Evil in Hockley (2 page)

“If you’re still free and not doing
anything after work I’d like to take you to dinner. Catch
up.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’d better
not.”

She excused herself and walked away.
Harry reminded himself she always reacted first and thought
afterwards.

Dave had a smile on his face. He
knew.

Both Dave and Jack had work to do so
left. Harry finished his coffee, purposely leaving after his
friends. This would give Sandy a chance to change her mind about
dinner without feeling uncomfortable in front of Dave and Jack. As
he opened the front door Sandy called out,

“Harry.”

“Yah.”

“Six o’clock.”

“See you then.”

Chapter 3

The village of Mono Mills, in Ontario,
Canada, lay on the corner of Highway 9 and Airport Road. On the
west side of Airport Road sat two donut shops, one flourishing and
the other for sale. Two gas stations existed side by side but even
in a shit economy both were able to survive.

Traffic flowed north to the beaches and
resorts for the weekend then south again and home to the city on
Sunday night. The wealthy and young adults moved north and south
all summer long. Skiers also hit the slopes when snow fell or the
temperatures were low enough to make the artificial
stuff.

There was a convenience store dead
centre of town and two hamlets on either side of Airport Road. A
guy could bark his way through on a Harley and barely miss the
break in the open road.

An entrepreneur could make a posh
living off one tenth of the traffic flow. Harry Tanner knew Joe
Sharky was such a man.

It was a seven mile or twelve click
drive west on Highway 9 to the intersection of Highway 10, a north,
south road.

Sandy and a girlfriend rented a
townhouse in Orangeville across from the reservoir. They called the
area “The Headwaters.” The river that drained the Orangeville
reservoir was the Credit. The river was only a stream even during
Spring floods. The entire water table north of Orangeville and
Toronto consisting of the Credit, Humber, and Nottawasaga Rivers
plus smaller tributaries was regarded as the Headwaters. Some
businesses around Orangeville proudly bore the name Headwaters due
to the presence of the beautiful Orangeville Reservoir.

Nothing as grand as the Himalayas but
Caledon Mountain was seven clicks south of Orangeville on Highway
10. It wasn’t one of those snow capped mountains year around. A
British Columbia native wouldn’t even call it a hill. The name did
add glamour to an area attempting to attract tourists.

Harry found Sandy’s condo and being a
gentleman rang the front door bell instead of sounding his car
horn. Sandy was dressed in tight blue jeans and a blouse wearing
ankle high boots which meant she didn’t want the evening to be
formal. Harry wore a business suit, had a tie in his pocket, and on
seeing her removed his jacket. He’d come dressed so he could go
either way.

“Hi Sandy, how goes it?”

She had a knowing smile and gave him a
warm peck on the cheek.

“Better than this afternoon. Where are
we going?”

“I thought Kelsey’s. It’s not formal
but does have a fantastic cuisine. Okay with you?”

“A good place to start.”

Harry smiled wondering where the end
point would be.

From Sandy’s condo they drove north
past the reservoir on their right to the shopping plaza on their
left. The area used to be a racetrack, featuring standard breeds,
pacers, and trotters. Harry had childhood memories of sweat soaked
horses pounding their hooves as owners cracked the whip before the
finish line.

In the blink of an eye the racetrack
disappeared and a Wal-Mart and a Crappy Tire took shape. Other
stores soon filled the entire two hundred or so acre strip of land:
Consumer dollars in action, progress moving north.

Kelsey’s wasn’t busy so they weren’t
disappointed in the table they were given. Both chose the chef’s
salmon special. They had whiskey and cola while they
waited.

Harry asked,

“You coming to Dave’s for Jarrod’s
service?”

“Of course. I went to school with him
remember?”

Harry hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t
wanted to spoil the mood, yet finally couldn’t help
himself.

“Do you know anything about his latest
flame, Shelley?”

There was a silence as empty as outer
space then she finally spoke.

“She’s a fucking whore.”

That was Sandy: act first then
think.

“Now, don’t hold back, Sandy. Say it
like it is.”

Without a pause she replied,

“A woman sees what another woman is. A
man sees what he yearns for. Jarrod saw a troubled soul, someone
who needed help. Jarrod always needed to be needed. I saw a woman
who used him until she found someone else to ply her trade on. She
was and is a fucking whore.”

Even after thinking about Shelley
Sandy’s opinion was unwavering. Harry locked eyes with her and she
didn’t relent. His brother had been seduced by a professional it
seemed. No shame in that: Harry had been used as well. It happens
to the best of men and women, he supposed. An open heart is a
vulnerable one. A closed soul, a lonely one.

He could tell by the look of sadness in
Sandy’s eyes what was coming next.

“You didn’t answer my
letters.”

There, it was said.

Harry closed his eyes, afraid to meet
her gaze.

“Did you even read them,
Harry?”

He opened his eyes and searched the
room for an escape route.

“I read them.”

“Would it have killed you to drop a
line. Like ‘I’m okay,’ or ‘thinking of you.’ Three words, Harry. I
even sent a self addressed stamped envelope.”

She sobbed.

Harry said,

“It was different over
there.”

“Like no mail pickups?”

