Читать книгу The True Story of Canadian Human Trafficking - Paul H Boge - Страница 15

chapter eight

Considering how many ways she could be caught, Abby found it surprisingly easy to set up her plan. Tell Mom I want to sleep over at Kedisha’s place Friday night. That won’t be so much of a stretch. But then I have to make up a lie about Saturday night, which will be tougher. Maybe Kedisha has a friend who has a friend … No, that’s a bit too far removed, and Mom would get concerned. Keep it simple.

Let’s say Kedisha’s grandparents have a cabin up in Muskoka. On Saturday after the sleepover they invite me for a day trip up there with them, but then they think of staying for the night, and I don’t want to spoil their fun by making them come all the way back. Besides, what’s the big deal? I’m with Kedisha. Unless of course Mom asks to speak with Kedisha’s mother to see if it really is all right. Such is life. You can’t cover every angle.

Besides, she figured, there was enough in there for a believable story.

She packed a change of clothes, toiletries, makeup and a second pair of shoes into her backpack. She would meet him on Friday. Come back Sunday night.

Abby left school before lunch. Kedisha caught a glimpse of her heading out the door. Found it strange that Abby’s backpack was so stuffed. Thinking back on it, Abby seemed excited yet distant that morning. Wore a nice ring to go with her new necklace.

The bright sunshine warmed her as she walked through the doors. She took in a breath of fresh air. The beautiful weather would have been enough to put a smile on her face. But what really made her happy was seeing that red Mustang out front with the top down and a hot guy in the driver’s seat waiting for her.

“Hey, beautiful!” Jake said. Abby threw her bag in the back seat and opened the door. It felt like a bank heist. They had the money. They were into the getaway vehicle. Now it came down whether they could take off without being caught.

“Hey, Jake!”

They kissed. Jake wanted to hang on longer, but Abby pulled away.

“Go, go, go!” she said, sensing that the armed guards from the bank were about to come out shooting. Jake gunned the engine. She felt the rush of air around the car, enveloping them in their own private world. She counted to five. That would be enough time. If she was going to be caught, it would have happened by now. She looked back. Saw the school disappear in the distance.

“Yes!”

She felt the seat against her back. The smell of leather was intoxicating. Jake turned on music. The Tragically Hip’s “Blow at High Dough” pounded through the speakers. She twisted the ring he gave her as they sang the words.

…Yeah, I can get behind anything.

She reached out and touched his hand. They locked fingers. Without looking, she reached into her jeans pocket with her right hand and turned off her cellphone. She glanced over at Jake. He wore brown sunglasses, a button-down shirt rolled up the elbows and clean designer blue jeans. She wanted a pair just like them.

Wooo, baby, I feel fine, I’m pretty sure it’s genuine.

“We can take the 401 all the way there,” Jake said. “Or we can cut down at Port Hope to Highway 2 for part of the way. It’ll add a little time, but it’s a nicer ride.”

“That’d be great. I’ve never been out that way.”

“Something new then.”

Sometimes the faster it gets the less you need to know.

They pulled off the 401 at Port Hope and ordered takeout. Jake, a hamburger and fries. Abby, a sandwich, salad and bottled water. Jake paid in cash again. They ate a picnic table near the waterfront. After lunch, they took the alternate route. Abby saw the sign that read “The King’s Highway 2 Ontario.” It reminded her of a Tom Petty song. The drive proved to be slower with a speed limit in some places of 80 km/hr and reduced further in towns. But for Abby the view of Lake Ontario was worth it. So wide and blue and beautiful.

As they switched back towards the 401 at Belleville, Abby gazed back at the water. She watched it fade into the distance like the school earlier.

They arrived in Montreal at seven that evening. Abby loved the vibe she sensed in the city, full of old stone buildings that spoke of culture and history. They drove down Rue Notre-Dame Ouest, passing the Notre-Dame Basilica. She remarked to Jake how beautiful the church looked. It stretched so high to the sky, as if in direct communication with the Almighty. She noticed how the architectural designers of the city found an ingenious way of preserving the old buildings alongside brand new skyscrapers. She previously thought cities should be all one or the other. But seeing them together worked in a way that made Montreal seem timeless. Like the old had just as much to offer the present as the new.

Perhaps even more so.

Jake stopped outside a beautiful five-star hotel. Abby stayed in her seat, hoping to risk embarrassment if this was just a brief stop and not the hotel they would be staying at. The valet attendant came to the car. He opened the door for Abby.

