Carve the Heart

by A. G. Pasquella

Freddy looked up at the sky. “Nice night.”

  “So far, so good.”

  “It’s nice to see the stars.” He flicked the butt of his cigar into the gravel. “You don’t see the stars in the city.” Freddy squinted at me. “This thing with Tommy … it’s got to end.” I kept quiet, but Freddy kept talking. “I’ve been talking to the bosses. I’m real close to working it out.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “See, here’s where it gets tricky.” Freddy gazed out at the lake. Moonlight rippled on the surface of the water. “We need a name.”

  “You need a fall guy.”

  “Yeah, a patsy. Except in this case, I’m pretty sure this guy was actually there.”

  I stared at Freddy. “You know I can’t throw anyone under the bus.”

  “No, no, of course not. I would never ask you to do anything like that.”

  “Why are you helping me, Freddy?”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “Sammy DiAngelo. You know him?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “He fucking hates your guts, Jack. But I’m talking to some of the others on the council. It’s looking good. DiAngelo’s a solid soldier — he’ll do what he’s told. I go back to them with a name, you’ll stop getting visitors from New York. You catch my drift?”

  “You said you’re looking for one name in particular.”

  “Yeah. This guy’s been a real thorn in our side for years. One day he’s helping us, another day he’s knocking over our counting houses and robbing us blind.” Freddy squinted. “You know who I’m talking about. I just need to hear you say it.”

  “I appreciate you going to bat for me. But you know I can’t give you a name.”

  “This would be good for all of us, Jack.”

  I didn’t say anything. Freddy sighed. “All right, if that’s the way it’s got to be, we’ll figure out another way.”

  “I owe you one, Freddy.”

  “Yeah.” The big man grinned. “You do.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The game dragged on and on and on. Cards, cigars, Scotch, sandwiches. I was bored as shit. It was one thing to play poker, something else to be stuck on the sidelines. I kept glancing at the windows and the darkness beyond, expecting Grover to come popping up with a machine gun at any minute. He didn’t. The cards flipped. Cassandra raked in another pot. At 1:47 in the morning, it was down to her and Silvio. I had to give the old man credit. He had really hung in there.

  Silvio scowled at Cassandra over his mountain of chips. “All in.”

  Cassandra sat blank-faced for several seconds. Then she glanced up at Silvio and smiled. “Call.”

  Everyone in the room leaned in. I noticed Freddy was standing, gripping the arm of one of Silvio’s antique chairs. The dealer’s face was impassive, like one of those giant stone heads from Easter Island. He flipped over the final card.

  Silvio turned over his cards. “Full house.”

  Cassandra stayed still like a statue. She flipped her cards. She had made an ace-high straight, but it wasn’t good enough. She stood up and held out her hand to Silvio. “Congratulations.”

  Cheers went up. Freddy blanched like a rattlesnake had just bit him on the dick, but then he recovered, grinned, and patted Silvio on the back. The old man cackled.

  I blinked. It was all over.

  The wind rustled the trees as we walked back to the dock. Little waves were lapping against the rocks. Cassandra didn’t look at me. “I was winning, Jack, right up till the end.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes that happens.”

  Back on the mainland, Cassie and I climbed back into the rental car. It smelled like plastic. I turned on the radio because the silence was stifling.

  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”

  The engine hummed, the tires bumped along the road, and Cassandra stared out the window at the darkness beyond. “Maybe it’s a sign,” she said. “Maybe it’s time to hang it all up. Go back to school, become a teacher.”

  “You’d be a great teacher.”

  Cassandra smiled. “I’d be a shitty teacher. Are you kidding? All those snot-nosed brats and their overprotective parents. ‘Why didn’t Little Johnny get an A?’ ‘Because your Johnny is a lazy fucking idiot who didn’t do any goddamn work, that’s why.’”

  We drove in silence the rest of the way. Darkness, headlights, grass, and trees. I saw a deer standing by the side of the road, eyes glowing in the headlights. I slowed down and gave the horn a honk. The deer bounded off, back into the woods.

