Business by J.P. Meyboom

Author:J.P. Meyboom [Meyboom, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Crime
ISBN: 9781459747074
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2021-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Everyone’s Out

THE BUS DOWNTOWN took forty-five minutes, like the tattooed freak at the motel said it would. The plan was to visit Mr. Gupta, a second-generation tailor with an inconspicuous shop on Cumberland Avenue. The same shop that had kitted me out a hundred years ago, during my early days with the Business. Set on one of the most expensive shopping streets in the city, it was a walk-up above a lingerie place.

Inside smelled of sandalwood and suggested luxurious afternoons on the shady deck of a varnished yacht. It was a haven of fabric bolts arranged on floor-to-ceiling teak shelves. Patterns for made-to-measure suits waited on a cutting table. Glass display cases featured linen shirts, cashmere sweaters, and silk pyjamas. Deep leather armchairs and free-standing mirrors were arranged so a person could take the time required to select the proper wardrobe for any occasion. In the back, a chrome-plated Italian espresso machine stood ready to serve high-test caffeine to the weary shopper.

A tall man in his late sixties with a hunchback, Mr. Gupta sported salt and pepper eyebrows the size of a snowy owl’s wings. His mouth was twisted into a perpetual smile, the scar of a life catering to the whims of others. The cut of his tailored lightweight woollen suit hid most of his disfigured back in nips and folds of hand-stitched perfection. Mr. Gupta traded in discretion and secrets. Business was by appointment only. He never spoke of his other clients, which gave the impression of exclusivity.

My unwashed sweatshirt and jeans reeked of smoke — an affront to Mr. Gupta’s sartorial sensibility.

“With respect, sir,” he said, “you’re looking like a hobo. You could be living in a Dumpster. Are you on undercover assignment?”

“My apartment burned down, and I’m living in a motel on the edge of town,” I said. “I have no possessions.”

“The Ellington fire.” His giant eyebrows flapped as he nodded. “It was on the television. Unbelievable no one was hurt. Is it true what they say? That it was arson?”

Everyone loves a crime story.

“That’s what they’re saying,” I said. “They have some security video, which doesn’t prove anything. The building had faulty wiring.”

He clasped his manicured fingers as if in prayer and leaned into his words. “It seems everyone is taking an interest. And not only on the news, I mean. I had my supper at Bella Noce last evening, sitting at my usual spot by the bar, and I overheard some Russian gentlemen talking about it.”

The Bella Noce was an expensive restaurant down the street from Mr. Gupta’s shop. Known for its high-end prostitutes and international criminals. Suppliers of military equipment, cocaine, slaves, blood diamonds, and so forth. Outside, black-jeaned valets who sported earpieces like they were secret agents on a high security detail instead of punks who parked cars shuffled about a small fleet of Ferraris, Aston Martins, and Escalades. Mr. Gupta trolled the place, no doubt, for newly moneyed clients.

“Perhaps you misunderstood. No one’s interested in an old place like that,” I said.

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