Yard Dog Page 12

  We stopped at this burger joint that had a converted streetcar as a dining room attached to the main building. We got our burgers and onion rings and fries and I headed for a table near the wall. Grover stopped me. “No. We’re sitting in the streetcar.”

  “What?”

  “I said we’re sitting in the fucking streetcar.”

  We stepped into the streetcar and wedged ourselves into a tiny table. Grover looked around at the happy families surrounding us and smiled. “Didn’t you ever used to go to restaurants like this when you were a kid?”

  “No,” I told him truthfully.

  “I remember one restaurant we stopped at on a road trip had an entire airplane you could eat in. I must’ve been about seven or eight. I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

  I’d never heard Grover talk about his childhood. Ever. Grover grinned and took a big bite of his cheeseburger. “See, Jack, this is what life’s all about. Stopping to appreciate the little things. Sure, I like my boat and my fancy clothes and my gourmet food, but it hasn’t gone to my head. You understand? On some level I’m still that little boy laughing his head off in a dining room made from an airplane.”

  I dragged an onion ring through ketchup. “I’m thinking of retiring.”

  “You should! You definitely should. You’ve got some money set aside?”

  “Some. Not enough. But I’ve got some coming to me.”

  “From Tommy?”

  “Yeah. From Tommy.”

  Grover chewed his burger and shook his head. “You need to get your hands on that money ASAP. The winds of change are blowing, Jack.”

  “Yeah.” It was true. I needed to wrap up my work with Tommy, get paid, and get gone. Take Suzanne by the hand and head south into the sunshine.

  On our way out I overheard a little girl, maybe two or three, ask her mom: “When does the train leave, Mommy?”

  It’s not leaving, sweetheart. There’s no more track. This train’s going to be sitting here forever.

  CHAPTER 31

  The gravel road crunched beneath our tires. Skeletal trees loomed from the darkness. Grover squinted through the windshield, peering through the murk. Without a moon these country nights were as dark as fuck.

  “Jack, check the map.”

  I unfolded it and tried to figure out which squiggly line matched the near-complete darkness that surrounded us.

  “Well? We going the right way?”

  I folded up the map. “Yeah. Turn left at County Road 17.”

  Grover’s head whipped around. “What was that? Was that it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Grover slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed in the gravel. “Fuck. Hold on.” Grover reversed, engine roaring.

  Back on track, Grover grinned. “I got a present for you, Jack. It’s under your seat.”

  I reached under my seat and pulled out a long silver box.

  “Go on, open it.”

  Inside the box was a knife that looked like it was carved from meteor rock: deadly and black and gleaming in the dashboard light.

  “That blade is so sharp it’ll cut through bone like butter.”

  “Thanks, Grover.” The knife was perfectly balanced in my hand. I rotated the blade, watching moonlight bounce off its polished surface. I closed my eyes and thought of The Chief.

  Ahead of us was a dark-blue van parked almost invisibly by the side of the road. Grover slowed the car to a crawl, then pulled in behind the van and cut the engine. The hush of country quiet filled the air.

  The van door opened and a man wearing all black stepped out onto the road and began walking toward us. My fingers tightened around my new knife.

  Grover jerked his chin toward the approaching man. “Be cool. That’s Paco. He’s been watching the house.”

  Grover climbed out of the car and I did the same, sliding the knife into its sheath. Our shoes crunched against the gravel. The air was cold and still. I swivelled my head but didn’t see any houses.

  Grover and Paco shook hands. “Anything to report?”

  Paco shook his head. “Negative. The house is just down that hill. Two cars in the driveway. Lights are on.”

  “Joey inside?”

  “Last I checked. That was about ten minutes ago. No one’s been up or down this road since.”

  Up close I saw that Paco had a pair of night-vision goggles pushed up on his head like sunglasses. “Hey, Grover … do I get goggles, too?”

  Grover grinned, walked back and and popped the trunk. Inside, arrayed on multilevel expandable racks, were nine silver briefcases. Grover opened up one briefcase and there were two pairs of night-vision goggles. “Yeah, you get goggles. What did you think, Jack? I was going to send you out into the desert with no water?”

