“I’m going to talk to Melody. Do me a favour, Walter. Don’t do anything drastic.”
I drove to Melody’s place. She knew I was coming, but she still wasn’t ready. She rummaged through her little house, peeling clothes off the backs of dining room chairs. “How was it up north?”
“It was good.” I paused. “I met someone.”
“Oh yeah?” Melody grinned. “A love connection?”
“We spent the night together.”
“Were you safe?”
“Always.”
“C’mon,” Melody said, taking my hand, “let’s go for a drive.”
I drove. Melody sat in the passenger seat holding her white leather purse in her lap.
“I went to see your dad tonight. His place was trashed.”
“Fisher, man. He’s looking for the coke.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mel.”
“He wants his stuff, Jack — the stuff or the money.”
“But you’re not going to give it to him.”
“Hell, no. Fuck him. He came up the stairs. I was scared shitless. I grabbed my dad’s gun and rattled off four shots.”
“You could’ve killed him.”
“Shit, I wish I had.”
“No, you don’t.” I took a sideways glance at Melody.
She frowned. “What? You think I could make something like that up?”
I didn’t say anything. The car slid through the night.
Melody pointed. “Turn here.”
I stopped the car in front of Riverdale Park East. We were on the top of a massive hill. Below us was the city skyline, lit up against the night. I glanced over at Melody. “We need to talk about the coke.”
Melody hopped out of the car. “You’ll have to catch me first.” And then she was off, running through the grass, her blond ponytail flicking from side to side.
I jumped out and ran. I caught her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She squealed and pretended to struggle. Then she raised her left hand and pressed her palm against the side of my face. She raised her ruby-red lips to mine. I leaned in for the kiss and she broke away laughing.
“Seriously, Mel. The coke …”
She put her finger to her lips. “Shh.”
She danced in front of me, flowing like quicksilver in the dark. “Can your Sauble Beach girl dance like this?” She tugged down her grey sweatpants and her hot-pink thong and waggled her ass at me. I reached out with both hands, grabbed her butt cheeks and squeezed. She moaned and bent over, pushing against my hands. I pushed back with one hand and unzipped my zipper. My penis jutted out into the cool night air. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” She went down on her hands and knees on the damp grass. I slid two fingers into her warm, wet slit. She jolted as if hit by a bolt of electricity and then settled back against my hand. My body throbbed toward hers. I grabbed her hips, pulled her closer and thrust inside.
“Slow … slow …”
I pushed into her again, slower this time, in and out, slick against her skin. She groaned. I kept grasping her hip with my right hand. I reached under her shirt with my left hand and found the warm soft curve of her breast. I pinched her nipple, hard, as I pushed all the way inside. She gasped. I closed my eyes and rocked, slow at first but then faster, the smell of the damp grass, the coconut smell of her skin, the warm wet tightness of her pussy grasping me, the tingling feeling building up in my core, faster and faster and faster, both my hands clamping against her hips, and then I shoved all the way inside, trying to get every last bit of me inside of her. Her whole body shuddered. I shook like an earthquake as I came.
We lay gasping in the wet grass. The clouds twisted by, revealing the moon. She sat up and lit a cigarette. She exhaled and looked over at me and smiled. “Goddamn, Jack.”
I sat up, too. “Give me one of those.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder and we smoked, watching the full moon shine down over the heart of the city.
CHAPTER 41
I dropped Melody off at the club and then stopped by the liquor store on my way back home. Bottle after bottle, row after row. I bought a bottle of Jim Beam and six tallboys of Steam Whistle. Over by the door, a tired-looking man was being handcuffed by the cops. The man’s hair, clothes, and skin were all the colour of dust. Busted for trying to boost some booze. The cops were wearing rubber gloves to protect themselves against bad blood. I watched as they led the dusty man out.
That wouldn’t be me. My rock bottom would look different, I was sure of it. The Chief went out in a blaze of glory — sex and booze and drugs — one final hurrah before a hit man cut him down. That’s the kind of rock bottom that was waiting for me. Or maybe I’d get hit by a bus tomorrow. Who the fuck knows?