“Thanks,” Jake said, handing him the key and a tip. Abby stepped out. Grabbing her bag out of the back seat, she accepted Jake’s outstretched hand and followed him into the hotel. She noticed the marble floor first. Tan-and-black checkered pattern. The lobby stretched up three storeys, giving her the feeling of freedom that comes with an open sky. A large spiralling staircase wound its way up to the second level. Couches and chairs in an old French colonial style matched the elegant carpet.

“Wait for me here, okay? I’ll get us checked in,” Jake said.

Abby nodded and sat down on a green couch with gold trim. The polished brass casing surrounding the bottom of a nearby column cast her reflection back at her. Straightening her back she sat up, edged her way to the front of the sofa and smiled to herself, thinking for a moment that this was what French nobility must have felt like. She admired her reflection. Despite the road trip, she liked the way she looked. Then she thought perhaps the brass helped to hide her imperfections, like an effect on a computer program to enhance her image.

“All set?” Jake asked, holding a key card in his hand.

They took the elevator to the sixth floor. When the doors opened, Abby noticed that the hallway decor matched the style of the lobby. She loved it, finding it tasteful to see a hotel take as much care designing and maintaining the consistency in the higher floors as they did the lobby.

They walked down the hallway. Jake looked at the numbers and stopped at their door.

Abby felt her pulse in her throat quicken. A jolt of nervousness shot through her stomach.

Jake opened the door.

Oh, wow.

French doors off to the side led to a separate suite. The king bed in front of her revealed a colonial style. She dropped her bag on the ground and approached a large window with a glass balcony door beside it offering a view into the clear Montreal night.

“This is amazing, Jake,” she whispered. Pulling the curtains back farther, she looked out at the glimmering lights and felt the city convey both a vibrant and a peaceful atmosphere. Like it could pick you up if you were down and bring you to a state of fun and enjoyment. Opening the balcony door, she stepped onto the concrete floor. She leaned against the railing and breathed in the night air. She took in the aroma of a steak restaurant nearby. A knock at the door. Strange. We don’t have any luggage coming up.

She looked to Jake.

“A little surprise,” he said.

She couldn’t read his expression.

Jake walked to the door. Abby watched from the balcony. Police? Hotel attendant bringing something Jake forgot at the counter? Her parents? Couldn’t be. The knock didn’t sound like a parent’s knock. It would have been more deliberate. Authoritative. This was timid. Almost weak. Like the person on the other end was unsure of themselves.

Jake opened the door. She couldn’t see the other person. The conversation was quiet and brief. Jake came in. Turned around.

Abby smiled.

“Now you have to be careful,” Jake said. “The last time I opened a bottle I nearly broke a window. So watch out.”

She laughed as Jake aimed the champagne bottle top at the open balcony door. Abby playfully pushed him to the side. “You can’t shoot that thing outside! It might hit someone.”

“A cork. Big deal.”

Pop. The cork flew outside. He poured them each a full glass. They clinked glasses and sat down on the brown wicker balcony chairs. She felt the soothing burn of champagne go down her throat. It seemed like the drink knew exactly how to reach into every part of her to bring her a tingling sensation.

“I love you, Abby.” Jake looked into her eyes. She was so taken by his comment, she found herself unable to respond. Jake poured them each a second glass. Abby felt disappointed in herself for not responding to him. The obvious reply was I love you, too. She wanted to ask something else but fought for the courage to say it.

She felt a sense of wooziness in her mind. That was one quick drink. But who cared? They weren’t in a bar. They weren’t going to have their ID checked. Weren’t going to have any parents or friends walk in on them.

She took a large drink of her second glassful. Whatever the first glass had figured out to do for her, the second one did it even better. She hoped she hadn’t let the silence drag on too long.

“Why?” Abby asked, her eyes shy, looking for that stamp of approval. She looked into his brown eyes with all the nervousness and honesty that filled her and allowed him into her heart to validate her if he wanted to. “Why do you love me?”

She felt the affection of his gaze. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. She leaned in, wanting more. He pulled back and poured her another glass.

Abby didn’t feel any different between the second and third glass until she stood up. It felt like the blood had drained from her face. She steadied herself on her chair, and Jake put an arm around her waist and helped her inside. She hugged him. He brought her over to the bed. She felt herself relax in his arms as they slept together.

When they were finished, she felt the comfort that came with not having a worry in the world. She rested her head against her pillow. She could not remember ever feeling this comfortable. Her stomach growled. He laughed. She laughed.

“Time for something to eat?” he said.

Yes and no.

Yes, I’m starving, and I would love to go out and eat with you. No, I don’t want to leave this feeling.

They showered. Changed clothes. “I only brought one other set,” she said. “Sorry.” She felt awkward. She had better clothes back home, but he said she only needed to bring enough to fit in her backpack.

