It was an unremarkable part of the suburb that happened west of the city. Built around 1970 it was full of boxy split levels on generous lots, the odd in-ground pool and howling locked out cat. This section was originally intended for the surplus housing that was desperately needed and became a quilt work of private ownership and government subsidy.
Nancy Ann Stone, 36 and divorced found herself in the unfortunate position of living with her widowed father Tommy. He was a man whose motto was "don't rock the boat" however his whole life he skirted danger and left casualties from here to the Vancouver coast.
Just like any other day Nancy pulled up in the driveway after work, looked at the few dandelions struggling up through the lawn and absently grabbed the mail. Pizza flyer, realtor cards, junk junk junk, and a stray envelope from their bank. Normally this would pass her by but this time she started to pry her Dad's mail open as she jingled her keys and got ready to unlock the door. She had just pulled out a notice of nonpayment of the mortgage when Spot, her little yappy terrier pawed the door open for her. "That's strange" she thought "the door is never left open".
She cautiously stepped in with one foot and stopped. “Shhh Spot. I hear something.” She took another step in and looked up. There seemed to be a lopsided thumping sound coming from upstairs. Maybe even the attic. There is was again. Nancy check the ground floor carefully and then step by step made her way up to her childhood playroom – the attic. She called out and the thumping became wild. As she neared the attic door she was shouting.
He lay twisted and dry on the dusty floor of the attic. He started to stir as the afternoon light pierced the underside of his blindfold. At this point he became keenly aware of two things. First, his hands were roughly bound behind him and he was gagged and second, he'd kill for a hot cup of coffee. He tried wriggling his arms but to no avail. So Tommy laid still and thought and thought. In the brief quiet he heard shouting down below throughout the house. He raised his legs as high as they would go and thumped on the floor. Again and again until the shouting came closer up the creaking stairs.
"Dad! Dad!" The door burst open. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Mmmph. Mmmph."
"What? What? What the hell Dad?" Nancy said in exasperation as she bent over him looking for a way to untie him but leaving the gag to last.
He continued to say "Mmmph" very loudly and thrash about.
"Hold still. Do you want me to get you out of this? What did you do this time? No, don't talk." She lectured him as she looked for anything that would cut through his bind. "Well at least I don't have to bail you out this time. Eh? How many..." She trailed off as she found an exacto knife in an old tool belt. It didn't take a moment to get him free at which point Tommy tore at his blind fold and gag. He glared at Nancy as he struggled to his feet and dusted himself off.
"Where are your pants?"
Tommy looked down to his boxers, socks and shoes.
"Dad. Where are your pants?"
"I met him at the racetrack. He asked me for my name and number and he gave me a good tip. Sugar Run won."
"Did I ask you that? How could you do that?"
"And I said, whoa I have a daughter Nancy..."
"What? Don't drag me into this. What did you do that for?"
Tommy took a deep breath and wrung his hands. "The door bell rang and when I opened the door there was the guy from the track. He pushed me against the wall and demanded the money from Sugar Run. I said that I gave it to you."
"What kind of father are you?" She said in disgust.
"Vinnie"
"You know his name?"
"Well, Vinnie didn't believe me and neither did Bruno. They said they were going to tie me up and look for you. I didn't tell them anything except your name, and that mole…and I showed them a picture, but that's all."
With no thought and total frustration Nancy blurted out, "were you dropped on your head as a small child?" Then she mumbled "Oh right that was my ex-husband." Resigned she said "let's get you cleaned up and for goodness sake some pants. You look like a chicken."
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The level of frustration that Nancy felt brought back memories of their London trip together twelve years ago. The memories bolted back like a slamming steel door:
"Dad!" Nancy shouted as she pulled back ONTO the sidewalk as Tommy was walking out into the BUSY street. He was oblivious to any danger and came along side his frazzled daughter. Together they were walking to The TUBE for a day downtown to see The Phantom of the Opera. It was Nancy's gift to him for his birthday. Once down on the platform of The Tube Nancy and her Dad argued about which direction to take. The train that Nancy said they should take arrived and disgruntled she jumped on just as the door was closing. Tommy was yelling silently and pounding ON the departing door. At the next stop Nancy got off, found a bench, and waited for her Dad. He was on the next train and saw her. He got off. He looked mad but said nothing.
