| "THE COMPTROLLER" BY CALLUM HOUSTON |
"Vancouver police executed a search warrant on a Richmond slaughterhouse today as part of
their investigation into the disappearance of more than fifty women from the downtown eastside,
many of them sex-trade workers. Vancouver police continue to come under fire from family
members of missing women who say they were ignored when they told police about a 'psycho
butcher from hell' as far back as three years ago. The owner of the operation, Hubert Pfister, has
been taken into police custody for questioning. You're listening to Vancouver's number one news
station, CWNU The New News Radio 630 AM..."
Ah, that's some sick shit, Jeff Cavanagh says to himself. Women are for fucking, not killing.
He parks his grey 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme next to Audrey's new, green Honda CR-V on a
rooftop parking lot in Vancouver. He turns off the ignition and pockets the keys. Audrey's cocker
spaniel, Wally, locked in her car, eyes him as he walks by.
A question has burned in Cavanagh's mind for three days: Should he tell Audrey about the
monster-haul he's got in his back pocket? With past girlfriends it's as though he's driving down a
one-way street and he comes to a dead-end and his girlfriend, the passenger, says to keep going, but
it's the end of the line, there's nowhere else to go. This one feels different. He's never met anyone
quite like Audrey Varga before.
His breath visible in the freezing February air, he walks down a flight of stairs and opens the door to
Superstar Spa. The girl behind the desk says, "You're Audrey's friend Jeff, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Cavanagh says.
"She's expecting you. She's finishing up with a client. Have a seat."
"I'll wait for her outside," he tells the girl.
He steps out onto the balcony and lights up a smoke. Greeting the woman he loves while she says
goodbye to another man she's been with is not something Jeff Cavanagh has gotten used to. He's
not sure he ever will. As long as he doesn't see the men who use her he can handle it; it's like her
job might not even be real, a fantasy she only says she does. He once thought himself impervious
to jealousy; he now knows better. One time when he showed up and found himself face-to-face
with one of her clients, a handsome, muscular, well-dressed man, it stung him to know she had had
her hands on his body, his wooden Jesus in her hand, and that she probably enjoyed giving him
pleasure. It took him a while to shake off the feeling of resentment. From that moment on he
decided to think of her as working in the entertainment industry, playing a part, a role, the other
party doing the same; two entertainers performing a rehearsed dance. He was sure that Audrey had
deliberately orchestrated him meeting her client that evening, to test him and gauge his reaction.
She's been around long enough to know that if Cavanagh was the jealous type she'd have to let him
go, the relationship wouldn't stand a chance with her vocation. He sensed she was impressed he
kept his cool and that he had passed her test.
A man opens the door and walks up the stairs to his car. The door opens again.
"Brrr, it's awfully cold out here," Audrey Varga says, hunching her arms around her chest.
"Hi there, babes." Cavanagh flicks his cigarette butt into the night.
"Hi," she replies, flashing a beaming smile. "Get in here."
In room number 5 Cavanagh leans back on the sofa and takes Audrey in. She's sitting down on the
massage table with her long, tanned legs crossed, high heels gently swinging back and forth,
manicured hands gripping the edge. Audrey's body delivers everything her face promises. And
what a face. Cavanagh has carefully studied the geography of that face with the touch of his fingers
in the late night darkness like a blind man reading Braille. Her brown hair is pony-tailed and hoop
earrings dangle from the sides of strikingly beautiful, immaculately painted eyes and ruby lips. A
skimpy, cream evening dress is draped over her perfect figure. The moment he saw her, the beauty
contest that had been running in his mind since before he could remember was officially closed.
Cavanagh sighs and says, "You're my heavy metal love, baby. I sometimes feel like I should have
wooed you for a year and bought you expensive jewellery or a car and taken you out to dinners and
shows, done it more romantically, then maybe I'd be entitled to have you."
Audrey is taken by Cavanagh's romantic revelation. She looks at him lovingly and says, "You can't
afford all that. And anyway, none of that matters. We found each other, that's what matters." She
points a long index finger at him, then at herself and says, "I'm for you and you're for me. End of
story."
"How was the mall today?" Cavanagh asks her.
"Hell. My boss is a total bitch. We clash like a couple of alpha males. We're too much alike. She
hired a new girl on Monday. She's going to fire me, I know it."
"You're good at what you do. Your boss resents you because you threaten her. She's envious.
She probably thinks you're after her job."
"I don't know how much longer I can go on working there. I can only keep a smile on my face and
hold my feelings in for so long before I snap and slap her." Audrey smiles and motions a slap
through the air. "I swear, sooner or later I'm going to let her have it."
"Anyone who knows you knows you have to speak your mind. Good or bad, you don't censor
yourself."
"I know. I can't hold it in. The make-up department is busy now. Before I arrived it was dead and
it was so disorganized. You couldn't find anything. If she fires me most of the clients will
disappear."
"Is she smart enough to realize that?" Cavanagh asks her.
"She may be smart enough to realize it but it's not her store. She doesn't own it. She might not
even care if the store loses the business."
"Are you hungry?" Cavanagh asks her. "Let's eat."
Audrey hops of the table. At the front desk she says to the girl, "We're going out for a while. You
have my cell number if you need me."
Droplets of rain begin to smatter from the starless sky; a passenger jet is swallowed by clouds as it
rumbles towards the heavens. Wally eagerly wags his tail when he sees them coming. Wally is
Audrey's substitute child, she takes him almost everywhere she goes. She opens the driver's side
door. "How's my little sweetie?" she baby-talks to the excited pooch. Audrey looks across at
Cavanagh getting in the passenger side and says, "It looks like it's going to rain."
