Torque (25 page)

“Baltzer’s. This is Bob.”

“Chas Fenn, here, Bob. How are you
doing?”

“Oh, same as ever, Chas. You calling about a
tow?”

“Sort of. Did you guys do a pickup somewhere
north of Burlington in the last couple of hours? Might have been a
contract call.”

“Yeah. I took that call myself. Just got back
from the pound.”

Fenn didn’t want to ask but he had to.

“Could you tell me what you picked up?”

“Some piece of shit Pontiac. Old-style GTO.
Looks like it rolled and threw the driver from the car.”

Fenn felt the blood drain from his face.

“Was she okay?”

“She? No, this was a guy.”

“I think I know that car, Bob. Anybody else
involved.”

“The cop thought the Pontiac had been racing
a limo, but there was no-one else at the scene when he got
there.”

Fenn pulled a kitchen chair over and sat
down. He now felt as if the blood had drained from the rest of his
body.

“Still there, Chas?”

“Yeah. Just one more thing, Bob. Any idea
where they took the driver?” He held his breath. Please don’t say
the morgue.

“Ambulances up that way usually go to Milton
District Hospital. The guy was conscious but he won’t be racing
anytime soon.”

Fenn exhaled. “Thanks for the info, Bob. I’ll
let you go.”

“Hey, hold on a minute. One of my guys pulled
a Toyota off a garbage truck, yesterday. It’s a write-off, and
apparently it’s yours. What do you want me to do with it?”

“I’ll come by later and get my stuff out of
it. Just do my boss a favour and take the driving school sign off
the roof.”

Bob laughed. “You sure know how to take the
fun out of life. Okay. See you later.”

Fenn hung up and then noticed the flashing
light. He hit PLAY. It was another message from Eileen.

“Okay, Kim. You didn’t call me this morning.
I’m going to try you at work and if you’re not there, I’m calling
the cops.”

It was quarter after eleven. Eileen would
definitely have contacted the police by now. He considered phoning
her back but felt that his news should be relayed in person. As for
the police, well, since Tony had been conscious he would already
have told them about Kim, and they would have put an all-points
bulletin out for the limo.

Fenn didn’t know where the limo had taken Kim
and had no desire to be held for questioning. That would only take
him out of play and resolve nothing. This problem was as much his
to solve as anybody else’s and, despite the serious consequences,
he felt certain that his previous actions had been the right thing
to do. He had no religious leanings but had once read a Buddhist
quote that stayed with him.

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can
and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.

This was now his path and he would let no one
stop him from walking it.

CHAPTER
34

The office of Edward Hartman, Q.C. was a
curb front unit of a brownstone condominium complex. Sandwiched
between a bridal boutique and a hair salon, muted conversation from
both often came through the walls. Not noisy enough to be intrusive
but sometimes at a pitch that belied the exuberance of the patrons
next door.

Ed Hartman would only take notice when a
particularly loud giggle came from the bridal shop. The sound of
such happiness made him smile. Reis would turn on her radio. She
had no intention of chaining herself to some guy who wanted to
build bookshelves in the basement, nor was she the type to stay
home and play
mommy
. As for the hair salon, well, had it
been a manicure salon she might have had some interest in it.

She checked her nails. Honed and subtly
pointed they had come in useful with both Durrell and Svoljsak.
She’d scrubbed them thoroughly afterward, of course, then later
wondered if she should have done the same for her victims’. A small
detail to remember for next time, should there be one. For a few
seconds she thought about the guy that had screwed her out of ten
thousand dollars. The one that got away.

A buzzing from her purse broke her reverie.
It was Jenner calling her cell phone.

“The shit has hit the fan,” he said. “The
funeral home is crawling with cops and our buddy, Fenn, tried to
liberate his girlfriend.”

“How the hell did he know where she was?”

Jenner had a theory about that but prudently
kept it to himself.

“Dunno. He took off but we’ve still got her.
Lucien stayed behind to make sure there were no searches without
warrants. He said we should convene at The Retreat.”

