“I have my reasons.”
“All I want to do is make him a hero.”
“You can do that without talking to him. He’ll probably have a bloody relapse.”
The firefighters had succeeded in freeing the wreckage of the compact car from the cement truck. Jinnah made a face as the jaws of life were brought out.
“Aren’t those a bit academic?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Graham. “But I suspect the victim’s loved ones will want the remains. Now unless you’d like to join him in the beyond —”
“Sergeant Graham, all I’m asking for is five minutes of the man’s time —”
“Forget it, Hakeem. I wish I could comply so you’d harass him instead of me, but I can’t. Orders.”
Jinnah arched an eyebrow.
“Orders from whom?”
“Above. Honestly, I’d like to help, Hakeem, but I can’t.”
Jinnah threw his cigarette down and kicked it to tiny particles of blue, black, brown and white. Graham thought him quite calm for someone who’d been crushed.
“Listen, my friend, you have to give me something. Will you at least say that Robert Chan is a hero? Will you do that?”
“Certainly,” said Graham. “Robert Chan is a hero. You can quote me on that.”
Jinnah took out his notebook and scribbled the quote onto a page. He looked up suddenly at Graham.
“Do you really mean that or are you just being obliging?” he said fiercely.
Graham was somewhat taken aback.
“Of course I mean it! He’s very brave — misguided, perhaps, but brave.”
“Misguided —”
“Don’t put that bit in!”
“Okay. I’m quoting you as saying Robert Chan is a hero and a very brave man. But I doubt your sincerity.”
Sergeant Graham was not used to having his personal word doubted. He was especially unused to having Hakeem Jinnah say so to his face.
“In all honesty, Hakeem —” he started.
Jinnah abruptly held up his notebook, thrusting it and his pen at the policeman.
“Then sign it,” he said.
“Sign it?”
“Your name and rank, so the editor won’t say I made it up,” insisted Jinnah.
“This is ridiculous —”
“I have to put my name on the line in the paper very day. Why shouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but —”
“Sarge, for me. Please.”
“Oh, for the love of God …”
Graham seized pen and notepad and scribbled his name and rank on the bottom of the page. As he did so, he had a vague feeling of uneasiness — an emotion that usually preceded the realization that Jinnah had somehow pulled one over on him. But he could not see what use Jinnah could possibly put such innocuous quotes to.
“Is that all?” asked Graham, handing Jinnah back his pen.
“No,” said Jinnah. “I would like to know if you intend on telling Mister Chan that he is a hero — in person.”
“I’m a bit tied up right now,” sighed Graham.
Sparks flew as the jaws of life sawed through the twisted metal frame of the car.
“Then I shall pass on your regards, with your permission.”
“By all means, Jinnah.”
Jinnah took a step off the curb and paused, looking at the accident.
“Just what the hell happened anyway, Sarge?”
“Cement truck’s brakes failed. Sailed through a red light. Poor bastard in the car never knew what hit him.”
“Jesus,” Jinnah swore softly. “Makes you feel unsafe on the roads.”
“Nowhere are we secure, Mister Jinnah,” said Graham.
“Very comforting. Good afternoon, Gus.”
“I hope I have been of some modest assistance you, Hakeem.”
“Sarge, you have no idea,” said Jinnah with a smile that Graham did not like at all.
Jinnah walked away and gave a wink to the traffic corporal as he passed. The corporal gave him a knowing smile and turned his gaze sourly on Graham. The staff sergeant didn’t notice. He was preoccupied, wondering how Chan would taken his heart-felt comments on his bravery when he saw them in the newspaper the next morning.
Robert Chan was watching the hockey game on television in his private hospital room when the nurse announced he had a visitor. His face lit up.
“Kathy?” he asked hopefully.
The nurse shook her head.
“Some guy who claims to be on police business.”
“Not another one — they’ve interviewed me twice,” Chan shuddered, putting the game on mute. “Might as well show him in.”
“All right,” said the Nurse. “But make it short.”
Chan adjusted his hospital gown as best he could and sat up in bed. His burns weren’t that serious and he would likely be released tomorrow. The doctors had been more concerned about the trauma he’d suffered seeing a human incinerated than the second and third-degree burns he’d received. He expected a uniformed officer to walk in and was taken aback when a slender man of East Indian descent wearing civilian clothes and large, gaudy gold jewellery came through the door.
“Robert Chan, I have a message for you from Staff Sergeant Graham of the Vancouver Police Department,” the stranger said in a deep, rich voice that was as warm and cloying as honey.
“Ah, yeah,” said Robert Chan. “And you are?”
“My name is Hakeem Jinnah. Here.”
Jinnah had closed and locked the door before walking over to Chan’s bed and handing him a folded piece of paper. To Chan, it looked like a page torn from a spiral notepad. He unfolded it and saw the words that Jinnah had written down with Graham’s signature at the bottom. Try as he might, he could not decipher Jinnah’s hasty scrawl. He turned the page sideways.
“Is this shorthand or something?”
