Misery Bay: A Mystery by Chris Angus

filled with small pleasure craft. The building was a spectacular, rambling Victorian with at least a dozen bedrooms, if he had to make a guess. Very posh accommodations. The clientele was certain to be upscale.
    Lonnie sat in the car sipping a Keith’s Ale and watching a cold rain spatter the windshield. “How long we going to sit here?” he asked.
    “You got someplace better to be?”
    “Kandahar would be someplace better.”
    Garrett felt a twinge in his phantom foot. “Every time you mention the war, my foot starts to ache.”
    “Suck it up,” said Lonnie. “I can’t mollycoddle you along the rest of your life. Besides, you don’t even have a foot. So how can it hurt?” He refused to accept the concept of phantom pain. Lonnie dealt in the world of real pain.
    “Mollycoddle?”
    “Let me know if I use words too big for you.”
    “Car coming.”
    They sank into their seats, which in Lonnie’s case meant that his entire head and shoulders still showed. But the car brushed past them in the rain and turned into the sweeping driveway. It was a black limo, the windows heavily tinted.
    “That’s a clue,” Garrett said.
    “Funny, I thought it was a limo,” said Lonnie. “What are we going to do?”
    “Take a hike.”
    “Shit. These shoes are brand new.”
    “Little mud’s good for them—help break ’em in. You carrying?”
    Lonnie stared at Garrett as though he’d asked if he had a left nut.
    “Okay, just keep it holstered is all. What we’re doing isn’t strictly legal, you know, without a warrant.”
    Lonnie smiled. “You Mounties do have your limitations.”
    They ran from the car up the driveway and huddled under a rare chestnut tree. The rain wasn’t heavy, just cold, like little icy needles against their skin. They could see the limo parked in front of the entrance, which was bathed in light from the foyer.
    “I’ll go ’round the right. You take the left,” Garrett said. “Just look in the windows. See what you can see. Meet back at the car in ten minutes. We’ll reconnoiter.”
    “Always wanted to add Peeping Tom to my extensive resume,” Lonnie grunted, but he lumbered off.
    In fact, the house might have been designed for Peeping Toms. There was plenty of cover, with numerous shrubs delineating carefully mowed lawns and big, twelve-over-twelve windows. Garrett stayed wide of the foyer, in the shadows of the trees, then parked under one of the windows and peered inside. The room was empty, as were the next two that he checked. Finally, he came to a larger space. It was an enormous living room with a stone fireplace, leather loveseats, and dimmed lighting. A Chinese woman and man stood in front of the fire talking. They were quite intent about whatever it was they were discussing.
    The man turned and called something toward a hallway that disappeared out of sight. In a moment two more men entered, along with three young Chinese girls.
    Garrett stiffened, but the girls seemed entirely at ease. They bounced down onto the leather couches, giggling and talking to one another. The Chinese woman went over and stared at them. She said something and the girls immediately stood up and took off their clothes. The woman looked them over, then turned abruptly and crossed to a desk, where she unlocked a drawer. She handed a wad of bills to the man. He nodded once, gestured with his head to one side, and he and the other men left.
    Garrett had seen enough to know what had transpired. The girls had just been sold to Madame Liu. He’d have to figure out what to do about that at some point. But right now what he wanted more than anything was to follow the man who had sold them.
    He jogged back across the lawn, cursing when his prosthesis landed in a large, soggy puddle surrounding a flower bed filled with some kind of fertilizer. Probably cow manure with his luck.
    Lonnie was already back at the car waiting for him.
    “You’re late,” he said.
    “Nice to be missed. Get in. We’re tailing the