wanted to assess if Neil’s own view of the situation could have been a contributing factor.
“He wasn’t scared,” he answered without hesitation. “Not Neil. He was fearless. About most things. He was all excited to go…once the decision was made for him. Like I said, I don’t think it was his idea at first. But he went along with it. He was a good sport that way. And, I suppose, he was interested in all that old historic stuff. He spent a lot of time at work, studying up about old rugs and shit. I didn’t really get it.” He tried a smile. “I don’t even get involved in the pre-owned part of my dad’s business. It’s new cars for me, all the way.”
I smiled back.
After a beat, Good said, “I didn’t want him to go.” Another pause, then, “I actually begged a little,” he admitted. “We had a good thing. I really think I was starting to fall in love with the guy.
We got along great. He was funny. Carefree. A great cook, too. All 77
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the things I’m not.
“I certainly couldn’t go. But, y’know, I know now, Neil couldn’t not go. It was complicated. There were so many things going on. It was all about furthering his career, his relationship with his stepmother, self-esteem issues, and lots of other stuff too. But I didn’t think about all that. I was only thinking about us. About me. And I made a big mistake.”
Yum. Admissions of mistakes are like candy to a detective.
“Oh? What mistake was that?”
“I gave him an ultimatum. I told him it was me or the Middle East. That turned into this big dramatic scene. You can guess how it went. And, of course, he picked the Middle East. So we were done. And now he’s dead.”
I heard a catch in Good’s voice. He was trying to be Mr. Tough Guy but not doing too good a job of it. He looked down, swallowed hard, then resumed. “I’m so pissed at him for going. And sad too. And mad that they made him go. It’s crazy, y’know. I just…I just don’t know what to feel. And ever since I heard about Neil, I haven’t been able to sell a car to save my life.”
I saw the other man’s eyes travel to the windows at my back and freeze. This time I had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for: the watchful, disapproving eyes of his father. I turned in my seat. And there he was. Darrell Good, Senior. Although the colouring was the same—blond hair, pale skin—that’s where the father-son resemblance ended. Whereas junior was thin and graceful, senior was big and bulky, like a Saskatchewan Roughriders football player. His nose looked a bit off-kilter, as if it might have been broken a time or two. He wore a pair of khakis and a golf shirt with the Good Auto logo emblazoned across his broad chest. Darrell Good, Senior was at the other side of the showroom, chatting with a customer, but his pale eyes reached into his son’s office with little effort. The look didn’t last long. It didn’t need to. I turned around. Junior’s face was stern and drained of what little colour had been there. The man may have been in his mid-twenties, but he was still a boy.
“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to Neil?” I asked, hoping to pull the guy out of his preoccupation with what his father 78
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A n t h o ny B i d u l k a
was thinking.
“Saw? Well, I didn’t even see him off at the airport when he left six months ago. The relationship was over, and the breakup was too fresh and raw for me to even say goodbye. Besides, I was needed here at the shop. We had a big promotion going on.”
Ah, geez.
“But about two months into his stint over there, I got a call from Neil. We started talking again. Before I knew it, we were exchanging emails several times a week.”
My ears were humming. This was good. “What did you talk about in these emails?”
“Oh, everything, nothing. You know how it goes. Neil was really enjoying his work over
“He wasn’t scared,” he answered without hesitation. “Not Neil. He was fearless. About most things. He was all excited to go…once the decision was made for him. Like I said, I don’t think it was his idea at first. But he went along with it. He was a good sport that way. And, I suppose, he was interested in all that old historic stuff. He spent a lot of time at work, studying up about old rugs and shit. I didn’t really get it.” He tried a smile. “I don’t even get involved in the pre-owned part of my dad’s business. It’s new cars for me, all the way.”
I smiled back.
After a beat, Good said, “I didn’t want him to go.” Another pause, then, “I actually begged a little,” he admitted. “We had a good thing. I really think I was starting to fall in love with the guy.
We got along great. He was funny. Carefree. A great cook, too. All 77
F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A
D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a
the things I’m not.
“I certainly couldn’t go. But, y’know, I know now, Neil couldn’t not go. It was complicated. There were so many things going on. It was all about furthering his career, his relationship with his stepmother, self-esteem issues, and lots of other stuff too. But I didn’t think about all that. I was only thinking about us. About me. And I made a big mistake.”
Yum. Admissions of mistakes are like candy to a detective.
“Oh? What mistake was that?”
“I gave him an ultimatum. I told him it was me or the Middle East. That turned into this big dramatic scene. You can guess how it went. And, of course, he picked the Middle East. So we were done. And now he’s dead.”
I heard a catch in Good’s voice. He was trying to be Mr. Tough Guy but not doing too good a job of it. He looked down, swallowed hard, then resumed. “I’m so pissed at him for going. And sad too. And mad that they made him go. It’s crazy, y’know. I just…I just don’t know what to feel. And ever since I heard about Neil, I haven’t been able to sell a car to save my life.”
I saw the other man’s eyes travel to the windows at my back and freeze. This time I had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for: the watchful, disapproving eyes of his father. I turned in my seat. And there he was. Darrell Good, Senior. Although the colouring was the same—blond hair, pale skin—that’s where the father-son resemblance ended. Whereas junior was thin and graceful, senior was big and bulky, like a Saskatchewan Roughriders football player. His nose looked a bit off-kilter, as if it might have been broken a time or two. He wore a pair of khakis and a golf shirt with the Good Auto logo emblazoned across his broad chest. Darrell Good, Senior was at the other side of the showroom, chatting with a customer, but his pale eyes reached into his son’s office with little effort. The look didn’t last long. It didn’t need to. I turned around. Junior’s face was stern and drained of what little colour had been there. The man may have been in his mid-twenties, but he was still a boy.
“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to Neil?” I asked, hoping to pull the guy out of his preoccupation with what his father 78
F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A
A n t h o ny B i d u l k a
was thinking.
“Saw? Well, I didn’t even see him off at the airport when he left six months ago. The relationship was over, and the breakup was too fresh and raw for me to even say goodbye. Besides, I was needed here at the shop. We had a big promotion going on.”
Ah, geez.
“But about two months into his stint over there, I got a call from Neil. We started talking again. Before I knew it, we were exchanging emails several times a week.”
My ears were humming. This was good. “What did you talk about in these emails?”
“Oh, everything, nothing. You know how it goes. Neil was really enjoying his work over
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