The Video Watcher Read Online Free PDF Page A

the parking lot and he followed. “Is there a number you can call to complain about those people?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œThey took away my tequila.”
    â€œAll of it?”
    â€œExcept one bottle.”
    â€œIsn’t that all you’re allowed?”
    â€œI really wanted to punch that bitch in the mouth.”
    When we stepped through the doors, the early June heat wave hit us like a wall. We crossed the road and went through the parkade and out again into the hot bright sunlight. A plane roared by overhead.
    By the time we reached the BMW we were sweating.
    â€œNice car.”
    â€œIt’s my aunt’s.” The leather seat was burning and I slid forward and tried to keep my bare thighs off the seat.
    â€œCrank the air conditioner.”
    â€œI did,” I said, and shifted into reverse.
    A mile from the airport Cam’s mood improved. Air-drumming along with the Chili Peppers on the stereo, he said for the sixth time that he couldn’t believe he was back.
    â€œSo, tell me a story, Mr. Patterson. What’s been happening?”
    â€œNot much. Just going to some parties,” I said. “By the way, I saw Damien.”
    â€œDamien!” Cam slapped the top of the door and glared at me. “Fuck! Don’t tell me you still hang around with that loser.”
    â€œShouldn’t I?” I said, pretending not to know what was coming next.
    â€œThe loser fucking totalled my car.”
    Cam, for some reason, always blamed Damien for the accident we were involved in.
    I didn’t say anything more, and we were downtown before he asked, “So tell me, has he put his life back together again?”
    â€œHe had to spend some time in A2 again. Some problem with his meds.”
    â€œI bet you liked that.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I said.
    But Cam only laughed and said, “Don’t worry. Forget it.”
    Â 
    Cam’s parents had sold their house in North Van when he was in Mexico and now lived in the Properties. As I started the maze of roads up the mountain, the city falling away behind us, I asked, “So why’d they move?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Cam said staring out the window. “My father made a bunch of money on some land deal or something.”
    â€œIs that a bad thing?”
    â€œI guess not.”
    We didn’t speak again until we arrived at the house. The houses across the road were down the hill and over their roofs I could see Vancouver from the tip of the UBC endowment lands in the west to Burnaby Mountain in the east. But Cam’s parents’ house, like a lot of houses in that area, had a shabbiness to it, and if I had my back to the view and ignored the Mercedes and Range Rovers in the neighbours’ driveways, I’d assume it was worth a tenth of its value.
    â€œWell, I guess that’s it,” Cam said. “I’d invite you in, but…”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWe’ll do something this weekend.”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    â€œThanks for picking me up at the airport.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Â 
    â€œWhat was he even doing there?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou know—where he was?”
    â€œMexico?”
    â€œMmm,” Damien said, gulping the end of his beer. It was Friday night and he and I were sitting in The Bourbon, a bar in Gastown where college students went to slum. We were supposedly there “to celebrate” his release from the psych ward.
    â€œI mean, what was he doing in fuckin’ Mexico?”
    â€œI think he expected to meet some women,” I said, gazing at the circling bodies. The counter we sat at ran along the long edge of the dance floor.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe Expected. To. Meet. Latin. Women .”
    Damien sneered. He took a drink and said, “Why’d he go there? There’s enough here.”
    He gestured with his head to the dance floor. I didn’t know what he