by André Alexis
– Yes, said von Würfel. Yes, I have. But you have to remember there’s a difference between doing good and thinking you’re doing good. Almost everyone thinks they’re doing good. But we know too little, Tancred. I mean humans know too little. When a man has so little idea what the consequences of an action will be, how can he know if he’s doing good or not?
– I hadn’t thought about it that way, Tancred said.
– When I was your age, said von Würfel, I assumed everyone could tell good from bad and that that was enough. As I’ve got older, I’m sure it’s not enough. I’m convinced it takes a certain amount of faith to do good, Tancred. Not faith in God. I mean, faith that the actions you take will have the outcomes you desire.
– Don’t you believe in God? asked Tancred.
– I’m afraid it’s worse than that, said von Würfel. I believe God is an impediment to good. All those people acting in his name don’t bother to think their actions through. They’re incapable of good, if you ask me. No, that’s not right. I shouldn’t say so. There are any number of them who accidentally do good. And that’s something. What I mean is it’s more difficult to do good with God in the equation. But I admit I’m a pessimist in these matters, Tancred. I believe we do good or evil indiscriminately because we haven’t a vantage from which to judge our actions before we’ve committed to them. Then again, the world works very well without our knowing all the consequences of our actions. So, perhaps I simply haven’t found a church to suit my needs.
To Tancred, Ran Morrissey did not seem like a good man at all. He was loud, obnoxious and rude to the women who worked in el-Bugat.
On the other hand, it had been easy to recognize him. Von Würfel’s descriptions of Morrissey’s person and personality had been exact. And they had immediately brought to mind Willow’s description of the one-legged man who lived beside her brother. Nor did Tancred have to wait long before Morrissey put in an appearance. On the first day Tancred was at el-Bugat (along with Colby and Freud), the Colonel entered and said, in an unpleasant tone:
– Can’t a veteran get a tea in this place?
Colby had leaned forward and said
– Is that him?
– Yeah, said Tancred.
Freud, contemptuous, barely lowered his voice:
– I say we just kidnap him, take the leg and get on with it. What are you so worried about? If the shoe was on the other foot, I bet he’d kidnap you.
It was going to be tricky stealing the old man’s leg. Then it was going to be a problem returning it. But it made more sense to borrow Morrissey’s leg than it did to kidnap him. For one thing, they did not know if the chip was still in the prosthetic leg. Nor did they know if it was possible to get into Castle Rose with the leg but without the Colonel.
Then, too, there was the minder: a woman in her forties by the look of her: slim, red-haired, quiet. She seemed shy or perhaps she was simply embarrassed to be in the employ of a man like Morrissey.
(She reminded him of an evening spent with a woman he’d loved, an evening when she’d coaxed him to a reading at the harbourfront. They’d heard, amongst other things, a Christian with blond hair and pale skin who was dressed in a suit. Tancred had not understood a word of the man’s work – something about someone named Ubu – but he had been in love and happy, and it suddenly troubled him to think they’d have to deal with Morrissey’s minder, that they’d have to get her out of the way.)
It was three in the afternoon. The view from Café el-Bugat was monotonous. The fountain in the square was all you could really see. But the café, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, was filled with light. Tancred, Colby and Freud were at a table in the middle of the café. The Colonel and his minder were near the entrance.
– What’s the problem with this city? shouted Morrissey. I thought Rob was going to clear away the streetcars. He’s doing his best. I’m not saying he isn’t. But this city won’t be worth a damn until it gets rid of those things. It’s those councillors that’re dragging their heels and making things hard for him. And don’t you dare tell me a man like Rob can’t be intoxicated every now and then and still do a job. I can’t count the number of men served their country drunk out of their minds. Damned fine men. Better’n this country deserves.
To Colby and Freud, Tancred said
– Stay here. I’ll let you know when to come over.
