The Mating of Mata

Chapter 1

The night was hot, the air thick and heavy with rain-forest-like humidity. As the sun completed its downward arc toward the horizon, black clouds, charged with the electricity of a looming summer storm, gathered around the mountains to the north of the city of Vancouver. The hollow rumble of boxcars being shunted through the rail yards next to the river echoed up the hill, challenging the thunderclouds to a duel of sound.

A trace of smoke oozed out the barrel of the silenced .38 that hung from Trigger MacDonald’s right hand. His good eye narrowed, and he scanned the area for any further signs of movement. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and surveyed the damage he’d caused. One man lay dead, facedown in a ruby-coloured puddle of blood. A second was crumpled in the entrance to the room, still twitching, as he, too, prepared to meet his maker. The smell of gunpowder that Trigger enjoyed so much was overpowered by a wicked stench, the result of the first man losing control of his bowels and bladder at the moment of death.

What did you say? Trigger asked the corpse at his feet. You want how much for a kilo of this stuff? He laughed out loud as he slipped the revolver into his waistband. Sorry, he continued, I thought I told you I like to negotiate these things.

The muzzle of his Smith and Wesson had flashed five times in as many seconds. Trigger knew better than to waste five bullets on only two targets. But a strange power had overcome him, and the finger that had jerked off the rounds seemed to have grown a mind of its own. The barrel was still warm from the hastily fired shots. He wiped the sweat from his palms onto the legs of his jeans. The heat from the gun barrel radiated through to his groin.

He sat on the arm of the sofa and, through his mouth, sucked air deep into his lungs. His heart was racing. A panic had seized his body and he cursed at the tremor in his hands. Although he hadn’t experienced it many times in his life, he’d actually felt true fear. In those few seconds after he’d delivered the first two shots—the instant he became aware that there was more than one person present in the cockroach-infested bungalow—a wave of something completely foreign to him had started in his toes and surged upward into his brain. The sensation unleashed a heart-pounding anticipation that he might next feel hot chunks of lead ripping into his flesh. It wasn’t at all like the adrenaline rush he got each time he stepped out the door of an airplane with a sack of silk and rope strapped to his back. This was a bad feeling, one that threatened to take control. The next time he helped himself to a smuggler’s stash, he would need to have an ally watching his back.

# # # #

The crowd was light, even for a Wednesday. Mata and Ebony watched through a gap in the curtain as Blaze ground out the second dance of her routine.

Slim pickings out there, Mata said. I’m going to have to nail the lid shut on your coffin tonight. It’s been three or four days since you’ve had fresh blood.

Ebony turned in Mata’s direction and frowned. You shouldn’t say awful things like that about me. I thought we were a team. Remember? All for one?

And one for all, Mata replied with a smile and a nod of her head. Really, though, she said, peering out over the sparse crowd, I’m afraid you’re going to start going into withdrawal soon. Four days is about as long you can hold out, isn’t it?

You’re right, Ebony sighed, peeking over Mata’s shoulder through the tiny opening in the drape. There isn’t much out there to choose from tonight. With that rain going on outside, I don’t imagine it’s going to get much busier in here.

Mata reached out and brushed a wisp of lint from the shoulder of her partner’s costume. I’m only teasing you, she said. Everyone’s got to have a goal in life. Yours is the never-ending quest for the perfect sex partner, but I still love you.

Ebony grinned. You know, she said, they say if you can count your true friends on one hand before you die, you’ve been pretty lucky in life.

Mata laughed. Well, she said and held out two fingers, I’ve got you and the devil child. She waved the two fingers toward the stage where Blaze was beginning the final dance of her set. I guess that means I’m doing all right.

You don’t find many friendships like ours.

Still, Mata said, I think you’d take home a pile of rocks if you thought there was a chance of finding a snake in it.

That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got a man to go home to. I don’t.

You know, Ebony, you could have a steady man in your life, too, if you wanted.

Ebony smiled. Maybe I don’t want one, she said.

I should ask Scott if he knows any good-looking single guys.