Cavanagh and Audrey sit in a booth in a Chinese restaurant. A gas burner in the centre of the table
heats the broth in their seafood hot pot to a boil.
"You don't have any kids, right?" Cavanagh asks.
"No kids."
"Ever thought about having any?" Cavanagh inquires.
"I can't have kids. When I was a teenager I had an operation for cervical cancer. I can't conceive
because of the surgery."
"Shitty."
"It doesn't matter. I have Wally. He's my kid." Audrey extracts a morsel from the bowl with her
chopsticks.
"Do you have any other clients that you're close to? Close to like you are to me?"
"Hmmm, kind of," she says, pondering the question. "No, not really," she decides, amending her
reply with a shake of the head. She takes a bite of the prawn.
Cavanagh bristles slightly upon hearing that Audrey's answer is anything other than an unequivocal
"no." He says nothing then breaks his silence. "Who is he? Or she?" he asks her.
"Who is who?"
"The other person you see outside. As well as me."
"Oh. There was Mel. He's a businessman from Hong Kong. He exports goods into Canada. I met
him when he was in Vancouver on a trip. He was very generous. He rented a condo for me in the
west end. Other gifts too - clothes and gold jewellery. We travelled the world; London, Paris,
Tokyo, New York. This was three years ago."
"Is there anyone else other than Mel?"
"Yes...you."
"Where's Mel now?"
"Got bored with me I guess. I got too old for him. He stopped sending me money and gifts and
moved on to another, younger mistress I suppose. I haven't seen him for a while." Audrey shrugs
and picks up her glass.
"Were you working in a place like Superstar Spa when you were with Mel?"
"I didn't have to. Mel took care of me."
Audrey takes a drink of white wine. The expression on her face becomes serious. She says, "Is
this going to work? Can you handle being with me considering the job I do?"
"I can handle it because I care for you. I love you," Cavanagh assures her.
"It's not forever, you know, the massage work. My dream is to open up my own beauty boutique.
It'll be a full-service salon. I'll hire other girls to do things like hair-styling and nails and I'll do the
make-up."
Audrey's cell phone rings. She answers it and says, "Yes, okay Joanna. Bye." She hangs up. "I
have to get back to work. A client is asking for me."
"You have to go now?"
"Yes, right away," Audrey tells him. She reaches beside her for her handbag and coat.
Cavanagh takes care of the bill and the three of them, Cavanagh, Audrey and Wally, drive back to
Superstar Spa.
At 11:20 a.m. the next day a clerk at the front desk of Vancouver General Hospital tells Cavanagh
which room his uncle is in. In the room he drags a chair to his uncle's bedside and sits down. The
man's comatose body is lifeless except for light breathing.
"I don't know if you can hear me or not," Cavanagh says to his dying uncle. "This money that's
changing hands, it's going to do me a lot of good. It'll make more of a difference for me than it ever
would for you. We need it. I never had a mind for business like you do. I've tried a few ventures
since I got out of the forces but all I've got to show for them now is debt. Both the bank and the
taxman are after me. Can't pay off the thirty thousand I owe working as a security guard. That's
where I met Audrey, working security at the mall. I love her. Might even marry her. Sometimes
you only get one shot. And when it presents itself to you, you know it."
Cavanagh sits quietly for a moment, looking at the ashen, tranquil face of the helpless old man lying
supine in the hospital bed. It's important to stay humble, he thinks. Doesn't matter who you are, a
man only flies high for so long before someone, or something, comes along and knocks him back
down to earth. When it's your turn, even if you're prepared and vigilant, there's not a thing you can
do to stop the train in its tracks. Being prepared, though, can help a man endure and get him
through the journey back to his feet.
"You were an arrogant son of a bitch, Uncle Martin. This is the best thing you've ever done for
anyone and you don't even know you're doing it. By doing this for me and Audrey...it makes you a
saint."
A nurse walks into the room to check on the patient. Cavanagh smiles hello to her and leaves.
Driving west on Broadway he turns right on Granville following the street south. He calls Audrey at
her apartment on his cell, waking her.
"You know not to call me this early," she scolds him crankily.
"Yeah I know, I'm sorry. What time did you get home last night?"
"Two-thirty. We had a wine party, all the girls, after we closed. It was Sherelle's birthday. My
head is aching. Call me back in ten minutes."
"No, I don't need to call you back." Cavanagh hears Wally yelping in the background in Audrey's
apartment. "I want to make sure we're meeting at Seductions tonight when you finish work."
"Of course," Audrey's voice cracks.
"Good. I'll see you there."
"I miss you and I love you. Don't ever call me this early again." Click.
Cavanagh parks his car on Howe Street in downtown Vancouver and walks through the rain into the
offices of Monty Herzog Notary Public. Ten minutes later he steps out of the notary's office with
an envelope in his hand. He doesn't get back into the car, instead he walks past it and up the street
dodging the umbrellas of sidewalk pedestrians. At four blocks he walks into the lobby of
Paramount Bank and Trust Co. and approaches the receptionist.
"I'd like to speak to someone about a brokerage account held with your company," Cavanagh tells
the woman.
"What's your name?" the receptionist asks him.
"Jeff Cavanagh."
"Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly," she replies
Cavanagh sits down. He lifts a MacLean's magazine from the table and skims through it. After a
few minutes a Paramount Bank and Trust account representative appears.
