And with lips as thin as razor blades, Crazy Charlie hopped on her bike and started her long trek back to Bowness.
_____
Robert was late coming home, but his parents were thrilled when he told them about the job.
“I knew you were a Tourond through and through,” his father said as Robert ate his warmed-over supper. “We’ve always been the type to take the bit in our mouths and run with it. This is a good introduction to the working world.”
Robert was surprised. Usually his father said very little about the daily goings on of the family home, and when he did get chatty, it had nothing to do with praise.
“And it ties in nicely with the conversation we had about responsibility,” his mother added, pouring Robert a cup of tea. “You’ll be able to buy lots of stamps for your war savings certificates with the money.”
Robert had feared his mother would head into that no-man’s land. “I will buy stamps, Mum, I promise. I also want some of the money for my own, to spend on whatever I want.”
“I suppose you mean those silly comic books?” Her clipped tone was filled with disapproval.
“Now, now, Helen,” his father interjected. “I think the boy has a right to enjoy some of the gravy from his first real job. It will add to the experience of dealing with money and budgeting.”
His mother thought this over. “I guess you’re right. It’s all part of growing up. I simply don’t want him squandering his earnings.”
“Have some faith.” William Tourond said calmly. “He’s a good head on his shoulders.”
Again, Robert was thoroughly shocked at his father’s support. He could have sworn his dad winked at him. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ENEMY LINES
Every hour raced by in a blur – school all day, delivering telegrams until seven o’clock each night, a late dinner, homework, reading one of his heroes’ adventures, then falling into bed to do it all again in the morning. It gave him a new appreciation for the stiffs who did it day in and day out for years.
Charlie turned out to be some kind of speed demon when it came to delivering telegrams. No matter how hard Robert pushed, she was always ahead of him, and on her dilapidated wreck, it should have been impossible. He had to find out her secret.
“You’re having a good week,” he commented casually as they collected their next deliveries. He couldn’t help smiling, “As long as Big Betsy keeps rolling...I’ve noticed your times are really short and I was wondering how you –”
“Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much of your time reading those,” she interrupted, jutting her chin at the two comic books on the messenger table in the corner.
Robert had planned to reread Ice and the Kid on his break, but the delivery had interrupted this plan. He hastily picked up his telegram and ran to his bike, but Charlie was faster.
“See ya, Wonder Weed!” And before he could even climb onto the seat, she sped off.
He’d seen part of the address on her telegram and when he checked his own, noted both deliveries were in the same area. Robert decided to go as fast as possible, then follow Charlie and try to discover the secret to her speed.
He pushed off after her and churned as hard as he could. Up ahead, he could see her weaving in and out of traffic, splitting lanes and running reds. He wondered what Mr. Crabtree would say if he knew about all the traffic infractions Charlie racked up while in uniform. It was not the best advertising for CPR Telegraphs.
Then he thought of how often he bent the rules of the road if it meant getting the job done a few minutes faster. Maybe ratting on Charlie wasn’t a good idea.
Up ahead, he saw the Forsyth Building, his destination, and wheeled onto the sidewalk.
Running into the building, he practically shoved the delivery book under the receptionist’s nose. “Telegram. Sign here.” She hadn’t quite finished signing when Robert snatched the book, slapped the telegram on the counter and fled.
“Well, I never...” trailed after him as he raced for his bike.
Charlie had been going south on First Street and he knew she was on her way to Stephen Avenue. A delivery on such a busy road meant he’d have to dodge traffic while he scouted for Big Betsy in front of buildings, plus in the alleys and side streets. He’d also have to try and stay out of sight. If Charlie spotted him, she’d know he was following her to discover her secrets and he doubted she’d take kindly to his snooping.
Keeping his eyes peeled, he finally saw Charlie going into the Bank of Nova Scotia and swerved into an adjacent alley to wait. She had come out and was getting on her bike when Robert’s view was blocked.