There’s an idea, Ebony said. How about a few of those biker hunks he hangs out with.

I should probably warn them about you first.

Why? You afraid I’ll hurt them?

Just be careful.

Honestly, Mata, you’re the most innocent person I know—for a stripper, I mean.

I’m not innocent, Mata countered. I just care about you, that’s all.

Ebony nodded. Yeah, she said, me and every other living thing. We should change your name. Fairy god-stripper—how does that sound? We could get you a little pink tutu and a magic wand. I don’t know how you find the time to dance. You should be off rescuing the spotted owls or something.

Mata’s eyes flickered. You’re right, she said. Maybe I could start a new cause. How about ‘save the poor misunderstood bikers from the oversexed black stripper’?

Ebony placed a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. Honestly, woman, she said, you amaze me sometimes. You never stop worrying about other people, do you? It’s no wonder that every time one of the girls has a problem she goes running to you. Don’t you get tired of always being the shoulder that everyone cries on?

Mata fixed the strap of Ebony’s lace top. That’s just the way I am, she said. I’ve been this way ever since I was a little girl. I just have to stick my nose into everyone’s business. I can’t help it.

You should try doing something nice for yourself every once in a while. It’s not like you don’t deserve it.

Mata’s eyes wandered.

What are you thinking about now? Ebony asked.

You’re right, Mata said. I saw a brass umbrella holder yesterday when I was snooping around the second-hand stores off Main Street. I thought it was too expensive. It would look great in our new entrance hall. I think I’ll go back and buy it.

You seem pretty excited about the new house. You and Scott getting settled in?

I can’t wait for you and Blaze to see the place. It’s gorgeous. The family room and the kitchen both open out to the swimming pool area in the backyard. It’s almost totally private. There’s only one spot that anyone can see into the yard from.

Nice. You can sunbathe in the nude. No tan lines.

I don’t think so. The neighbour’s kitchen window looks right out over the whole backyard.

That wouldn’t stop me, Ebony said and nudged Mata with her elbow.

Nothing would stop you.

Mata tugged the curtain closed. The lot slopes up toward the back, she continued. The landscaping is all lit up with red, green and white spotlights. It’s beautiful at night.

That was a big step for you and Scott, renting a fancy house like that.

"I rent the house, Mata said. Scott just has the privilege of living in it."

I thought you two were partners.

He’s my boyfriend and live-in lover. I never planned on making him a full partner. You know what my track record is like with men.

What can we bring with us Saturday night? Ebony asked.

Nothing. I have everything under control. Our new neighbour is coming, too. Her name is Janet.

No Scott?

Nope. It’s just us girls. Scotty and Trigger are going out for some beers.

Trigger MacDonald? Ebony asked.

How many other people named Trigger do you know?

Ebony looked down at her shoes and confessed. I slept with him a couple of times, she said. He’s a two.

A two? Mata said. And you slept with him more than once?

I was going through kind of a dry spell.

Mata chuckled. Dry spell? she said. If you were hungry enough to do the deed with Trigger, it must have been more like a drought.

It was. I thought he’d do better if I gave him a second chance.

You’re unbelievable, woman. Just for a laugh, we should sit down one day and make a list of all the men you’ve had.

I tried that once. I packed it in after a couple of days. I figure it would be easier if I just took a copy of the Vancouver phone book and crossed out the names of the men I haven’t had time for yet. So, who’s this Janet?

We’ve only been in the house a week. I don’t know her that well yet. She seems like a nice person; I think you and Blaze will like her. Wait till you get a look at her husband, Tom. Now there’s a prime cut of male flesh for you.

Ooh, Ebony said. Sounds delicious.

Back off, Dracula. He’s Janet’s. I’ll tell you, though, if we were both single, I’d sure be interested in taking a run at him.

Eight o’clock Saturday? Ebony asked.

Mata nodded. She discreetly parted the curtain for a second look out at the meagre crowd. The girls listened as Blaze received her applause from the floor at the end of her set.

