The Contractor Ch 05 06

Chapter 5 The Interlude

"Hello, Rick," the tall Englishman greeted me. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"It has, Harold. Twelve years almost. You were with Interpol, on loan from your city police. Birmingham, wasn't it?"

"That's right. I'd just started there and you were working with us on the human smuggling file. I wish I could say we put a stop to it, but all we managed was a finger in the dike."

"I was on loan to INS at the time," I recalled. "That was an interesting two years. I got pulled off when 9/11 happened."

"Yes, I remember. Bloody mess, that. We should have seen it coming."

"We did. We just didn't pay attention to what we saw."

"So what have you been up to lately?" he asked.

"Working as a private contractor. I'm retired now."

"I take it you aren't referring to building houses and the like."

"No ... not that kind of contractor."

He nodded. He understood. Harold Sinden was a very smart man. He had taken a retirement at fifty and emmigrated to Canada to start a private business, Orca Investigations. It had grown into a second business, Orca Security. I was here to touch base and renew an old friendship, not look for a job.

"I was very sorry to hear about Elizabeth," he said. "I know you were very close and I'm sure it was heartbreaking to lose her."

I nodded. I didn't want to get into that again. I'd had enough grieving to last me a lifetime.

"How's Helen?" I asked, quickly trying to change the subject.

"Very good. She's in Solihull, visiting her sister for a fortnight. I'm on my own for a bit."

"Then you can get away for dinner tonight? I'd like to hear about your business."

"I'd like that, Rick. Where are you staying?"

"The Lion's View. They have a kennel where I can keep my dog."

"There's a very nice restaurant in the same block. I'll meet you in the lobby at seven o'clock and we can walk to it."

"I'll look forward to it," I smiled. I think it might have been the first smile I'd had that day.

~*~

"So, putting that recent ugly business behind you, what strikes your fancy?" Harold asked. I had given him a sketchy account of my brief stay in Oregon, including the attempt on my life.

"I don't think I'm cut out for a desk job. I was thinking of perhaps a job in security with a business slant. A lot of stolen property coming from building sites. I could help businesses cut down on that."

Harold nodded. "We do that here as well. Copper seems to be the current favorite, but almost anything that can be resold will be a target. We tracked down one gang who were nicking tractors, back-hoes, and the like. Shipped them to Manitoba and Ontario to sell on the sly. No end to what they'll steal."

"I'm going to head east first, I think. My parents are living in Cape Cod during the spring and summer months. They use my condo in Florida during the cold weather."

"It's nice you're able to look after them, Rick. How are they?"

"Fine. I'm still getting nagged about a wife and kids, but I'm forty now, so I don't see that happening, at least not the kids part. I thought I had all that, but it vanished in a heartbeat."

Harold nodded understanding, knowing Elizabeth was a difficult subject with me.

"I'm thinking of expanding into the United States, Rick. I could use a good man like you."

"I might be interested in the security side of the business. We could talk about it when the time comes."

"Massachusetts isn't your home state, is it?"

"No, upstate New York. Rochester. Dad worked for Kodak for thirty-one years after he got out of the army. At least he had a pension. They owned a small house where I grew up and kept it until I bought them their place on Cape Cod. They used to go there on their summer vacations. I already had the condo in Florida, so it was perfect for them to winter there. I'm hardly ever around, so I gave them the master suite and I sleep in one of the guest bedrooms when I'm home."

"It's nice to be able to look after your folks like that," Harold said. "They can retire in comfort and not have to worry about anything."

"Yeah, there had to be something useful to do with the money."

"How long are you staying here in Vancouver?"

"A few days, I think. A little sight-seeing, maybe some fishing."

"I have a boat. Why don't we plan on using it this weekend? I've got place in Pender Harbor near some pretty reliable salmon fishing. We could go up there Friday night and come back Monday morning."

"Can you get away, just like that?"

"Yes. I've got good people to look after things now. I've learned not to micro-manage, so I let the people do their jobs. We won't be out of range of my SSB radio on the boat and most of the area has cell phone coverage. But ... I doubt we'll be bothered."

"Can I bring my dog?"

"Is he housebroken?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't do that to you," I chuckled.

"Bring him along then."

"Okay, count me in. Sounds like a very enjoyable weekend."

