Unhooking the Moon

by Gregory Hughes

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Sure’ was all I could think of. What else could I say? You’re crazy and you’re going to get us killed!

  ‘Well, we better get going,’ she said. ‘And as we can’t ride on the expressway, we’ll have to follow it as best we can.’

  So that’s what we did. We mounted up and followed the expressway as best we could.

  Chapter Eight

  It was dark. The road we were on was long like a freeway except it was empty of traffic. There wasn’t even a house nearby. We had been riding for I don’t know how many hours and a lot of it had been off-road. My butt ached with the saddle and my hands ached with gripping the handlebars. My rucksack seemed to have gained in weight and it stuck to my damp T-shirt. And to add to my discomfort, I was now confused. We had been following the signs for Hamilton and then we were supposed to follow the signs for Niagara Falls. But now the signs for Niagara Falls were pointing back the way we came.

  I turned to see the Rat in the streetlight. The Rat was pretty tough, she never complained, but her face looked pale and her rucksack looked too big for her.

  ‘Would you like to have a rest?’

  She nodded and climbed slowly from her bike. We pushed the bikes up a low hill, that ran alongside the road, and laid them behind some bushes.

  ‘We’ll rest here,’ I told her, ‘in case the cops come along.’ I helped her take off her rucksack and I untied her sleeping bag for her. ‘It’s a bit cold. Why don’t you get in and sleep for a while?’ She crawled into her sleeping bag and curled up without a word. I undid my sleeping bag and did the same. ‘We’ll try again in the morning,’ I told her.

  I was shivering, the ground was damp with dew, but it wasn’t so much the cold as fatigue. I wanted to sleep but I couldn’t. I just lay there wishing I was in a warm bed in Winnipeg. Me and the Rat had never been so lost. We were in a dark place in the middle of nowhere and there was no one to call for help.

  I remember a dark winter’s night when we had ridden home from town. The wind blasted frosty snow into our eyes all the way. When we reached the house the Rat dropped her bike and ran inside, but I didn’t. I looked through the kitchen window, where the snow had stuck like an arc, and I watched the Old Man take bread from the oven. Then he attached a toy snowman to the kitchen cupboard and standing back he looked at it. The Rat came in and, taking off her coat, she talked about her day. It was such a picture. It was bitterly cold but I didn’t care because I knew I could be in that warmth when I wanted.

  I was desperate for that warmth now. And for the first time I thought about going to the cops and giving ourselves up. It’s not like we had done anything wrong, but I felt we were on the run from the proper authorities, those people who would put us in a home without a moment’s hesitation.

  But maybe they wouldn’t be so bad. They might find us somewhere nice to live. I turned to ask the Rat what she thought. Her eyes were closed and she looked so drained, just like she did on that winter’s night. The Rat would never think about giving herself up, no matter how bad things got. And when I thought about it, neither would I. If they wanted us they’d have to come and get us. And who said we’d stay where they put us.

  Suddenly a car screeched to a stop below us. Another one followed. The Rat was already out of her sleeping bag and sneaking behind a bush. The car doors slammed shut and two men came towards each other. One was young and slim. The other man was large and he had the stump of an unlit cigar in his mouth.

  ‘Joey. How’s New York treating you?’ asked the large man.

  ‘Badly as usual. You got the merchandise?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I couldn’t get it.’

  ‘What!’

  The larger man laughed. ‘I’m just kidding.’ He opened the trunk and they looked inside.

  ‘OK let’s make this quick,’ said the younger man.

  They started to move packages from one car to the other. But they never went into the trunk of the second car, they went under the back seat.

  ‘They’re drug dealers!’ whispered the Rat.

  ‘Shush.’

  After they were done the younger man handed the larger man an envelope and he scanned the contents. ‘Always a pleasure, Joey.’ He shook hands and, getting in his car, he drove away. The younger man put a blanket over the back seat and, closing the door, he looked around him. Then getting in the car he started the engine. It turned over and over but it wouldn’t start. He began to swear and bang on the steering wheel with his fist. That’s when I saw the Rat rolling down the hill on her bike.