Finally downtown, it started to rain a cool autumn drizzle. They double checked the time for the beginning of Phantom of the Opera. Her Dad had screwed it up and they had two and a half hours to kill. Used to this almost to distraction Nancy asked "What do you want to do? It's raining." Nancy's Dad suggested they take in a movie and the two scurried along the sidewalk under her Dad's umbrella until they found a small theatre with steps leading underground. Nancy looked at the poster "I think I've heard of this before. Why don't we see this?" Tommy agreed and they headed down into the darkness of THE theatre. Nancy LOOKED AROUND. SHE was the only woman in the decrepit smelly theatre with about nine men crouching down in their seats. It looked suspicious. Then the movie started up. "Spank the Monkey." IT WAS A COMING OF AGE MOVIE ABOUT A BOY WHO HAD DISCOVERED MASTRUBATION. EVERYWHERE. IT WAS A COMEDY AND WAS ACTUALLY VERY FUNNY. TOMMY AND NANCY SAT SIDE BY SIDE NERVOUSLY LAUGHING (THE NINE MEN WEREN'T LAUGHING) AND THEY STAYED TO THE END.
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Nancy gave it a day before talking to her Dad. She got home before him, kicked off her shoes, made a coffee and WATCHED a bit of TV. She tried not to think of Vinnie or Bruno WHO NO DOUBT WERE AT LEAST SIX FEET TALL, MUSCULAR, TOTING A GUN AND SMELLING OF GARLIC. She wondered if she should call the police but that might make it worse. When the news came on she was trying to decide if she should worry. Her Dad should be home by now but she reminded herself that he talked to everyone he met and was probably chatting up the lotto lady. Nancy curled up on the couch and started to nod off when she heard a clattering and familiar "hello".
She pulled herself up and said "Hi Dad" with a sleepy voice. Her Dad said hello again as he pulled off his shoes and came into the living room. "Say, you'll never believe what happened to me as I was leaving work."
"What?"
"This guy, Bob I think, hit me in the parking lot. Jeez. I got out. He got out and said that he was sorry. Well so was I. He gave me his address and he said that he would pay whatever the lowest estimate for repair is but he didn't want to go through insurance. So I'm going to get three estimates then put them in his mailbox with my name and address."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait. Do you have his last name?"
"No."
"His number?"
"No."
"And no insurance?"
"No, but he's in Leadale. I know the neighbourhood, his address shouldn’t be difficult to find."
"Leadale? That's 45 minutes away. What did he look like?"
"Nancy...6'3" maybe, tattooed, bald, about 230. White. No Black. Or some kind of Indian. But don't worry, he promised to pay. I just have to get the estimates."
"Dad, he's not going to give you any money." She abruptly changed the subject knowing that she was getting nowhere. "Have you heard from Vinnie?" This subject wasn't much better.
"No, but someone called me a couple of times at work and hung up."
"Oh. Where's the Sugar Run money?"
Tommy took a deep breath in. "I went to the casino after the track and I lost it all. But it was a sure thing. If I had just…"
Nancy was overwhelmed and tired. She ignored everything after that and said "Spot needs to go for a walk. It's your obedience school tonight. There are leftovers in the fridge. I'm going for a bath."
AFTER A RESTLESS SLEEP it was morning and Nancy was set to roll over and turn off her radio when she heard "...in a dumpster two of this city's most notorious and dangerous race track scam artists known to be working for the mob, Vincent "Vinnie" Delapato and Bruno Bascilli were found dead shot in the back of the head execution style. The only identifiable bit of evidence at the scene was a torn piece of paper with the words Sugar Run on it. Now the weather..." The blood drained from Nancy's face.
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Nancy felt her face. It was cold. She knew that she was ghost white. She flashed back to a vivid memory at the age of eight. Sitting in the back of her Dad’s car:
Tommy had family in Detroit and a couple of times a year they would pack up the car and head down. It always made Tommy quite nervous. He would nervously flub his way through the border check. He even told Nancy to lock her door and look black.
It was winter and when we're leaving after their weekend with Auntie Emma and Uncle Henry (really third cousins or something like that) Nancy slipped on the icy driveway and knocked herself out but she could hear. She was listening to the most beautiful angel music and in the background she heard her Dad telling jokes...
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Nancy fretted all day. It seemed that the only talk at the office was the murder of Vinnie and Bruno. What did the piece of paper mean? Was someone still going to collect on Sugar Run? Surely, there had to have been other people who had been scammed who would step forward now. Her Dad wouldn't be singled out. Or would he?
Tommy came home scowling slightly and thumped his way into the house. He called out to Nancy impatiently. "Leadale. I left work early and got three estimates. I found the street no problem and #473 doesn't exist. I got three estimates. Do you hear me Nancy? I'm out $284. I couldn't put anything in a mailbox. Oh, yeah, Mrs. Powell phoned, Spot is failing obedience school but Mrs. Powell says it's really me. Nancy. I stopped and had Saul put new wires on the car but it runs the same. Nancy."