Tancred had dressed well: a suit jacket, slacks, an expensive sports shirt. He had also, perhaps optimistically, brought along a golf bag in which there was a 4 wood and a 7 iron. He’d brought it in the hope he’d need a place to hide the Colonel’s leg. Pausing by Morrissey’s table, he said
– I couldn’t help overhearing you, sir. Are you a military man?
Ran Morrissey looked him over. He did not, in principle, approve of black people, but he liked any who noticed he was a soldier. He said
– Who the hell are you?
– My name’s Matthew Lemon, said Tancred. Ex Queen’s Own.
– A rifleman? said Morrissey. Where’d you serve?
– Darfur, said Tancred.
– Really? said Morrissey. Damned good idea to send black soldiers to Africa. What can I do for you?
– I’m sorry to interrupt, said Tancred, but you remind me of a colonel I served under. Maybe you know him? Colonel Hugh McKenzie.
– Name sounds familiar, said Morrissey, but I can’t say I know him. I was a colonel myself, you know.
– You were? said Tancred. I wonder if I could buy you and your companion a drink?
– You’re missing the service, aren’t you? Well, well, well. I wish there were more young men like you. No one gives a monkey’s about serving their country. Not these days. I couldn’t refuse a young man a chance to buy me a drink. I’ll have an arak. But my minder here will have nothing. I can’t have her getting drunk, you know.
The minder spoke up.
– I wouldn’t mind a coffee, she said.
– Where are your manners? asked Morrissey. It’s rude to make a stranger pay for your coffee. Don’t I pay you enough?
– It’s my pleasure, said Tancred. By helping you, she’s helping the military. She’s doing us all a favour, the way I see it.
With that, he ordered a Lebanese coffee for the minder and an arak for the Colonel and a double arak for himself.
– A double? said the Colonel. I was just saying how much I like a man who holds his liquor.
When the order came, Tancred made a show of pouring a little of his arak into the Colonel’s glass, as a mark of respect. Or so he said. But what he did was slip a Rohypnol he’d palmed into the man’s drink. He did the same with the minder’s coffee. He was careful about it, but he needn’t have been. He had encouraged the Colonel to tell him about his time in Europe. Which the Colonel did. The minder, who must have heard Morrissey’s stories innumerable times, was staring at Tancred’s face, caught by something about it. Tancred smiled politely at her. Morrissey, for his part, barely took a breath. It was only at Tancred’s insistence that they drink to the country they all served – Canada – that the Colonel downed the arak in one motion, as if afraid the drink would distract him from his tale.
– Hmph, he said. This tastes odd. Does it taste odd to you, Matthew?
Twenty minutes later, he was slurring his words, for all appearances tipsy. His minder, too, had begun to wobble. It was then that Tancred called Colby and Freud over.
To any who were observing, it would have looked as though a group of acquaintances were talking as they drank themselves legless. But it was late afternoon. There were only two other patrons in the café. The waitresses were eating a late lunch at a table toward the back and the owner was nowhere to be seen.
Tancred had it in mind that he and Colby would walk the Colonel to the washroom and take his prosthetic leg from him there. When it came to the moment, he feared that taking Morrissey anywhere would create too memorable a spectacle. But crawling under the table to take the man’s pants – and leg – off wou
ld no doubt have been worse. So, although it felt undignified, he and Colby – each with an arm around the old man’s waist – guided the incoherently muttering Colonel to the washroom, passing beside the waitresses, who did not look up from their meals.
The Colonel’s stump was sheathed in soft leather and as the limb came away there was a sound like a muffled finger pop. At that, the Colonel said in a loud voice
– For the love of God, man, drink your juice!
But that was all he said before falling over and banging his head on the clean, white-tile floor. There was no blood, but the bump would leave a bruise on the man’s forehead and Tancred was sorry for it.
It was almost as arduous putting the man’s pants back on. It took both Tancred and Colby to hold him up and buckle his belt. But the walk back to the table was somewhat easier, perhaps because they were frankly carrying him, now that he was without a leg – a leg that was nestled in his waistband, the artificial foot with its shoe peeking up above his belt like the head of a large black goose. Tancred and Colby each held one of the Colonel’s arms around a shoulder as well as holding him up by the waist. It was awkward, but it was done quickly, the two men working well together.