  ‘What’s wrong, mister?’ She pulled up at the side of the car. ‘Won’t it start?’

  The look he gave her was more than cold. He got out the car slowly and looked around him. ‘Where did you come from? What are you doing out here?’

  I was down there as quick as I could. ‘She don’t mean nothing, mister.’

  He looked even angrier when he saw me.

  ‘We’re searching for our uncle,’ said the Rat. ‘He’s a drug dealer too.’

  ‘Get lost, kid!’

  ‘Come away,’ I told her.

  ‘There’s no need to be mean,’ said the Rat. ‘We we’re just being friendly. We only wanted to help.’

  The man’s face seemed to soften. ‘Yeah well I’m having a bad night! I’m out of gas and I have to get back to New York!’

  ‘We passed a gas station two miles back,’ I told him.

  ‘Two miles, you say?’

  ‘If you’ve got a can we’ll go get it for you,’ said the Rat. ‘We’re pretty fast on our bikes.’

  ‘That would really help me out! And I didn’t mean to snap,’ he said opening the trunk. ‘But you gave me quite a surprise.’

  But then he started swearing and banging things around because there was no can in the trunk.

  ‘Do you believe that? The only time I run out of gas and I have no – ’

  The Rat drank the last of the Coke from the plastic container and burping loudly she screwed on the cap.

  ‘Boy, am I glad I ran into you. OK here’s five dollars. That should be enough.’

  ‘We won’t be long,’ said the Rat taking the money.

  ‘Hey, you kids ain’t gonna ride off with my five bucks, are you?’

  ‘Sure,’ said the Rat. ‘That’s what we do. We wait in the middle of nowhere hoping that someone will break down. And when they do we ride off with their gas money.’

  The guy looked bewildered. ‘Everyone’s a wise guy tonight,’ he said in this winning New York accent. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

  We rode to the gas station where we got told by the attendant that we shouldn’t be out so late or filling bottles with gas from the pumps, but who still bid us a good evening and told us to come again. Then we rode back to the guy while eating the candy bars we had bought with his change.

  ‘Why you said we’d go for gas for him I don’t know. I bet he wouldn’t do it for us.’

  ‘We don’t use gas, Bob. Anyway he has a good spirit. And he’s going to New York!’

  ‘He won’t give us a ride.’

  The Rat smiled confidently. ‘We’ll see.’

  When he saw us coming he looked plenty relieved.

  ‘Oh, you kids are the best! Just let me fill her up and I’ll give you a nice tip.’

  I looked at him as he poured the gas in the car. He had slicked-back black hair that made him look tough and he was pretty mean to us at first. But now that he was happy, and my fear of him had gone, I could see he was only a young guy.

  Throwing the empty container in the trunk, he jumped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. ‘All right!’

  ‘Quick give me all your change!’ said the Rat.

  I handed her what coins I had.

  ‘Thanks, kids,’ he said getting out the car.

  The Rat added some notes and holding the money in both hands she offered it to him.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘This is all we’ve got,’ she said in
a meek voice. ‘We really need to get to New York to find Uncle Jerome. If we don’t, they’ll put us in an orphanage!’

  Those drama classes were really starting to pay off!

  ‘Ah look, kid. I’d like to help, but it’d look strange if I got caught at the border with two kids I’d only just met. I can’t do it. But I really appreciate your help, I really do.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said the Rat her meek voice getting meeker. ‘We’ll get there somehow.’

  Her sad look continued even when he gave her a twenty-dollar tip. And he looked more than a little guilty as he got in his car. ‘You kids look after yourselves.’ But he drove away all the same.

  ‘That was a great performance,’ I said. ‘And cradling the money in your hands like that, that was a really nice touch.’