We agreed to meet at his office at five o'clock Friday afternoon and he would drive us to the ferry and then to Pender Harbor.

He must have had all his gear and supplies packed the night before because the only reason to stop was to pick up a fishing license for me. I had everything else including deck shoes that I would need. Harold would take care of the rest. I had no idea if Norton would like the boat, but it was big enough at 28 feet to be fairly stable.

The weather was sunny, although a bit windy on Saturday morning, so we stayed on the lee side of Texada Island. The wind dropped later in the afternoon when Harold made for Young Point on Lasqueti Island. We got into a run of Silvers (or Cohoe, as Harold called them) that wore us out. It was all catch-and-release with barbless hooks, but it was great fun. We boated only two fish, one for supper and one for the freezer. They were about five pounds each, but they fought like tigers and we lost more than we released.

Norton loved every minute of the day. He would stick his nose out into the wind when we were running along, his big ears flapping as we cut through the light chop. When we stopped, he would curl up on the deck and watch us, content with the light rocking of the boat.

Sunday dawned cloudy but dead calm and we took a sight-seeing run up the inside of Nelson Island, into Jervis Inlet and finally, Hotham Sound. Harold showed me where a spectacular sixteen-hundred-foot waterfall appeared when spring run-off or heavy rains in the fall and winter filled Freil Lake near the mountaintop. The waterfall had created a sandbar just beyond the mouth of the stream and we anchored there for our lunch to watch the wildlife. It was shallow enough that I took Norton for a swim, something he loved to do.

When we returned to Vancouver on Monday morning, I thanked Harold for sharing his weekend with me. I found it was exactly the tonic I needed after the events of the past two weeks. We parted at my hotel, as I had made reservations to fly to Boston the next day, then drive to Cape Cod to see my parents. I would leave my car in one of his office parking slots. We promised to keep in touch, and this time I thought it was more likely I would.

Over the years I had learned to sleep on aircraft. It wasn't easy and occasionally I had to settle for being semi-conscious for a time. My flight was business class to Chicago, then to Boston, but my thoughts kept me from really zoning out. It was bothering me that those thoughts included Sally Baynes more than anything or anyone else. That was unusual, but perhaps caused by the fact that I had nothing in front of me that warranted my attention. There was no future contract to execute.

Sally couldn't be included in the collection of one-night-stands that had made up my sex life in the three past years. After I'd gotten past the shock and anger at the death of Elizabeth, I forced myself to resist getting involved with anyone. I wanted sex, but I didn't want the complications that went along with it. I had too much pride to hire a prostitute or an escort, so I preyed on the lonely, married or otherwise. If I wasn't too fussy, I could pretty much count on an evening's entertainment when the mood struck me.

Sally was different. Just how different, I hadn't quite figured out. That she was Hurley's niece had a part to play in it, all right. I didn't fuck over friends. Besides, she had been the aggressor. She came on to me and made no bones about what she wanted. I suppose that, and Hurley's approval, should have relieved my conscience. Yet, in the back of my mind, she had left believing something about me that caused her to back away.

~*~

My welcome home was just as it always was; enthusiastic. Norton was a surprise to them, but his friendly nature guaranteed his acceptance. My parents looked the picture of health considering their age. They were approaching the seventy mark, yet in my mind they looked and acted much younger. I was happy about that. A long lifespan seemed to be the genetic pattern for the Vermeulen family.

Norton found Cape Cod exactly to his liking. We were less than a mile from the beach, and he loved to play in the surf. The water was cold, but he never seemed to mind. He would run up and down the beach, chasing a ball and returning it to me, insisting I throw it again. I was thinking how much he'd enjoy Florida, too.

Over the next six weeks, I found myself getting restless. I wasn't used to taking vacations and there were times when I didn't know what to do with myself. I toured the area, including Woods Hole, Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. I did something I'd never done before and took a guided tour of Boston. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I learned, and I enjoyed the day.

The home I'd bought my parents was in Barnstable, and for an evening's entertainment I would drive to New Bedford or Fall River. But the happy hunting grounds were closer to Hyannis. Bored wives of highly paid executives would spend their summers on the Cape while hubby slaved away in some Boston or Manhattan office, hoping to get away for the occasional weekend.

