A BIG UNIFORMED cop stood there, with his face hidden beneath the brim of his cap.
“See anything you like?” the cop asked.
My guess was that the security guard made a note of my entry and had tracked me via the security cameras upstairs. When I didn’t come out of the janitorial closet, he called the cops on me.
“Just browsing,” I said. “Are you on commission?”
“Nice try, bud. Come along.”
He didn’t cuff me right away, so I played along. We walked down the main stairs, and I glanced over at the security guard, who was still looking at his magazine.
When we got outside, he gave me a shove, and I suddenly recognized him as the cop who shoved me in the Grand Trunk Factory.
“Have we met before?” I asked.
“Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Virtue?”
“I’m usually just lucky,” I said, looking at his name tag, “Mr. Constable Jamie Wilson. Did the security guard call you? I didn’t hear any alarms.”
He smiled and pulled out his cuffs.
“Weird that you didn’t handcuff me inside the building. Weird that the security guard didn’t even look at us as we left.”
His smile faded, and he said, “Put your hands on your head and turn around.”
I did as he asked, and he wrenched my left arm down and cuffed it.
“Weirder still,” I said, “that you knew which door to stand in front of. You must have followed me inside and known where I was going.”
As he grabbed my right arm, I wrenched my head backwards and felt it connect with his. I felt a heavy, dull pain in my head—probably remnants of the concussion. But he felt it worse. He dropped to the ground, and I took off with a free pair of handcuffs.
I got to the sidewalk with a couple of long strides and made the classic blunder of looking back. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t hurt him too badly. Hitting a guy who’s about to abduct you is one thing, but assaulting a cop during an arrest is another. It’s a tightrope of morality, and I straddled it like an acrobat on a bicycle, on an oil-slicked rope made of banana peels.
The cop stood up slowly, and I could see him in the glow of the streetlights. It made him look a little ominous. But it was the way he smiled as he wiped his face that made the hairs on my arms stand at attention. I started running.
There was a car coming on the small side street, so I dodged in front, and it skidded to a stop. The cop ran to the honking car, slapping the hood and skirting around the bumper, barely slowing down to do so.
In two more steps, I was on the opposite sidewalk, running for the corner. I took the corner as fast as I could, taking a wide turn, and running to King St. I immediately ran north, past closed store fronts, lunch restaurants, and coffee shops. The cop wasn’t far behind, so I dug deep and bolted as fast as I could, given the evening traffic. The street was jam-packed with cars, making it tough to navigate. I ran into the street, expecting him to follow.
Instead of crossing, I retreated to the sidewalk and made a beeline for Willis Way, the street which leads from Waterloo Town Square back to City Hall. I took another right and realized the old Uptown Parkade was a good place to lose someone. It was dimly lit, had almost no traffic, and there were a lot of twists and turns. I sprinted as fast as I could up the entrance ramp and immediately ran out of steam. Sprinting up a hill is no easy feat, even for the most avid runners. And I’d been lazy in recent months.
Fortunately, the cop was nowhere in sight, allowing me to jog up to the next level and the one after that. I figured I could get to the roof level and surveil the street from the rooftop. If there were others, I’d be in trouble, but I had a hunch this guy wasn’t about to call for backup.
The top floor was wide, flat, and well lit, unlike the main floor of the parking structure. There were more of those orange lamps on tall poles. An eerie glow bathed the roof, and the sky appeared black. Around the perimeter of the building, there was a meter-high wall, with a tubular green railing keeping people from unintentionally falling over. Maybe ten years ago, this would be the highest place in this part of the city. Now there was a tall office building across the street, and a few high-rises off in the distance.
I walked to the edge and looked down to King St., four levels below. It seemed busy for a weeknight, but that wasn’t saying much. It was still too early for folks to be heading to clubs, but those microbreweries and bars, which doubled as restaurants during the day—those were packed. But there was no sign of that cop on the sidewalk. Nothing at all out of place, not even the maniac street preacher on the corner.
I called Lacroix and asked him if he was around.
“Jesus, Virtue, you’re not locked in the gallery again? Hold on, let me see if I’ve got a spare key around here.”
“I’m actually next door tonight.”
“The Indian place?”
“No, the parking garage. I’m on the top floor. I’m being chased by one of your own.”
“A cop’s chasing you? What did you do?”
“Doesn’t matter. Looking for clues.”
“Looking for clues? Virtue, did you commit a crime?”
“Would that be bad?”
“Depends on the crime, I guess.”
“Nice to have friends like you, Lacroix.”
“Seriously though, is this legit?”
“I think he’s trying to kill me.”
“Oh, well, not saying you don’t deserve it, but he probably shouldn’t be killing you.”