“Young man, I say, young man!” A stout woman in a brown coat and an extremely large flowered hat stood in front of him.
In case Robert hadn’t heard her, she stepped even closer, effectively ending any hope of catching a glimpse of which direction Charlie took. Sometimes being in a uniform had its drawbacks. Telling the dame to back off was his first impulse; instead, he forced himself to be polite.
“Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?” Robert tried unsuccessfully to spot his competitor.
“I must send a telegram to my brother in Toronto. It’s your job.” She gave him an accusatory glare, daring him to contradict her.
She was kidding right? Was he supposed to magically whip a key out of his pocket and tap out a message?
“You’ll have to go to the CPR Telegraphs office, ma’am. The address is 313-8th Avenue. I’m sure Mr. Crabtree would be happy to send your message.”
She managed to be disgruntled, peeved and insulted all at the same time. “Traipse way down there? What a dreadful bother.” She straightened her hideous hat like a knight adjusting his helmet before a joust. “Very well. If I must, I must. I’m not happy about this, young man.” She strode off grumbling about “poor service.” and muttering “what’s the world coming to?”
Robert scanned the street. His nemesis had disappeared like a will o’ the wisp, taking her secret with her. Wham! Kablam!
He started back to the telegraph office feeling tired and dejected. He was working harder than he ever had, but what with having to split deliveries and not getting very many high-paying runs, he wasn’t rolling in dough like he thought he’d be. His dream of having all the comic books he wanted wasn’t likely to happen. Plus, Robert knew his mum, who had such grand plans for his money, would want a big chunk of his pay when he brought it home. It wasn’t fair. The more he thought about it, the angrier he felt.
At that moment, he passed Kreller’s store. He deserved some reward for all his hard work and having to put up with Crazy Charlie. Robert knew exactly the reward he wanted. Turning his bike around, he rode down the sidewalk and parked in front of the store. Now that he had a respectable, bona fide job, he might be able to convince Mr. Kreller to advance him an issue of Canada Jack, with the promise he’d pay tomorrow. Straightening his cap, Robert marched inside.
By the time he returned, Charlie Donnelly was already sitting at the messenger table, waiting. She watched him walk over.
“What kept you, Wonder Weed? Got lost or did you run out of pedal power?”
He was about to snap back at her when he saw what she was reading. It was his copy of The Maple Leaf Kid. Foolishly, he’d left his comic book on the table when he’d been called for his last delivery.
“Hey, give him back!” He reached for the comic.
With the reflexes of a cat – a polecat – Crazy Charlie snatched it away.
“You know, if you can make it past the main character’s hokey movie star looks, and the unrealistic storyline, these aren’t bad. In a juvenile sort of way.”
He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or not. Since he and the Kid had a similar appearance, he liked the movie star reference. But he didn’t much appreciate the “juvenile” crack. “You need to know the backstory of the characters and the plotlines already explored to truly appreciate the complexity of the over-arching narrative.
” He’d used every ten cent word he could think of and, if he was asked to explain what he’d said, he’d be flummoxed. He hoped it sounded fancy enough to shut her up.
Charlie hesitated and Robert figured she was trying to unravel what he’d said.
“Nice to know you think the Kid’s kinda handsome.” With a theatrical flourish, he ran his fingers through his hair, which was, thankfully, starting to grow again.
She looked up, then at the page, and then quickly back at him.
“I guess, in a homely sort of way...like the ugly-duckling cousin you feel sorry for,” she teased.
What happened next was close to a miracle.
Crazy Charlie Donnelly smiled.
It made her face light up, like a ray of sunshine blazing through a dark thunderhead. It was so unexpected and rare, it threw him off balance. The sharp remark he’d been about to hurl at her for taking his comic evaporated and, much to his amazement, he didn’t feel like coming up with a new one.
“Didn’t the ugly duckling turn out to be a handsome prince in the end?” he quipped instead.
Charlie started to pull her lips into the well-known and oft-used battle line expression. Instantly, Robert steeled himself for a fight, and then they both realized it was too late. The tension in the room had boiled off.
