The Arx (2 page)

A finger of shadow flowed across the lot like black oil, drifting past the dumpster. As quickly as it had appeared it shrank back and faded away. A puff of wind rustled a discarded plastic bag on the ground and he caught a whiff of rotting garbage. The reflection from a stray hubcap cast a pool of light in a distant corner.

Frank’s hands shook as he flicked the lighter. Suddenly the darkness was a physical presence, descending on him like a smothering blanket. His body began to collapse under the weight. He couldn’t breathe. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists, fighting to drive away the memory, but it swept through his mind again like a tsunami.

The convenience store melted away. Suddenly it was a year earlier and Frank lay on the filthy pavement of a vacant lot in the Downtown Eastside, his ears ringing, his vision blurred. He staggered to his feet and his hand explored the large blood-soaked lump on the back of his skull.

Thick fog swirled around his toes. Traffic from the next block sent silhouettes undulating like giant sea creatures across the pavement beneath his feet. They morphed into freakish geometric shapes as they tracked over discarded boxes and overturned trash cans. A nearby street lamp cast a purplish halo over a fence crowned with razor-wire. The place stank of rotting garbage and another sickly-sweet odour he didn’t recognize. He paced slowly toward the light, intensely aware of the tap of his heels on the pavement.

Just beyond the street lamp a figure stepped from behind a dumpster, swinging something in its right hand. Frank tensed and thrust his own hand inside his jacket, unbuttoning the strap on his shoulder holster. The figure approached and stopped a few meters away. Only the glint of light from a pair of glasses stood out from features blotted with shadow, but Frank knew who it was without seeing the face. He went to draw his gun, but for some reason his arm was paralyzed. He started to shake violently.

Something monstrous was about to happen.

“Hey!” a voice above him called in the darkness.

Frank’s mind resurfaced as a bright light flashed in his eyes. He found himself on his knees back in the convenience store parking lot. He glanced around him. A car was pulling into one of the spaces. The kid from the counter stood in the glare of the entrance with a cell phone in his hand, staring at him. A squad car, its red and blue beacon still flashing, sat a few meters away.

Standing over him was a cop with a flashlight.

“Hey, buddy,” the cop said, shaking his shoulder.

Frank blinked his eyes.

“You okay?” the cop said.

Frank shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he finally said.

“You sure?” the cop said. “You had anything to drink tonight?”

“No. I’m fine,” repeated Frank.

“Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

Frank staggered to his feet and brushed off his clothes. “Just tired – I’ve been losing a lot of sleep lately.”

“That your car over there?” asked the cop.

Frank nodded.

“Well you’re not driving it anywhere tonight. Better call a cab. You can pick up the car tomorrow.”

“I’m okay,” Frank said.

The kid from the store shrugged and went back inside.

“Can I see some ID?” the cop said.

Frank handed him a card from his wallet. The cop’s eyes widened and he shook his head slowly as he played his flashlight over the name. He walked over and showed the ID to his partner in the car.

They called Frank over and gave him a ride home.

At exactly five AM several days later, the big hand of the old mechanical alarm clock on Frank’s nightstand ticked the hour, and the metallic clatter of its ringing bell echoed off the walls of his bedroom.

Frank sat bolt upright in bed. After a moment of confusion, he smashed his fist down on the clock and it went silent. He sat for a moment shaking, his head in his hands. There was no going back to sleep now. It was almost morning anyway.

Downstairs, still in his pajama bottoms, he ran some hot water from the tap into a Styrofoam cup of instant coffee, swirled the cup to mix it, and lit his first smoke of the day. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and plowed aside a collection of empty beer bottles, unread mail, used paper plates, and pizza boxes to clear a space for his cup. Running a shaking hand through his hair, once jet black, now peppered with strands of gray, he slouched and smoked, tapping the ashes into one of the beer bottles.

Two hours later he was passed out on the kitchen table, his fallen cigarette staining yet another black smudge on the linoleum beneath his dangling arm. A scraping sound from outside shocked him awake.

The mail had come.

He shuffled to the front door, treading on discarded newspapers covering the floor and scratching at several days’ growth of beard. After cleaning out the mailbox, he tossed the stack of bills, final payment notices, and fliers on the kitchen table with the others, gratified to note that his latest disability check was in the stack.

He grabbed a packet of shrink-wrapped paper plates from the hall closet and hoisted it onto the counter beside the sink full of dirty dishes. After sweeping last night’s paper plate off the counter into a black plastic garbage bag hung there for that purpose, he began picking at the seam of the shrink-wrap.

“Shit,” he said, unable to get a grip with his trembling fingers and bitten-down nails.

The theme from ‘Dragnet’ blasted from somewhere on the kitchen table. He dropped the package and rummaged through the debris, finally emerging with a cell phone in his hand. Janet was at the other end.

“Frank,” she said. “You’re not answering your home phone. Is it off the hook or something?” There was a quiver in her voice.

“I don’t know – maybe they disconnected it again. Something wrong?”

“It’s Gloria. It’s terrible.”

“What?”

“Her baby – Ralphie’s been kidnapped.”

“What!”

“They took him from right under her nose. Ralphie sleeps in a crib in her bedroom. Two days ago she was in the bathroom taking a shower. When she came out she looked in on the baby and the crib was empty. Whoever it was stole her car, too.”