Back in my office, I soaked my grass-stained pants in some hot water and dish soap in my bathroom sink, but the green didn’t wash out. When I was a kid, Mom and I washed all our clothes in dish soap, making that long trek to the laundromat with all our clothes bundled up in black garbage bags. Dish soap is about five times cheaper than laundry soap, but it doesn’t get clothes as clean; no matter how many times we washed them, the clothes still smelled slightly funky. The only reason I was soaking my pants in dish soap now was because I was out of laundry soap. That’s right, these days I used actual laundry soap because I was a real high roller.
There was a knock on the door. I spotted Eddie through the peephole and slid the bolts and popped the locks.
Eddie glanced down at the beer can in my hand and then up at me. “Can I come in?”
I nodded and stepped out of the way. The big man inched past me into the stale air of the office. “Cassandra’s down in the casino. She’s grinding it out, Jack. She’s playing poker like someone’s got a gun to her head.”
“Is she winning?”
“Up and down, Jack. Up and down.” Eddie shuffled over to the sofa and plopped himself down. Something inside the sofa creaked. He ran his hand along the blue velour. “Do you remember the night you burned your old couch?”
I finished off the beer and nodded.
“Do you remember what happened after you burned it?”
I squinted, trying to cast my mind back. What had happened? I stood swaying in the alley and I watched the couch burn. And then what? In my mind I did a victory lap complete with streamers, confetti, and a roaring crowd. I remembered waking up the next morning on the floor, staring over at the dirty rectangle where the couch had sat. Dust bunnies, spare change, bottle caps, and smudges of random grime.
Eddie shifted his bulk. “I was in my office. I glanced up at my security feed and I saw your drunk ass dragging that old couch into the alley. Good, I thought. He’s finally throwing that ratty old thing out. But then you started flicking that Zippo. I thought, What the fuck?” Eddie shook his head and chuckled. “You got that thing going pretty good. Those old couches burn, man. I came running out with Josh and Vin. They doused that shit with fire extinguishers while I held you back. Your face was all twisted up like a Halloween mask. ‘Let it burn!’ you kept shouting. ‘Let that shit burn!’”
I nodded. “That couch had to go.”
Eddie leaned forward, the couch creaking. “Can you see any problem with burning a couch directly outside an illegal motherfucking casino?”
I opened my mouth and shut it.
Eddie kept staring at me. “I didn’t say anything at the time because I could see you were hurting. And we got that fire out quick. The next day I got some guys to haul that shit to the dump. No harm, no foul. But goddamn, Jack. If the cops had come …”
“You pay the cops.”
“Some of them, sure. But I don’t have a magic money tree. I can’t pay all the cops.” Eddie sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m just saying. I like to have a drink every now and then. But I know my limits. Even better, I respect them. You and I have had a lot of good fun drinking. Don’t get me started. But at some point maybe the drinking starts to do more harm than good.” Eddie creaked to his feet. “Do m
e a favour, will you? Think about it.”
CHAPTER 42
The next morning I cracked my eyes open and wondered if maybe Eddie had a point. I splashed cold water on my face, and then I slumped on the couch until my brain came back online. This hangover routine was getting old.
I drove out to see Fisher. Maybe the old biker really had trashed Walter’s place. It was hard to picture Melody smashing up her own dad’s house. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past her.
Fisher was in his cracked driveway, standing next to his old brown station wagon. His old German shepherd, Brutus, was sitting on the passenger seat. Fisher frowned as I pulled up to the curb. “Mornin’, Jack. You’re up bright and early.”
“Heard you paid a visit to Walter the other night.”
“I don’t know who told you that, but the other night I was right here taking care of my sick ol’ dog.” Fisher reached in through the window and gave Brutus a pat. “Isn’t that right, boy?”
“Your dog is your alibi.”
“I don’t need a motherfucking alibi. I didn’t do shit.”
I waited but Fisher didn’t say anything else. Finally, the biker sighed. “Car won’t start. Drive us to the vet, will you, Jack?”
Fisher sat in the passenger seat with his arm around the dog. Brutus was panting, looking through the windshield with his one good eye. The other eye was cloudy and white. The dog smelled terrible.
