CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The nightmare that overtook me took place within the pulsing radiant dome that was my skull. I was on Flea Island, following a woman dressed in a hooded black raincoat and gumboots. Rain sheeted down; my throbbing head seared with agony, but my body was cold, naked, shivering. A ravenous horde of fleas feasted on my face and inside my nostrils and mouth. The woman I was following had a black hole where her face was supposed to be, but I knew who she was all right: She was P.G. Mainwaring. Flea Island was about the size of a football field and forested improbably with aluminum Christmas trees. P.G. was walking too fast. I couldn’t keep up and lost sight of her once or twice, until she left the trees and went inside an unfinished house. The house had a shingle roof and planked floors, but its walls were just bare wooden studs. I saw P.G. go down on her knees before a fireplace and try to lodge something up in the chimney. The thing wouldn’t stay put, and it kept falling to the hearth. When I looked over her shoulder to see what she was trying to hide, her faceless head swung towards me. I saw something horrible under the black hood and raised both hands to block the sight of it. P.G. grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. Instead of struggling, I curled myself into a ball, and waited for the world to end . . .
A voice I didn’t recognize said, “Shhhh, take it easy, you’re waking up.”
Was I dead? No. I was alive and in the real world. My crack-addict dream receded. My head ached abominably; my mouth felt as if someone had driven a blade into my gums and was scraping the dental nerves. I opened my eyes: I was lying on a wooden floor with a woman leaning over me.
“Hold still and keep your eyes shut for a minute. I’ve bandaged your head. Now I’m going to put a poultice on your face,” she said quietly. “It’s wild lily-of-the-valley leaves infused with cascara bark. It’s a gooey mess, but it’ll cool your skin.”
“Aaaaargh, gruuugh.”
“Try not to speak, it’ll make your gums bleed worse.”
I fell into another doze. The next time I woke, I was lying on a low couch with a cushion beneath my head. The woman was absent, but a man sitting in a Coast Salish chief’s ceremonial chair was watching me. It was Twinner Scudd. Behind Scudd’s chair was a giant sun mask from the centre of which a Raven-Transforming-into-Wolf face gaped out. The mask was old. I was wondering how Twinner had acquired it when he got down from his throne and swaggered over. He said, “Having a shitty day, Seaweed? Eddie Cliffs gave you a good hammering, used your face as a punching bag. But you’ve been stupid, right? You were asking for it and maybe you deserved it.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words that emerged from between my swollen lips were garbled and indistinct.
“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Twinner said with his usual cocky self-confidence. “Not much goes on around here without me knowing all about it. I knew you were in Whaletown five minutes after the mail plane landed. I didn’t know who you were, not at first. The Zodiac that was tied up to the government float when you landed belongs to me. It’s the same Zodiac that Cliffy picked you up in last night.”
I licked my parched lips. It didn’t help much, because an invisible sadist was tearing at my gums with red-hot pliers. Twinner went away for a minute and came back with a pitcher of water and a glass. He raised my head from the cushions and let me drink.
“It isn’t hard to figure out why you came,” Twinner remarked. “It’s because of her, right? That stuck-up meddling bitch.”
Twinner’s words made little sense. What was he talking about?
“Do you have any idea how many people depend on me for jobs?” Twinner Scudd went on rhetorically. “Nearly fifty. Fifty of the greedy bloodsuckers, and I’m only talking about full-time workers. I’ve got grow-ops all over Desolation Sound, and when we start chopping bud in a couple of weeks, I’ll need even more of the bastards. Let me tell you something else. Turnover is heavy in my business, and good help is hard to find. Guys rip me off, or try to. Some of these half-smart fuckers can’t even follow simple instructions, and the guy who worked you over last night is one of ’em. He’s a sadistic bastard, Cliffy is.
“I wouldn’t mind so much except unnecessary violence can bring on a shitload of grief. Believe me, Seaweed, I know what I’m talking about,” he said, smiling now like a man who wanted to be liked. “Any time you feel like working for me instead of Whitey, there’s an opening for you. Come in with me, Seaweed. I’ll pay you more money in the next six months than you’ve earned in your whole life. With what you know about cops and crime, you and me could clean up. You could move off the reserve, live on a big yacht like I do. You’d have money up to the ying-yang, so think it over.”