Nancy sat on the couch and sipped her Montepulciano. Under her breath she said "Saul takes the wires off and puts the same wires back on every time. Idiot." Then she raised her voice. "In here Dad." Tommy ambled in expecting a reaction from Nancy but all Nancy said in a very flat tone was "Vinnie and Bruno are dead."
"Oh" Tommy said, his face flushing, and he continued on with his rambling. "I'm making TV dinners tonight. Salisbury Steak with mashed potatoes, peas and peach cobbler. Your favourite. The game's on. I bought chips. Oh and some guys from work and me are going in for the big lottery tonight. The really big one."
Absently and automatically Nancy asked the same question. “Do you have this in writing?” She was answering herself when the phone rang and she jumped, leaned over and answered it.
"Hello"
"Hello, is this Nancy Stone?"
"Yes..."
“Hi, this is Sandra Powell at Fido Express Obedience School. I’ve talked to your Dad informally already but since your name is on the invoice I need to talk to you about Spot. Is this a good time?"
"Sure."
"Well how do I begin? Next week is our last week. Your Dad and Spot have perfect attendance however, I am afraid that we have had no success training your Dad. It's the owner we are really training you know. We are going to fail Spot but since this is the first and only time this has happened in our history we are prepared to offer you a full refund as we pride ourselves in successful completion. Ms. Stone, is this satisfactory?"
"Uhm hum, thank you Mrs. Powell. I understand. I've been trying to train my Dad my entire adult life. Thank you for being gracious about this, yes this will be fine."
"Sorry to have to phone with bad news Ms. Stone."
"I completely understand, thanks for phoning, good bye."
She sighed as the phone rang again. When Nancy picked it up no one was there but she could swear she smelled garlic. Nancy quickly hung up and quietly peered out the window. There she saw a dark sedan with tinted windows on the other side of the street. Someone rolled down the window long enough to throw a cigarette butt out and the car sped away.
Nancy tried to distract herself. She looked away and then down at her journal on her lap. All the stories Dad had told. All the point form stories written down:
Tommy as a young teen went down to the lake. He was playing with matches and inexplicably and mysteriously a boat caught fire. He ran. Another time he innocently joined a poker game that was raided and stayed the night in jail until his mother bailed him out. When he was a child he had a dog but only for a day, it ran away or something nefarious had happened. There were so many stories. His father read tea leaves for their friends. Her Dad was an only child and two things stood out that his mother always said "I like your brother better" and "I should drowned you at birth like a kitten". One day she would organize them. But not today. She put the journal away and looked outside again for suspicious activity.
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It was Saturday afternoon. Tommy stretched and thought this is as good as life got. He grabbed a coffee and the door bell rang. He threw the door open to a small red haired man who smelt of garlic. The man stared at Tommy as if he should know why he was there. When this got no result the small man simply said "Sugar Run". Tommy looked baffled. Then the wrecking ball dropped. Vinnie and Bruno were dead. He directly said to the little man "I don't have any money.”
Blustered, the red haired man forced out “Why not?”
“I went to the casino and lost it all."
"Are you an idiot?"
"No, I'm broke."
"Do you have a life insurance policy?"
"Yeah, it's for $300,000." (Tommy lied hoping to hustle the red haired man.)
The red headed man stroked his chin and scratched his...
"Who's it made out to?"
"My daughter, Nancy Elizabeth, she’s 5’4”, here, here’s a picture of her. What are you implying?”
"Change it. Mario Vincenzo. By Friday. Noon."
"Okay okay. Come in and we’ll have coffee. I’ve got biscotti."
"Coffee. It gives me gas." And with that he turned and walked to a black sedan puzzling something out all the way.
Nancy came in the foyer. "Who was that?"
"I don't know but I think all my troubles are over."
Nancy shrugged in disbelief. "I'm leaving in about twenty minutes for mini golf. Don't bother about me for supper."
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The week came and went and it was Saturday again. It was totally uneventful. But Monday saw a lot of excitement. Tommy had the day off and decided to fix some loose shingles on his roof. He heard Spot barking and looked down onto the driveway. There was the small man with the red hair. The man hailed Tommy who waved to a ladder and motioned the man to come up. Hesitantly the small man made his way to the top of the roof and stood there with trepidation. He squeaked out "have you changed your will?" "No." Tommy said with confidence. "I didn't think it was fair to Nancy. Coffee?" He offered him a thermos. The redheaded man tried to look menacing. "Mario will not be pleased." "Hmm?" Tommy was preoccupied. He swung this and nailed that. With his usual lack of coordination he made one more unintended swing and the small man tumbled off the roof screaming until he went splat on the driveway. He was quite dead. Tommy said some sort of oath, threw his arms over his head then reached for his cell phone.