The best hunting days were weekdays. Wednesday and Thursday were almost always prime time. The wives would gather in the bars and lounges, drinking their Crantinis or white wine, bitching about their absent husbands, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for a potential target. It was too easy for words. I was close enough to their age group to be spotted immediately and it seldom took a half-hour before I was approached.

The dress code was simple. The women would wear revealing summer dresses and high heels, while I would appear in a pressed long-sleeved dress shirt, open two buttons at the collar. Pressed slacks and polished loafers gave them the impression I was someone of substance and not some beach bum looking for a quick fuck, which in fact, was exactly what I was.

When I bought the house my parents lived in, I added a garage with a finished loft. It was where I stayed when I was with them. The classic Cape Cod design house was forty years old, but I made sure it was in good condition and modernized it before they moved in. The garage was separate from the house, connected by a breezeway. I could drive into the garage and climb the inside stairway to my apartment without disturbing anyone in the house. It also meant I could have a guest in the evening, likely without them knowing about it.

It was sometime near the end of August when I knew it was time to go. I had tired of doing nothing, and had probably worn out my welcome with the bored housewives. They would be moving back to their homes in the suburbs before Labor Day and pickin's would be slim. Besides, I kept having a vision every now and then that I couldn't shake. Instead of the white wine ladies, I saw a very sexy redhead holding a bottle of beer, examining the label. It helped me decide.

"Oh, hello, is this Mrs. Baynes?" I asked when a mature voice answered the phone.

"Yes, this is Rosalind Baynes. Can I help you?"

"Yes, may I speak to Sally, please?"

"She's not in right now. Can I take a message?"

"Uhhm, sure. Would you tell her Rick Miller called. I'll try again tomorrow."

"Oh ... the mysterious Rick Miller," she said with what sounded like humor. "I'm sure she'll want to talk to you, Rick. Can you leave a number?"

I gave her my cell number. "I'm in Boston, but heading back to the west coast in a couple of days. Tell her she can call anytime, please."

"I'll do that. Are you coming to San Diego?"

"That's a possibility."

"Well, I'd like to meet the man that has Sally acting like she was sixteen again."

That put a stop to my coherent thoughts. I didn't know what to say in response, so I said nothing.

"Are you still there, Rick?"

"Yes, yes I'm still here. Sorry, I was distracted."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be hearing from Sally shortly. I hope I get to meet you soon."

"Yeah, well ... thanks Mrs. Baynes. Nice talking to you."

"It's Rosalind, Rick, and it was nice talking to you too. Goodbye."

I pushed the "end" button on my cell and sat back in the chair. So Sally told her mother about me. Huh! I wonder what that means.

I got on the internet and booked a flight from Boston to Toronto, then on to Vancouver. I would leave the day after tomorrow, a Saturday, pick up my car from Harold's parking spot downtown, and drive to San Diego. Without too much effort, I could be there on Wednesday.

I was getting ready for bed later that evening when the phone rang.

"Hi, Rick, it's Sally. How are you?"

"I'm good. I've had a nice vacation and no one has tried to contact me, so I guess my retirement is holding."

"I'm glad to hear that. Mom said you might be headed this way."

"Yeah. I'd like to check in with Hurley and make sure he's okay. I thought I could stop in and see you too, if that's all right."

"Of course it's all right. Why would you have to ask?"

"You left kind of suddenly in Seattle. I didn't know how to interpret that."

"We can talk about that when you're here. Just so you know, I do want to see you."

"Okay, that's good enough for me. I'm flying to Vancouver this weekend and I'll be driving down to San Diego. I've been staying with my parents on Cape Cod for the last few weeks. They've adopted Norton, so he'll be staying behind and I'll be on my own."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, Rick. Call me when you're on the road and let me know where you are."

"I'll do that. It's good to hear your voice, Sally. I'm looking forward to seeing you too."

After I'd signed off, I felt energized. It was something unusual for me when a woman was involved. I hardly knew Sally, but she had an affect on me that I couldn't deny. It wasn't new to me. I'd felt it before. It was a good feeling. It was an optimistic feeling.

~&~

There are fourteen-hundred miles of interstate highway from the Canadian border to San Diego. El Cajon was like an eastern suburb. In theory, I could make it in two days. In theory. I had no intention of pushing it that hard. I wanted time to think. I decided to rest up on Sunday before embarking on my long, tedious journey.