“I’m still wearing his handcuffs.”
“You’re what?! Virtue, I’ll be right over! Stay on the line!”
I put him on speaker and looked over the edge.
“I’m not sure where he is right now.” I put the phone on the ledge and leaned way over, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Virtue, who is he? Did you get his name?”
“A Constable Jamie Wilson. He was at the gallery on the night of the murder.”
“You don’t think he did it, do you?”
“Probably not. But I think I know who this guy’s working for.”
“Really? Who?”
“I think he works for Donald Sandburn. He may have found me in his office.”
“The city councillor? Don’t tell me anything more, Virtue! Plausible deniability!”
“Right, right. But he knew to look for me there.”
I leaned as far as I could, but I couldn’t see anything. Just a couple of pedestrians, some cars. Of course, as I turned around, I realized why I couldn’t see him on the ground below.
“Don’t jump!” called Wilson from somewhere behind me.
I turned and put my hands up. He trained his gun on me.
“Don’t jump!” he shouted, not for my benefit, but probably for anyone on the street below. “It’s not worth it!”
“I’m not going to jump, you jackass.”
“Oh, but you are,” he said, smiling like a psychopath.
“I’ve got no reason to jump, pal. So just arrest me, already.”
He was smarter than I thought he was; he didn’t put his gun away. His hands were steady, and he held a tight bead on my center mass.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You are here to arrest me, aren’t you?”
“I’m here to catch a murderer,” he said, moving closer.
“Are you sure you’re not here to be a murderer?”
“I was just going to ask you some questions. Maybe rough you up a little.”
“Plans have changed, I guess.”
“Plans have changed,” he said. “There’s gonna be a little mishap while you’re in custody.”
“You going to spill coffee on me?”
“You’ve been digging too much, Virtue. Too bad you jumped off the parking garage.”
“What? I hate jumping to my death.”
“We all hate our jobs.”
“Hey, I like my job,” I said. “Just wish it would pay more.”
He was really close now. He was still playing it smart, keeping just out of reach. But that wouldn’t last. I just had to poke him a little.
“So what’s it going to be, Officer Wilson? You going to arrest me? Shoot me? Make me jump?”
“Why don’t you choose?” he said. “Jumping is less paperwork for me. I’d hate to shoot you if I don’t have to.”
“Too bad you can’t just beat me to death, eh?” I lowered my arms and stuck my chin out at him. “You could get some choice punches in, then push me over the edge. Hide all the damage in the fall.”
“That sounds like fun, but no.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re a little bitch, aren’t you?” I said, hands still by my side. I’d learned some of this trash talking from one of my boxing partners. She kicked my ass so many times.
“You just got in a lucky hit, Virtue. I’d kill you in a fair fight.”
“Except you can’t even handcuff me properly. I took you down in one.”
The veneer was cracking. Faster than I thought, too.
“Maybe I could have a little fun before killing you.”
“Wouldn’t be much fun for you, you half-wit slob. You’ve got a good three inches on me. And maybe … a good twenty-five, thirty pounds? From all the donuts, I imagine.”
He lost the smile. The gun was still on me, and it was getting pretty close. I just had to poke a little more.
“Okay Virtue, you want some fun? We’ll do it your way. Up and over.”
“Like you could even lift—”
And I felt the barrel of the gun across my jaw as I dropped to the ground. It was what I wanted, sure. It hurt just the same. So did the follow-up kick to my gut from a heavy leather boot. That I was also expecting, so I held my abs tight.
What I wasn’t expecting was the sharp throbbing pain in my head from that concussion earlier. You’re not supposed to do any heavy exercise after getting concussed. It’s bad for the recovery. Additional head injuries are—obviously—also bad.
“Hey,” he said, as he kicked again, “this is fun. Thanks, Virtue. Thanks a lot.”
I’d prepared for one kick. The second one blew the wind out of me. The third one probably did some damage. On the fourth kick, I grabbed his boot and twisted. He lost his balance and collapsed against the wall. I punched him in the nuts and pushed away. The gun clattered on the concrete, and I heard him groan.
I stood back up and put some space between us. I held in a tight boxer’s stance, pivoting from left to right, but my head was really sore, and I could feel the darkness closing in around the edges. This was bad. Much worse than I’d had in a long time.
Wilson regained his footing, but he’d lost his wits. He should have recovered his gun, but he just roared and ran at me. His rage had made him stupid, and I stepped aside, knocking his knee with my foot. He took another tumble. Some of his gear dropped off his belt as he stood back up.
“I just want you to know this isn’t fun for me,” I said. “In fact, I’m in quite a lot of pain right now.”
