Chapter 31

We introduced ourselves and sat down. Since Shauna and I already had drinks. Frank and Robin ordered theirs. I was content just to let Shauna and Robin lead the conversation for a while. They chattered away. And I took the opportunity to observe Frank. As I did, I was even more struck by similarities to Christie. Besides his physical appearance, there will little mannerisms, hard to describe but noticeable nonetheless. Robin took the initiative in bringing him into the conversation. And when he spoke, his accent and inflections were almost identical to Christie's.

Robin said, "Frank is a great motorcycle enthusiast. Frank, tell us about that beautiful bike of yours."

Frank smiled. "I'm afraid that Robin exaggerates a bit," he said, "when I was in England, I used to ride some rather wild machinery. Now, I'm afraid that I'm more into touring than sport bikes."

I noticed again that his speech patterns were almost identical to Christie's. Again, there was that chill down my spine.

I asked, "What sort of bike do you have?"

"A BMW R 1200 CL. As I said, it's a touring bike," Frank replied, "but it handles its mission very well indeed. It's very comfortable on a long trip. And it even has a comfy rear seat. I hope to take Robin for a few rides in the spring."

"I used to be into bikes," I said.

Frank's interest was clearly piqued. He said, "Tell me more."

"Well," I said, " I had a few, including a Triumph Lightning. But the most interesting bike I owned, or rather I should say 'co-owned, ' was a 1967 Norton Commando."

"I envy you," Frank said, "the Norton was always the epitome of the British sporting motorcycle. I've never ridden one, though I've always wanted to."

I said, "A friend and I bought the Norton in 1985. We found it sitting in someone's driveway. It was a bit of a mess when we got it. It was actually in pieces. And not all the pieces were there. It took a lot of love, TLC and luck to bring the old girl back to her glory. We found some of the parts we needed in flea markets."

Frank asked, "What was it like?"

I smiled. "It was a hairy beast. Not too many compromises for the human anatomy. And it took a lot of work to keep it running. But one thing that it had was charm. There's nothing like a vintage English bike."

Frank grinned in reply. "Not too practical, though," he said, "You mentioned a Triumph Lightning. My dad had one. He loved it. He even let me ride it once in a while. As you said, it was hairy and unreliable, but it gave you a thrill like nothing else -- not even the Japanese super-bikes."

Shauna interrupted. "You guys should get together sometime to talk motorcycles," she said, "maybe a guys' night out is a good idea. But right now, we have other concerns. Such as what we're going to have for supper."

We ordered our meals and a fresh round of drinks. Then Robin said, "Shauna, I know that you're really into sports cars. Frank has a wonderful sports car. Don't you, Frank?"

Frank smiled and said, "Well, I'd hardly call it a sporting car. More the sort of thing that back home we'd call a 'touring coupé.' But it's a nice ride."

Shauna asked, "What is it?"

Frank smiled deprecatingly. He said, "It's a Mercedes CLK 320. As I said, not really a sports car. It's a nice little luxury coupé, though."

Robin grabbed Shauna's arm. She said, "Shauna has a really great sports car."

"Oh," Frank said, "what is it?"

Shauna blushed. "It's a Lexus SC 430," she said, "it's, as you said, more of a touring coupé."

Frank looked at her with newfound respect. "No," he said, "that's a serious automobile. It has a great power train, nice handling, and the power hard top is state of the art. My hat's off to you. That's a nice piece of machinery. Could I perhaps have the opportunity to drive it sometime?"

Shauna blushed and said, "Of course you can. It's a nice little car and very sweet and forgiving. Oh, sorry, not that I'd think that you'd need a car to be forgiving. But..."

"I know what you mean," Frank said, "we all love our babies. These cars are our babies."

Then, I had to ask the question that had been on my mind ever since I first saw Frank Low. "Frank," I said, "you remind me very much of a friend of mine. Do you know Christine Lau?"