Mata straightened her costume and prepared for her introduction. How do I look? she asked.

Ebony stood back and eyed Mata’s outfit. I don’t know how you do it. A few bucks worth of silk and lace and you come up with a costume that the real Mata Hari would claw her way out of the grave for.

Mata smiled and grabbed the edge of the curtain. All for one?

One for all, Ebony replied.

# # # #

It’s ten minutes after ten, the DJ announced. You’re listening to Country 695 on your AM dial on this rainy Wednesday night in Vancouver.

Scott walked to the patio door and slid it wide open as Garth Brooks began his wailing lament of pickup trucks and cheating hearts. He reached over to the radio on the kitchen counter and turned the music up.

The sound of the raindrops teeming against the concrete patio reminded him of the hiss of bacon frying in a pan. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a clap of thunder that rolled across the base of Coquitlam Mountain, rattling windows and nerves alike. The rain was coming down so hard by that point that the line of sight to the landscaped slope at the back of the yard was almost totally obscured. Scott hit the three switches next to the door. The shrubs at the back of the lot came alive in bursts of red, green, and white light, softened into a blur by the unrelenting curtain of rain.

He reached out to the ringing telephone.

Hey, neighbour, the caller began.

Tom, Scott replied. How are you?

Good, man. That gorgeous woman of yours working tonight?

Yeah. Till midnight.

Janet’s in bed already. You want to come over for a rum?

Jesus Christ, Tom, Scott replied. Have you looked outside lately?

Yeah, Tom said, it’s raining.

It’s more than just raining. Why don’t you come over here?

Sure. I’m not afraid of a little thunder and lightning. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

Scott hung up the phone. He leaned out the door and looked up the hill toward the light from Tom’s kitchen window. A few minutes later, Tom came bounding through the path between the shrubs. He sidestepped the puddles on the patio surrounding the swimming pool and ran up the stairs to the back porch. He passed a bottle of Cockspur to Scott as he shook the droplets of rain off his coat.

I’m not sure if we have any Coke, Scott said.

Tom snatched the bottle back from Scott’s hand. You’re not ruining this by putting Coke in it. This is the finest rum in the world. You got any ice?

Scott pulled open the freezer door and began to rummage through the frozen foods.

Tom helped himself to a pair of glasses from the cupboard next to the sink and took a seat at the kitchen table. He cracked open the bottle of Caribbean rum and poured himself a good-sized shot.

Scott tossed an ice cube into Tom’s glass. You coming for beers with us Saturday night? he asked.

I haven’t made up my mind yet, Tom replied. If Janet’s coming here for dinner, I might just wander up the street and visit with my friend, Valerie. He picked up the bottle of Cockspur and poured a drink for Scott. Who all’s going? he asked.

Just me and a biker I know—Trigger MacDonald. I figured out a timing problem on his Harley. He wants to buy me a beer and he won’t take no for an answer.

The guy’s name is Trigger?

Yeah. At least that’s what everybody calls him. I don’t even know what his real name is. He’s got this fascination with guns. Some people think that’s how he got his nickname. I think it’s because he looks like Roy Roger’s horse, myself.

Tom laughed. He looks like a horse?

Yeah. He’s got one of those long, narrow faces.

Scott stretched his hands apart to demonstrate the exaggerated length of Trigger’s head. And he’s only got one eye, he continued.

"One eye?"

Yeah. He wears a patch. He got his eye gouged out in a knife fight. He’s a pretty tough character—and a certified nut case.

What do you mean?

He’s pure psych-ward material. Crazy as a shit-house rat. He’s a skydiver. You know what they say—you have to be at least part psycho to jump out of a perfectly good airplane on purpose.

Tom laughed again. A one-eyed, skydiving horse, he said.

Yeah. A one-eyed, skydiving, chain-smoking horse.

Sounds like a circus act.

Trust me, Trigger’s no circus act.

I think I’ll pass on Saturday night. How’s everything else going at the shop?

Not great. Things have been pretty quiet lately. There’s not much cash coming in.