Twinner Scudd went back to his chair and sat down, motionless and silent, until he took his dark glasses off and rubbed the back of a hand across his dark eyes. He put the glasses back on. “I need immunity from prosecution,” he said quite humbly. “I’m ready to make a deal with you. A plea bargain, because my ass is in a sling and I want out. I know what’s being going on and I’m gonna turn the killer over to you. In exchange, I get to walk.”
Which killer? I wondered.
He said, “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”
In your dreams, I thought. But I nodded my head. If I’d been capable of it, I’d have smiled too because, if Twinner Scudd was involved in murder, I’d see he went down for it.
“I can handle a little slap on the wrist, maybe a suspended sentence, because that’s all I deserve,” he said, nodding sagely. “Believe me, Seaweed, I didn’t conspire to kill nobody. What it was, it was just a big misunderstanding. I can prove it.”
He might know what goes on in his own neck of the woods, but evidently he didn’t know that I’d been suspended. That my present influence with Victoria’s police department was zero.
“I’ve got something to show you,” Twinner said. “You still look bad, though, like something the cat dragged in. Do you think you can walk a few yards?”
I didn’t want to walk. I wanted to stay where I was until the pain went away. With a big effort, I got up on my elbows and swung my legs off the couch. When I stood up, the world began to revolve.
With Twinner Scudd’s support, I shuffled across the floor to a carved and painted wooden screen, and then through a narrow doorway into a small regalia chamber. It was quite dark and silent inside the chamber. Twinner helped me to sit on a ceremonial chief’s throne identical to the one I’d seen in the other room. Twinner Scudd made himself comfortable on the floor. He was a soft fat blob sitting in the lotus position holding his knees.
Half a dozen tall men stood silently here and there. Seconds elapsed before I realized that I wasn’t looking at human beings, but at carved wooden totem poles. Masks and dancing blankets draped the regalia chamber’s cedar-panelled walls. Then I noticed Eddie Cliffs.
Hardly breathing, as still as the totem poles that surrounded him, Eddie Cliffs was standing perfectly still and upright with both arms behind his back. Several more moments passed before I understood that his wrists were tied and that he was partially suspended from a roof beam. His heels barely touched the floor.
“Feel like kicking Cliffy in the balls or gouging his eyeballs out?” Twinner said to me. “Go ahead. It’s payback time for what Cliffy did to you last night.”
“Coooey ow,” I mumbled.
“Did you say cut him down, Seaweed?” Twinner laughed. “Aren’t you generous. This is the guy who used brass knuckles on you, knocked you cold. Now Cliffy’s feeling a bit of pain himself.”
Pointing a finger at Eddie Cliffs, Twinner said, “How’s it feel so far?”
Cliffy groaned.
“Hear that?” Twinner said to me. “Fortunately for him, Seaweed, Cliffy is still awake. If he flakes out he ends up with two dislocated shoulders. It’s a little trick that Bush’s CIA pals picked up from the Syrians. They tell me it hurts like a bastard, but that’s not the worst of it. The worst of is you end up permanently crippled with two bum shoulders.”
“Fo Gogh sake, ’winner,” I muttered.
“God’s not listening to you,” Twinner laughed. “Cliffy’s been appealing to God for hours already, and he ain’t had an answer yet either. I’m softening Cliffy up for a grand finale in case he don’t do what I want him to do and say what I want him to say.”
“Help me, Seaweed. I’m sorry what I done to you,” Eddie pleaded. “Somebody help me.”
Seated like a fat Buddha, Twinner Scudd said, “Seaweed, I’m gonna tell you how Larry Cooley got killed. It was on account of that Mainwaring bitch. I believe she’s a favourite of yours, though. You got a hard-on for her, Seaweed?”
I didn’t answer.
“Maybe you got a hard-on for her, but every time I see that woman, all I get is a hard time. Did you know she owned the Nanaimo building?”