  “Fuck the water. I’ll take the goggles.”

  “Take this, too.” Grover cracked open another suitcase and pulled out a pistol.

  I shook my head. “Don’t need it.”

  “Just take it, Jack. For insurance purposes.”

  “No thanks.”

  Paco squinted. “What is it with you and guns?”

  I held up my knife. The blade glittered in the moonlight. “You see this? One cut and you’re done. Clean and precise. My hand controls it all. Now take that.” I jerked my chin toward the gun sitting chunky and ugly in Grover’s hand. “You squeeze the trigger. Bullets come out. Then it’s up to physics and random luck. Sure, you can aim. But what happens if some citizen accidentally steps into the bullet’s path? What happens if a car drives by, or the wind changes, or the gun misfires?” I leaned forward with my teeth clenched. “How many innocent people get caught in the crossfire and killed every year because some dumb fucking thug started spraying bullets at random?”

  Paco shook his head. “You’re crazy, man.”

  Grover grinned. “Paco’s right, Jack. Didn’t your mamma ever teach you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?”

  Before I could answer, Grover cracked open another briefcase and pulled out an AK-47. He wasn’t fucking around. Someone was going to die tonight.

  The three of us stood by the side of the road, night wind rustling the tall grass. Grover slid down his goggles. “All right, let’s do this.”

  Joey Machine’s house was invisible from the road. We found a gated driveway and Grover pointed the tip of his AK-47 at the reflective green emergency number. “This is it. Come on.”

  We crept about a hundred feet away from the front gate. All around us huge trees were waving in the wind, their leaves rustling. Grover jerked his head. “We’ll cut through here. Assume the fence is electrified. Assume there’s cameras everywhere. Paco, you go that way. Jack, you go that way. We’ll circle the house and close in. Move fast. Shoot anything that moves. Okay? GO.”

  I crouched down low, running downhill through the tall grass toward the house. Through my night-vision goggles the house was lit up like a jack-o’-lantern, red and orange and yellow. Two cars sat in the driveway, just like Paco said.

  A shadow lunged, red and orange. In a split-second my new knife leapt from its sheath. The shadow hit my chest and we tumbled back. The knife did its work. I stood up, a dead dog bleeding at my feet. I crouched down and scanned the perimeter. Loud barks cut through the night. Suddenly I was blinded as massive spotlights flooded the yard.

  Machine-gun fire. Barking and gunshots. So much for the element of surprise. I stood up, ripped off my goggles, and charged toward the house.

  The sliding glass doors lay in pieces across the back porch. I glanced around the edges and slipped into the house.

  Joey Economy was rich, there was no doubt about that. Paintings, bookshelves, piano — microsecond first impressions as I ran through the open-concept downstairs. Another burst of machine-gun fire shattered the huge living room window and I heard a woman scream. Fuck.

  Paco ran past me, heading for a hallway. “Anything?” he shouted.

  “No,” I shouted back.

  Gunfire punched into the piano, hammering
sour notes into the air.

  Through the shattered window I saw Grover approach, his AK-47 barking fire. He looked like a demon rising from the mouth of hell. He was shouting something but I couldn’t hear him. He pointed up and I got it: upstairs.

  I took the stairs two at a time. Paco stayed behind, covering me from the ground floor. At the top of the stairs was a short hallway leading to a closed door.

  Eerie silence. I heard a woman whimper. Fuck it, I thought, and I kicked down the door.

  Bedroom. A young, dark-haired woman crouched on the carpet. She was naked except for a black leather harness covered in metallic spikes. “I didn’t mean to … I didn’t mean to … wasn’t my fault … don’t … wasn’t my fault …”

  My knife hand, still sticky with dog blood, dropped to my side.

  Behind the woman was a large wooden rack dripping with chains and manacles. Suspended from the rack was Joey Economy, naked, covered in welts and bruises, a red ball gag stuffed into his wrinkled mouth. He hung motionless, glassy eyes staring at nothing.