"Mr. Cavanagh," she says, extending her hand in introduction, "I'm Claudia Cooper. What can I do
for you today?"
Cavanagh shakes her hand, saying, "I'd like to get some information on an account under the
company name of MC 80 Inc. I'm the owner of the company."
Cavanagh follows Cooper into her office. She sits down at her desk, he sits down in front of her.
"Let me look that up. Can I have the account number?" she asks.
"I don't have the account number on me right now. The name of the account is MC 80 Inc."
"NC80?" Cooper asks as a security measure, pretending to mishear Cavanagh.
"No. MC80. M as in Mary, C as in Charlie, eight zero incorporated. MC 80 Inc."
"Let's see what we have here." Cooper types MC 80 Inc. on her keyboard. The account
information appears on the monitor. "You said your name is Jeff Cavanagh?"
"That's right."
"I'll need to see some identification please."
Cavanagh pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, takes his driver's licence out and hands it to the
rep. She looks at it and hands it back to him. She says, "I see a Martin Cavanagh has power of
attorney on this account."
"He does, yes. He's my uncle. That power of attorney is revoked." He opens the envelope and
draws some papers from it. He hands the papers to Cooper. "My uncle has taken ill."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cooper says while scanning the legal document that cancels the power of
attorney. She looks up at him and says, "I'll need to make a photocopy of this."
"That's a copy. Keep it."
Satisfied that all is legally compliant, Cooper asks, "What would you like to do in the account today,
Mr. Cavanagh?"
"I'd like to know what the holdings are."
"I can print you a copy of last month's account statement if you like."
"Yes, that will work. Thank you."
Cooper types on her keyboard. A printer behind the desk activates and prints out the two-page
statement. She staples the pages together and hands them across the desk to Cavanagh.
"Anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Cavanagh?" she asks.
Cavanagh folds the account statement in half and tucks it into an inside pocket in his jacket. He
gets up to leave. "Nothing else. Thank you," he says and walks out the door.
He walks back to his car and drives off, sleet pelting the Olds. Cambie Street south takes him out
of the downtown core. Cavanagh reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out the account
statement. His left hand on the wheel, his eyes dart between the car in front of him and the figures
on the page. Jackpot. Cavanagh realizes he should have had Cooper change the address on the
account to his home address. He'll do that tomorrow, he decides. He puts the statement back in his
jacket pocket.
Cavanagh completes his final shift as a security guard. He goes to his apartment, smokes a joint
and changes into his standard attire of jeans, T-shirt, black leather jacket and a worn Blue Jays
baseball cap. Audrey finds him waiting for her in a corner booth at Seductions Bar at ten past
midnight. She sits down next to him.
"Do you remember what this place used to be like?" Cavanagh says, looking around the busy
nightclub.
"Vaguely. It sure wasn't like this. They really fixed it up."
He takes a drink of whisky. "Audrey, there's something I want to tell you."
Audrey doesn't hear him, she's watching the entrance. "I'm going to see if Sherelle's here," she
says, getting up from her seat.
Cavanagh grabs her arm and pulls her back down. "Ow," she complains, rubbing her arm. "That
hurt."
"I want you to listen to me," he says looking her in the eye, tempering his impatience. "What if I
told you you could quit working at the mall, you could quit Superstar too, that I had enough money
for you to open up your beauty salon but first we're going to the Bahamas for six months?"
"I'd say you're crazy," she says inquisitively. "You don't make that kind of money."
He shakes his head. "No, not crazy. You know what my philosophy of life is? It's all about A, B
and C. A is birth. B is death. The objective is to get from A to B with the least amount of bullshit
and hassle as possible. Generally speaking, if you don't fuck with people they mostly won't fuck
with you. Make waves only when absolutely necessary. So if the journey from A to B is peaceful
maybe at the end of it all you'll find out there's a heaven or some kind of afterlife. That's C. I may
have happened into some money, a lot of money. Crazy-money that could keep us comfortable for
the rest of our lives and make the trip from A to B real smooth."
"Where'd the money come from, hon?"
"My dad's brother, my Uncle Martin. He's well-off, works in the shipping industry. He's divorced
and has no kids of his own. He's always been very generous with our family. When my father died
he lent my mom money so we could keep up the mortgage payments and not see our house
foreclosed by the bank. When you've got the kind of money he has you diversify, never keep it all
in the same place, that way if you run into financial problems you've got an emergency stash."
Cavanagh pauses to reach for a smoke. Then he continues speaking.
"Seven years ago my uncle was being muscled in the courts and the kind of money these guys
wanted in their lawsuits would have put him under, into bankruptcy. He needed to allocate some
capital where it couldn't be touched so as a favour to him I allowed him to incorporate a company in
my name and I signed over power of attorney, that way he still controlled the assets. Three days
ago I got a phone call from mommy in the old folks home in Saskatoon. Uncle Martin had a heart
attack."
"He's dead?"
"No, he's not dead. He's in Vancouver General, in a coma. They don't think he's going to make it."
"How does that make us rich?"
"I'm the owner of the corporation he created in my name. That means legally the company, and the
assets it contains - all mine."
"How much money are we talking about?"
"Over a million."
"Dollars?"
"Dollars."
"Did you like your uncle? Was he a nice guy?"
"I told you how he helped us out so my mum wouldn't lose her house. I didn't know him all that
well. No, you wouldn't have called him a nice guy. He's a hard case. A tough businessman. You
don't do as well as he did by being a nice guy. He's got a lot more money than the mil I'm holding.
He won't miss it, especially if he's dead."