“My first day off the plane I saw two
men killed when their jeep hit a land mine. I didn’t want to
associate you with my experiences over there. Clover doesn’t grow
in a desert.”

“Bullshit. Did you find somebody
else?”

That was quick.

“No but I hear you did.”

“Well I guess. After a year without a
word…”

She looked over her shoulder. People
were staring.

She paused then whispered,

“For fuck’s sake Harry I needed
someone, something to remind me I was alive. I wrote your
commanding officer to find out if you were still among the living.
I gave him my phone number and asked him to give it to you. Did
he?”

“He did.”

“What more was I supposed to
do?”

“Nothing. It wasn’t you, had nothing to
do with you.”

“There were only two people in our
relationship, you and me. That’s as simple as it gets. I say hello
and you don’t fucking answer and then you say it had nothing to do
with me. It had everything to do with me. As a matter of fact it
was all about me. You let me sit awake nights wondering what I did
wrong. I cried…”

Sandy stood then rushed out the exit.
Harry dropped a few bills on the table and followed.

She was on her way home, three clicks
away. Harry caught her then held her tight. She slapped him hard,
over and over, crying with every blow. He refused to let
go.

A stranger approached.

“Want me to call the cops,
miss?”

Sandy returned to the world of the
living. Sobbing she finally said,

“No I’m all right. He forgot my
birthday. Three as a matter of fact.”

The stranger uttered a humourless laugh
then said,

“Find another guy miss.”

She pushed away and Harry let her
go.

“I knew going out with you was a bad
idea. I only did it because of what happened to Jarrod.”

She sighed.

“You’re going back after the service,
aren’t you?”

Harry didn’t have to think about
that.

“Not for a while. Some business to take
care of here first.”

“Revenge? You’ll get yourself killed,
is all. Or in jail.”

“Would you come to my
funeral?”

Sandy laughed.

“Yah, to dance on your
grave.”

She was all right.

He hugged her and she pushed herself
into him.

“You’re a son-of-a-bitch
Harry.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

They stood in the parking lot holding
each other.

“You hungry?”

She nodded then gestured toward the
restaurant.

“Not in there though. I think we’ve
worn out our welcome. Let’s grab a burger.”

Sandy did most of the talking that
night bringing him up to speed on who did what in the last three
years. It was almost midnight when he turned onto Broadway toward
her home and she said,

“You’re not getting rid of me that
easy. Let’s go to your place.”

Chapter 4

The house smelled fresh and clean but
was a little chilly. He closed the windows and drew the curtains.
When he turned from the last one Sandy stood behind him, completely
naked.

“Has it been three years or did you
screw around, Harry. They have goats over there I hear.”

She laughed.

“No it’s been three years,
Sandy.”

“Don’t lie to me. A woman can
tell.”

Harry stripped then pushed her onto his
bed. They made love for about ten minutes.

She had a grin, ear to ear.

“I believe you. It’s been three
years.”

“How can you tell?”

“Come on Harry. Four
strokes?”

“A compliment. You’re a sexy
babe.”

“Don’t compliment me the next time.
Satisfy me.”

They both showered then an hour later
made love again. She groaned and dug her fingernails into his arms.
If she was faking then she was a good actress.

After they finished he
asked,

“How many strokes this
time?”

She laughed,

“Two hundred and eight, not counting
the two misses.”

They were up all night but she had the
following day off. They showered again and went out for breakfast,
not so much as a crumb in the house.

At the local donut shop Harry stepped
up to the till to order. Karen Fosset was dressed in her waitress
uniform on the other side. He remembered the face from three years
ago, but not the bosoms. He couldn’t help but stare then looked out
the window as he ordered. She was about fifteen when he last saw
her in this very spot. His order was filled then he and Sandy sat
at a table.

She said,

“You didn’t miss ‘The Twins,’ did
you?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what the guys around here call
her breasts, ‘The Twins.’”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t notice them? Is that what
you’re trying to tell me?”

Harry swallowed.

“No, I noticed, but they’re only
breasts. They’re for kids.”

Harry laughed then added,

“She could nurse the whole
county.”

“That’s not funny. You had to stare
didn’t you? You centered her out. Like everyone else you made her
feel like a freak.”

“Why are we having this
conversation?”

“I don’t know Harry. She’s of age you
know. Most women hate her.”

Harry chuckled.

“You’re jealous. I’ll have to keep my
eyes to myself around you. You want me to stare at the
floor?”

“Stare wherever you like just as long
as I’m the one sharing your bed.”

They spent the day together in
Orangeville. It was an old town but was well maintained almost to
perfection. The main street, Broadway, was split in two by an
island that ran the length of the old shopping district. Stores
were refurbished, some knocked down and rebuilt. Tourists labelled
it “Quaint.”

He took Sandy home to pick up some
clothes then they drove back to his house. They’d done some
shopping during the day so that Sandy could put together a home
cooked meal. That would be another first for Harry in three years:
he’d eaten slop in a mess tent or out of a tin can when on
patrol.

Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy,
and cauliflower, his favourite, were ready four hours later. He ate
his fill then they sat and talked like they used to before he went
overseas.

If Sandy wanted to make love she’d let
him know with her touch. If she wasn’t in the mood he had the
manners to leave it be. They lay in bed that night barely
touching.