That made sense. The Retreat was Harrowport’s
million-dollar ‘cottage’ in Muskoka. Large enough to accommodate
moderate-sized business meetings, therefore a tax write-off, it was
the logical place to regroup. Muskoka is lake country and the
rugged landscape provides natural solitude for those times when
getting off the beaten track is important.

She had first met Lucien Harrowport while
attending a fundraiser with Ed at the Burlington Art Gallery.
Within a month of their introduction, the funeral director had
invited her to ‘spend a weekend in the woods’. It was so cliché.
She’d acted surprised at being his only guest then let him seduce
her on the rug in front of the fireplace. Snow falling outside,
litres of red wine inside, it had been the proverbial pleasure
doing business.

Keeping her voice low so Ed wouldn’t hear,
she said, “What about tonight’s meeting with Wharfmine, R. J.?”

“Lucien was going to contact them and move
the meeting to tomorrow night.”

“If they’ll still show up. A police raid
could be just the thing to put these guys off.”

“Or a good distraction. While the cops are
busy with the funeral home we’ll all be up at The Retreat, making
deals.”

R. J. had a point, but the change in venue
meant she now had a few more things to do.

“Call me when you get there and make sure you
hang on to the girlfriend. We still need that disc.”

Wharfmine had the resources to produce and
distribute the drug patches on a grand scale, but they couldn’t do
it without the formula. It was imperative that she resumed contact
with Fenn. The rescue attempt at the funeral home was proof she had
his attention. His aggressive response, however, was a bit
disconcerting.

Reis finished the contract she’d been typing.
She enveloped and stamped it then went into the back office.

“I think I’m coming down with a cold, Ed.
Unless you’ve got something urgent I’m going to drop off the mail
and go home.”

Her boss looked up from his notepad and
nodded. “That’s fine. Things are quiet right now. You get some
rest.”

Ed was a good man. Kind and even-tempered. If
he harboured negative thoughts about his handicap he hid them well.
To Reis, the wheelchair was just a part of who he was—no more
conspicuous than a pair of spectacles. Ed provided her with income
and also routine. The routine was her little island of normality, a
shelter from the storms she created for herself, and to maintain
that Reis would not even so much as flirt with the man.

The drive home took fifteen minutes. She gave
herself ten more to be out the door and on her way. For a meeting
at The Retreat she’d pack for a two-day stay—nightwear as well as
daywear since Harrowport wouldn’t be bringing his wife.

Her persona as legal secretary wore a
shoulder-length brunette wig with loose curls. She peeled it from
her scalp and replaced it with the straight black locks she
preferred for conducting her own business. The skirt and pullover
were exchanged for a dark grey pantsuit. Heels were heels.

The last item was the jade hairclip. It
contained the half-tube of potent toxin that she’d prepped for that
idiot, Fenn. In hindsight that would have been the same mistake
she’d made with his father. Had she killed Fenn there’d be nothing
to show the Wharfmine syndicate but a Neil Diamond CD, and there
was no correction for that kind of error. Even money couldn’t cover
it.

Money she had. Close to two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars. That was her share of the buy-in. Aird had
stashed a hundred and ninety thousand dollars from Harrowport’s
research sponsorship in a couple of safety deposit boxes. The rest
Reis had skimmed while mediating that deal. Aird, as she now knew,
had used the resources of the pharmaceutical labs at Simedyne. His
share of the project had cost him virtually nothing but time—time
that Simedyne had already paid him for. Now, in a black leather bag
next to her briefcase, the money would further her cause once
again.

She flipped open her cell phone and called
Fenn’s home number. He didn’t answer and neither did his machine.
She could only think of one other way to reach him. She opened her
phone directory and checked the commercial listings.

Driving schools.

DriveCheck.

Asha was on lunch so Carole answered the
phone.

“DriveCheck Education Centre. Senior manager
speaking. How may we be of service?”

“Would Chas Fenn be there?”

Carole’s voice dropped an octave. “Are you
one of his students?”

“No. I’m an acquaintance.”

“Acquaintance.” Down two octaves and a little
flat. “No, Charleton Fenn is not here.”

Reis could tell the call was about to be
terminated. “Could I leave a message for him?”

“Why, certainly.” The honeydew in Carole’s
voice practically dripped off her tongue. “What’s the message,
Dear?”

