Chapter Twelve

"How'd you like to do some more research?" Declan asked.

"Sure," Charlie said.

"Check out all the social media sites and find out anything you can about Ian Mann—his friends, anyone who's said anything bad about him. And look into the Axemen. Same thing. Let's see if there's any dirt out there."

"Will do."

Declan looked at Charlie. "I'm heading to the deli. Want something?"

"Sure. I'll have whatever you're having." Charlie reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"My treat," Declan said, then headed out the door.

Charlie got to work. He started with Facebook. A search showed that Ian didn't appear to have an account, at least under his own name, but a few entries hash-tagged #ianmann did pull up a number of interesting posts.

The door opened and Declan dropped a bag off on his desk. "Here you go."

Charlie smiled. "Thanks."

Declan headed into his office.

As Charlie wolfed down his pastrami on rye, he copied the Facebook posts into a file and moved on to Twitter and Instagram.

Charlie worked through the afternoon, copying everything else of interest into a file which he sent to the printer. When he glanced at the clock, it was after five. He grabbed his report and headed into Declan's office.

Declan was on the computer. Charlie rapped on the door jam. "It seems that Ian Mann was not loved by everyone."

"Oh?" Declan slid his chair back and indicated that Charlie should sit down.

"There were a number of posts critical of him for making a profit on real estate sales on the backs of suffering oil companies during the financial collapse."

"Some people have long memories."

"What was more interesting were posts from people from the hockey community who were out for him."

"Interesting."

Charlie continued. "On Twitter I came across a number of tweets concerning the possible sale of the team to a banker from Toronto. Some of the sponsors were starting to question where their money was going and some of the parents felt that Ian, as the owner, might not have been putting all of the player fees back into the team."

"They think he was embezzling?"

"Some people said he was selling before the books could be audited."

Declan's eyes lit up. "Well…I think you've done a very good day's work. Let me take you out to celebrate."

As Declan and Charlie went to lock up the office, Charlie said, "Let me show you how your security system works."

Declan let out a sigh.

Charlie began, "The code is six-seven-seven-two. If you look at the letters on the keypad, that spells out ‘MrsB'. So if you punch in the code followed by the ‘Stay' button the only thing that will happen is you'll hear three short beeps when someone comes through the street-level door. You won't hear it up in your apartment, though. It's not that loud. If you put in the same code and press ‘Away', that arms the main office door up here. If the alarm isn't deactivated by the code within thirty seconds of the door being opened, a siren will sound and the alarm company will be notified. You'll definitely hear that upstairs. Wanna try it?""

"Maybe after we get back. Now, Let's get going. We'll take my vehicle."

"Where is it?"

"Mickey dropped it off behind the building yesterday. There it is."

Charlie looked around for a sexy car. Maybe an Audi, or a Lexus. Something a hot private investigator would drive. "Where?"

"You're standing in front of it."

Charlie stared for a moment. His mouth fell open in disbelief. It was a white Toyota Sienna minivan.

"You have got to be kidding. This is your car?"

"What were you expecting—an Aston Martin?"

"Well, yeah!"

"Look, this blends in, it's got great visibility over other vehicles and its manoeuvrability and pick-up are incredible. And it gets great gas mileage."

"It's a minivan! Who are you—James Bond's mother?"

"It's the perfect surveillance vehicle, now get in."

"And you have the nerve to criticise my car Francine," Charlie muttered as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"No offence, but Francine has shitty pick-up and wouldn't hold half the equipment I need."

"Does this have a name?" Charlie asked. He hoped it was something he could mock.

"The van," Declan said, smiling as he punched the accelerator, throwing Charlie back into his seat.

A few minutes later they entered Bar-None. Declan waved at Mickey. Charlie followed close behind, like the caboose of the world's shortest train. He also waved, but one of those child-like waves where the fingers did all of the work while the palm remained stationary.

Declan chose the table. It was in the rear, out of hearing range of the few denizens who inhabited the place.

Mickey arrived moments after they landed in their seats. "What'll you two have?"

"It's a moment of celebration, Mickey," Declan announced. "Charlie's been through a trial by fire these last few days and passed with flying colours. I'll have the Declan Special."

"And you?" Mickey asked Charlie.

"I'll have what he's having," he answered na?vely.

Mickey smiled and turned to Declan. "He has no idea, does he?"

Declan laughed. "He's a man now, Mickey. Time he drank like one."

Mickey returned to the bar.