"Did I ever tell you about my uncle?"
"Nope."
"My dad the bus driver would take me and my sister out to see him every Sunday without fail. We
were just little girls, I think I was six when we first went to see Uncle Phil. He adored us, he really
loved those Sunday visits, couldn't get enough of us and hated to see us go. The reason he was so
hungry for company is because he was in the pen doing ten years for armed bank robbery. I don't
want to see another man I care for behind bars."
"You won't," Cavanagh says matter-of-factly with a shake of the head. "This is completely legal,
it's clean. No fraud or nothing."
"You'll make it happen, Jeff. I know you will," Audrey says with complete, genuine confidence in
him. "Let's not talk about it any more. We might jinx it."
Audrey scans the bar and says to Cavanagh, "Sherelle should be here by now."
"It's already happened," Cavanagh replies, not letting Audrey change the subject. "So the first thing
you do when you get up tomorrow is call that pimp Cimone at Superstar. You call her and tell her
you're quitting."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"I've got rent to pay for one thing. I have to eat."
"I can cover all that for you now."
"I have my own money. I can buy my own stuff. I have to think about it. I like working with the
other girls there too."
"Think about it? There's nothing to think about." Cavanagh's mood turns sour. "You're a whore,"
he taunts. "You're specialty is fucking, not thinking. I'll do the thinking."
Cavanagh was pretty sure his jab would make contact with flesh. It did. "Don't call me that.
That's mean," Audrey replies sorely. "How would you like it if I called you a whore?"
"Go ahead. I may be a whore." Cavanagh crouches up from his chair and looks around the club.
"Who do we ask to see if Jeff Cavanagh is a whore?" He sits down and looks Audrey square in the
face. "Who knows? But it doesn't change the fact that you are a whore."
"I'm a relaxation therapist," Audrey asserts.
"A relaxation therapist," Cavanagh says derisively.
Cavanagh considers asking her what the distinction is between a whore and a relaxation therapist
but he decides to leave it at that. He hates himself for the feeling of self-satisfaction he gets in being
able to push Audrey's emotional buttons. He takes a slug of his drink, wipes his wrist across his
mouth, and crushes his cigarette in the ashtray.
"I gotta take a piss." He wanders off to the men's room. He urinates, zips up, and washes his
hands. Tonight marks the threshold of a new era in my life, he declares to himself. A new
beginning. He checks himself out in the mirror and runs a hand through his long, wavy, brown hair.
Looking good, pal. You're a wealthy man now. A king.
He leaves the men's room. In the booth, sitting next to Audrey, is a large, heavy, bald man he
doesn't recognize. The man is gazing intensely into her eyes as he talks. He has a hand between
her thighs and an arm around her shoulders. Cavanagh sits down next to Audrey.
"What's going on here?" he asks her.
"Shove off," Wade Latimer says to Cavanagh. Cavanagh takes it cold.
"Wade, this is my boyfriend Jeff," Audrey says to the man. "Jeff, this is Wade. Wade is a big-shot
lawyer downtown. Wade is also very drunk."
"He's not your boyfriend. I'm your boyfriend," Latimer slurs. He waves a hand at Cavanagh to
shoo.
"Wade, tell me about the medical coverage plan you have with your firm," Cavanagh says to
Latimer.
"Medical coverage?" Latimer says. He gives Audrey a puzzled look. "What kind of noise is this?"
Cavanagh slides along the leather upholstery, out of the booth, and walks around the table. Hands
in his pockets, he leans over the man and says in a firm, controlled manner, "Let me put it this way
then: This is a private party. I'm going to ask you this one time nicely. Take your hands off the
lady and piss off. If I have to repeat myself, next time I'm not going to be so polite. Clear?"
Cavanagh's not bluffing. Depending on the size and amount of resistance he faces, his training as
both a soldier in the armed forces and as a security guard makes him capable of removing someone
from a building and dumping them on the street when necessary. He's not sure if handling Latimer
is within his ability but he's drunk enough not to care. Latimer, sensing Cavanagh means what he's
saying, doesn't call his bluff.
"Okay, wise ass, I'll leave the two of you alone here." Latimer downs his vodka, slams the glass on
the table and slowly stands up. "When are you working next, baby?" he asks Audrey, then looks at
Cavanagh and grins. He walks away.
"Can you tell me what that was all about?" Cavanagh asks Audrey.
"He's a regular of mine."
"Yeah, I figured he was a customer."
"Wade's a loser. He doesn't understand no means no."
Audrey finds Sherelle in the club. She's at a table with a girlfriend, still celebrating yesterday's
birthday. Cavanagh and Audrey join them and, after another drink, they say their goodbyes. They
claim their jackets at the coat-check and exit into the incessant rain.
Wade Latimer and two Vancouver cops are waiting in the parking lot.
"Yeah, that's him there, with the girl," Latimer says to the cops, pointing a finger at Cavanagh.
"Sir, you're under arrest," one of the cops says to Cavanagh.
"For what?" he asks the cop.
"This man says you threatened him with physical injury inside these premises this evening. Hands
up, turn around."
"I'll call you from jail," Cavanagh tells a stunned Audrey as he is cuffed and shoved into a police
cruiser.