Frank beamed. "Do I ever," he said, "she's my cousin. First cousin. Our dads were brothers. Well, Christie's dad is still around, but I lost my dad a couple of years ago to cancer."

"I'm sorry," was my lame response.

"Don't be," Frank replied, "Dad had a hell of a time. In the end, it was better that he went. Yeah, our dads were brothers: Doming and Zicheng Lau. And Christie's one of my favourite people. She's largely responsible for my being here."

I said, "Oh? How's that?"

"Well," he took a sip of his martini, "her boyfriend Charlie -- well I guess I should say 'fiancé' rather than 'boyfriend' -- was fed up with the concert marketing people at Borealis. I'd had a good innings at Argos Ent in the U. K. So Christie suggested that Charlie talk to me. He offered me the job at a rate that I couldn't refuse. And here I am. Small world, isn't it."

I thought to myself, "Yeah, too goddam small for comfort." Aloud, I said, "So are you from Singapore as well?"

"My dad was, of course," Frank said, "but he came to London when he was quite young. And he changed the family name from 'Lau' to 'Low.' Went down better with the English, he felt. He was something of a black sheep in the family for doing that. In any case, he made good in London. He started out with a little green grocery. It did well, and he brought my mum from Singapore. They were childhood sweethearts. I was born in London."

"But you didn't go into the grocery business," I said.

"No, I didn't," Frank said, "Dad would have liked to have me join him in the business. He was very proud of his company. By the time he became ill, he'd built his little store into a chain of supermarkets. There were Low's markets all over the countryside. I know that he felt badly that this business he worked so hard to build would go to strangers, but I'm not cut out for the grocery trade." Frank finished his martini and signaled the waiter for another. "I initially studied design, but I wound up at the London School of Economics. After I graduated, I was head hunted by Argos. Never understood why they wanted me. I was just happy that they did. And then Borealis in the person of Charlie Connacher came calling. And the rest you know."

"I guess it won't hurt to be the boss's wife's cousin," I said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

Luckily, Frank didn't take offense. "Actually, it is a bit of a problem," he said, "rightly or wrongly, I feel that I have to continually prove that I have the job on my own merits. That's why I make it my business not to delegate too many things. For instance, I took it on myself to look for a designer for our new website. And I must say that just may have been the wisest thing I ever did in my life. If I hadn't done it, I might never have met Robbie." He held Robin's hand and kissed her on the cheek. "And she's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Our food arrived, and the conversation turned to other topics. Time passed pleasantly enough, but I found myself continuing to wonder about Frank. On the surface, he seemed as open and friendly as Christie was closed and devious. But to me he seemed too smooth by half. He had an answer for everything, almost as though he'd rehearsed it. It was just too pat.

We said our good nights and agreed to get together again soon. Shauna invited Frank and Robin to visit us in Ottawa. I concurred as enthusiastically as I could manage.

On the walk back to the hotel, Shauna said, "Pat, you're awfully quiet. What are you thinking about? It's Christie again, isn't it? You're upset about her relationship to Frank."

I put my arm around her as we strolled. "Yes, I am. I can't help thinking that there are too many coincidences here. Christie just happens to meet me when I go to pick up Danny at Charlie's place. Then she just happens to run into me in the Eternity. Well, she admitted that wasn't a coincidence. But then she gives me that crazy-assed profession of her love. And then, to cap the whole thing off, Frank, her 'cousin, ' we're told, just happens to hire your best friend to do the web design for Charlie's company. And Robin and Frank just happen to fall in love. I can't avoid the feeling that there's an odour of very old cheese permeating the whole mess."

Shauna looked at me and said, "Pat, maybe you've been an investigative journalist for too long."

"You know," I said, " you may be right. In my job, I have to be suspicious of everything I see or hear. Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. I just don't know, baby. I just don't fucking know."