Once they put him down, the Colonel might have fallen from his chair, had Freud not caught him. But Freud did catch him. And so, on one side of the table, backs to the restaurant as if looking out at the fountain, were Morrissey and Freud. Facing them were Colby and Morrissey’s minder, she with her head on the table, slumped forward on the straight-backed chair.
– I’ll be back in a few minutes, said Tancred. Don’t let either of them hurt themselves. We may need them again, if I can’t get in.
– Don’t you worry about us, said Colby.
He was unhappy at having to babysit the Colonel. But Tancred – who believed it would not take him long to either reconnoitre or be found out by security – had no sympathy for him. He slipped the Colonel’s titanium limb – its black shoe now like a monstrous headcover – into the golf bag where it almost disappeared. Then he walked through the el-Bugat, the glass doors at the back sliding open to allow him entrance to Castle Rose.
Tancred was not distracted by the idea of being caught. It made no sense to worry about that and he never did. He was, if anything, self-conscious about the clothes he was wearing. It was November. There was snow on the ground, and although he’d brought an overcoat with him, he’d left it in the café. The clothes he’d chosen were a kind of calculated risk. If one didn’t consider the time of year, Tancred looked a certain type of fashionable. If one did, he looked eccentric, which, he imagined, was unexceptional at the Hidden Suites.
The lobby was elegant and yet it was disconcerting. Its walls were covered by tall, wide slabs of maple cladding. It was as if one were inside a pale wooden box. The place was lit by a row of halogen bulbs each at the end of its own black rod. There were two elevators – side by side – whose doors were panelled with dark wood. Above each elevator, there were not numbers but letters of the alphabet. The letters lit up, as if the elevator were travelling from floor to floor, but they did not light up in sequence. Going by the letters, it appeared the elevator was moving randomly up and down, and it was a surprise when its doors slid open.
He entered the first one that came and, once inside, did nothing, pushing no buttons though there were buttons (with numbers on them!) in a panel of what looked to be pink stone beside the doors. The elevator closed and ascended. When it got to his floor it opened and Tancred stepped out, though it was disconcerting having no way of knowing what floor he’d been taken to.
The landing, with its myriad infinities, was exactly as unpleasant as von Würfel had said it was, but he was there only momentarily. As soon as the elevator door closed behind him, a circle of light appeared on the wall to his right. He pushed on the circle. A panel in the wall gave way and he entered a hallway. As he did, small orange lights (one-inch circles a foot or so apart) appeared above the coppery quarter-round. They led past a number of doors, above which pale blue triangles had lit up. In the triangles were names. The lights above the quarter round led beyond a door that said ‘Azarian’ to the next one down in whose triangle was the name ‘Morrissey.’
As he approached Morrissey’s condominium, Tancred suddenly wondered if he would find the door to the Colonel’s place locked. But it was not and Tancred stepped into a spectacular room. It was on one of the upper floors of the building, apparently. The first thing one saw were large windows that looked out at the islands and the lake – the lake that was, just then, illuminated by a reddish, mid-afternoon light. The room was at least a thousand square feet, with a wooden floor and light blue walls on which the Colonel had four glass showcases. In each there was a faceless mannequin dressed in full, formal military regalia.
The condo was on two levels. To Tancred’s left there were steps leading up. In other circumstances, he might have explored the rest of the Colonel’s home. But, uncertain that he would ever again find – let alone return to – this floor in Castle Rose, he decided instead to break into Michael Azarian’s place at once, to go in though he had no idea if anyone was home.
If he’d stopped to think about it, Tancred would have found the situation absurd. It was a cold November day, but he was dressed as if he were off to play golf. He had with him, and could not leave behind, a golf bag in which he’d hidden the artificial limb of an old man he’d recently roofied. And now he was about to break into a home that might be occupied by one (or many) he did not want to hurt. His adrenalin came in waves and he was calm.
