Mann Hunt

Even among the younger generation, at fifty-nine, Ian Mann was considered to be an attractive male. At six feet in height, and a lean one-hundred-and-sixty-five pounds, he exuded an undeniable confidence. His long, well-coiffed sandy-brown hair and manicured nails led certain people to question his sexuality but he didn’t care what others thought. In fact, he was devoted to his wife of thirty years. He saw himself as the original metrosexual…but one with an edge. He had something that had always left people uneasy— heterochromia. His left eye was grey-green, his right eye, light blue.

Ian had met his wife, Katherine, when he had been living in London. She’d been an up-and-coming fashion model, he, a promising young photographer. They had fallen in love shortly after meeting during a group photo session, and had been married six weeks later.

In London in the nineties, they had been the couple to be seen with. She was beautiful and he had an irresistible charisma. Life for the couple had been filled with parties, drinking and dinners until the day Ian’s father had passed away. It was assumed that someone of Ian’s social standing would inherit a country estate, or a baronetcy, at the very least. To everyone’s shock, Katherine’s in particular, what he had inherited was a small industrial complex in the far reaches of western Canada. London’s dream couple, the fodder of the paparazzi, had to pull up stakes and move to Calgary, Alberta.

Katherine and Ian had not suffered financially with their move to Calgary. Land speculation and development had taken over as the primary business of Mann Holdings. In the boom years, when the oil industry was at its peak, Ian’s company had made a fortune. When he divested himself of control in the company in 2013, holding onto a few properties for sentimental reasons, he’d made even more. When the oil business had collapsed the following year, and people couldn’t give away office space, Ian and Katherine were sitting pretty…and hated by many who were forced to sell much of what they had left at bargain-basement prices to cover their essential costs.

But Ian knew how quickly a person’s fortune could diminish over time. Now, all that was left was their Mount Royal home, a financially strapped AAA hockey team Ian owned and a factory building, a building that someone had offered to buy at a meeting earlier in the day. He had declined, even though the money was much needed.

Ian had decided not to say anything to Katherine about the offer. He went into his office and backed up the files from his phone to the cloud. As an extra precaution, he also saved them onto a USB stick. Then he tipped up his desk lamp and tucked the stick beneath the hollow base. Once the lamp was back in place, Ian headed down to the front door with his bag and hollered, “Katherine, I’m heading out in a few minutes.” It was Ian’s night out with the boys. This week was a special celebration and was being held on a Thursday, the night before the Calgary Stampede opened.

“Be right there, darling,” Katherine called out. Even after all these years of living in Calgary, her voice still carried the accent of the city in which she had been raised.

Katherine rounded the corner from the living room. Ian admired her appearance. She was tall and slender, with chestnut-brown eyes. Her auburn hair, normally worn long, was twisted into a loose French roll. She wore a cream-coloured dress, accented perfectly by a gold chain with a diamond pendant and exquisite matching earrings.

“Have a wonderful evening,” she said, before bending in to kiss him. “Will you be late?”

Ian replied, “I don’t think so. No later than usual. You look like you’re heading out.”

Katherine checked her earrings in the hall mirror. “Last-minute call from Deirdre. A friend of hers is in town and she decided to host a cocktail party for him.”

“I hope he’s old and ugly, so you won’t be tempted,” Ian said.

Katherine smiled. “I wouldn’t worry. I’d be more concerned by the fact that Michael’s back from college.”

Michael was Deirdre and Simon Taylor’s twenty-year-old son. A handsome athlete, debate team leader and, if rumours were true, in the running for a Rhodes Scholarship. Ian had joked about Michael being just Katherine’s type.

Katherine turned to Ian. “Deirdre was sorry that you couldn’t make it tonight, but I told her that your boys’ nights out are sacred.”

“You are a doll,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her. “See you later.”

With that, he grabbed the handle of his suitcase and wheeled it out to the garage.

