Canadian Politics: The Case Of The Disappearing Accord Part 2

Saying yes to something is a whole lot different from actually doing anything about it. Even with my rather specialized knowledge of the ins and outs of the backrooms of Ottawa, I was at a loss as to where to go on this one. All of my usual contacts, sources, snitches, and blackmail victims had shut up tighter than someone holding back a fart in church.

At the word Kyoto some hadn’t even the decency to say anything. They just left me listening to the click of their receiver echoing in the dial tone. They’d either all been gotten to early and hard or were just scared by what they knew. It’s difficult to believe that something as seemingly benign as an accord governing reductions in CO2 would cause everyone I know to pucker shut, but that was seemingly the case.

The only clue, if you could call it that, was the mysterious voice that phoned just as tall, intimidating and gorgeous was knocking at my door. But someone who uses call blocking and hangs up after muttering out “Where has all the water gone?” can’t be considered much of any assistance.

So I was wrapping up my day by letting my imagination play around with having to console a certain Mrs. Marine Biologist, which involved quite a bit of page leafing on my part, when my reverie was rudely ruptured by the phones pneumatic clatter. When I had collected my thoughts sufficiently to finally collar the receiver under my chin and against my ear a voice scratched at my eardrums.

“Have you figured it out yet?” At least this time it seemed inclined to wait around for an answer instead of the rhetorical shit from earlier. So I decided to see if I could draw it out by holding some cards back. This was my only source and I needed to play it right or it would end up being just another August fishing story.

“The question shouldn’t have been, where has all the water gone?” I said stalling for time, “It would have been better to ask why is the water not coming?” I wasn’t quite sure what made me say that, but after it came out of my mouth it was just like toothpaste in that it couldn’t be shoved back in the tube. On the other hand since it seemed to impress the voice at the other end enough to keep him on the line, it couldn’t have been all bad.

“Very good, shamus, very good. At least you listen when the information comes in the right package. We were afraid it might be a little too distracting given your initial reaction, but now we see that it was the right decision.” There was a pause during which I took all this in, including the fact my mystery woman may not have been all she claimed to be, perhaps not even married.

I missed the first part of what the voice at the other end of the phone said next as I let my mind drift along lines that had nothing to do with water, but was wet enough in its own right, so had to try and catch up as it went along. The first words that I caught were a mention of a favourite drinking spot and with a bit of the quick thinking I was known for cut in with, “Yeah I know the spot”

The pause at the other end of the line was long enough that I thought maybe I’d blown it. But the voice came back on the line and said “eight o’clock” before leaving me with my old friend the dial tone. I figured that was as good an indication as any that I could hang up the phone.

So three hours latter I was sitting at my seat by the pole with a cold one sweating in my hand and a hottie working the pole causing those around me to sweat waiting to see who would show up. Part of me was hoping it would be her. I’ve always wanted to use that line about what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this. Even better would be the one from that Bogie movie: “of all the Gin joints in all the world she had to walk into…”

Damn the heat must be getting to me worse then I thought if I’m starting to go on about some dame like this who I couldn’t even say hello to without my larynx swallowing my tongue. I leaned forward to rest my forehead on my hand and brought the cold beer bottle up in an attempt to cool off my head, when somebody bumped into my back moving me forward in my seat.

That’s not too unusual in a crowded bar like this, you get drunks staggering around a lot, and everybody takes it for granted and doesn’t get their noses out of joint too often. So I was kind of surprised that the reaction of those around me was so extreme. First the guys on either side of me backed away and turned an even paler shade of civil service never see the light of day pasty, then the girl twirling on the pole stopped, pointed, opened her mouth to scream but didn’t make it that far as she collapsed in a heap on the counter.

It was only when I turned around and saw the knife, if something the size of a machete could be called a knife, sticking out of the guy’s back. If I was to hazard a guess this was to have been my contact for the evening, if only because of the fact he had a picture of me in the hand that wasn’t trying to remove what didn’t belong from between his shoulder blades. It looked like this missing Kyoto accord was really starting to heat up, and somebody didn’t want me or anybody else to know too much about it.

Well I’m like your stupidest cat that way; curiosity has its claws in deep. Bodies starting to fall and people clamming up is just one sure way to keep me interested and make me even more curious. I wouldn’t say nothing to the cops about nothing: it’s always better not to let them draw conclusions because it usually ends up with you in the frame, so to speak.

It looked like I was going to be on my own for this Kyoto accord deal, which was fine by me, as that’s just the way I liked it. I happened to look up at that moment to see what looked like a familiar head of ash blonde hair leaving through the bar’s main entrance. Well, maybe I wouldn’t be so alone as I thought.