At Vancouver Jail Cavanagh goes through the intake process with the junkies, dealers, and pugilistic
drunks who call Vancouver's grimy downtown eastside home. He is stripped naked for a cavity
search. Once clothed, he is identified, photographed, and his hands smeared with ink for
fingerprints. His personal effects are confiscated and by 2 a.m. he's sobered up and shivering under
a blanket in an icy concrete cell.
their investigation into the disappearance of more than fifty women from the downtown eastside,
many of them sex-trade workers. Vancouver police continue to come under fire from family
members of missing women who say they were ignored when they told police about a 'psycho
butcher from hell' as far back as three years ago. The owner of the operation, Hubert Pfister, has
been taken into police custody for questioning. You're listening to Vancouver's number one news
station, CWNU The New News Radio 630 AM..."
Ah, that's some sick shit, Jeff Cavanagh says to himself. Women are for fucking, not killing.
He parks his grey 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme next to Audrey's new, green Honda CR-V on a
rooftop parking lot in Vancouver. He turns off the ignition and pockets the keys. Audrey's cocker
spaniel, Wally, locked in her car, eyes him as he walks by.
A question has burned in Cavanagh's mind for three days: Should he tell Audrey about the
monster-haul he's got in his back pocket? With past girlfriends it's as though he's driving down a
one-way street and he comes to a dead-end and his girlfriend, the passenger, says to keep going, but
it's the end of the line, there's nowhere else to go. This one feels different. He's never met anyone
quite like Audrey Varga before.
His breath visible in the freezing February air, he walks down a flight of stairs and opens the door to
Superstar Spa. The girl behind the desk says, "You're Audrey's friend Jeff, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Cavanagh says.
"She's expecting you. She's finishing up with a client. Have a seat."
"I'll wait for her outside," he tells the girl.
He steps out onto the balcony and lights up a smoke. Greeting the woman he loves while she says
goodbye to another man she's been with is not something Jeff Cavanagh has gotten used to. He's
not sure he ever will. As long as he doesn't see the men who use her he can handle it; it's like her
job might not even be real, a fantasy she only says she does. He once thought himself impervious
to jealousy; he now knows better. One time when he showed up and found himself face-to-face
with one of her clients, a handsome, muscular, well-dressed man, it stung him to know she had had
her hands on his body, his wooden Jesus in her hand, and that she probably enjoyed giving him
pleasure. It took him a while to shake off the feeling of resentment. From that moment on he
decided to think of her as working in the entertainment industry, playing a part, a role, the other
party doing the same; two entertainers performing a rehearsed dance. He was sure that Audrey had
deliberately orchestrated him meeting her client that evening, to test him and gauge his reaction.
She's been around long enough to know that if Cavanagh was the jealous type she'd have to let him
go, the relationship wouldn't stand a chance with her vocation. He sensed she was impressed he
kept his cool and that he had passed her test.
A man opens the door and walks up the stairs to his car. The door opens again.
"Brrr, it's awfully cold out here," Audrey Varga says, hunching her arms around her chest.
"Hi there, babes." Cavanagh flicks his cigarette butt into the night.
"Hi," she replies, flashing a beaming smile. "Get in here."
In room number 5 Cavanagh leans back on the sofa and takes Audrey in. She's sitting down on the
massage table with her long, tanned legs crossed, high heels gently swinging back and forth,
manicured hands gripping the edge. Audrey's body delivers everything her face promises. And
what a face. Cavanagh has carefully studied the geography of that face with the touch of his fingers
in the late night darkness like a blind man reading Braille. Her brown hair is pony-tailed and hoop
earrings dangle from the sides of strikingly beautiful, immaculately painted eyes and ruby lips. A
skimpy, cream evening dress is draped over her perfect figure. The moment he saw her, the beauty
contest that had been running in his mind since before he could remember was officially closed.
Cavanagh sighs and says, "You're my heavy metal love, baby. I sometimes feel like I should have
wooed you for a year and bought you expensive jewellery or a car and taken you out to dinners and
shows, done it more romantically, then maybe I'd be entitled to have you."
Audrey is taken by Cavanagh's romantic revelation. She looks at him lovingly and says, "You can't
afford all that. And anyway, none of that matters. We found each other, that's what matters." She
points a long index finger at him, then at herself and says, "I'm for you and you're for me. End of
story."
"How was the mall today?" Cavanagh asks her.
"Hell. My boss is a total bitch. We clash like a couple of alpha males. We're too much alike. She
hired a new girl on Monday. She's going to fire me, I know it."
"You're good at what you do. Your boss resents you because you threaten her. She's envious.
She probably thinks you're after her job."
"I don't know how much longer I can go on working there. I can only keep a smile on my face and
hold my feelings in for so long before I snap and slap her." Audrey smiles and motions a slap
through the air. "I swear, sooner or later I'm going to let her have it."
"Anyone who knows you knows you have to speak your mind. Good or bad, you don't censor
yourself."
"I know. I can't hold it in. The make-up department is busy now. Before I arrived it was dead and
it was so disorganized. You couldn't find anything. If she fires me most of the clients will
disappear."
"Is she smart enough to realize that?" Cavanagh asks her.
"She may be smart enough to realize it but it's not her store. She doesn't own it. She might not
even care if the store loses the business."
"Are you hungry?" Cavanagh asks her. "Let's eat."
Audrey hops of the table. At the front desk she says to the girl, "We're going out for a while. You
have my cell number if you need me."
Droplets of rain begin to smatter from the starless sky; a passenger jet is swallowed by clouds as it
rumbles towards the heavens. Wally eagerly wags his tail when he sees them coming. Wally is
Audrey's substitute child, she takes him almost everywhere she goes. She opens the driver's side
door. "How's my little sweetie?" she baby-talks to the excited pooch. Audrey looks across at
Cavanagh getting in the passenger side and says, "It looks like it's going to rain."
