I shook my head. “He’s drunk or high or something. Who knows what he’s doing.”
Box Man, still with the hammer in his hand, straightened up and started stalking back across the street toward Melody.
“Shit.” I reached for the door handle. “Stay in the car, Cassie.”
The bright June sun hit me right in the eyes as I stepped into the street. Melody was standing on the porch with her hands on her hips, a burning cigarette drooping from her lip like she was a Wild West gunfighter. She watched Box Man storm closer with the hammer in his hand.
Box Man turned and saw me coming. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with rage. He snarled and swung. He was drunk and slow. I sidestepped and the hammer went wide.
The trick to punching is you don’t aim for the guy’s face. You aim for the back of his head. I swung, picturing my fist plowing right through the man’s skull. Box Man went down, out cold. I gave my hand a shake.
Melody peeled herself off the porch railing and flicked her lit cigarette at the unconscious man. “That’s what you get. Jack, you want some ice?”
My hand throbbed. “Nah, I’ll be okay.” I gestured to the man sprawled out on the sidewalk. “What the hell was that about?”
“Aah.” Melody waved her hand, dismissing the man on the ground. “That’s Gord. He’s just a contractor I know. He came by drunk out of his head trying to sell me this box of rusty crap.” Melody looked down at the unconscious man. “I don’t know why he thought I’d want a box full of old broke-ass tools.”
I looked down at the man, taking in his dirty clothes, his dust-coloured skin. “He’s an addict.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“He needed a fix, so he needed money. Thought maybe you’d be a soft touch. It’s a variation of the construction scam. Guy drives around residential neighbourhoods until he sees a house being built. He makes sure the crew is all gone for the day. Then he knocks on a neighbour’s door and says something like, ‘Hi, my name’s Bobby, I was doing some work next door but they forgot to pay me. Could you loan me twenty dollars and they’ll pay it back to you tomorrow?’ It’s a desperate ploy, but sometimes it works. Then the addict takes that twenty and it’s off to the crack house.”
I glanced over my shoulder. People were standing at their windows, peering through the curtains. I heard sirens in the distance. “Come on. It’s time to get gone.”
We left Gord the contractor lying on the sidewalk and hustled over to the car. Well, I hustled. Melody sashayed. She was carrying her white leather-fringe purse and a red gym bag. I half-expected her to pull a lollipop out of her pocket and start sucking on it.
When we got to the car, I opened the back door for her. Her carefully tweezed and plucked eyebrows shot up behind her sunglasses. “Back seat, Jack? Really?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid inside.
I got into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and floored it. Best not to be here when the cops arrived. Some diligent citizen might’ve copied down the digits of the licence plate, but that could be fixed. I’m sure Eddie had some spare plates lying around somewhere.
Melody leaned forward, peering over the top of her sunglasses. Her gold bracelets jangled as she held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Melody.”
Cassandra reached back with her left hand. “Cassandra.”
“So, Jack’s helping you out, huh? Oh, don’t worry, he didn’t tell me shit. He keeps all that client stuff really close to his vest. Confidentiality and all that.” She reached out and gave my shoulder a pat. “He’s a good guy, this guy. You can trust him.”
Cassandra turned and shot me her crooked smile. “Good to know.”
Melody glanced back and forth from Cassandra to me. “So … you guys want to talk business or what? I’ve got my Walkman right here.” Melody rummaged through the red gym bag. “I put in these earbuds, man, I can’t hear shit.” Melody held up her Walkman. “Remember these? A bit before my time, but what the hell, I love the whole retro cassette thing. I buy ’em by the bagful from Value Village. I’ve picked up some real freaky shit, man.”
Cassandra shot me another look. “I bet you’re not the only one.”
I frowned at Cassandra. Cool it.
“There’s whole communities out there. You ever go on Reddit?”
“I’m not much of a cassette person.”
“Oh, it’s not just cassettes. They’ve got subreddits for whatever you’re into. Do you like weed?”
“So, uh, Melody,” I said, trying to reroute the conversation. “What’s in the bag?”