  Back at our cottage, everything was just as we had left it. The Clue box still sat empty on the table. Cassandra watched me look for Grover. All the rooms were empty. “Everything okay? No bogeymen?”

  “Not tonight.”

  We stood there awkwardly, facing each other. “Well,” she said, “good night.” She went into the bedroom and shut the door. I poured myself a Scotch and sat on the couch, the lamp beside me glowing in the dark.

  In the morning she was gone. This time she left a note:

  Dear Jack: thanks for everything. I’ve gone back to the city to rustle up some cash. I’m going to dig myself out of this hole one chip at a time. Sorry I took the car. Rent another one and I’ll pay you back, one of these days. Thanks again. Cassandra.

  I made myself a coffee and drank it on the porch. Families walked past, heading for the beach.

  “Jack.” I whipped my head around and there was Grover. The little man stood by the side of the cottage. I blinked. He was wearing a pair of white shorts and a T-shirt with a picture of a giant grinning mosquito on it. Above the mosquito it said, I Gave Blood on the Bruce. That was where we were, the Bruce Peninsula. I had never seen Grover wearing shorts before.

  “Morning,” I said. “You want a coffee?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We sat on the porch and drank our coffees. Grover squinted up at the sun. “Gonna be a hot one.”

  I looked over at him. “Do you want to know how last night went? Or do you already know?”

  “I saw Cassandra leave early this morning. She didn’t look too happy.”

  “You were watching us.”

  Grover nodded. “Trying to keep you safe, old man.”

  I tilted my head. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

  “Point is, you’re up here in Cottage Country but you’re still surrounded by gangsters. You talk to Freddy last night?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I did.” I was quiet for a minute. I sipped my coffee. The caffeine was zinging through my bloodstream. The bitter taste lingered on my tongue. “They’re gunning for you, Grover.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I know.” He laughed. “You and me both. At least we’re in good company, right?”

  A man walked by carrying an oversized beach bag, an inflatable air mattress shaped like a giant piece of pizza, and a little blond boy who was probably about four years old. The Rolling Stones song “Beast of Burden” went through my head. The man trudged on, heading for the lake.

  Grover put down his cup. “You want to head back together? We could get some ice cream and stop to see the sights. Got to be a World’s Biggest Ball of Twine around here somewhere.”

  I didn’t want to go back. At least not yet. I smiled at Grover. “Fuck that,” I said. “I’m going to the beach.”

  CHAPTER 39

  They never put on sunscreen in action movies. “I gotta stop that runaway train, but first let me put on some sunscreen.” Even in a lot of beach movies, they never put on sunscreen. The needs of the body are an inconvenient reality. Kind of like how you never see the toilets on the Starship Enterprise.

  It was the day after Canada Day. A lot of people had already left to go back to the city, but Sauble Beach was still full of happy families. One family was swimming in their turbans, laughing in the waves. Two teen girls in bikinis were posing by the water’s edge while another girl snapped their picture. Memories.

&
nbsp; I didn’t want to think about anything. I wanted to lie on the beach and do nothing at all. Last night’s booze was working its way out of my system. I chugged water from my plastic water bottle. There was sand stuck to the outside of the plastic so the bottle was gritty in my hand. The combination of the water and the sun was burning away my hangover.

  A blond woman in official-looking clothes was striding along the beach, coming this way. I figured she was a park ranger or something. I had noticed her earlier when she’d been walking the other way. She wasn’t wearing a hat and her skin was flushed pink from the sun. She smiled at me. “Hi, how are you?”

  I nodded and smiled back. “You’re not wearing a hat. It’s pretty sunny out here.”

  “Yeah. I was wearing one yesterday, but, you know, it gets pretty hot. Were you here yesterday?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “It was pretty crazy.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Were you giving lots of tickets?”

  She nodded. “For barbecues. And parking. People were parking their cars on private property.”