Quickly the police, ambulance, and fire truck were on the scene. The neighbours started to gather and Spot would not stop barking. After many hours the police established that it was indeed an accident and by this time Nancy was dragged into the fray unwillingly and reluctantly.
The six o'clock news said with certainty that the small man was Scotty MacDonald an enforcer working for Mario Vincenzo.
All the way home from the police station Nancy fairly shouted "How stupid are you?" When they got home it was more of the same peppered with swearing until she was worn out and her Dad was ready for bed. Nancy drank a lot of cheap wine from the back of the fridge and took a tranquilizer. Tuesday, the next day when they were both home from work, a germ of an idea started to form. Nancy began to think of how tired she was of her Dad's antics. But wait. No Dad, no antics. After all at this rate he was going to get the both of them killed anyway. He had put them in extreme danger many times.
Her mind went wild between murdering him and running away. Poison, cut brake line, accidental fall. She'd have to act soon before Mario Vincenzo got to him or there would be no satisfaction at all in killing him. Mario would do that for her. Pillow, oxygen in a needle, drowning in the bath tub. Night and day plotting murder started to consume her. Make it look like a robbery - gun - stabbing. The likely murder mystery methods gave way to more fanciful fare: crossbow bolt in the throat - through the window at night, no, put Nicotine in his denture adhesive, wait, no, hit him with a frozen pork loin roast when he’s sleeping.
Tired and groggy her thoughts then wandered back to her childhood. The time Tommy swerved so that he didn’t hit the pigeon on the bridge and Nancy went flying into the dashboard of the car. Even today she could still feel that ugly stitchery on her chin and his banal chuckling with the nurse and the absence of attention toward her. There were darker days when he cut off her child support but was quite proud that he had paid for her best friend’s abortion. Tommy even blamed his daughter for the difficulty he had in his brief second marriage. Even though he had confided that he wanted to leave her. It went on and on…Always with that laugh. That ho-ho-ho I can’t be held accountable for anything laugh. There was a cluttered history between them that had led up to this point. The thoughts in her mind were neither random now, nor flighty nor deranged.
Tuesday night before the game on TV, Tommy felt all sweaty from work and planned to take a shower. He was muttering again as Nancy walked by into the kitchen and she tried to ignore him. ”Are you using the shower anytime soon?” he asked.
“No.” was the curt reply followed by “and don’t do that thing you always do dripping all over the place. There are towels you know. And for that matter, for God’s sake pick up your underwear and put it in the laundry hamper. The last thing I want to do is to pick up stretched out old man underwear.”
“The game’s at nine tonight.”
“That’s fine, I’ve recorded Alien Search for Human Life already. It’s like talking to myself.”
In the shower, he was seized with a dozen ideas of what needed doing before the game but the one that won out was the sudden urge to mow the lawn with his rickety electric mower. The one whose cord was chewed up dangerously. He shouted for Nancy as he did quite often while he was showering – that’s where he got his ideas. She was stood outside the door waiting. “What?” she shouted back.
“I’m going to mow the lawn, could you move the chairs?”
“Okay, I’m going down the street to Beverley’s. Dry yourself. Better wait a bit after you’re dry. I don’t want you electrocuting yourself. You know what? Leave it for me and I’ll do it tomorrow.” She said still shouting.
By this time Tommy had soap in his ears and couldn’t hear her.
When Nancy was down the street on Beverley’s driveway seated on a lawn chair, sipping a cooler, laughing hysterically at something her husband had done she caught sight of Spot running around on the front lawn. “Stupid twit” she thought to herself and turned back to her friend.
Tommy right out of the shower with his hair dripping wet was humming to himself thinking what a considerate person he was. He made a few passes over the chewed up cord. He bent down with his damp hand that he had just run through his hair and grabbed an exposed part of the cord to move it out of the way. Immediately raw electricity ran through his body, gripped it, and he couldn't let go. How many times had Nancy told him to buy a new cord? Spot barked frantically. He stretched his front paws out and wagged his tail. He jumped and ran in circles. Nancy ignored Spot’s frantic barking.