We flew back to Ottawa the next day. On the plane, I thought about all the stuff with Christie, Frank, et al. I was getting pissed off. I was a political journalist. My job wasn't to go around chasing half-assed gangsters. I resented getting involved with these people. I resented getting involved in the Jake Singh case. And I found myself resenting Jean-François for involving me in the whole mess.

Back home, Shauna reminded me of my promise to call Jake Singh. Much against my better judgment, I dialed the number that Parmela had given me. It rang three times. When it was answered, I recognized the voice. It was Jake himself.

"Mr. Singh," I said.

"Pat," came the answer, "how long have we known each other? If you don't call me Jake, I'll be insulted."

"Jake, I got this number from your niece Parmela. What's up?"

"Pat, I need your help. I'm ready to end this whole thing. I want to talk to the Mounties. But I can't just go marching into RCMP headquarters. I'd like to meet with them at a neutral site -- somewhere that the press and, well let's say 'other people, ' wouldn't expect such a meeting to take place. Can you help me?"

"I think that I might," I said guardedly, "I know a couple of Mounties who'd no doubt be willing to meet with you. Would you consider coming to my office? Under the circumstances, it wouldn't seem unusual that a minister under fire would come to the National Affairs unit."

"Ex-minister," Jake said. "Soon to be ex member of Parliament. Probably ex-lawyer and God knows what else."

"I'm sorry, Jake."

" It's all my own goddam fault. But now I'm ready to do the right thing. I want to come clean about the whole mess."

"Should I set up a meeting? What day is good for you?"

"They're all the same, Pat. They're all the same. Just call me at this number and tell me when to show up."

On Monday morning, I had to be at work much earlier than Shauna. The result was that I actually got the opportunity to drive my own car. On the way to work, I thought about the Singh affair. I'd call the Mounties to set up the interview. God knows what would result. There was also the small matter of all the on-air interviews and panels for the week. As I drove along Elgin Street, everything came to a screeching halt. Literally. A couple of kids, a boy and a girl, ran in front of the car. I slammed on the brakes. As I came to a stop, a cop ran in front of me. He was chasing the kids. I thought maybe they'd stolen something or mugged someone, but then I noticed that the kids had squeegees in their hands. I understood.

The National Capital Region, in its wisdom, had declared a sort of war on so-called "squeegee kids" -- homeless kids who'd wash car windows at intersections. They'd hold out their hand for a buck or so. I usually waved them off and gave them the money anyway, since they tended to dirty up the windshield rather than clean it. But I wondered what these kids could have done to get a cop to chase them through busy rush-hour traffic. Probably they gave him some lip when he asked them to move on.

As I drove along, I recalled the kids' faces. I'd seen them briefly, it's true, but if I'd had Shauna's talent, I could have drawn their portraits. They were typical street kids. I'd put their ages at about eighteen for the boy, a couple of years younger for the girl. They had the usual sorts of piercings: ears, nose, etc. The girl had a lip ring. The boy had spiked hair. But the most memorable thing about them was that they both looked absolutely terrified.

As I drove into the parking garage, I couldn't get their faces out of my mind. Why did I recall these kids in such detail? I couldn't call up the face of the cop pursuing them. I thought that he'd been a heavyset male about forty, but the only thing that I could really swear to was the breath steaming from his lungs. The guy put up a real cloud as he ran along. So, an out-of-shape cop over forty. There shouldn't be too many guys like that on the force. Yeah. Right. I knew that I'd never recognize him again, but if I ever saw the two kids, I'd know them immediately. Why?

Maybe it was the suddenness of it all. Maybe it was the circumstance of their being chased by a cop. But I knew it wasn't that. I couldn't help thinking about the street kids that Jean Prieur and I had picked up in Vancouver. The image of that night will always stay with me, Jean fucking that squealing boy in the ass while I screwed his girlfriend. And that wasn't the only time I'd taken advantage of a kid down on her luck. Before the Vancouver episode, there was Joan, the kid in Halifax.