At least you’ve got someone to cover your back, Tom said. I hear strippers make pretty good money. It must be nice to have another income like that. Janet could get a paper route and bring home more than she makes answering the phones at Ciccone’s Painting.

Scott took a sip of his rum. Mata does all right, he said. I don’t have to worry about any of the money stuff. She pays the rent on this house, she looks after all the bills, and I get to live here for nothing.

Jesus, Tom said. What a setup.

Yeah. It’s a sweet deal for me. That’s why I don’t have to bust my hump at the shop. Why work when I can sit back and get a free ride?

You’d better look after her.

Hah, Scott laughed. Women are only good for one thing. It’s more like she’d better look after me. The last guy she went out with was a real piece of work. I’m the nicest thing that’s ever happened to her, and she knows it.

Tom leered across the table at his new neighbour. I’ll bet having a free place to live isn’t even the best part, is it? He reached down to his glass and stirred the ice cube around in his rum with his finger. I can only imagine what it must be like climbing into the sack with her every night. Any time you want to trade women, you just let me know.

Yeah, right, Scott replied. Like I’d walk away from an arrangement this good.

Chapter 2

Phil Redson was sitting at his desk flipping through the watch reports from the previous night. His fingertips beat out a soft tattoo on the desktop as he flipped through the notes page by page. There was a short knock before the door to his office swung open.

Good afternoon, Staff Sergeant Redson. How are you?

Staff Sergeant Redson? Phil replied with a chuckle. You’re being kind of formal, aren’t you? What happened to just plain hello, Red? Or better yet—hey, Newfie?

Well, I heard you just made it through number twenty-five. I figured that probably called for a certain amount of formality.

Phil sighed. Yeah, it’s true, he said. Twenty-five years of service to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and six different detachments from here to Labrador. Not too bad for a fisherman’s kid from Cape Bonavista, eh? He rose from his chair to shake hands with his old friend, Frank Draycott of the Vancouver City Police Department. It’s been a while, he went on, I haven’t seen you since Thompson’s retirement dinner last year. What, are you lost or something?

Frank shook his head. No, he said, I’m not lost. This is just a social call. It’s my day off and I was out this way, so I thought I’d drop in and buy you a coffee. I haven’t heard from you in so long that I wanted to make sure you and that lovely wife of yours hadn’t buggered off back to Newfoundland or something.

Phil made a face. I spent the first twenty years of my life trying to get off that piece of rock, he said. That was quite enough for me. Back home, you’ve got two choices as far as a career. You’re a fisherman, or you’re a fisherman. I figured I’d be more suited to hauling in bad guys than hauling in lobsters.

I know. You always wanted to be a big-city cop, right?

You are lost, Redson replied. You’re in Coquitlam, pal. There’s no big-city action going on out here in the suburbs. A busy week around this joint means we pinched more than our quota of jaywalkers.

Yeah? Draycott said and smiled. I guess you haven’t read the paper yet this morning then. He released a copy of the Vancouver Sun from under his arm and dropped it on Phil’s desk.

Son-of-a-bitch, Phil complained. This is that reporter, Semak again. We have one little double homicide and she’s got to go blabbing it all over town. Christ, that woman’s got a big mouth.

Yeah, Frank said, that’s reporters for you. I still haven’t been able to get over what she wrote about us last month.

Which story was that?

The one about the Vancouver Police Force being a bunch of overweight, doughnut-eating thugs. That piece really got under my skin.

I remember that one. Something about half the guys not being able to find their handcuffs cause their bellies hung over their belts so far.

Eating doughnuts and drinking coffee. That’s what police work is all about, right?

That’s what they told me when I signed up. I’d like to fire a couple of rounds past her head so that she knows what it’s like to be shot at.

You’ve been shot at?

I’m just kidding, Phil replied. This is Canada, for Christ’s sake. I’ve only ever had my gun out of my holster a couple of times.

Draycott laughed. Me too, he said. I fired a warning shot once, back when I was a beat cop. The watch commander had me filling out forms for the next week. Then there was that cow.

