Disclaimer: See part 1

Note: I've no particular familiarity with the Canada Border Services Agency nor with Canadian dialect. I apologize in advance for errors in facts or slang.

April 2009

I knew the guy wanted something the second he Parked himself on the stool next to mine. There was a pretty young thing, a little down in the mouth, occupying a table in the corner; there was a pair of lovelies, friendly and smiling, a few stools down; and plenty of empty stools and tables besides.

So when the guy pulled on up next to me I started makin' a list of all the things he might get on about. I'd been into McGuirk's twice already this week and that was gettin' to be the pattern. Maybe I was startin' to put on the look of a professional drinker and was attractin' similar company. Still, if I was in the process of building a beer gut, the notches on my belt hadn't given it away yet and Tisha hadn't complained a word. As far as I could tell I still cut a pretty impressive figure.

At first glance the guy didn't appear to be one of the boys that seemed to especially like the look of a man in uniform. There was a roughness around his edges. He wasn't pretty like the fellows that had tried to cozy up to me a time of two before I straightened them out about the way of things.

He could be another small time low-life looking to grease my palms. Maybe some buddy of his had told him I looked the other way a time or two about plants and fruit crossing the border and he wanted to see how far I'd toe the line if there was a little cash cushion on the other side. Maybe he just figured a guy who'd sit at a bar in uniform couldn't have too big a hard on about the rules.

Oh yeah, he'd definitely taken note of the uniform. A savage little part of me gleefully anticipated the part when I'd get to watch him squirm at the suggestion that he just might get locked up for trying to bribe an officer of the CBSA.

"You goin' up?" I asked to save the time it would take the guy to begin conversation.

"Up?" He replied. "North? Not if I don't have to." American. For some reason I'd expected him to be from somewhere farther off, somewhere with people and concerns that were less… domestic.

"What part of the "States you from?" He hadn't exactly given the answer I was expecting. New line of questioning.

"Los Angeles." He said, then, "How's the house brew?"

I shrugged the indifference I felt. "On tap."

He raised a hand to conjure up his own pint but I caught Jimmy's attention first and waved two more drafts our way. "You're visitin'," I explained. "Have one on me." The guy inclined his head in thanks and I realized I must be feelin' mean.

I spent the pint watching one basketball team thrash another and waiting for the guy to make his opening. When the game cut out to commercial I expected the questions to start but the guy stared at the tube right on through, sipping his beer. At the next break he looked up long enough to toast the pint, his second, my fourth that he must've bought in the thick of the action. "Dan Gardner," he said. "Thanks for round one."

"Jim Tamben," I replied.

"What's that then… Officer Tamben?" He indicated my uniform with a nod of his head.

At least he wasn't going to hedge too much. "Yeah. But one more of these and I'll let you call me 'Jim.'"

As it turned out, I bought the next round and he bought the one after that. "So what brings you up to border country, Lieutenant?" Turned out Gardner was U.S. Army on-leave, three tours under his belt. I found I was gettin' a kick out of the title.

Gardner looked past me to newscaster talking about the latest golf Open and drained what remained out of his pint. He was startin' to look a little bleary eyed but I myself couldn't be much neater around the edges. "My son," he replied. "He, ugh, he took off with his girlfriend yesterday. Her father didn't want her seeing him. Seventeen years old - he thinks he wants to marry her."

"Livin' on a prayer and all that?"

"Yeah, well, a goddam prayer's all that boy's gonna have when I get a hold of 'em." We exchanged a derisive chuckle over the foolishness of youth and over the fact that we were both too young to be sounding so much like our fathers.

"So you think they're runnin' for the border?" It was plain the guy cared about his kid. And from the looks of him- he looked about my age- he'd probably gotten into some shit in his time to have a seventeen-year-old son.

He nodded. "John's mom, my ex-wife… she found some text messages… he, ugh, forgot his phone in the house." One of use must have ordered another round because Gardner was nursing a new pint. "She, you know, she's tellin' me this is my fault. I wasn't around enough to teach him to be a man so now he's trying to prove himself to me or some bullshit like that." He took a swallow and paused a moment. "I gotta be honest Jim, I sat down over here 'cause of John," he said, nodding once again at my uniform. "Figured I'd see if there was anyway you and your boys might help me out. He's a dumb kid but, ugh…."

I shrugged. "You'd rather it be you that teaches him so than the cops."

"Yeah."

I took a long breath in, enjoying this little show of power just a little more than I should maybe. "John Gardner is it?" He nodded once. "You wait around my station at Peace Arch tomorrow, I don't see why my boys can't keep an eye out. Minors can't cross without parental permission anyway."

Gardner grinned in thanks- an expression I didn't think that kid of his would be seein' for quite some time. "One more thing," he said. "His girl had her 18th birthday last month… any chance this'll stick to her record somehow?"

"Nah," I said and winked. "They're not crossin,' right? No reason for me even to remember they were there."

&&

The boy looked angry and frightened. The anger was easy to figure out- my boys had waylaid him and his girl as they tried to cross into Canada. But the fear- I could have sworn it was directed her. I remembered bein' seventeen. Maybe John Gardner was just afraid his break for freedom was gonna get her into trouble. Which it would. But it was almost like John was afraid of her. His hand on her shoulder seemed to be holding a little too tightly to the fabric of her shirt.

The girl- well, I could see why the boy might think it was a good idea to run off and marry this one. She was prettier than most pictures and polite as hell.

From behind the desk I had a good view out the glass door of the station. I'd called the number Gardner gave me a few minutes ago and I could see him crossing the parking lot now. The girl must have been able to see out as well because as Gardner entered she put her hand on John's chest, but he was on his feet the second the door opened. His expression began with horror, his eyes going white just like a deer at the scents of blood and powder.

The girl said something too quiet for me too hear and put an arm around his waste. It almost looked like she was restraining him. The boy still looked ready to bolt. The girl spoke again. The boy stood his ground for a beat then seemed to go slack. He looked like he was about to hit the floor. "Derek?" The boy said in disbelief, staring at his father. "Is that really you?"

"Don't give me that," Gardner replied but with less venom than I'd expected. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe there was something to his ex's accusations. Not really my business. "Your mother's worried sick that you'll do something stupid. Stupider."

"Derek?" John said again and the boy looked close to tears.

"Just get in the truck," Gardner said wearily. He looked a little shell-shocked, like he wasn't sure what to do with his son now that he'd found him. "You too." He said to the girl. "And call your father, tell him you're alright."

"Can't thank you enough Jim," Gardner said gravely as he followed his boy out, hand on his shoulder. I wondered if the kid could already tell just how short the leash was gonna get.

"Don't mention it."

I watched them walk off across the parking lot. John tried several times to stop and turn back toward his father but Gardner pushed him on with that hand on the shoulder. I chuckled to myself. I could just hear the Lieutenant sayin,' "Keep marchin' boy."

I'd tell Tisha this story tonight after she put the flowers I'd buy here in a vase. I'd helped out a guy and his family, no fuss necessary. She'd like that. Good thing too. She'd been mad as hell when I'd showed up at home, slurrin' and singin,' past midnight.

.

End part 5