“Swan, a handsome swan, which is still a birdbrain, Wonder Weed.” Carefully closing the comic, she pushed it across the table. “I have to admit, it was pretty good.”
“Feel free to borrow my quality literature any time you want.” He went to the hot plate and the coffee pot Mr. Crabtree kept perennially simmering. “Want a cup of joe?” he asked in his best telegram delivery man accent, affecting an air of maturity he hoped he could pull off.
Her brow arched. “Joe, no, a cup of Josephine, yes.” Then she added, “Please.” Robert poured them each a cup, and they took a sip of the black brew, then grimaced.
“Wow, did this come out of some old car crankcase?” Charlie choked.
“More like the La Brea Tar Pits.” Robert coughed. “Maybe more milk...and definitely more sugar.”
They both doctored their coffees, then Charlie took a tentative sip. “Better, still not good. I wonder if I should worry about it eating away my stomach.”
They sat in companionable silence sipping their strong brews and then Mr. Crabtree interrupted with another telegram.
“Last delivery for today, fellas...tarnation, I mean, people,” he corrected himself. “Technically, it should be yours, Donnelly, since you were first back. Thing is, it’s close to Tourond’s house, which is in the wrong direction for you. We’re only talking three cents here, want to give it to him?”
“No sir. I’ll take it.” Abruptly, she stood and buttoned her collar, then yanked down on her jacket to straighten it.
It was as if the camaraderie they’d shared a moment before never happened. Charlie’s mouth became a thin red line and Robert knew the barbed wire fence was back.
She took the telegram and as she left, he thought he saw a shadow of something cross her face. Exhaustion?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
COMIC BOOK KING
The next day dragged by so painfully, Robert wondered if he was in an altered, slow motion universe. The only thing that kept him going was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow – his first pay, due this very night at quitting time.
Waiting impatiently at the staff table, Robert already knew exactly what he would do with his money. It was all he’d thought about. His first stop would be Kreller’s Drugstore. Thanks to his inheriting more of the Tourond silver tongue than he’d thought, he’d been able to convince the pharmacist to give him Canada Jack early. It had been worth it, but Mr. Kreller had been very reluctant, frosty even, and Robert knew he’d probably used up all the goodwill the shop owner had for him. Maybe clearing his debt promptly would help get Robert back into Mr. Kreller’s good graces. And then – and this was the good part – then he would buy whatever comic book hero he wanted, no matter how extravagant or exotic. He’d had four deliveries this shift, his best day ever, and was expecting thirty-six cents hard cash in total.
Finally, his boss walked over to the table with two envelopes. “Good job, folks.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crabtree.” Robert stood to take the pay packet and had the weird urge to salute. He noticed Charlie’s envelope was fatter than his. Maybe next week, he’d get a long haul, high-paying delivery to even the score.
“So, what are you going to do with your big payday?” he asked Charlie as they left work. “Buy something wild and frivolous for yourself?”
She gave him a glower that made him wince and wither.
“Or maybe not...” he added.
“It’s maybe not, for me.” She leaned against her bike and opened her envelope, inspecting the contents. “Seems like a lot of work for this. Though, I shouldn’t complain. Any money is good money and it’s more than I had a week ago.”
Robert figured if she could count her gold, so could he, and he ripped open the end of his envelope. Pouring the coins into his hand, he scowled.
“Wham! Kablam! This can’t be right.” He counted the money again. Twenty-four cents! By his reckoning, he was short twelve cents.
Charlie tucked her envelope into her delivery bag. “Not the big score you were expecting?”
“I’m sure there should be another twelve cents in here.”
She gazed into his palm, like a gypsy reading his fortune, or lack of it. “Nope. Looks right. Like you, I’ve been keeping score.” Then understanding lit her face. “I bet you forgot Crabtree was keeping back today’s wages. He said he holds Friday’s in case there’s any problems, or if he needs to change something. If everything’s okay, it will be in next week’s pay packet.”