  But she mumbled miserably in French. She was such a bad loser, not gracious in defeat at all. But when the car stopped, the Rat’s head turned towards me. She looked at me with her smug face, which was the most annoying of her faces. Then, when it began to reverse, she raised her eyebrows twice in victory. She knew I couldn’t stand that. But on this occasion I didn’t care.

  ‘Put your bikes in the trunk,’ said the guy, ‘and try not to scratch the paintwork.’

  We dumped our bikes and rucksacks in the trunk and jumped in the back seat.

  ‘My name’s Marie Claire DeBillier and this is my brother Bob. And we’re from Winnipeg.’

  ‘Well my name’s Joey and I’m from cloud cuckoo land!’ said Joey driving away. ‘I must be out of my mind doing this!’

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ said the Rat.

  ‘Yeah. Well, how am I gonna explain who you are when we get to the border?’

  ‘We’ll think of something.’

  ‘Forget that. Just pretend to be asleep and with any luck they won’t bother us.’

  It felt cosy being in the car, especially after cycling so much, but as we neared the border everything became tense. We got through the Canadian side with no problem but then we came to the US side.

  ‘I can’t stand these retards. They give everyone grief except the terrorists. Them they let in with open arms. You kids get under that blanket and pretend to be asleep.’

  We drove into a brightly lit area and the car came to a stop.

  ‘Identification … Step out of the car and open the trunk.’

  Joey switched off the engine and got out of the car. A flashlight shone in my face and then I heard the trunk pop open.

  ‘How long have you been in Canada?’

  ‘Just for the day.’

  ‘What’s in the rucksacks?’

  ‘The rucksacks … well … I don’t know – they’re not mine.’

  The man’s tone became harsh. ‘So you’re bringing bags into the US but you don’t know what’s in them?’

  My heart beat a sickening beat.

  ‘That’s my bag, officer. You can look in it if you want.’

  Oh my God! I opened my eyes to see the Rat leaning out the back window.

  ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ said the man.

  ‘Where are we, Uncle Joey? I’m tired.’

  ‘You can sleep soon, sweetheart.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked a woman’s voice.

  ‘We’re going to New York City to see our grandma. And Uncle Joey’s taking us. Aren’t you, Uncle Joey? We’re going to see the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty and everything. And our granny’s taking us on a ferry ride around Manhattan! And she’s going to bake us her very own apple pie so we don’t get hungry.’

  She sounded so convincing! Some days I wondered who the Rat really was!

  ‘What’s your granny’s name?’ asked the woman.

  That’s it! The Rat’s Little Red Riding Hood performance had ruined us!

  ‘Grandma, of course.’

  I was relieved when I heard laughter.

  ‘Would you like to see our birth certificates?’ asked the Rat.

  She always had to overdo it! She wouldn’t be satisfied until we were all locked up!

  A man came close to the car. ‘Marie Claire … What’s that? Wazhashnoons?’

  ‘It’s my Native name.’

  ‘Marie Claire Wazhashnoons DeBillier and Robert DeBillier born in Winnipeg …’

  A flashlight shone in my face.

  ‘That’s my bother Bob. He’s asleep.’

  ‘How do you like living in Winnipeg?’

  ‘It’s nice, but I’d sooner live in New York. It’s more sophisticated and I want to be an actress.’

  I heard a bit of chuckling. I didn’t know if they were border control or customs but there were quite a few of them around the car.

  ‘OK, you can go,’ said the serious voice from the back of the car.

  The trunk slammed shut and Joey jumped in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Bye. Bye everyone,’ said the Rat waving out the window.

  We were quiet as we drove away and then the car slowed again.

  ‘Drive on,’ said another voice.

  Joey looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘Kids. Breakfast is on me!’ And for the first time that night he sounded happy. But he was nowhere near as happy as us. Smiling, I sank back and closed my eyes.

  ‘Yo Bobby! Bobby De Niro! Wake up – it’s breakfast time!’ said Joey.

  I opened my eyes. It was still dark. The Rat was in the front seat next to Joey and they were both looking at me.