Tommy was convulsing and amazingly what flashed through his mind was an incident that happened a year ago. (Not his entire life) Tommy was confused. What had happened? He was turning left into a major intersection and hesitated. There was a bus coming through the intersection opposite turning as well. Then, he sped up and made his turn, which defied all logic, and sped away. The transit system tracked him through his license plate. Six people were injured on the bus. There would be an inquiry. Suddenly his thoughts jumped to the time he was a juror on a murder trial and how worried he had been when they put the man away. Tommy had been the nervous juror who kept making eye contact with the accused. Upon the man’s release there were a series of strange events in Tommy’s life that he couldn’t explain like the abduction of his second wife and the subsequent demand for ransom money. At this point he was bankrupt. But that’s another story.
Now everything became surreal. Still convulsing Tommy started to spin, he felt his eyes roll back in his head. (unrelated to the electrical shock) With one last jerk he fell to the ground and felt life drain from his body and his heart beat irregularly until it beat one last time. Spot went wild jumping and barking.
When other people started to scream and run toward her house, Nancy twigged on. She and Beverley panted quickly to her house and rushed towards Tommy. He lay looking serene and damp on the spotty lawn. She was mortified. Horrified. Then really ticked off. All this time fantasizing about killing him and he does it himself. The necessary people and vehicles arrived. There was nothing to be done but to follow the ambulance to the hospital, talk to nurses, talk to doctors, talk talk talk and come home to an empty house. Beverley drove her home and made her a cup of tea. She stayed a while. Nancy curled up on the couch with her favourite pillow and cried a guilty cry.
The next day after her morning coffee, when the initial shock and commotion had settled down to a dull swirl of confusion, Nancy got her Dad’s will out of their safety deposit box at the Westlawn Bank and trundled off to see her lawyer Alexander Ryan. She was out of breath by the time she climbed the three flights of stairs to get to his office. Alex was an affable man in his early fifties and had been overseeing her family’s business since her stepmother had been kidnapped. He loved to talk. And talk. So after catching up on local gossip, more coffee and some pleasantries on Nancy’s behalf she jumped right in and got the conversation on the right track. “At least the house was in both of our names so it transfers to me without any problem like we discussed before. Right?” Alex hesitated. “Yes, that true, however I hate to bring you bad news, I’ll simplify this, Tommy owed so much the house has to be sold to cover his debts.” Nancy laughed half in disbelief, “Well, at least I have the contents.” “Actually, there again we have to liquidate everything but you father felt very strongly about you getting his ashes and carrying out his wishes. Oh, and I do have a cheque here for you for $83.27 as executor. I’ll have Helen give you everything on your way out. Did I ever tell you that back in ’67 when I was, oh I guess eight, I went wading in that creek at the back of your property. We used to call it Swampy Creek and me and my brothers caught hundreds of minnows. Or tadpoles, anyway…” Nancy cut him off again, said goodbye, saw Helen and tried not to fall down three flights of stairs.
In the car Nancy skimmed over Tommy’s will. A colourful glossy brochure was paper clipped to the outside of the large envelope. It caught her attention. On the brochure was a post it note that read “Nance, this is what I want” in her Dad’s handwriting. Nancy rubbed her eyes and took a look. The brochure read “blah blah blah…we can have your remains placed inside a helium balloon that floats up into the atmosphere. The balloon travels to a height of 5 miles where at the temperature of -40 below zero – it crystallizes and bursts, scattering the ashes to the four winds…blah blah…Our peaceful Sunrise Package starts at $2,500 plus applicable taxes.” She rumbled into full blown laughter for a straight five minutes.
Tommy was in his pale green shoebox on the window sill, his now permanent home, in Nancy’s new bachelor apartment taking in the sites of the chewed up tar parking lot. That is if he could.
It had been about seven weeks since she had moved in after sorting out Tommy’s finances and a cheque from the insurance company came in the mail. Nancy put it aside for a few days. She wasn’t in the least interested in opening it. After everything and all her Dad’s scams she didn’t know what to expect and she was plain worn out. Maybe it was just a statement of some kind. It probably was a statement saying her Dad had cancelled his policy just before he died. Finally, one evening after work and two very large glasses of Pinot Noir later, more as a duty and burden than anything else she opened the white envelope. Just as she thought it looked like a statement of some kind and she kind of read a lot of preamble about this and that. Just as she was about to toss it aside she noticed that it really was a cheque. At the bottom portion of the page. She sat up straighter. In clear black lettering it spelled out $500,000 made payable to Spot Stone. Spot. The dog. Who had died when he ran into the side of the speeding ambulance that took Tommy away.