Robert remembered Mr. Crabtree had told them about this procedure. In the excitement of being hired, he’d missed some of the details. “Right...I forgot. I owe some money to someone and this won’t leave me much.”
Charlie’s lips slid into their usual hard line. “Been there, but I’d never have pegged you for having troubles like that, Wonder Weed. It’s more something you’d hear about from my side of the tracks.”
He must have come across as truly anxious, because Charlie stopped her needling. “Hey, if you’re short, Rob, I can lend you some until next week.”
He thought she was being sarcastic, and then he studied her face and saw she was serious. He hadn’t expected this. “Ah, no, I’m okay.” He tucked the money into his trouser pocket, then tipped his head at her quizzically. “Rob, huh?”
She punched him on the shoulder, hard. “Don’t get any ideas, Wonder Weed. We’re still mortal enemies. When Crabtree gives us his review next week and says he’s keeping me because I’m so efficient and skidding you, then don’t expect any goodbye party.”
The thought of losing even this meagre money was scary, and Robert unconsciously touched the pendant under his grey jacket. “And if he comes to his senses and decides a man is better for the job, then you’ll get the same lack of consideration from me.”
Their words would have sounded tougher if they hadn’t been smiling.
She hit him again, not as hard this time. “Buck up. It’s Friday night, no work for the weekend, and we have money, even if it’s only a little, in our dungarees.” Struggling, she wrestled her heavy bike out of the rack. “And, like you, I need every red cent I can get. It’s my only shot.”
This she said as much to herself as to him and Robert wondered what she meant. They parted ways but when he checked in her direction, he saw her watching him. Charlie’s offer of a loan had been unexpected and he wasn’t sure he would have done the same. Without thinking, he raised his arm and waved. Crazy Charlie didn’t wave back.
_____
Despite not having the vast fortune he’d hoped for, Robert couldn’t help feeling elated as he rode to Kreller’s Drugstore. He could pay for the comic he’d taken on credit, and still have enough left over to buy another if
he wanted, and he wanted. It wouldn’t leave much for his mother’s savings-stamp fund, but he deserved it and he’d make up the shortfall next week when he’d be rolling in the dough.
“Hey, Mr. Kreller. I’m here to pay for Canada Jack and I believe I’ll take this copy of Nelvana of the Northern Lights as well.” He held up the new comic as he casually slid the money across the counter.
The old pharmacist was still cool toward Robert, giving him a curt nod. “Nice to have such a good cash-paying customer.”
“This is only the beginning, Mr. Kreller. I’m going to be your best customer.”
Robert rode home pleased with himself, the weekend stretching ahead, along with the promise of more money and more comics next week.
_____
“This is all you made?” his mother exclaimed when he laid the four cents on the table at supper.
“Actually, it was a short week and I have to split the deliveries with another messenger plus Mr. Crabtree holds back one day’s pay. There’ll be more next week.” Robert listed his acceptable excuses, knowing he couldn’t tell his mother about paying for one comic and buying another.
“Still, it’s not reasonable pay for three day’s work, son,” his father added as he spooned his meatless spaghetti sauce over the noodles.
Robert figured he’d better ’fess up, at least to part of it. “I also owed money to someone and wanted to clear the slate.”
This got both his parents’ attention.
“You owed money!” His mother’s tone was shrill.
TOO LATE, OUR HERO SAW HIS FATAL ERROR! HE AND THE ENEMY BOTH KNEW THE RULES OF COMBAT. HE’D LET HIMSELF SLIP AND NOW HIS MISSION WAS IN JEOPARDY!
“Not a lot. I remembered what you taught me and decided I should pay my debts before anything else. It was the honourable thing to do.” Robert hoped this would appeal to her sense of justice and ethics and, after all, it was the truth. He’d paid Mr. Kreller for Canada Jack before buying another comic.
The Comic Book War: The Comic Book War Page 9