I didn’t respond. Twinner Scudd took his dark glasses off and rubbed his eyelids with his soft fingers. “With me, Piggy’s all business,” he said after shielding his eyes with those dark lenses once more. “I owed her a little rent money, nothing serious. It’s kind of a landlord-versus-tenant game I was playing with her. I was wondering how far I could push her before the sheriff showed up at Nanaimo’s. Dumped my possessions on the street and nailed a writ to the door. She came to my office a couple of times. Laying down the law. Telling me how she was going to pull the rug out from under me. The last time Piggy came in throwing her weight around, I got mad. I threatened to kill her. It was just a bluff, Seaweed. I didn’t mean it. I was gonna pay her eventually.”
Twinner shook his head in wonderment. “But I guess I shoved her too far. She lost patience with me. So what does Piggy do? She gets Larry Cooley to burn her own fucking building down. Christ, the cunt sure pulled the fucking rug out from under me. The building was insured, she won’t be out of pocket one lousy cent. But I am out a bundle. My lovely tax shelter is a heap of rubble, Nanaimo’s is finished. If I want another club, I’ve got to build one up from scratch again. It’ll cost me a pisspot full of cash and I hate to lose my hard-earned money.”
“Ain’t that right, Cliffy?” Twinner asked his former lieutenant. “Larry Cooley burned me out. Tossed a Molotov cocktail, didn’t he?”
“Burn oo ow,” Eddie uttered, in a series of strangled gasps. “Burn oo ou . . . Lemme dow . . . Jesus . . . ”
“I’m not letting you down, Cliffy, because you’ve been a very bad boy. I’m teaching you a lesson you ain’t never gonna forget as long as you live. Which won’t be much longer either, probably.”
Twinner said to me, “Remember what I was telling you earlier, Seaweed? How good help is hard to find nowadays? Nobody’s got a real work ethic anymore. Most of my gang can’t even follow simple instructions. Cliffy is a prime example. Take last night for instance. We’ve got a radar setup on this island. Every time a boat comes in and lands on my beach, we know about it. When your boat came in last night, I told Cliffy to take the Zodiac out, chase you the hell off my property. Instead, Cliffy sinks your boat, beats you to a pulp with a set of brass knucks, and then he tries to drown you. Fortunately, the guys who were in the Zodiac with Cliffy talked him out of it. Otherwise you’d be dead by now. You’d be as dead as Larry Cooley.
“Cliffy’s a sick fucker, sick in the head,” Twinner continued with growing anger. “We know that Cooley set fire to Nanaimo’s because Cooley was careless. One of my waiters actually saw him do it. Well, I can’t tolerate that kind of crap. In my line of work, if the word gets out that people can fuck you over and get away with it, you are done, toast, kaput, out-of-goddamn-business! So I sent Cliffy around to give Cooley a few bruises. I told Cliffy to rough Cooley up a little, beat some sense into him. It worked, Cooley sang like a bird. Cooley told Cliffy that burning down my club was Piggy Mainwaring’s idea. Only it’s like I said, Cliffy’s a sick fucker, he’s got this thing about hurting people now. He gets a kick out of it. Instead of giving Cooley stern words and a few slaps, Cliffy kills him. Ain’t that right, Cliffy?”
Eddie groaned.
Twinner Scudd stood up and loosened the rope behind Eddie Cliff’s back until his heels were flat on the floor.
“Tell Seaweed here how you done it,” Twinner said. “Go on, tell him, Eddie. Give Seaweed the whole nine yards.”
Eddie shook his head.
His anger growing, Twinner grabbed a heavy ceremonial paddle that was leaning against a wall and whacked Eddie’s knees with it until Eddie’s bones made cracking noises.
I told Twinner to stop, that anything Eddie said under these conditions would be useless as evidence.
“Screw that. For now, all I want is for Cliffy to give you the straight dope. Go on, Cliffy, tell him.”
Eddie stared at the ground. Twinner went out, came back with a bucket of water and dumped it over Eddie’s head.
“We grabbed Cooley downtown,” Eddie muttered indistinctly. “Me and Ross. Cooley lived by himself in a house on Rudlin Street. We staked the place out till he showed up one night. We let him go in the house, waited a minute. Then we knocked on his door. We grabbed Cooley when he answered the door, shoved him back inside. Then we put the boots to him. Me and Ross.”