Frank scratched his stubbled chin. “I take it the cops are involved.”

“Your old buddy Grant Stocker’s leading the investigation.”

“Great,” he said sarcastically.

“I don’t think he believes her story. It sounds like he suspects her of doing something to the baby.”

“Is it possible he’s right? No offense, but she did seem a bit off…”

“Gloria would never hurt Ralphie! She adored him.” Janet’s voice started to break. “Why? Why would anyone do such a thing? It’s enough to make you lose faith in humanity.”

“Don’t get upset. The baby might still be alright. So where’s Gloria now?”

“She’s at home. She’s devastated. They made her promise not to go anywhere. I’m worried about her. If anything’s happened to Ralphie…”

Frank held the cell phone with his chin and picked up the package of plates.

Janet spoke. “Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you could go and talk to her? I don’t think she trusts the police.”

He groaned. Once again he tugged, frustrated, at the seam. The whole package slipped out of his hands and landed on the floor.

“Frank?”

He bent down and picked it up.

“Frank?”

“I’m busy.”

“Busy? Busy doing what? Sleeping?”

“I’m not a cop anymore, Janet. Let them handle it. That’s their job.”

“Who? Grant Stocker? You’ve told me how you feel about him. What kind of investigation is it going to be with him leading it?”

“It’s going to be the official investigation conducted by the guy they chose to do the job.”

“You could talk to him,” she said. “He might listen to you.”

Frank closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I know you don’t really know Gloria,” Janet continued, “and you don’t owe her anything…”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, don’t think too long. If Ralphie doesn’t turn up soon, she may be in jail charged with murder.”

Janet hung up. Again the package slipped out of Frank’s hands.

“Shit!” he said, kicking it across the room.

Frank, Gloria, and Consequences

Early in the afternoon the next day, Frank stood on the fifteenth floor of an aging West End high-rise, outside the door of Gloria Hanon’s apartment.

He fought to stamp down the rising terror that threatened to paralyze him. For fifteen years he had dedicated his life to seeing justice done; he couldn’t turn his back now on a woman who might be innocent. He was still one of the good guys, even if he no longer wore a badge.

He stared back down the hall at the elevator door sliding shut, pumping the air pressure in the building up a notch. The closing door flung a shadow across the hallway. He shuddered, fighting to hold it together. Shaking out his arms and shoulders, he relaxed a little.

According to her story,
he thought,
somebody snuck up fifteen floors, broke in, stole her baby, and left again without making a sound and without being seen? All in the time it takes to have a shower?

No wonder they don’t believe her.

He knocked on the door and heard shuffling footsteps on the other side. Finally it opened, and Gloria appeared.

“Sorry about the way I look,” she said.

She was no longer the perfect Barbie doll he’d met at his sister’s house. Her eyes were red and puffy, supported underneath by large bags. Tufts of hair pitched wildly from her head. She wore an old sweat shirt and sweat pants. She was a mess, he thought. But at least now she looked human.

“You look fine,” he said. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Thank you,” she said, running her sleeve under her nose. “Would you like to come in?”

The apartment mirrored her appearance. Dishes and clothes were scattered everywhere. She flopped down on the couch and he sat in an armchair across from her.

“Are they still out there?” she said.

“What? Oh – the reporters? Yeah, I had to push through them to get in.”

She ran her shaking fingers through her hair.

“Do you feel up to talking about it?” Frank said.

“I guess.”

He pulled a small notebook from his jacket.

Just like the old days,
he thought.
Why don’t you just describe to me what happened, ma’am. When did you last see your husband? Is this door usually locked? Who was the last person that talked to your sister?

“Why don’t you just describe to me what happened,” he finally said out loud.

"Janet probably told you. I went for a shower. Ralphie was in his crib. I wasn't out of the room for more than ten minutes. When I got back he was gone." She hunched forward with her face in her hands. "It's like some horrible nightmare…"

"Did you notice anything out of place when you first got home?"

She stared up at him. "What?"

"Whoever did this must have been in the apartment already."

"You mean – they were here all night?" She scanned around them.

"Probably – how else would they know when you were going to be out of the room?"

A wave of horror passed over her face. "No – I didn't see anything."

“Was there a note? Anyone call demanding ransom?”

“No. I don’t know what they’d get from me anyway.”

Frank got up and studied the door lock. Gloria followed him.

“They kept asking how I thought anybody could get in here without me knowing,” she said to his back, “and harping at me about what happened even though I told them already. It’s like they’re trying to catch me in a lie.”

Frank turned to face her. “They
are
trying to catch you in a lie.”

He turned back to the lock. “No sign of tampering,” he said. They returned and sat in their original positions.

“What about the father?” Frank said. “Were you in some kind of custody battle?”

“He died in a construction accident eight months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Frank flipped through the pages of his notebook without really seeing them. Her story was weak. So far the only person in a position to harm Ralphie was his own mother.

“Are you sure you’re telling me everything?” he said, searching for the truth in her eyes.

“You don’t believe me either.”

“I want to believe you. It’s hard to explain all the facts. There’s no sign of forced entry, no sign that anyone else has been in the apartment. No ransom note. What about outside? Have you noticed anybody suspicious hanging around the entrance – or driving by?”

“No,” Gloria whispered.

“Can you think of any reason why anybody would want to take Ralphie? Has anyone shown interest in him? Anyone been acting in an unusual way toward him?”