“Cassie’s got to come back to Anton, Jack.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“He wants his money.” Fisher stared through the windshield. “I can’t stall him forever.” Fisher pointed. “Turn here,” he said.
The vet’s office was a little ivy-covered brick building on King Street just north of the Distillery District. I pulled in behind the building and then turned into a parking lot. I cut the engine and the three of us just sat there staring through the windshield like we were casing the joint.
I got out and breathed deep. All that big dog funk in one little car.
Fisher climbed out, too, stumbling and almost falling down onto the asphalt. “Brutus, come!”
The big dog bounded out of the car and went sprawling on the pavement. Fisher caught his collar and pulled him back to his feet. “Arthritis. He don’t move so good anymore.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of doggie treats. Brutus lapped them up gratefully, eating right out of Fisher’s hand.
Fisher looked up. “Even on death row, you get a last meal.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“We had a good run, didn’t we, boy?”
Brutus thumped his tail.
Fisher turned and headed for the veterinarian, and the old dog followed.
At the front door, Brutus whined and stopped. Fisher bent down and ruffled the dog’s fur while he whispered in his ear. I glanced up and down the street.
“So, uh, I’ll wait for you in the car.”
I left Fisher on the vet’s stoop, hugging his dog.
I didn’t get back in the car. I leaned against it instead, breathing the air and feeling the sun against my face. The sunlight filtering through the trees was making shadows dance across the pavement. I wondered what my last meal would be, when my time came.
After about half an hour, I had to pee. I could piss behind the building, but it was broad daylight and cars and people were going by. I’d peed in plenty of alleyways in my time, but only when I was drunk. Right now I was sober and I didn’t want to get busted for something as stupid as urinating in public.
I walked back into the vet’s and smiled at the receptionist. “Is there a bathroom?”
“Down the hall. Third door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait! You’ll need the key.”
How do you spell relief? I zipped up, washed my hands, and headed back into the hallway. Fisher was down the hall, head down, leaning against a wall.
He saw me coming and straightened up, brushing away a tear. “That’s that. He was a damn good dog.”
“I’m sorry, Fisher.”
“Yeah, well …” Fisher shrugged. “Circle of life and all that, right?” He pulled a red bandana out of his back pocket and blew his nose. He tucked the bandana back into his pocket and without looking at me, turned and headed for the exit.
CHAPTER 43
“He’s having a what?”
“A wake. A funeral for his dog.”
Cassandra frowned. “Did he kill his dog?”
“No. Well, sort of. He had him put down.”
Eddie’s casino buzzed around us. “I always figured Fisher would be the type of guy to put down his own dog. Take it for one last romp in the woods and then pull the trigger.”
“Yeah, well … it’s not that easy.”
Cassandra sipped her gin and tonic and then set the glass down on the bar. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You’re grinding.”
“Hell yeah, I’m grinding. I owe Anton six hundred grand and now I owe Freddy a hundred grand, too.” Cassandra tugged at her sleeve, subconsciously trying to pull it over her hand. “I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I might as well play. Try to build up my chip stack.”
“How’s that going?”
“You should’ve seen the hand I had yesterday, Jack. Beautiful flush, all diamonds.”
“And today?”
Cassandra stood up. “Today’s not over.”
I watched her head over to the tables. I turned and signalled for one more drink.
The back door of the casino burst open. Two skinny guys in black hoodies and BMX masks ran into the room with pistols in their hands. “Get your hands up. GET ’EM UP!” The men in masks were so nervous they were shaking. “The money. COME ON, MOTHERFUCKERS! THE MONEY!”
Eddie kicked open the door of his office and came out shooting. One of the robbers jerked and twitched. A red bloom was spreading on his hoodie. The other robber screamed, dropped his gun, and ran for the back door.
Eddie cracked off another shot. The second robber stiffened and fell. The sound of the gunshots was deafening inside the close confines of the basement. Everyone in the casino ducked for cover. Someone was screaming.