I worked my way out of Vancouver's rush hour traffic on Monday morning, generally heading against the flow. A half-hour delay at the border and I was on my way south, destination Salem, Oregon. Day two would end in Sacramento, arriving day three in San Diego. Each of the last two days would begin early, with my being on the road before six o'clock. It would help me avoid afternoon rush hour in Sacramento and, with a bit of luck, get through the regular congestion in Los Angeles.

I had called Sally before I left Vancouver, telling her of my plan.

"Don't tire yourself out, Rick. I want you here in good condition, not worn out."

"I'll do my best. I'll call each evening and let you know how I'm doing."

"Yes ... please. I'm really glad you're coming, Rick. Really glad."

"Well, I'm really glad you're really glad," I chuckled.

"Make sure you call me tomorrow. I want to know how you are."

"I will, I promise."

I was doing well until I hit Los Angeles. Try as I might, I couldn't avoid the slow, creeping parade of cars and trucks southbound on I-5. I willed myself to relax and not get frustrated. It wasn't easy. I called the Baynes home on my cell but there was no answer. I left a message for Rosalind and Sally telling them I'd be there late afternoon, hopefully before six. In fact, it was nearer to seven when I pulled into the driveway of their home.

It was a large stucco pseudo Spanish ranch-style, complete with a Saguaro Cactus in the front yard. The ten foot plant was probably three hundred miles or more from its origin. Their home was in El Cajon where Sally had served on the police force. I knew this wasn't their home town. Her parents, when her father was alive, were from Tigard, Oregon. Her mother moved to El Cajon after her father's disappearance when flying from Spokane to Portland.

I stepped out of the big Ford and stretched. It had been a long day behind the wheel, longer than I wanted it to be. I left my bags in the trunk and walked up to the front door. The door chime was soft and melodic, but loud enough that someone would hear it. It was only seconds later that the door opened and Sally stood there, greeting me with a nice smile.

"Hi, Rick. Welcome," she said as she approached me and gave me a hug and a kiss. I returned the kiss, my arms around her and my memories of her flooding back.

When we broke, I saw a tall, elegant woman standing a few feet behind Sally, watching us with amusement. It took no imagination at all to recognize Rosalind Baynes. She was the twin of Sally, except some twenty years older. Her swept-back gray hair was the only discernable difference at a distance.

"Hi to you too," I said, my eyes still on her mother.

We broke the embrace and I approached Rosalind. "I'm Rick Miller. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Rick," she said with a genuine smile and then pulling me in for a hug and a kiss as well. A very welcoming family.

"Where are your bags? Aren't you staying?" Sally asked, surprised.

"I didn't want to presume. They're in the trunk."

"Well, get them and come in," she insisted. "You know you're going to be staying here."

I checked with Rosalind and could see no disagreement, so I returned to my car and picked up my two bags and made my way back to the house.

"Let me show you to our room," Sally said.

"Our room," I said to myself, once again checking with her mother to see the reaction. There was none. Well, that was a relief. I wasn't about to get into an argument between the two women.

I set my two bags down in the bedroom and took a look around. Not surprisingly, it wasn't "girly-girl" décor. Sally showed me the closet that had room for some of my clothes, and the two drawers she set aside for me in a dresser. It was obvious she was expecting me to stay for more than one night. And that left me with a question. How long would I stay?

Chapter 6 A Change in Pattern

"Hey, do you think Ros would be up for a threesome?" I cackled as Sally and I relaxed from our strenuous session.

That got me a hard smack on the chest and a growl.

"What are you, some kind of pervert?"

"No, no nothing like that. She's a very attractive woman and she was giving off very receptive vibes tonight. What the hell, you never know unless you ask."

"Do you really think my mother would agree to something like that?" she said, clearly incredulous that I would suggest such a thing.

"Yep. The pheromones were positively humming tonight."

"Well, forget it. There's no way I'm sharing you with her."

"Ah ... so it's about sharing then, is it?"

That got me another smack.

"You know what I mean. A mother and daughter in the same bed with the same man? No way."

"Okay, then, tell you what. How about I just go visit her on my own? That way you won't be embarrassed."