Sunset and Jericho by Sam Wiebe

Author:Sam Wiebe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Detective, Private Investigators, Thrillers, Crime, Noir, British Columbia, Vancouver
ISBN: 9781990776243
Publisher: Harbour Publishing Co. Ltd.
Published: 2023-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Forty-One Draw

Kay was picking me up at ten. The night before, she’d dropped off the clothes I’d asked for. Drawstring pants, black Velcro shoes and a billowy grey raincoat I could drape over my shoulder sling. A Soundgarden T-shirt, just so I’d recognize myself. A black knit watch cap completed the outfit.

The image in the mirror was insubstantial. A wraith.

“Smile, you fucker,” I told the reflection. It took effort.

I’d packed up my books and CDs for donation, gave a last look at the cards on the bed stand. Jeff and Marie had left one, along with drugstore magnolias from the office staff. Some religious well-wisher had dropped off another. My mother a third, explaining that she didn’t much care for hospitals, but would see me when I was out.

The fourth card was unsigned, the cover embossed with a bouquet of wisteria and baby’s breath. “Thinking of you,” written inside.

My paranoid side wondered if my attackers had left it. The nurses hadn’t seen who dropped it off.

Sonia, maybe.

Couldn’t be.

But I’d thought, upon waking up, I’d heard her voice—

Well hello there, love.

I kept the card, tossed the others.

Kay was on time, and picked me up out front. I’d told her what else to bring. It was on the passenger seat of the black Wakeland & Chen work van, still in its lockbox. The .357 Smith & Wesson Magnum I’d bought and never fired.

“You sure you need this?” my sister asked. “You never carry a gun. You always say guns get you into more trouble than out of.”

“They usually do. But I’m already in trouble.”

Kay tapped the steering wheel. “If it makes you feel safer while you’re at home resting up. That is the plan, right?”

The shoulder holster could fit under the jacket, next to the sling. I practised clearing the revolver, the gun heavy, my hand awkward and strength faltering. The splint had come off, and I could barely curl my finger through the trigger guard. I wasn’t going to win any quickdraw contests. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

Instead of home, I asked my sister to swing by the apartment on Oak Street. I rang Naima Halliday’s buzzer, thinking I could try her landlord next. But Naima herself answered, surprising me.

I waved for my sister to wait in the van. I’d be brief.

Jeff had installed a reinforced steel door with a triple lock and alarm. Naima unlatched it and let me in. She was wearing a robe and socks, her hair up. She looked exquisite. When she saw my face, her breath held for an instant and she reflexively clutched the throat of her robe tighter.

“They hurt you,” she said.

“I worried about you. Couldn’t get in touch.”

“The funeral was a lot of stress,” she said. “And I was angry at you. Your questions. And I didn’t want your money.”

“Good, because I don’t have much.”

“I mean the money you sent.”

Seeing I was puzzled, she opened her purse and removed a manila envelope. “I never asked you for this,” she said. “I don’t need it.

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