Holding his gun with both hands, Eddie cautiously approached the bodies sprawled out on the floor. Blood pooled on the casino carpet. Eddie knelt down, pulled back the robber’s hoodie and peeled back the mask. A young teenager, fifteen, maybe sixteen, stared up at him. “Fuck.”
Eddie stood up and handed his pistol to Vin. Vin turned and headed out the door. The guns would be wiped and dumped in a storm sewer.
Eddie lashed out and kicked over a chair. “FUCK!”
I tried to put my arm around Eddie, but he raised his shoulder and butted my arm away.
Four of Eddie’s guys stepped forward and picked up the bodies and dragged them from the room.
Eddie stumped over and plopped himself down at the bar. Vivian put a full glass of Scotch in front of him and gave his arm a pat. He drank deep and then looked up at me. “Just kids, Jack. Just a couple of goddamn kids.”
The casino had cleared out pretty fast. No one wanted to stick around after the shooting. Cassandra still sat by herself at one of the poker tables, flipping her chips from one hand to the other. Vin worked a carpet cleaner. I walked over to Eddie’s office and knocked on the door.
The only light on in Eddie’s office was the pale-orange glow of his desk lamp. A haze of smoke hung in the air. Eddie inhaled half a cigarette in one pull. He exhaled and the haze shifted and twisted, smoke merging and breaking apart. “You okay?”
Eddie didn’t say anything. He puffed and exhaled. “I was robbed before, back when I was just starting out. Two guys, not kids, old-time stick-up men. Someone had tipped them off that there was a new kid in town. Back then we didn’t even have the roulette wheel yet. It was all poker. We had five rickety card tables plus the bar. I built that bar myself.” Eddie flashed me a crooked grin. “No one plays roulette in an underground basement c
asino. But I wanted the place to look, you know, classy. I wanted it to look real. Someone comes in, I want them to be transported. I want them to feel special. I want them to feel like James fucking Bond standing in a casino in Monte Carlo. So I added the wheel. But the first time I was robbed, it didn’t look like Monte Carlo. The bar itself, that was beautiful. Solid oak, sanded and stained — five coats of stain on that sucker. Sand, stain, sand, stain, and so on and so forth. I mean, that sucker practically glowed. But other than the bar, the place looked like shit. It looked like a bunch of gangsters hunched over rickety-ass card tables playing poker in the basement.”
Eddie lit another cigarette off the first one’s last dying embers. “So these guys come in. I had a young kid, Slim, watching the door. The gunmen marched him in with his hands by his sides. Vin was over by the bar. He started to go for his gun but I waved him off. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt.” Eddie shook his head slowly. “Those two punks stripped us bare. They even took my fucking Rolex. But money, watches … stuff can be replaced. Life, though … once it’s gone, it’s gone for good.”
Eddie shifted in his office chair. The cigarette smouldered between his fingers. “Aunt Cecilia had fronted me some start-up cash and she was a silent partner in my whole thing. The punks who robbed us didn’t know that, but they found out. David — you know him, Aunt Cecilia’s oldest, David the Dragon — found those guys. We got our money back, but at that point it wasn’t even about the money.”
Eddie exhaled in a slow, steady stream, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “Aunt Cecilia said we had to send a message.” Eddie took another drag. “One of those punks just disappeared. They didn’t find his body then and they’re not going to find it now. The other guy, they found him in his boarding house. His landlady found him, or at least most of him. His head and hands were left on the floor of his bedroom. One hand, palm down, on either side of his severed head. Just sitting on those dusty boarding-house floorboards.” Eddie shook his head. “That was some gruesome shit. But Aunt Cecilia got her point across. Word spread and no one fucked with us again. Now and then some asshole tries to palm some chips, but a smack across the knuckles with a hammer usually puts a stop to that. And when King Diamond tried to muscle his way in …” Eddie stubbed out his cigarette. “But we took care of that, didn’t we? And now this.” Eddie took a big swig of Scotch. “This was a test run, Jack. There’s folks who have been waiting in the wings for Cecilia to drop dead. Now that she’s gone, they’re going to come out of the woodwork, trying to stake their claim.”
Carve the Heart Page 16