She patted the red gym bag on the seat next to her. “My costume for tonight. At first I was going to do Sexy Cop, but then I thought, nah, fuck that, I’m goin’ with Angel, baby. I broke out the wings and everything.”
Cassandra glanced back at Melody. “You’re a performer?”
“A dancer, yeah. Jack didn’t tell you? I dance at the Starlight.” Melody raised her arms toward the roof of Eddie’s Camry and did a little shimmy. “I’m damn good, too.”
“And Jack’s your bodyguard?”
I shook my head. “I did some security work for the club.”
“Yeah, until your ass got fired.” Melody clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh shit,” she said, muffled. She moved her hands away. “I shouldn’t have said that. Seriously, lady, don’t worry, he’s damn good at what he does.”
Cassandra smiled. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
The car engine thrummed. We carried on, heading west on Queen Street East. Melody sat quietly for a minute. Then she leaned toward Cassandra. “So, uh … what do you do?”
“I play poker.”
“Oh yeah? Like, professionally?”
“That’s right.”
“Big money?”
“It can be.” Cassandra turned away and glanced out the window. “Things are a bit rough right now.” She looked back at Melody. “Jack’s going to help me straighten it out.”
Melody grinned. “Who says chivalry is dead?”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
Melody straightened up, pursed her lips, and said in a deep voice, “Just business, ma’am.”
I looked up at the rear-view mirror and shot Melody a frown. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Hey, I can dig it.” Melody laughed. Her teeth sparkled in the sun. I knew most of her teeth were caps. She’d told me that a few months back: after a lifetime of hating her teeth, she’d shelled out the bucks for a brand new mouth. “I’m just yankin’ your chain.”
“Speaking of business,” I said, “let’s get you to work.” I stomped on the accelerator and we headed for the Starlight.
Toronto’s strip clubs were shutting down. It wasn’t because of some moral crusade, some gallant charge led by the self-appointed, so-called forces of decency. Nope. The clubs were closing because of the internet, and also because of the real estate boom. Most strip clubs in the city were family-owned enterprises that had been entertaining horny businessmen and bachelor parties for decades. The club where Melody worked had twelve private booths where basically anything could happen if the price was right. But now all that was in danger of going the way of the dodo. Most of the old-school rub & tug parlours of sleazy 1970s Yonge Street were long gone, and the strip clubs were next on the chopping block. Real estate values were shooting through the roof, and realtors were calling the club owners daily. Someday in the not-too-distant future all the skin palaces would be gone, sold to the highest bidder, torn down and bulldozed to make way for even more rickety towers of shoddily built and overpriced condos.
Today, though, the Starlight was open for business. Teeth-rattling techno bass boomed from the speakers. Girls dressed in lingerie sauntered through the crowd looking to sell private one-on-one dances. The girls were barely out of their teens. Steam rose from the trays of mac and cheese and chicken fingers sitting next to the wilted Caesar salad on the buffet table.
Cassandra made her scrunched-up just-sucked-a-lemon face as we walked past t
he buffet. “People eat here?”
“All the time.” Bruno the club manager stepped toward us. “Food’s actually pretty damn decent. Right, Jack?”
“Yeah, sure.” The food was nothing to write home about. Starch and carbs to keep the businessmen glued to their seats. It was the casino model. Keep ’em here and keep ’em spending.
Bruno shook my hand. He tried the power squeeze. I squeezed his hand back, harder. The man winced. He pulled his hand free and glanced over at Melody. “You’re late.”
“Traffic.” She shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do?”
“Leave earlier.”
I shot him a smile. “You’re a wise man, Bruno.” He wasn’t. He did the scut work while his silent partners stacked the cash.
Bruno chewed his toothpick, smoothed out his thick black moustache, and leered at Cassandra. “And who is this lovely young lady? You lookin’ for work, sweetheart?”
“No.” Cassandra looked at Bruno like he was a hairball coughed up by a sick cat. She tugged on my arm. “Come on, Jack. Let’s go.”
I turned to Melody. “You good?”