  I stepped cautiously toward the rack, keeping my eye on the woman on the floor. Joey didn’t move. I checked for a pulse.

  Joey Machine was dead.

  CHAPTER 32

  In Orangeville we stopped for drinks and chicken wings. Grover was uncustomarily quiet, sitting straight-backed in the pub’s booth, staring down at his beer.

  Paco shook his head. “Man! That was some fucked-up shit right there.”

  Grover didn’t look up. I nodded. Yes indeed, fucked-up shit.

  Paco’s face was a web of old scars twisting their way up into his jet-black hair. He picked up another wing and dragged it through the sauce. “Grover, I gotta admit, man, when you first contacted me for this gig I was a little worried. You ever watch Star Trek?”

  Grover nodded. “Captain Picard.”

  “No, man — the original Star Trek. The one with all the fake rocks and shit.”

  Grover’s face went sour. “I’ve seen it.”

  “You know how when they go down to the planet it’s always the main cast, like Bones and Spock and Captain Kirk, and then some poor sucker in a red shirt who you’ve never seen before? And then shit goes wrong and guess who gets killed: Mr. Red Shirt. Happens almost every episode, man.”

  I sipped my beer. It was cool and tangy on my tongue. I closed my eyes and there he was, Joey Machine, dangling dead on the rack.

  Grover stared across the table. “What’s your point, Paco?”

  “When you called me up I thought I was the Red Shirt. The sacrificial lamb and shit.”

  Two tables over, a group of guys in flannel workshirts and paint-splattered pants howled with laughter. Conversation mixed and matched in the air. A bored-looking server in a black miniskirt marched past with another platter of wings. My cellphone rang.

  “I’ve got to take this.”

  I walked through the pub and into the outside air. “Yeah.”

  “Jack.” It was Suzanne. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, babe. Don’t you worry about me. How are you?”

  “I’m staying in some bullshit motel. The couple in the room next to me fuck like beavers. Last night they were going at it so hard the painting above my bed fell off the wall.”

  “Rabbits.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck like rabbits.”

  “Rabbits, beavers — it doesn’t matter, Jack. I just wanted to let you know I’m going home.”

  Home.

  Joey Machine was dead. Little Vito, Tommy, other unseen threats still circled like sharks.

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s bullshit. I miss my bed. I miss my books. I’m going home. If you want to come over, come on over.”

  “Where are you? I’m coming to see you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right the fuck now.”

  Paco and Grover looked up as I marched back to the table. I chugged the rest of my beer in one pull. “I’ve got to go.”

  Grover pointed to Paco. “Paco, give him your keys.”

  “What? Hey, man, I need that van for work!”

  Grover got real still. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “What did I just say?”

  Nervousness flickered across Paco’s scarred face. He dug into his pocket and produced the keys.

  “Thanks.” I nodded at Grover. “See you around.”

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “This isn’t over.”

  “The man’s dead, Grover. Seems pretty over to me.”

  Grover shook his head. “No. He doesn’t get off that easily. He had friends. Colleagues. We’re going to find them. All of them. That’s what The Chief would’ve wanted.”

  I stood stock-still, breathing in chicken wing fumes. “I … I’ve got to go.”

  Grover waved lazily as I left. “Be seeing you, Jack. Keep those knives sharpened.”

  Paco’s van was a mess. The ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts, and crumpled-up fast food bags covered the back seat like snowdrifts. I spun the radio dial until it landed on something soothing and classical. I started to pull out of the parking lot and then slammed on the brakes: Grover was standing in front of the van, Paco next to him.

  I rolled down the window. “Yeah?”

  “Hold up. Paco forgot something in the back.”

  Paco grinned. “I’ll be just a second.”

  Slowly I pulled my new knife from its sheath and held it lightly against my leg. The old lessons came flooding back. Don’t let him get behind you. Keep staring at his hands. Keep Grover in sight at all times. The van’s back door rumbled open and Paco leaned in. He started to rummage through the fast food bags.