Stepping back into the hallway, he saw that the lights above the quarter-round led in two directions: toward Azarian’s door and away from it. He stopped in front of Azarian’s and turned the doorknob. The door was locked but with a lock so easy to overcome he felt as if it were cheating to use the pick attached to his own keychain. To think that so much thought had gone into making Castle Rose unbreachable and here he was before a lock he could have opened with a hard plastic card. Then again, gated communities were, once you got past the gate, the easiest to rob, because the dwellers, convinced of their security, ignored basic precautions. It was difficult to blame them, though, ‘security’ being, for the most part, a trick of the mind.
He was in Azarian’s home. The place was exactly the same as Morrissey’s. Had there been anyone on the first level, he’d have been seen at once. But there was no one. From Azarian’s windows, the view was as spectacular as it had been from the Colonel’s: the islands in the distance, the lake in afternoon sunlight, one of the ferries moving on the water. The difference was, of course, in the décor. Here, there was furniture and a sense that the place was lived in: a sofa, a coffee table, two paintings of toy horses by Harold Town and, beneath the paintings, a wooden credenza.
On top of the credenza, as if it were nothing special: a bottle of aquavit.
Despite himself, Colby found it all impressive. From the moment Tancred left them to look after Morrissey to the moment he returned with the bottle of aquavit, no more than ten minutes passed. Having seen how efficient security was at Castle Rose, he and Freud could not help feeling respect for Tancred. They might have felt more, but there was something about Palmieri that curdled closeness. The man kept things to himself – which led Colby to be cold in turn.
The other reason for his coldness was the nagging thought that Tancred would have to be forced to give them what was theirs: that is, the money Colby knew they would find once all the clues had been unravelled. He and Freud were at a disadvantage. They were not as clever as Tancred. Colby was not into the kind of games clever people played. His mind immediately shut off when people talked about chess or computer games or anything that involved numbers or logic. All his life he’d hated mathematics. And why wouldn’t he? For years and years his mother had tried to beat math into him – drunk out of her mind, smacking his hands with a ruler every time he got ‘six times seven’ or ‘nine times five’ wrong. (God knows, he always got those thing
s wrong.) Now, of course, now that he was in his twenties, he regretted his lack of talent. He did not regret his inability with numbers. No, it was not numbers that mattered but, rather, what lurked behind them: the calculating mind. That was the thing to admire and fear. And Tancred was one of those who calculated.
Well, what about it? There were ways of dealing with men who thought too much: leverage, something to catch their attention, something to keep their brains occupied. Which is why, when Tancred returned to el-Bugat with the bottle of aquavit, Colby said
– Looks like you had the easy part.
– Good thing we know how to handle deadbeats, said Freud.
The Colonel and his minder were both somewhere between co-operative and unconscious. The pale woman was now sitting with her head on Colby’s shoulder. The Colonel was face down on the table, still mumbling, with Freud holding him steady. One of the waitresses had come over to see if everything was all right. When Colby said, ‘The Colonel’s been drinking,’ the woman had walked away, almost apologetic, as if she’d interrupted a ritual she knew well.
Now, Tancred called a waitress over.
– How much do we owe you for everything? he asked.
– Fifty-five twenty-two, she said.
Tancred paid.
– Listen, he said, do you know these people?
– Who? said the waitress. The Colonel? Yes, I know him.
– Good, said Tancred. I bought him and the lady a drink, but it looks like I shouldn’t have. They’re both out of it.
Tancred withdrew the Colonel’s artificial limb from the golf bag.
– I don’t know how this came off, he said, but I think he’s going to need it.
He handed the leg to the waitress.
– Maybe you could bring them some coffee so they can sober up.
He gave her a twenty.
– I’m sorry for the trouble, he said. Usually guys in the military can drink.
The waitress, caught completely off guard, said
– Yes, yes, I’ll get coffee