She grinned, flashing me those perfect store-bought teeth. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. You run along and have fun.”
Without another word, Cassandra spun on her heel and headed back through the lunchtime crowd. I followed.
“I still don’t see why we had to walk her in,” she said.
“There’s a lot of weirdos out there. I don’t have to tell you that. Sometimes these creeps get fixated on a girl. They wait for her outside the club.”
“In broad daylight?”
“What can I say? Bad shit can happen around the clock.”
Cassandra froze. “Oh shit.”
“What?” My muscles tensed. I tried to follow Cassandra’s gaze.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“Help me out here, Cassie.”
“That guy over there with the shaved head and the grey goatee and the girl on his lap.”
“I see him.”
“That’s Fisher. He’s one of Anton’s enforcers.” Cassandra yanked on my hand. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
Fisher spotted us. He stood up abruptly, causing the dancer on his lap to fall to the floor. She shouted. He ignored her and headed toward us.
I didn’t take my eyes off him. “Go over to the bar,” I said to Cassandra. “Don’t go outside. Anton’s crew might be waiting. Just sit tight.”
Fisher swaggered up to me. He was about six foot five. Taller than me. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. His pants were black, too. Up close, I realized he was older than me, likely in his midsixties, but he was in great shape. He was probably well practiced in sending men half his age to the hospital. He gave me a nod. “Jack, right? Mr. Jack Palace.”
“Fisher.” We didn’t shake hands.
“Heard you worked here.”
“Your information’s out of date.”
“Oh yeah?” Fisher grinned. One of his gold teeth caught the light. “Couldn’t keep your hands off the girls, huh?”
I just stared at him. He coughed and rubbed his nose. “Heard you know a friend of ours. She hasn’t been coming to work lately. Her boss is startin’ to get worried.”
It was almost impossible to make out what Fisher was saying. There was the booming techno music, sure, but the real problem was The Mumble. Slurring, muttering, mumbling, covering your mouth — these were the old habits of a career criminal. Lowering your voice and slurring your words makes it harder to be understood on wiretaps. Covering your mouth makes it impossible for anyone watching to read your lips. Problem is, it also makes it hard for anyone who’s supposed to be listening to understand, too. How many gangland killings were just the result of straight-up misunderstandings?
I cupped my ear. I kept my eye on Fisher’s hands. “Sorry, can’t hear you.”
Fisher frowned. “Come back tonight. Ten o’clock. The boss wants to meet you.” Fisher looked over my shoulder at Cassandra cowering by the bar. He winked. I wanted to reach in and yank his eye right out of its socket. Instead I watched as he turned and strolled out the front door. Cassandra sagged, visibly relieved.
I walked over and caught the bartender’s eye. “Scotch. Make it a double. One for her, too.” I slid a big tip across the bar.
Cassandra cupped her glass with both hands and drank deep. Then she turned to me. “How did he know we’d be here?”
The Scotch wasn’t top shelf, but it would do. “Someone tipped him off.” I drained my drink and set the glass on the bar. “Someone told him I still come here. So he came here looking for me.”
Cassie’s shoulders slumped. “And he found us.”
“Yep.” I narrowed my eyes and stared at the exits. “Fisher’s probably out there right now waiting for us. If he thinks he can, he’ll try to snatch you up. Don’t look like that. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just saying we’ve got to be careful.”
“So how do we get out of here?”
“Follow me.”
I took Cassandra by the hand and together we pushed through the crowd toward the stage. A dancer I didn’t recognize was up there doing her thing. She was topless, her breasts surprisingly small for a strip club. The crowd didn’t care. Red-faced businessmen hooted and clapped for more. The dancer teased them, snapping the elastic on her lacy white G-string. Bass boomed from the speakers and thudded against my heart.
I steered Cassandra past the crowd at the foot of the stage. We headed into a dark, narrow hallway to the right of the stage. At the end of the hall was a red exit sign. Cassandra headed toward the exit, but I shook my head. “Not yet.” Instead we ducked through a door into a small room. There was a stack of cardboard boxes along one wall. Directly ahead of us was another door. A big bouncer sitting on a white metal folding stool next to the other door saw us come in and half-rose to his feet. Our eyes locked. The bouncer’s face softened and he sat back down. “Hiya, Jack. Been awhile.”