Cavanagh and Audrey sit in a booth in a Chinese restaurant. A gas burner in the centre of the table
heats the broth in their seafood hot pot to a boil.
"You don't have any kids, right?" Cavanagh asks.
"No kids."
"Ever thought about having any?" Cavanagh inquires.
"I can't have kids. When I was a teenager I had an operation for cervical cancer. I can't conceive
because of the surgery."
"Shitty."
"It doesn't matter. I have Wally. He's my kid." Audrey extracts a morsel from the bowl with her
chopsticks.
"Do you have any other clients that you're close to? Close to like you are to me?"
"Hmmm, kind of," she says, pondering the question. "No, not really," she decides, amending her
reply with a shake of the head. She takes a bite of the prawn.
Cavanagh bristles slightly upon hearing that Audrey's answer is anything other than an unequivocal
"no." He says nothing then breaks his silence. "Who is he? Or she?" he asks her.
"Who is who?"
"The other person you see outside. As well as me."
"Oh. There was Mel. He's a businessman from Hong Kong. He exports goods into Canada. I met
him when he was in Vancouver on a trip. He was very generous. He rented a condo for me in the
west end. Other gifts too - clothes and gold jewellery. We travelled the world; London, Paris,
Tokyo, New York. This was three years ago."
"Is there anyone else other than Mel?"
"Yes...you."
"Where's Mel now?"
"Got bored with me I guess. I got too old for him. He stopped sending me money and gifts and
moved on to another, younger mistress I suppose. I haven't seen him for a while." Audrey shrugs
and picks up her glass.
"Were you working in a place like Superstar Spa when you were with Mel?"
"I didn't have to. Mel took care of me."
Audrey takes a drink of white wine. The expression on her face becomes serious. She says, "Is
this going to work? Can you handle being with me considering the job I do?"
"I can handle it because I care for you. I love you," Cavanagh assures her.
"It's not forever, you know, the massage work. My dream is to open up my own beauty boutique.
It'll be a full-service salon. I'll hire other girls to do things like hair-styling and nails and I'll do the
make-up."
Audrey's cell phone rings. She answers it and says, "Yes, okay Joanna. Bye." She hangs up. "I
have to get back to work. A client is asking for me."
"You have to go now?"
"Yes, right away," Audrey tells him. She reaches beside her for her handbag and coat.
Cavanagh takes care of the bill and the three of them, Cavanagh, Audrey and Wally, drive back to
Superstar Spa.
At 11:20 a.m. the next day a clerk at the front desk of Vancouver General Hospital tells Cavanagh
which room his uncle is in. In the room he drags a chair to his uncle's bedside and sits down. The
man's comatose body is lifeless except for light breathing.
"I don't know if you can hear me or not," Cavanagh says to his dying uncle. "This money that's
changing hands, it's going to do me a lot of good. It'll make more of a difference for me than it ever
would for you. We need it. I never had a mind for business like you do. I've tried a few ventures
since I got out of the forces but all I've got to show for them now is debt. Both the bank and the
taxman are after me. Can't pay off the thirty thousand I owe working as a security guard. That's
where I met Audrey, working security at the mall. I love her. Might even marry her. Sometimes
you only get one shot. And when it presents itself to you, you know it."
Cavanagh sits quietly for a moment, looking at the ashen, tranquil face of the helpless old man lying
supine in the hospital bed. It's important to stay humble, he thinks. Doesn't matter who you are, a
man only flies high for so long before someone, or something, comes along and knocks him back
down to earth. When it's your turn, even if you're prepared and vigilant, there's not a thing you can
do to stop the train in its tracks. Being prepared, though, can help a man endure and get him
through the journey back to his feet.
"You were an arrogant son of a bitch, Uncle Martin. This is the best thing you've ever done for
anyone and you don't even know you're doing it. By doing this for me and Audrey...it makes you a
saint."
A nurse walks into the room to check on the patient. Cavanagh smiles hello to her and leaves.
Driving west on Broadway he turns right on Granville following the street south. He calls Audrey at
her apartment on his cell, waking her.
"You know not to call me this early," she scolds him crankily.
"Yeah I know, I'm sorry. What time did you get home last night?"
"Two-thirty. We had a wine party, all the girls, after we closed. It was Sherelle's birthday. My
head is aching. Call me back in ten minutes."
"No, I don't need to call you back." Cavanagh hears Wally yelping in the background in Audrey's
apartment. "I want to make sure we're meeting at Seductions tonight when you finish work."
"Of course," Audrey's voice cracks.
"Good. I'll see you there."
"I miss you and I love you. Don't ever call me this early again." Click.
Cavanagh parks his car on Howe Street in downtown Vancouver and walks through the rain into the
offices of Monty Herzog Notary Public. Ten minutes later he steps out of the notary's office with
an envelope in his hand. He doesn't get back into the car, instead he walks past it and up the street
dodging the umbrellas of sidewalk pedestrians. At four blocks he walks into the lobby of
Paramount Bank and Trust Co. and approaches the receptionist.
"I'd like to speak to someone about a brokerage account held with your company," Cavanagh tells
the woman.
"What's your name?" the receptionist asks him.
"Jeff Cavanagh."
"Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly," she replies
Cavanagh sits down. He lifts a MacLean's magazine from the table and skims through it. After a
few minutes a Paramount Bank and Trust account representative appears.
"Mr. Cavanagh," she says, extending her hand in introduction, "I'm Claudia Cooper. What can I do
for you today?"