Cow?

Yeah. It was about thirty years ago, back when I was young and dumb as a sack of hammers. I was working traffic down on South Granville. You know where the stockyards are, down below the Fraser Arms Hotel?

Yeah.

Well, this cow escaped and went running down Granville Street. The whole area went into full panic mode. I pulled my motorcycle over, whipped out my piece, and shot the bloody thing.

You shot a cow, in the middle of Granville Street?

Yeah. Six times. I emptied my gun into the thing. You know all the talk lately about mad cow?

Yeah.

Well, you should have seen this son-of-a-bitch. Talk about your mad cow.

I think they mean crazy, not angry.

"Crazy, angry, I’ll tell you. I didn’t really have time to decide whether it was nuts or just really pissed off. Anyway, that’s when I learned not to trust reporters. I was on the front page of the Sun the next morning—big grin on my face, smoke pouring out of my gun, and a dead cow at my feet."

I bet you filled out some paperwork on that one.

I’ve still got writer’s cramp.

Well, Redson said, all I know is that now we gotta drop everything and go running around town asking a bunch of questions and stuff.

That’s going to screw things up.

No kidding. I’m thinking we might have to put off the crib tournament for a few days.

Draycott laughed then pulled out a chair and sat down. He spun the newspaper around and read the first few words aloud.

Redson’s fingertips began their dance on the tabletop.

Draycott looked up from the paper. Jesus, that’s annoying, he said.

Sorry, Redson replied. I don’t even notice that I’m doing it. Nervous habit, I guess.

The police are baffled, it says here. What have you got so far?

Phil spun around in his chair, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on the desktop. The grin on his face disappeared as he snapped back to reality. Not much, he said. The pair was new in town. They had some history back east. Drugs mostly—small time, though. A handful of arrests, but no convictions.

Anything turn up at the scene?

Yeah, Phil said. Too much stuff. The place was a pigsty. The forensics people couldn’t isolate anything that we could directly link to the killer. We’ve got five bullets, that’s all. They’re on their way to ballistics now. All we can say so far is that they appear to be .38s. We still don’t even know for sure if they all came from the same gun.

When do you think you’ll hear from the lab?

This afternoon, at the very earliest. I still don’t have the luxury of my own ballistics department like you big-city cops. I’m still humping my evidence down to the central RCMP labs at Thirty-Third and Heather, then waiting my turn along with every other goddamned detachment in the province.

Any signs of forced entry?

Nope. Whoever the shooter was, it looks like he was invited in. We’ve got a good fix on where he was standing. The pattern of blood spatters from both victims put the gunman in the centre of the living room. It looks like he shot the first guy, then spun completely around to shoot the second guy from the same spot.

Drug deal gone bad?

Robbery is my guess. We found trace amounts of cocaine all over the place, but we didn’t find any drugs, or any cash. At this point, though, there could be a number of reasons for two guys getting whacked in the middle of the night. Maybe they were late with their cable bill or something.

# # # #

Freddy, the emcee at the Barnet Lounge, was a master when it came to pumping up his audience. His introductions of the dancers were as alluring as the ladies themselves. He spun his swivel chair around to face the turntable, adjusted his headphones, and pulled the microphone to his lips.

And now, gentlemen, he announced, for your Thursday evening viewing pleasure, I’d like to introduce you to my own personal favourite. Let’s give a big warm welcome to a woman that makes more than just my heart throb. The one true lust of my life—let’s hear it for Mata.

The enthusiastic round of applause that followed was instantly overpowered by the thumping beat of the music. As was Freddy’s style, he had the bass cranked to the max.

Mata could feel the vibrations of the sound waves assaulting her body as she climbed the steps to the dance floor. Her hooded black silk robe clung like a magnet to every curve of her slender form. She stood at the top of the stairs for a second, tossed back the hood, and shook loose her long curly hair. From behind her black cat mask, now framed in a mass of golden blonde locks, her eyes fixed on her target.

Her robe gathered air like the