  I thought about the little church I had passed on the way here, with its empty parking lot and NO PARKING sign. It didn’t seem very Christian to me, but then again, what did I know? I never went to Sunday school.

  I smiled. “You must hate long weekends, huh?”

  The waves crashed. The sun framed her face perfectly. “I wouldn’t say hate. Dislike, yeah. At some point the extra money won’t be worth it.” She smiled back at me. “I’ll just call in sick.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Molly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Molly. My name’s Jack.”

  The cautious, paranoid little fucker that lived deep inside my brain was setting off alarm bells, trying to get my attention. She’s a cop, Jack! What the hell, man? But no, she wasn’t a cop, not really. She was a bylaw officer, busting illicit barbecues and off-leash dogs.

  I tilted my head back toward the dunes. On the other side was the street and across the street was a bar. A line of motorcycles was parked out front, gleaming in the sun. “You ever go to that bar over there?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, sometimes. There’s a cover band that plays there that’s pretty good. They’re actually playing tonight.”

  “Oh yeah?” I downed the last sip from my water bottle. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Maybe you will.”

  The band sucked. I thought maybe they’d get better if I had a few more beers, so I had a few more. Then Molly walked in. She said hi to a woman sitting at the bar and ordered a beer. Then she saw me and her face lit up. She headed over, looking all cute in her civilian clothes. She wore a white tank top and cut-off jean shorts that really hugged the curves of her fantastic ass. She grinned, tilting her chin toward the band. “What did I tell you? Pretty good, right?”

  I smiled back. “They suck.”

  Molly blinked. Then she laughed. “You’re honest. I like that.” She looked at me closely. “Tell me something, Jack. Are you married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Seeing anyone?”

  “Yes. But we’re not exclusive.”

  “Does she know that?”

  I smiled. “She does.” I stood up. “I’m going to get another beer. You want anything?”

  Molly was looking right into my eyes. Without breaking eye contact, she raised her full bottle of beer to her lips and chugged it all. She smiled. “Yeah, I’ll have another beer, too.”

  We fell through the door of Molly’s place, kissing, grabbing, hungry for each other. She tugged off my T-shirt. I yanked down her pants. In seconds we were both naked. We kissed, our bodies rubbing together. She took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom.

  Once we got inside, I threw her on the bed. She squealed.

  “Get on all fours.”

  Her face was flushed, a few blond hairs stuck to her sweaty cheeks. She got down on all fours and raised that fabulous ass to me.

  I pulled her closer and slipped two fingers into her pussy. She was wet and ready. I rolled on a condom and pushed inside. She gasped. I pushed in again, slow and steady. She was making little mewling sounds, like a cat. “Oh God … Jack … Jack…”

  She shook when she came. I grabbed her hips and pulled her close as I came, too. I felt like a rocket exploding, my body enveloped in white light.

  Afterward, we lay back, sweating on the tangled sheets. The big blond snuggled up to me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Justice.”

  She smiled. “Something tells me you’re not talking about barbecues on the beach.” She traced her finger along the scars on my chest. “Were you in the army?”

  I nodded, slowly. “Something like that.” I rolled over. “What’s your number? I’ll give you a call.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. It was a fun night. Maybe we should leave it there.”

  Alone, I walked back along the beach. Two gulls fought over a french fry. I didn’t want to go back to the city. I wanted it to be summer forever. But that wasn’t going to happen. In a few months, all those big Sauble waves would be frozen solid. Jagged peaks of snow-covered ice rising from the lake like dragon’s teeth. And I would be back in the city, back to the sirens and the smog.

  For now, the sun was shining and the waves were breaking and the lake smelled just like a lake should. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep.

  CHAPTER 40

  Back to the city. Back to Cassandra.

  Cassandra, Cassandra.

