me. Is that what you want? Now, where’s Molly?”
“Okay, we’re done here,” said Alex, and he motioned to the crowd.
In less than a second, I was over the table. I hit his nose as hard as my leverage allowed me. He fell sideways onto his friend, and they tumbled out of the way as I felt the hands of the crowd grab me and pull me to the middle of the room.
I remember little else after that.