“Tell him it is very important that he calls
Ms. Reis on her cell phone. He has my number. Do you need me to
spell
Reis
?”

“No, I have it. And if you happen to see our
mutual friend, perhaps you could relay something for me.”

“If I can. What’s the message?”

“Tell Fenn he’d better call Carole in the
next twenty-four hours, or his ASS is FUCKING FIRED! Do you need me
to spell any of
that
, Dear?”

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Very good, then. You have a nice day.”

CHAPTER
35

The Challenger rocked to the rhythm of the
race cam, its exhaust pipes burbling with syncopated pops. The
light turned green and Fenn moved with the flow, shifting gears and
braking autonomously, while his mind tried to divine a course of
action or at least predict with some certainty Kim’s present
location.

He was driving south on Guelph Line, just a
few blocks from where Reis lived. He didn’t know where Jenner
lived. Asha would know but Fenn somehow doubted Kim would be taken
there. Nor did he think she’d be at Reis’s condo since Reis seemed
smart enough to keep a kidnapping at arm’s length. However, the
condo may hold some clue and Fenn figured it was high time he
invited himself in. He dropped down into first gear on Palmer Drive
then stopped as a car exited the condo’s underground garage.

It was a black BMW 540i.

The Bimmer crossed his bow and Fenn made eye
contact with the driver. Recognition was instantaneous but one look
at Fenn’s face was enough to make Reis stomp on the gas. She caught
an amber light at Guelph Line and headed south.

Fenn let up the clutch, angled slightly into
the driveway entrance, then cranked the wheel hard left with lots
of gas. The Challenger’s rear wheels spun and the back end came
around in a tight u-turn. He roared up to the light. It was now
red. Long streams of cars, four lanes in all, blocked his
access.

Fenn rolled onto the crosswalk to keep sight
of the BMW as it travelled down the road. He jumped the green and
raced after it but two blocks later the next light was also red.
Five cars were ahead of him, though only a single van entered the
intersection from the side street. Fenn pulled into the oncoming
lanes and with a hand covering the horn button he sped through the
junction.

The road inclined as Guelph Line crossed the
QEW highway and he saw the BMW reach the crest then turn right to
take the highway on-ramp. Fenn moved to the curb lane and the
Challenger became boxed in by the lunchtime traffic.

“C’mon. C’mon!”

He cut onto the ramp and the Hemi pulled hard
as he shifted quickly through the gears. The BMW was no longer in
sight but Fenn could see the next exit ramp and Reis wasn’t on it.
The highway was about to divide with two lanes going south and two
lanes going west. Reis could have gone either way but the current
density of trucks made lane changes difficult so Fenn stayed to the
right and went west.

The westbound lanes were joined by one more
then all ran straight. Fenn picked his way from gap to gap until he
had open road then pushed the throttle down. The speedometer
displayed miles per hour and Fenn was up to one hundred while still
in third gear. He shifted to fourth.

The Challenger soon closed on the next pack
of cars. At the rear, in the centre lane, was a black BMW. Fenn
began to flash his lights. He wanted Reis to see him and make a
move while he had open space to maneuver. If that wasn’t Reis then
there’d be no response—he’d have gone the wrong way and the chase
would be over.

He flashed again and the black car moved into
the right lane. Then it moved onto the paved shoulder and began to
pass the vehicles ahead of it. Maintaining 130 mph Fenn also eased
over, went onto the shoulder, and roared alongside the pack.

The BMW jinked to the left. The shoulder
ended at a bridge abutment and the metal side-barrier was cutting
across to close his lane. He stabbed the gas to pass the final car
and nipped back onto the highway narrowly missing the concrete base
of the overpass. That brought an angry honk and a flashing of high
beams from behind, but he was now on the BMW’s tail.

Fenn moved up until the bumpers were a mere
hand's width apart. He watched Reis, calmly, as she shot frequent
glances at her rear-view mirror. Fenn could draft her like this all
day, but just racing along the highway wasn’t going to advance his
mission. He had to get Reis onto lesser roads. There was an
interchange coming up. A secondary highway that went toward
Flamborough. If he could get Reis onto it he would have some
options.