  Grover stepped up behind Paco and shot him once in the back of the head.

  “Jesus!”

  The silencer on Grover’s gun ate most of the noise. I craned my neck and scanned the parking lot: all clear.

  In the back seat the white fast food bags were now splattered with blood. Grover shoved Paco’s body into the van, slammed the door, and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “Drive.”

  CHAPTER 33

  After we dumped Paco in the woods Grover stood silently with his head bowed and his hands folded. “It’s a shame. He was a good kid.”

  Then why did you shoot him, I wanted to say. But I knew Grover, and I knew enough to keep my big mouth shut.

  A bird fluttered overhead, black wings beating against the nighttime canopy. Grover looked over at me. “He would’ve talked, Jack. He would’ve gone to his neighbourhood bar and gotten drunk and blabbed to all his buddies about his big adventure Up North. Do you understand?”

  Hell no.

  “Sure.”

  Grover put his arm around my shoulders and steered me back to the van. “He wasn’t like you or me, Jack. He was impulsive. He didn’t think things through. But he was a good kid. He had a daughter, did you know that? I’m going to send her some money. What do you think, ten grand?”

  “Make it twenty.”

  Grover grinned in the moonlight. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Jack. You’re a generous guy. Now let’s go back to the restaurant and pick up my car.”

  CHAPTER 34

  I drove south in the dead man’s van. After about half an hour the rolling hills and green fields of the Ontario countryside turned into concrete overpasses and squat, ugly warehouses. Welcome home.

  I stopped at a gas station and then I pulled up behind a warehouse near the airport. The smell of the gas burned my nose as I doused the van. I lit a pack of matches and tossed it in. Behind me the van erupted as I walked away. Goodbye, Paco.

  A bus carried me to Kipling Station and from there I jumped into a cab and headed south. Suzanne was waiting for me down by the lake in a motel that time forgot. This place was straight out of the early 1960s: a long concrete motor court with a sun-bleached sign. The motel sign was vintage and so was the carpet: the ghosts of a thousand cigarettes rose up a
s I walked along the corridor.

  At Suzanne’s door I paused, ran my hands through my hair and checked my shoes for blood. Good to go.

  She answered on the fourth knock. “About time you got here.” I leaned in to kiss her and she turned away. My lips grazed her cheek. She turned her back to me and hoisted up her luggage. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Let’s have a drink first. It’s been a long night.”

  She turned, slowly. “How do you think my night was, Jack? I’m sitting here in this shit-box, up all night listening to trucks honking and whores fucking and all the time I’m wondering if you’re dead or alive. ‘Oh, that Jack, he’s such a swell guy, I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.’ You bastard!” Suzanne’s fists battered my chest. I caught her wrists and tried to hold her tight but she jerked free. “We are not doing this shit again. Do you hear me?”

  “Babe. Babe. Listen. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “I told you, I don’t need you to keep me safe.” Suzanne scowled. “I’m not some fucking princess you can keep locked away in a tower. And you’re not a fucking knight in shining armour.” Suzanne shook her head. “I can’t take this shit, Jack.”

  I edged into the room and closed the door behind me. The paint on the door was scratched and the chain was busted. “Someone try to come in here last night?”

  Suzanne wiped her nose and shook her head. “No. It was like that when I got here.”

  “We’ll move you to another room. Just for a few more days. Maybe a week. And then —”

  Suzanne laughed. “And then what? And then you’ll have slain all the dragons? There’s always going to be bad guys, Jack. In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s how the world works.”

  “Just another week. Week and a half, tops. I’ll wrap up my business and then we’ll hit the open road. Just the two of us.”

  Suzanne popped open her suitcase and knelt down. When she came up there was a gun in her hand.

  “Suzanne … take it easy.”

  “Fuck you, Jack. I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You hear me?” She kept the gun barrel pointed up toward the ceiling. “If there’s guys hassling you, I want to know about it. If we’re really a team, then we’re going to get through this shit together.”