  When we were first dating, her name was like a waterfall. I’m no poet, but when you’re in love, everything is poetry. Splashed with mud by a bus rushing by in the rain? Poetry. Bird shits on your head while you’re sitting on a bench? Poetry. Punched in the nuts by some deadbeat you’re trying to shake down for the money he owes? That shit is pure poetry. Okay, maybe not the nuts thing. But when you’re in love, at the beginning, every single moment you’re with your honey is like a scene in the goofiest, most ridiculous rom-com you’ve ever seen. Thing is, too many people get Real Life confused with the movies. Those rom-coms aren’t documentaries. People like happy endings. The problem is, Real Life doesn’t always work like that.

  Did I still love Cassandra? Of course I did, on some level. Time had changed her and it had changed me, too. You can’t step in the same river twice. Ain’t no fool like an old fool. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I sipped my Scotch, and then I had another sip. I looked over at my plant sitting on my desk and said, “Cheers.” The booze was filling me with a warm nostalgic glow. When I looked at Cassandra now, I saw a different woman than the woman I had loved.

  Cassandra and I, that was a long time ago. Some days it seemed like yesterday, other days it seemed like a million years ago. Prehistoric fossil memories decaying into carbon. Forgotten photos on a thrift shop shelf. Forget about it, Jack. Let the past be the past.

  Still, though, I couldn’t help but imagine. What if? What if we got back together? What if I stepped out of the shadows and went straight? Palace Security. We could move to the suburbs, have a bunch of kids. I could be out there mowing the lawn every second Saturday while Cassandra waited for me on the porch with a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade.

  Yeah, right. Cassandra wasn’t exactly the waiting-on-the-porch-with-a-pitcher-of-lemonade type. And where was Melody in this fantasy? Nowhere. That said a lot. I guess she was back at the club, still trying to sell her dad’s stolen coke.

  Shit. Just like that, the bubble burst.

  I stood up. I had work to do.

  Walter sat in the gloom of his house. A life-size silver statue of a bald eagle descending on its prey sat on a side table beneath a mirror. Walter was collapsed on a black leather sofa. He looked like a pile of rumpled laundry. “Melody’s not here.”

  I stared past him. His house was trashed. The sofa was all ripped up. Big heaps of stuffing puffed up from the cushions like smoke from a volcano. The coffe
e table was overturned, the glass broken, one leg missing. I reached down and plucked a photo from the rubble. Jagged shards of glass still clung to the frame. Walter and little Melody, seven or eight years old, her giant grown-up teeth all snaggly; a photo snapped in simpler times. The two of them hugging, laughing, wearing pastel sweatshirts and sunglasses with white frames. Behind them, a rainbow arched above Niagara Falls.

  “What happened?”

  Walter nudged a broken stool with the steel toe of his boot and then bent over and picked it up. “They fuckin’ tossed the place, Jack. Melody was right upstairs.” He shook his head. “They didn’t know she was here. They came around the corner and she squeezed off four shots. Didn’t hit anyone, but they cleared out quick.”

  “She’s lucky she’s alive. You’re both lucky.”

  Walter glowered. “I don’t feel so lucky. This is my home, Jack. I feel fucking violated.”

  I nodded. “I get that.”

  “First he shoots me in the stomach, and then he trashes my house.”

  “So you think this was Fisher?”

  “Melody saw him, man. Said he was here looking for the coke.” Walter stared off into space. “It used to be fun, you know? It used to be about riding and partying with your brothers. Then everybody became a fucking drug dealer.” Fisher shook his head. “I bet Fisher doesn’t even remember how to change a fucking tire.”

  I mimicked holding up a phone. “Hello, CAA?”

  Walter blinked. Then he laughed. “You’re a fucking trip, Jack. You know that?”

  I walked across the ruined living room. At the front door, I paused. “This might not have been Fisher.”

  Walter squinted. “What do you mean? Melody saw him herself.”

  “Yeah, well, she might’ve been confused, adrenalin running high, shooting at figures in the dark. Hell, you’re lucky she didn’t shoot you.”

  Walter grunted. “That’s me. Mr. Lucky.”