Cavanagh shakes her hand, saying, "I'd like to get some information on an account under the
company name of MC 80 Inc. I'm the owner of the company."
Cavanagh follows Cooper into her office. She sits down at her desk, he sits down in front of her.
"Let me look that up. Can I have the account number?" she asks.
"I don't have the account number on me right now. The name of the account is MC 80 Inc."
"NC80?" Cooper asks as a security measure, pretending to mishear Cavanagh.
"No. MC80. M as in Mary, C as in Charlie, eight zero incorporated. MC 80 Inc."
"Let's see what we have here." Cooper types MC 80 Inc. on her keyboard. The account
information appears on the monitor. "You said your name is Jeff Cavanagh?"
"That's right."
"I'll need to see some identification please."
Cavanagh pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, takes his driver's licence out and hands it to the
rep. She looks at it and hands it back to him. She says, "I see a Martin Cavanagh has power of
attorney on this account."
"He does, yes. He's my uncle. That power of attorney is revoked." He opens the envelope and
draws some papers from it. He hands the papers to Cooper. "My uncle has taken ill."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Cooper says while scanning the legal document that cancels the power of
attorney. She looks up at him and says, "I'll need to make a photocopy of this."
"That's a copy. Keep it."
Satisfied that all is legally compliant, Cooper asks, "What would you like to do in the account today,
Mr. Cavanagh?"
"I'd like to know what the holdings are."
"I can print you a copy of last month's account statement if you like."
"Yes, that will work. Thank you."
Cooper types on her keyboard. A printer behind the desk activates and prints out the two-page
statement. She staples the pages together and hands them across the desk to Cavanagh.
"Anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Cavanagh?" she asks.
Cavanagh folds the account statement in half and tucks it into an inside pocket in his jacket. He
gets up to leave. "Nothing else. Thank you," he says and walks out the door.
He walks back to his car and drives off, sleet pelting the Olds. Cambie Street south takes him out
of the downtown core. Cavanagh reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out the account
statement. His left hand on the wheel, his eyes dart between the car in front of him and the figures
on the page. Jackpot. Cavanagh realizes he should have had Cooper change the address on the
account to his home address. He'll do that tomorrow, he decides. He puts the statement back in his
jacket pocket.
Cavanagh completes his final shift as a security guard. He goes to his apartment, smokes a joint
and changes into his standard attire of jeans, T-shirt, black leather jacket and a worn Blue Jays
baseball cap. Audrey finds him waiting for her in a corner booth at Seductions Bar at ten past
midnight. She sits down next to him.
"Do you remember what this place used to be like?" Cavanagh says, looking around the busy
nightclub.
"Vaguely. It sure wasn't like this. They really fixed it up."
He takes a drink of whisky. "Audrey, there's something I want to tell you."
Audrey doesn't hear him, she's watching the entrance. "I'm going to see if Sherelle's here," she
says, getting up from her seat.
Cavanagh grabs her arm and pulls her back down. "Ow," she complains, rubbing her arm. "That
hurt."
"I want you to listen to me," he says looking her in the eye, tempering his impatience. "What if I
told you you could quit working at the mall, you could quit Superstar too, that I had enough money
for you to open up your beauty salon but first we're going to the Bahamas for six months?"
"I'd say you're crazy," she says inquisitively. "You don't make that kind of money."
He shakes his head. "No, not crazy. You know what my philosophy of life is? It's all about A, B
and C. A is birth. B is death. The objective is to get from A to B with the least amount of bullshit
and hassle as possible. Generally speaking, if you don't fuck with people they mostly won't fuck
with you. Make waves only when absolutely necessary. So if the journey from A to B is peaceful
maybe at the end of it all you'll find out there's a heaven or some kind of afterlife. That's C. I may
have happened into some money, a lot of money. Crazy-money that could keep us comfortable for
the rest of our lives and make the trip from A to B real smooth."
"Where'd the money come from, hon?"
"My dad's brother, my Uncle Martin. He's well-off, works in the shipping industry. He's divorced
and has no kids of his own. He's always been very generous with our family. When my father died
he lent my mom money so we could keep up the mortgage payments and not see our house
foreclosed by the bank. When you've got the kind of money he has you diversify, never keep it all
in the same place, that way if you run into financial problems you've got an emergency stash."
Cavanagh pauses to reach for a smoke. Then he continues speaking.
"Seven years ago my uncle was being muscled in the courts and the kind of money these guys
wanted in their lawsuits would have put him under, into bankruptcy. He needed to allocate some
capital where it couldn't be touched so as a favour to him I allowed him to incorporate a company in
my name and I signed over power of attorney, that way he still controlled the assets. Three days
ago I got a phone call from mommy in the old folks home in Saskatoon. Uncle Martin had a heart
attack."
"He's dead?"
"No, he's not dead. He's in Vancouver General, in a coma. They don't think he's going to make it."
"How does that make us rich?"
"I'm the owner of the corporation he created in my name. That means legally the company, and the
assets it contains - all mine."
"How much money are we talking about?"
"Over a million."
"Dollars?"
"Dollars."
"Did you like your uncle? Was he a nice guy?"
"I told you how he helped us out so my mum wouldn't lose her house. I didn't know him all that
well. No, you wouldn't have called him a nice guy. He's a hard case. A tough businessman. You
don't do as well as he did by being a nice guy. He's got a lot more money than the mil I'm holding.
He won't miss it, especially if he's dead."
"Did I ever tell you about my uncle?"
"Nope."