“Tomasso.” I stepped forward and held out my hand. The big bouncer shook it. “We got a bit of a situation here.” I gave him the Cliff’s Notes recap: Anton, Fisher, Cassandra.
Tomasso’s big brow furrowed. “That’s fucked up.”
“It is. So we need to get upstairs.”
The giant bouncer rose to his feet. I saw Cassandra’s eyes widen as Tomasso just kept going up. It was like watching a sped-up film of a redwood tree going from seed to sapling to sixty feet tall. “Come with me.”
Tomasso threw open the second door and we filed backstage. The music was muffled here, but still loud. You’re getting old, Jack. One of the dancers, Valerie, was adjusting her sequined bra. Her costume was covered with feathers. She ignored us, focused on the stage, waiting for her cue.
“Please give it up for … VALERIE!” The DJ dropped the needle on some slinky jungle jazz complete with screeches of tropical birds. Valerie brushed past me. A single yellow feather floated in her wake.
The door to the dressing room opened and Melody stepped out wearing a white satin robe covered with sparkly red roses. She saw me and laughed. “What the hell, Jack? You miss me already?” Melody’s grin faltered as she noticed our faces. “What’s up? Somebody die?”
“There’s a man outside named Fisher. He works for a man named Anton. These guys are both bad news. They know I worked here. They might know that you and I are dating.”
Melody frowned. “We’re not exclusive. I mean, if you have to put a label on it —”
“This isn’t the time. If they know we’re dating, you’re in danger.”
Melody shook her head. “Damn, Jack. Why do you have to be so goddamn dramatic?”
“Come with us.”
Melody laughed. It wasn’t her gentle-silver-bells laugh, either. She sounded more like a pissed-off seal. “I’m at work, Jack. I got shit to do.”
The bass was rattling my brain, making it hard to think. Cassandra was the primary target, but I knew Fisher and Anton wouldn’t hesitate to hur
t other people in their quest to get what they wanted. That meant that everyone around Cassandra — friends, parents, casual acquaintances — was now in danger.
I reached for Melody’s hand. She stepped away from me, her green eyes flashing. “Get your hands off me!”
“This is serious, Mel. You really should come with us.”
“Fuck you, Jack. I told you, I got shit to do.”
Cassandra brushed past me. “Come on,” she murmured.
Tomasso was waiting near another open door at the far side of the stage. Inside, a set of stairs led upward. I pressed my palm against the side of my head, trying to hold my brain in place. What I needed to do was clone myself. One of me could stay with Melody, and the other me could go with Cassie. Even if I could clone myself, though, I’d have to wait nine months for the clone to be born, and then it would be a baby. Maybe if there were some kind of accelerated aging —
“You coming or what?” Cassandra stood by the stairs, hand on her hip.
“Yeah,” I muttered. I glanced over at Melody. She had turned her back to me. Roses and thorns chased each other across the back of her robe. Be safe, I thought. Then I turned and headed for the stairs.
Cassandra and I followed Tomasso up the dusty steps. The big bouncer looked down at me from over his shoulder. “You want me to talk to Bruno, get some other guys outside?”
“Nah, don’t talk to Bruno.” Someone had told Fisher he could find me here. My money was on Bruno. I’d have to have a little chat with him before this was all over. Tomasso nodded and kept climbing, his heavy boots kicking up dust.
At the top of the staircase was another door. Tomasso reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant brass ring of keys. He fumbled with them for what seemed like six weeks until he finally found the right one. With a click, the door swung open.
“All right, Jack. Anything else I can do?”
“Just keep your eyes open, all right?” I held out my hand again. “You did good, Tomasso.”
The big man beamed, then headed back downstairs.
I pushed through the open door. Cassandra hesitated on the landing. I looked back at her. “It’s okay. Come on in.”
Carve the Heart Page 3