  ‘Come on, kid. Let’s go!’ said the Rat. She tried to imitate Joey’s New York accent but ended up talking like a bad version of Bugs Bunny.

  Dazed, I got out the car and followed them towards a brightly lit diner that hurt my eyes.

  Joey held the door open. ‘Come on, Bob. They do a great breakfast here.’

  There weren’t many people inside, just a few couples and some guys drinking coffee at the counter. The Rat grabbed a menu and ran through a maze of red booths.

  ‘Yo, Joey! You wanna sit here?’ shouted the Rat across the restaurant.

  ‘I don’t know, MC!’ shouted Joey. ‘What you think?’

  ‘Sure!’ shouted the Rat, sliding into the booth.

  ‘It’s not sure,’ said Joey sitting opposite her. ‘It’s shewer!’

  ‘Why shewer?’ asked the Rat.

  ‘Because that’s the way an Italian ghetto bitch talks. It’s not exactly proper American. And you gotta be loud!’ said Joey raising his voice. ‘Italians are loud people and proud of it. We like to be noticed. Watch,’ he said seeing a waitress. ‘Hey! How about some service over here!’ When the waitress looked over, she didn’t seem impressed. ‘And when you don’t understand something, or even if you do and you don’t like it, you say Huuuua!’

  ‘Hu!’ said the Rat.

  ‘No, it’s more like a grunt. Huuuua!’

  ‘Huuua!’

  ‘That’s it! What you think, Bobby? All your sister needs is big hair and gum to crack and she’s all set.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘It’s shewer!’ said the Rat.

  I hadn’t had much sleep and she was really starting to irritate! Then the waitress came to the table. She was young and pretty but she didn’t look happy. She took a pad and pen from her pocket and stood there.

  ‘OK, kids, what do you say to three big American breakfasts?’ asked Joey looking at the menu.

  ‘Shewer!’ said the Rat. ‘And can I have a mocha?’

  ‘Huuuua?’

  ‘Uncle Joey, can I have a mocha?’ asked the Rat in this loud irritating New York accent!

  ‘Shewer, sweetheart!’ said Joey, and they both laughed.

  But there wasn’t anything to laugh at.

  ‘Three big guys, regular coffee for me and Bob, and a mocha for my niece,’ said Joey.

  The waitress scribbled it down. ‘Anything else?’

  Joey smiled. ‘Depends on what you’re offering, sweetheart.’

  ‘Give me a break,’ said the waitress and, taking the menu, she walked away.

  ‘
What you think, MC? You think she’s got the hots?’

  ‘Shewer!’

  They started laughing again. They just wouldn’t stop. I was glad when breakfast came. At least they were quiet for a time.

  We ate eggs, bacon, and hash browns drowned in ketchup with toast and lots of orange jelly. I must have been hungrier than I thought because I ate every bit. Joey paid the bill and told the waitress to keep the change. It must have been a big tip because it put a smile on her face and she never stopped refilling his coffee cup. Maybe she did have the hots.

  Joey and the Rat were getting along like a couple of gophers. Maybe that’s because Joey was a bit of a kid himself. They were praising each other on their performance at the border. Then the Rat started talking in one of her accents and Joey started talking in one of his. They were like soul mates, they really were. I was starting to feel left out. ‘What was in those packages?’ I asked.

  I swear it was like someone had ripped the needle off the record. But the question was out there now. And I couldn’t take it back. Joey put his cup down. Even the Rat seemed to freeze. He looked one way and then the other. And then he indicated for us to huddle up.

  ‘Cigars,’ he said.

  ‘Cigars. That’s it?’

  ‘Not just any old cigars. Monte Cristo Cuban cigars. Thirty boxes. I get them from my Canadian contact for $400 a box. I sell them to my Coney Island contact for $700 a box. He sells them to his guy on Wall Street for I don’t know how much, but I make … I make … ’

  ‘You make nine thousand dollars,’ said the Rat.

  Joey looked impressed. ‘Can I adopt you?’