"My dad the bus driver would take me and my sister out to see him every Sunday without fail. We
were just little girls, I think I was six when we first went to see Uncle Phil. He adored us, he really
loved those Sunday visits, couldn't get enough of us and hated to see us go. The reason he was so
hungry for company is because he was in the pen doing ten years for armed bank robbery. I don't
want to see another man I care for behind bars."
"You won't," Cavanagh says matter-of-factly with a shake of the head. "This is completely legal,
it's clean. No fraud or nothing."
"You'll make it happen, Jeff. I know you will," Audrey says with complete, genuine confidence in
him. "Let's not talk about it any more. We might jinx it."
Audrey scans the bar and says to Cavanagh, "Sherelle should be here by now."
"It's already happened," Cavanagh replies, not letting Audrey change the subject. "So the first thing
you do when you get up tomorrow is call that pimp Cimone at Superstar. You call her and tell her
you're quitting."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"I've got rent to pay for one thing. I have to eat."
"I can cover all that for you now."
"I have my own money. I can buy my own stuff. I have to think about it. I like working with the
other girls there too."
"Think about it? There's nothing to think about." Cavanagh's mood turns sour. "You're a whore,"
he taunts. "You're specialty is fucking, not thinking. I'll do the thinking."
Cavanagh was pretty sure his jab would make contact with flesh. It did. "Don't call me that.
That's mean," Audrey replies sorely. "How would you like it if I called you a whore?"
"Go ahead. I may be a whore." Cavanagh crouches up from his chair and looks around the club.
"Who do we ask to see if Jeff Cavanagh is a whore?" He sits down and looks Audrey square in the
face. "Who knows? But it doesn't change the fact that you are a whore."
"I'm a relaxation therapist," Audrey asserts.
"A relaxation therapist," Cavanagh says derisively.
Cavanagh considers asking her what the distinction is between a whore and a relaxation therapist
but he decides to leave it at that. He hates himself for the feeling of self-satisfaction he gets in being
able to push Audrey's emotional buttons. He takes a slug of his drink, wipes his wrist across his
mouth, and crushes his cigarette in the ashtray.
"I gotta take a piss." He wanders off to the men's room. He urinates, zips up, and washes his
hands. Tonight marks the threshold of a new era in my life, he declares to himself. A new
beginning. He checks himself out in the mirror and runs a hand through his long, wavy, brown hair.
Looking good, pal. You're a wealthy man now. A king.
He leaves the men's room. In the booth, sitting next to Audrey, is a large, heavy, bald man he
doesn't recognize. The man is gazing intensely into her eyes as he talks. He has a hand between
her thighs and an arm around her shoulders. Cavanagh sits down next to Audrey.
"What's going on here?" he asks her.
"Shove off," Wade Latimer says to Cavanagh. Cavanagh takes it cold.
"Wade, this is my boyfriend Jeff," Audrey says to the man. "Jeff, this is Wade. Wade is a big-shot
lawyer downtown. Wade is also very drunk."
"He's not your boyfriend. I'm your boyfriend," Latimer slurs. He waves a hand at Cavanagh to
shoo.
"Wade, tell me about the medical coverage plan you have with your firm," Cavanagh says to
Latimer.
"Medical coverage?" Latimer says. He gives Audrey a puzzled look. "What kind of noise is this?"
Cavanagh slides along the leather upholstery, out of the booth, and walks around the table. Hands
in his pockets, he leans over the man and says in a firm, controlled manner, "Let me put it this way
then: This is a private party. I'm going to ask you this one time nicely. Take your hands off the
lady and piss off. If I have to repeat myself, next time I'm not going to be so polite. Clear?"
Cavanagh's not bluffing. Depending on the size and amount of resistance he faces, his training as
both a soldier in the armed forces and as a security guard makes him capable of removing someone
from a building and dumping them on the street when necessary. He's not sure if handling Latimer
is within his ability but he's drunk enough not to care. Latimer, sensing Cavanagh means what he's
saying, doesn't call his bluff.
"Okay, wise ass, I'll leave the two of you alone here." Latimer downs his vodka, slams the glass on
the table and slowly stands up. "When are you working next, baby?" he asks Audrey, then looks at
Cavanagh and grins. He walks away.
"Can you tell me what that was all about?" Cavanagh asks Audrey.
"He's a regular of mine."
"Yeah, I figured he was a customer."
"Wade's a loser. He doesn't understand no means no."
Audrey finds Sherelle in the club. She's at a table with a girlfriend, still celebrating yesterday's
birthday. Cavanagh and Audrey join them and, after another drink, they say their goodbyes. They
claim their jackets at the coat-check and exit into the incessant rain.
Wade Latimer and two Vancouver cops are waiting in the parking lot.
"Yeah, that's him there, with the girl," Latimer says to the cops, pointing a finger at Cavanagh.
"Sir, you're under arrest," one of the cops says to Cavanagh.
"For what?" he asks the cop.
"This man says you threatened him with physical injury inside these premises this evening. Hands
up, turn around."
"I'll call you from jail," Cavanagh tells a stunned Audrey as he is cuffed and shoved into a police
cruiser.
At Vancouver Jail Cavanagh goes through the intake process with the junkies, dealers, and pugilistic
drunks who call Vancouver's grimy downtown eastside home. He is stripped naked for a cavity
search. Once clothed, he is identified, photographed, and his hands smeared with ink for
fingerprints. His personal effects are confiscated and by 2 a.m. he's sobered up and shivering under
a blanket in an icy concrete cell.