“That’s the whole point of rue Sainte-Catherine,” he said in his best French accent. “Let’s go shopping!”

If Montreal had atmosphere during the day, then it became positively electrifying at night. She imagined it was what Europe would feel like if she ever got there. Walking down the street Abby had the distinct impression that in spite of, or perhaps because of, living in a metropolis, the people still took time for themselves. For each other.

Montreal made time for life.

They discovered a jeans store with pictures of famous actors and rock stars on the walls. “Pick whatever you like,” Jake said. And for the first time Abby went shopping without looking at the price tag. Her head still spinning from the champagne, she found herself almost giddy.

She grabbed a pair of jeans with rips across the front and brought them to the dressing room to try on. They fit like they were custom made for her. She picked out a long-sleeved shirt and a leather jacket made of lighter material. No point in going heavy this early in the fall. She looked in the mirror. If that brass reflection earlier in the hotel made her feel good, the reflection here made her feel positively runway quality.

“Gorgeous,” Jake said.

And she believed him.

She changed out of the clothes and handed them to Jake. He counted out the bills. More brown ones. Like the ones he used to pay for their tickets to Canada’s Wonderland. She gasped when she saw the total on the till. The cashier asked if she wanted to wear it all now. She looked to Jake. He nodded. The cashier cut the tags, she got changed, and she came out looking and feeling like a model.

“You see. No need to pack clothes when you come to Montreal!”

They walked out into the night air. It had just enough of a chill for him to put his arm around her. She breathed in the smell of new leather. It reminded her of his car.

She looked into the window of an elegant restaurant in a Victorian-style mansion. Jake noticed and tugged on her elbow towards the door. She felt bad a moment for looking, thinking he was going to have to shell out even more money because of her expensive tastes. But the speed with which he took her up the stairs and into the restaurant reassured her.

A hostess led them towards the front. Abby didn’t notice this time if the hostess was a ten. She herself was a ten. Jake loved her. So what competition was there? They sat down at a table with a view overlooking the street, which filled up with an ever-increasing flow of foot traffic.

“You having fun?” Jake asked.

She closed her eyes a moment. “Time of my life.”

“That’s great. I can’t believe I found you. I mean, I was so nervous when I first contacted you.”

“You were nervous! How about me? I had a hard time breathing.”

“I’m glad you and I can be here together.”

“Me too, Jake.”

“No trouble getting away. You see, you got guts.”

“It wasn’t hard. Gave my mom a story about hanging out with friends.”

Jake paused a moment.

“Your dad?”

Oh, great, had to bring him into this.

“He wouldn’t care. Neither of them would, really.”

“Your parents holding you back?”

“They’re okay, I guess.”

Jake ordered appetizers. When the four Montreal smoked meat mini sandwiches arrived, Abby had a hard time resisting taking more than her half. Jake laughed and offered one of his, which she accepted. They talked about what to do after dinner. Catch a movie? Jake hinted at heading back to the hotel for some more fun. Maybe they would take a tour of the city tomorrow and do more shopping. Sunday would take care of itself.

The meal arrived. Lobster for her. Chicken for him. And a red Quebec wine to accompany both. The waiter placed the bottle on the table.

When they had eaten and were into their second glass, Jake paused and looked at her. “It would be great to build a life together with you, Abby.”

“I would love that,” she said.

“What kind of life would you like?” he asked.

She leaned her head back. Imagining. “A house, cars, kids.”

“What kind of car?”

“Red Mustang.”

They laughed. “I think we already have that.”

We. She loved the sound of that.

They took a drink of their wine. “We could have it, Abby. We could have it all.”

“You think so?”

“I know it.”

She retreated to the comfort of her wine glass. Having a guy pay this much attention to her made her feel shy. But it was something she was looking forward to getting used to.

“You’re sure?”

“Abby, we can have everything.” He poured the rest of the bottle into her glass. If the waiter cared about her age, he did nothing to interfere. “But it’s going to cost us a lot of money, Abby. Having a nice house and cars and things. We can do it. We can live anywhere we want. We just need money.”

“Okay,” she said.

“I bring in some money. But if we really want to have a good life, we need to bring in a lot more. We have to figure out a way to make a lot of money. Then we can have it all. You and me, Abby.”

She nodded. “Whatever it takes, Jake.”

He paid the bill in cash, and they walked outside. She took in a deep breath, as if doing so could somehow help her absorb the incredible character of the city. Ah, Montreal. Or, rather, Moe-ray-ahl. It sounded so much better with a French accent. The unique ambience of Montreal made it feel like a whole new world for Abby.

They grabbed dessert at a street-side café, then headed back to the hotel. He ordered up wine. They got drunk and put on a movie but didn’t get very far.