Declan smiled at Charlie and asked, "So…come here often?"

Charlie was on a high. He was sitting across from the most beautiful man in the bar, who had hired him into one of the coolest, sexiest businesses he could think of, and he had no idea how to carry on a conversation with him.

"Uh…actually, I come here a lot. Well, not exactly a lot. Okay, I've only been here a few times…"

"Oh." Declan was still smiling.

Mickey swung by and dropped off the drinks.

"Thanks," Charlie said, picked up his glass and took a swig.

Charlie had never swallowed liquid fire before, but suspected that this was what it felt like. For once in his life, his instinct for self-preservation woke from its near-permanent slumber and he didn't spit up all over Declan and the table.

"So, is this a regular thing, going out for drinks after a tough spell of work?" Charlie wheezed out.

"Mrs B would have approved," Declan said. "Here's to Mrs B and her health."

"To Mrs B!"

They sat for a moment in silence.

"Things have been a little crazy," Charlie said.

"It's not usually like that. Just so you know, sometimes I have to work weekends, but for you it's a Monday to Friday job."

"Good to know."

"That is, unless I need you for some undercover work."

Charlie's mind immediately interpreted that as under the covers work.

"While I think about it, can I have your cell number? Just in case I need you," said Declan.

"Sure. Give me your phone."

Declan unlocked it and passed it over to Charlie who entered it and flagged it as a favourite.

Declan took a sip of his drink, then asked, "So, tell me about yourself. I don't know anything about you other than what was in your application."

"Well, I'm twenty-four years old and I live with my parents, who lead very unexciting lives. My dad sells insurance and my mom teaches grade three children how not to stuff things in their ears and up their noses."

Declan laughed.

Charlie's brain registered the question, Why am I telling him the truth?

"I have two close friends, and one's my grandmother. I've never had a real boyfriend and I haven't come out to my parents, which is pretty pathetic—I mean, what is this, the 1970s?—and I obviously have no self-esteem or fear of humiliating myself in front of someone who is basically an absolute stranger."

Declan took another sip of his drink. "We really have to work on the whole self-esteem thing. What I've seen of you so far is an attractive young guy who really cares about people. Someone who can remain calm in a crisis, and is a natural at putting people at ease. You also have the patience to read manuals—something I have no aptitude for at all. You have all the skills I am lacking. I think we'll make a great pair."

"Well…"

"And you handled the interview with Katherine Mann beautifully."

"I hope I didn't talk too much?" Charlie asked.

"Not at all. You made everything seem like normal conversation. You're a natural. Now—speaking of the Mann case—"

Charlie interrupted, "You said Stud-Cop and the Asshole are working on it?"

"Stud-Cop?" Declan laughed.

"Well, with that killer smile, and that basket… Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"We've really got to find you a boyfriend."

* * * *

Charlie picked through the remnants of a nacho plate. Declan stared into his empty glass. He was quite drunk, which made sense, given that he'd matched each of Charlie's drinks with several of his own.

"Last weekend was the anniversary of her death," he said to the glass, not making eye contact with Charlie.

"Your mother's."

"How did you know?"

"Gwen told me. She said it was probably tough coming so close to Mrs B's heart attack."

"What else did she say?"

"Nothing."

Charlie got quiet and stopped moving, one remaining nacho chip suspended between his thumb and forefinger.

"Did your mother die of a heart attack?" Charlie asked.

"No. She was coming to pick me up from school and she was going to drive us away to start over again someplace else. Any place else. She must have fallen asleep…trying to get to me."

"What were you running away from?"

"My father."

There were tears in Declan's eyes. He cleared his throat. "I think I've had enough. Don't forget to Uber home, okay?"

"Sure… Do you want some company?"

Declan looked at him and smiled. "I'm fine." He stared at Charlie for a moment. "I don't deserve you, Charlie Watts."

"Declan?"

"Don't worry. I'll still be around tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he said before leaning down and giving Charlie a kiss on the head.

Declan paid the bill at the bar and dropped his car keys in Mickey's hand.

"Be good to yourself tonight, Dec," he said as Declan left the bar.

The conversation earlier in the night had left him feeling unsettled and upset. Declan sat on a park bench, pulled out his phone and texted Luke.

After five minutes, there was no response. Declan considered his options. He wasn't ready to go home yet. He got up and walked. At the street corner, he instinctively turned right. His feet carried him along a familiar route, a path that ended at the doors to The Greek.