* * * *

Ian loved his boys’ nights out and tonight’s was the perfect antidote to the unpleasant meeting he’d had earlier in the day. At the party Ian observed his usual rituals, saw the usual people and as always, avoided drinking so he was totally in control. When he looked at his watch, he was surprised at the time. It was late and he had to get home. He changed into his street clothes, bade the rest of the party-goers adieu and trundled his suitcase back to the car. He pressed the button on his key fob to open the trunk and was about to stow away his bag when a voice from the shadows said, “You come here often?”

Ian jumped.

“Jesus, what the fuck are you doing here?” Ian snapped.

“Just being curious, I guess. Just wondered what you got up to in your spare time.”

“I don’t appreciate being stalked. What do you want?”

“You know what I want!”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

The figure pulled a knife out of his coat pocket.

Ian saw the uncertainty in his assailant’s eyes. “I can’t do anything about this right now, but tomorrow, I’ll call you and give you what you want.”

The attacker lowered his knife slightly. Ian talked, soft and slow, saying what he knew his attacker wanted to hear. He finished with, “I promise.”

“You’d better be telling the truth,” the assailant said as he spit his gum out on the drive and disappeared back into the shadows.

Ian started shaking. I’ve got to get home. Katherine will be worried. His trunk was open and his suitcase was still sitting on the ground. He put his bag in the trunk and drove down the driveway, through the gates as they opened and out onto the main access road.

A figure stepped out of the shadows and flagged him down.

What does he want now? he thought. He lowered his window and said, “I’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

Then Ian realised that something wasn’t quite right.

A voice said, “I don’t believe you. Give me the keys.”

“What?”

“The car keys. Give me your car keys!” the attacker snapped, reaching in the window and grabbing onto Ian’s hair. It was then that Ian saw the gun.

His heart pounded as he pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them over with a shaky hand.

“Out of the car. Now!”

As soon as he stepped out, Ian was grabbed and dragged towards the back of the car. The trunk lid popped open. The man tore off the emergency trunk lid release tab before saying, “Get in.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Get in and you’ll find out.”

Ian climbed into the trunk and curled himself into a protective ball as the lid slammed shut. He was in total darkness. His suitcase, which contained all of the objects of the beautiful aspect of his life, pressed painfully into his back. The engine roared and the car reversed, then sped ahead. Every turn, corner, pothole and stop sent him ricocheting around his tight prison cell. As the car bounced on a particularly deep rut, his head hit the hinge of the trunk and blood trickled down his face.

The car came to an abrupt stop and the driver’s side door opened, then closed. The trunk lid popped open.

He wasn’t sure where he was. It was remote, and in the distance he could hear water running.

“Get out.”

Ian’s limbs felt heavy and he was having trouble disentangling himself from the suitcase and other items in the trunk.

The man said, “Now, I hope you know I’m serious about this. Are you going to give me what I want?”

Something inside Ian snapped. For once, he wanted things to go his way. He stared directly at his attacker and said, “No, you will not get what you want. And you will pay for this. I’ll go to the papers and tell them everything.”

Then Ian started to run. He got twenty feet before his left foot caught on a tree root and he fell. He looked back and could see that his assailant was nearly on top of him.

Ian curled his legs beneath him, and with every last ounce of strength, launched himself directly at his attacker, driving his head into the assailant’s stomach and knocking the wind out of him. Ian turned around and started to run past his car and along a trail which seemed to head towards a street lamp.

He got no more than fifty feet down the path when the man tackled him from behind. He landed with a crack. Ian looked up into the sky. So many stars, he thought. So many…

When Ian came to, he felt as if he were floating. His head throbbed and he couldn’t see out of his left eye. His brain swam in a sea of confusion. He was naked. None of this made sense. Ian tried to stand up but his legs wouldn’t oblige. He was surrounded by water. His brain shouted messages of danger and get to safety, but his body failed to cooperate. The cold water felt good. It eased the pain. The trees and stars above swirled as he thought, I used to like swimming. Then he descended into blackness.