Risen From Prison. Bosco H. C. Poon

went outside to their vehicles, leaving me alone in the house. Knowing that the victim was in the basement, I decided to hold out as far away from him as I could. So I went upstairs to the old computer room.

      Should I untie him and take him to the police station, or should I run out the back door and then call the cops? But what would happen if I left the house? Would they come after me? Maybe they’d come after me and my family too. No matter which way I looked at it, I saw no way out. Ultimately, paralyzed by my fears, I did nothing but lie on the couch, and ever so gradually, I fell asleep.

      _______

      Why did I get myself involved in this? Was it because I didn’t know how to say no? Probably. But I treasured Blade’s friendship. He’d rescued me from being a nerdy outcast back in high school and his gang members had protected me from bullying. So I had a sense of loyalty to him. Did I need the money? No, not really. My parents had promised to support my musical projects until the end of that year. However, I didn’t mind the prospect of some extra cash. For that matter, it’s not as if Blade didn’t owe me anything. For years I had been lending him money to supply his gambling addiction and wild partying. There were many nights when I handed over my food money for the whole week to get him out of one debt or another. Not even once had he managed to pay me back—at least not in full. To my mind, it would only be fair if I was able to cash in on any windfall that came his way. But I never thought that things could go so wrong.

      The next morning I was sent to pick up breakfast at McDonald’s on Barnet Highway in Coquitlam. I used the opportunity to call my Aunt Tina, my mom’s sister-in-law, who also happened to be our realtor. “Auntie, my friends are done using the house. You can go take a look. If you need someone to help clean up, just let me know and I’ll come over.”

      “All right, sweetheart, I’ll go check it in a couple of hours. Don’t worry about the cleaning. I can take care of it myself. Thanks for the call. I’ll probably put it back up for showing tomorrow. There’s quite a lineup for it. Say ‘Hi’ to your mom and dad!”

      “Sure thing, Auntie. I’ll do that. Talk to you soon.”

      I hung up and took a breath. I deliberately lied to my aunt, hoping that she would discover what was going on by going into the house. As a result, Blade would be forced to let his victim go or my aunt would call the police, and the whole thing would fall apart. In retrospect, I placed my aunt in a rather dangerous position. What if the guys hurt her too? I don’t know. I was so exhausted and befuddled, I could not come up with a better plan in the middle of my Egg McMuffin run. I considered it a calculated risk—but it was poorly calculated, and it did not proceed as planned.

      Blade apparently managed to stop my aunt right at the front door. Because I had lied to my family, telling them that we were using the empty house as a recording studio, Blade was able to quickly come up with the story that the recording sessions were not done and they needed a couple more days. He also assured her that he would pay her extra rent. To my surprise, my aunt believed the whole thing and said this was not a problem, even apologizing for the miscommunication.

      My heart sank as I realized that, one, my plan had entirely failed, and two, I now had to go back to the house and explain to Blade why my aunt had shown up unexpectedly. My cellphone started getting flooded with calls from all of them. When you bat a hornets’ nest, you hear a lot of buzzing. I dragged myself back to the house, hotcakes and sausages in tow. Blade was rightly suspicious that I had sent my aunt over in an attempt to sabotage things, but at length I managed to convince him that it was a coincidence. In any case, I still got a long and threatening lecture about how I must ensure that no one from my family would come by until the ransom was secured or the “package” was moved to another secure location. After that, I was not allowed to leave their sight until the completion of the operation.

      I don’t remember the exact sequence of the events that followed because I had only slept a few hours over the course of several days, and I was completely strung out. Blade and the others were demanding $130,000, and evidently there had been some progress in making that transaction happen. Blade commissioned me with cleaning up the basement and wiping everything down with cleaning solutions while they took the victim away and collected the ransom elsewhere. I’m not sure where this was supposed to occur, but it didn’t matter.

      Red and blue lights panned outside the house. It was the afternoon of April 10, 2004. With that I knew that this misadventure was over, and I was strangely relieved, but I also knew that I was in a heap of trouble. We were not sophisticated criminals, I have to say, and I suppose that has something to do with how quickly this all came to a screeching halt—that and the fact that 60 police officers had been involved in the investigation. According to the police press release, they had spent $400,000 in overtime monitoring our phone calls. I guess Blade had underestimated the Vancouver Police Department.

      As I was being handcuffed by the police, one of the officers informed me that Blade and two others had been apprehended in Vancouver and that more arrests might ensue. The victim had been rescued unharmed and was to be soon released to his family. I was actually happy about this. On the one hand, I was glad to know that he was alive and well, but on the other I was extremely fearful about my own future. Curious neighbours trickled out of their houses one by one. Their lives now seemed attractively boring—the preparation of dinner, the changing of motor oil, the making of tea—interrupted briefly to watch me being thrown into the back of the paddy wagon. I wonder what they were saying. “I told his mom I didn’t like the boys he was hanging around,” or “That’s what the music industry does to people.”

      My mom, dad, and aunt were standing in the driveway, all of them sobbing. I’m an only child, and I knew what this was doing to them. I was so ashamed of myself, and I felt absolutely wretched for having dishonoured them so terribly. I didn’t know how I would be able to face anyone I knew ever again. I leaned up against the steel wall of the police van and stared down at my feet. It was a bumpy ride to the station.

      Everything I had on my person, including my underwear, was confiscated. In exchange, I got to wear a scratchy white paper jumpsuit and a pair of shoe covers like the ones patients wear in the hospital. Before I was taken to the interrogation room, where I would spend the rest of the evening, two officers fingerprinted me and had me sign a pile of forms. As each of my fingers was pressed into the wet spongy black inkpad and then onto paper, I felt like I was signing my life away. Then, as you see in every crime movie, I was asked to stand against a wall and pose for a mugshot and two profile shots.

      I was escorted by two uniformed police officers from the holding cell behind Vancouver Criminal Court on 222 Main Street in Vancouver to the Vancouver Police Department. As I crossed East Cordova Street handcuffed in my white jumpsuit, the homeless folks from the downtown eastside mocked and catcalled me. After entering the VPD building we ascended a long flight of stairs and ended up in a room with one window, one coffee table, and two chairs facing each other. I was left alone in the room for about 20 minutes before an investigator in normal dress walked in.

      “Okay, Mr. Poon, I’m going to tell you this straight up. I’m a very experienced investigator. It’s what I do for living. My job here is to get information from you, so that I can report it to my boss. Why don’t we work together, and it’ll make both of our lives easier? After all, it’s getting late. I’m tired, and I’m sure you are too. If you co-operate and tell me the truth, you’ll be home in no time. So let’s not beat around the bush, all right?”

      “You’re right. I am extremely tired… What do you mean by I’ll be home in no time?” I hesitated.

      “That means if you tell me everything, no lies, no BS, then I can probably get you out of here before this long weekend is finished. Okay? You want to go home, right?”

      “Of course I want to go home—”

      “I know. I hear you. So why waste more time? Let’s get going!”

      At first I thought he was there to help me. He seemed friendly, even gentle, but after a while he changed his approach, becoming more and more aggressive with me, particularly when it didn’t appear that he was getting what he wanted or if he thought I was withholding something from him.

      Sitting