“You and Ross killed him?” I asked.
“Not right away,” Cliffy answered. “ We shoved Cooley around a little for burning down Nanaimo’s is all. We didn’t go there to kill him. We just asked him why the fuck he went and did it. Revenge, Cooley told us. Punishment for not paying your rent, Twinner.”
Twinner smiled thinly. “Then what?”
“Cooley got lippy. Called me a cunt and an asshole. I guess I lost my temper, but Jesus, Twinner, gimme a break. My shoulders are fucking killing me, I can’t even think straight.”
Twinner loosened the ropes so that Eddie Cliffs could sit on the floor.
“Go on, Cliffy,” Twinner said. “We’re listening. Give us the whole story, or I’ll give that rope another yank.”
“Me and Ross left Cooley’s house. Later on, I got to thinking about what Cooley had said. Calling me an asshole and that. It got preying on my mind till I got crazy and went back to teach the asshole a lesson. I shoved Cooley’s head down the toilet bowl. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“You drowned him?”
“I guess so.”
Twinner laughed. “You guess so, Cliffy?”
“I didn’t mean it, Twinner. Cooley just died on me. When I dragged him out of the toilet, he was gone, he’d breathed in water.”
“Then what?”
“I thought I’d try and make it look like an accident. I took him out of the house and dumped him in a creek.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Sumatch Creek. I dumped Cooley’s body off a bridge and watched him float away. There was a lot of rain coming down from the mountains, and I figured he would just drift into Juan de Fuca Strait.”
“Did I tell you to kill him?”
“No, boss, you told me to rough Cooley up.”
Twinner turned to me. “Do you think Eddie’s telling the truth?”
I nodded. I had absolutely no doubt that Eddie had told us the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We were aboard Twinner Scudd’s yacht, en route to Victoria down the Homathko Channel. Ruth Claypole was stretched out beside me on a cushioned seat-locker. Her tiny hands and feet contrasted markedly with the rest of her. Enormously fat, she looked in her black elasticized bathing suit like a Willendorf Venus.
Twenty yards to starboard, immense granite walls raced past. I saw a patch of colour, reached for the binoculars lying on a table beside my deck chair, and focussed on a painted man with yellow bars radiating from his head. Before he went out of range, I spotted another painted man standing with his arms akimbo, his skinny stick-legs showing below a triangular skirt.
Awakening from her nap, Ruth yawned and stretched.
“Looks funny, doesn’t he?” I said, pointing out the pictograph and speaking as best I could with a poulticed face and a mouth that felt as if it were st
uffed with cotton batting.
“If you think them paintings is funny, you should look in a mirror.”
“Beauty is only poultice-deep,” I bragged. “When this dressing comes off, you’ll see what I really look like.”
“I already know what you look like without a poultice.”
From my chair on the afterdeck, I could see the Polar Girl’s pilothouse and the back of Twinner Scudd’s head.
Ruth got off the seat-locker and knelt beside me. “Listen,” she said, putting a hand on my knee and speaking in a low voice. “Twinner was wrong about you. He thinks you came up here because you were after that woman. What’s her name?”
“P.G. Mainwaring.”
“They call her Piggy. But it’s me that you were really looking for, right?”
“Right. I came up because of you. I want you to tell me what happened at Ronnie Chew’s house.”
“I know you do, but that’s not all I know, Silas. I know for instance that Maria Alfred is having a hard time in Wilkie Road. It don’t matter, though, because I just want to get it over and done with. Move on with my shitty little life.”
“Your life doesn’t have to be shitty . . . ”
“What do you know about my life?” she responded heatedly. “What’s out there for me? Spend my life cutting Twinner’s grass up in Desolation Sound? Or a nine-to-five minimum-wager in Victoria and a nightly commute to a crappy room in a mouldy house? Turning tricks?”
“Easy, Ruth. There are other options.”
“Not for girls like me,” she said, staring at me with sun-crinkled eyes. “Come to think of it, maybe I’d be better off spending my life in a nice minimum-security prison. I’d get steady meals, free clothing somebody else to make all the decisions for me. And besides, how do I know if you’ll give me a decent break?”
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