He cracked a smile again, and ran for me, looking out for that move I made earlier. I mixed it up and knocked him square in the gut. He crumpled immediately, and I grabbed him, pulling him to the wall. I smacked him with my left hand and the loose handcuffs clapped against his head.
“Who wants me dead?” I shouted at him.
“I … ain’t telling,” he said. “You’ll know soon enough.”
“Who killed the art critic?”
He gave me a confused look. “You did.”
“No, I didn’t. What’s the matter with you?”
“Sure you did. You’re our prime suspect.”
He grabbed me and pulled himself up, shoving me away as he regained his footing. I fell back onto the concrete and scrambled away.
“I’m no suspect. I wasn’t even there.”
There was a brief look of doubt on his face. “Shit, you’re good.”
“Yeah, well … I try.” I wiped some blood from my lip, and he came running. I dodged, but wasn’t able to catch his leg again. He turned quickly and came running back, but this was a bad idea. I grabbed him and dropped, half because that was my plan, and half because I was dizzy and about to fall, anyway.
I lost track of him for just a second, then spun around just in time to see him go over the edge of the wall. He caught the steel railing as he went over and locked his arm by grabbing his opposite wrist. It kept him from falling four stories, but rendered him helpless.
I knelt down, spat some blood on the ground, and shook my head, but it didn’t help with the dizziness. In fact, it almost caused me to black out. I smacked my face and blinked until the haze cleared. Then I walked over to see how Constable Wilson was doing. I noticed my phone was still where I left it.
“Hey, Lacroix,” I said. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” said my phone. “How’s it going? Are you winning?”
“Call an ambulance. I know at least one of us is going to need it.” I turned and looked over the ledge at the cop. “Hey, Officer Wilson. You okay?”
Wilson was quiet. I could hear his boots kicking at the wall, trying to find purchase. I grabbed my phone and walked over to him, setting it down nearby, and reaching out to help him back up.
“Come on, Wilson. Lacroix wants to know if you’re still alive.”
“Fuck you!” he said as I tried to help him up.
“Come on, buddy. You did all right. Almost got me.”
Nothing further from Wilson. I grabbed my phone.
“He doesn’t want my help, Lacroix. What do I do?”
“Keep trying.”
“Okay. Hey, did you hear everything?”
“Oh yeah,” said a tinny Lacroix. “This guy will never work again.”
“You hear that, bud? You’re in a lot of trouble.”
Wilson gave me a hard look and released the grip on his wrist. I watched in slow motion as his arm, now unlocked, came up and over the railing.
“Virtue? What’s going on?”
“Hey Lacroix, where are you?”
“We’re almost there. The ambulance is on its way.”
“Oh, good. Tell them to hurry.”
Lacroix came bursting through the stairwell door. He had two other cops with him. They ran over to me, and I waved at them with my good arm.
“Holy shit! Virtue, are you okay?”
“Well, I missed dinner,” I said, wincing. “Also, I think my shoulder’s dislocated. And, I might have broken my wrist.”
As Wilson let go of the railing, I dove at the concrete wall and fastened the loose end of the handcuffs to his arm just before he dropped to the ground below. This idiotic maneuver resulted in me being forcefully slammed into the wall, my arm getting twisted, and me passing out for a second or two. There was a strange, almost detached sensation of things breaking. Ribs, joints, tendons, other bones somewhere. I’d be bruised for weeks.
Wilson was alive, but unconscious. He had passed out from shock, so they hauled him back up, uncuffed me from him, and laid him out for the ambulance.
As we walked over to his gear, I picked up his phone and noticed a ton of calls from one number that evening. I showed it to Lacroix and almost dropped it when it started ringing. We both listened to the person on the other end of the line ask, “Is it done?”
“Nah,” I said in my best Constable Wilson impression. “Virtue got away.”
My impression didn’t fool anyone, and the voice said, “Virtue?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said. “Hello, Sandburn.”
“You’re dead, Virtue. You die tonight.”
“Hey, I’ve got you on speaker right now. Is that okay?”
He hung up.
Lacroix laughed a big belly laugh. “Virtue, you’re the best.” He slapped me on the shoulder and I dropped to the ground. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, bud. Didn’t mean to knock you down like that.”
“I’m good, coach,” I said, staggering back to my feet.
“We should get you to the hospital,” said Lacroix.
“Yes. That’s a good idea. Then food.”
“Hospital first.”
“Sure. Hey, Lacroix, do you know if there’s a place in town that does Uyghur food?”
“Weird thing to say, but yeah. There’s a place up by the university.”
“Cool. Let’s go there.”
“Sure, bud.”