Yard Dog Page 13

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. I work alone.”

  Suzanne shook her dark hair. “Bullshit. What about the guy who answers your phone? Or the guy you went up north with? I don’t even know who else. How about the people who made your knives? No one works alone. It takes a fucking village, Jack.”

  “What are you, some kind of commie?”

  “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But I’m serious.” Suzanne pointed to the gun in her hand. “This isn’t a fucking prop. I’ve used it before, Jack. I can do it again.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you to.”

  “Why? Because that would ruin your perfect fantasy? Me in a hoop skirt and a frilly apron out in the backyard tending the fucking vegetables? This is reality, Jack. You and me. You and me against the world.” Suzanne pointed to the cigarette-scarred wooden chair squatting by the window. “So you sit the fuck down and tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Everything. Who’s after you? And why?”

  I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You don’t get it. You still think you’re protecting me. Do you respect me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then respect me enough to tell me the truth.”

  So I told her. I told her about Tommy and prison. I told her about Tommy’s dad sucking on a ventilator in the hospital. I told her about Little Vito and the gunmen on Spadina. I told her about Joey Machine and The Chief and The Chief’s jacket.

  I didn’t tell her about Grover.

  When I finished my throat was dry and scratchy. Suzanne’s mouth was a thin grim line as she marched toward the door.

  That’s it, I thought. I’ll never see her again.

  At the door Suzanne turned. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What are you waiting for?” Suzanne tucked her gun into her waistband. “Let’s go see Tommy.”

  “Okay, stop. What are you going to do? March into Tommy’s fortress with your guns blazing? Maybe you kill one guy, maybe two, and then you die in a hail of bullets. That’s no good, babe.”

  “Or I take Tommy out. The element of surprise. He won’t see me coming. Give me some credit here, Jack.”

  I took her hand in mine. “There’s only one way out of this. I finish the job. Tommy gets his money. And you and I are free.”

  “And Little Vito?”

  “Tommy will take care of him. Hell, for all we know Vito might be dead already.” I grinned, trying to light up the room with my sunny optimism. Suzanne wavered. She had dark circles under her tired eyes.

  I pulled her close. She buried her face in my chest. “Tell me a lie, Jack. Tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

  I held her tight. “It is going to be okay,” I murmured. “We’re going to get through this.”

  Suzanne spoke into my shirt. “I’m not staying in this shithole another night.”

  “Okay.” I held her closer. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Suzanne walked naked from the bathroom, her hair wrapped up in a towel, her normally pale skin now bright pink from the shower. I looked up from my giant gin and tonic and I couldn’t stop staring.

  Suzanne grinned, sauntering sexily across the carpet. She sat down on the black and chrome chair across from me and casually spread her legs. “That’s more like it. The shower in the motel was the shits. No hot water. No water pressure at all.”

  Outside through the open window I heard the hustle and bustle of the Kensington shopping crowds. A bicycle bell dinged. Faint, tinny, Middle Eastern–sounding music was playing on a distant radio. I stared at Suzanne and adjusted the front of my trousers.

  She cocked her head toward the open bathroom door. “Your turn.”

  The shower felt great. I closed my eyes and turned my face into the spray. Steaming hot water streamed down my body, coursing past the scars and bruises, soothing the aches and pains.

  When I stepped out of the bathroom, Suzanne was still naked. She was standing in the kitchen mixing a martini. I came up behind her and grabbed her ass. She yelped and laughed and leapt away. I pushed her against the countertop and spread her ass with both hands. I was hard as a rock. My fingers dipped lower, into her folds. She moaned. She was soft and moist and warm.

  She gasped as I entered her. No teasing, no bullshit — I wanted every inch of myself inside her NOW. I thrust in deeper, deeper. Suzanne grunted. “Go … slow …”

  I slowed down, easing out and back in, my cock sliding inside her hot, slick pussy. My hand reached around and squeezed her breasts. I leaned down, thrusting in deep as she arched her back. Her wet hair flicked across my face.

  “Jack. Oh, Jack.”

  I bit her neck, pushed her forward against the counter, held her hips and slammed into her, faster and faster, wet hot slick —

  My legs shuddered as I came, pumping deep inside her, every bit of energy left in my body exploding from the tip of my cock. I collapsed on top of her, pinning her against the countertop. We breathed together, her body so warm beneath mine, our heartbeats in synch.

  She moved beneath me and I knew she wanted up. I pulled out and stood up and stepped away, smiling. She smiled back, her eyes half-lidded.

  “Nothing like makeup sex.” She reached for her martini, took a big swig, and brushed her wet hair away from her face. “That was amazing.”

  “You’re pretty damn amazing yourself, sweetheart.”

  She pointed to her martini. “You want one of these?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She mixed me a martini and together we moved toward the bedroom. Light from outside was shining through the window, illuminating her fluffy white bed.

  “Cheers.” Our glasses clinked. The booze went down smooth.

  She nuzzled up close. I put my arm around her and together we drifted off to sleep.

  “Jack. JACK!”

  I rose with a start, hand leaping to my knife on the nightstand. Outside it was dark. What time was it?

  “What? What is it?”

  Suzanne looked scared. Wide eyes and messy hair. “You were screaming.”

  I peered toward the window. “Is someone here? Did you see anything?”

  “No.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Jack …”

  “Yeah?”

  “You were screaming. You wouldn’t wake up. I tried to wake you but you wouldn’t wake up.”

  “I’m okay.” I managed a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “What were you screaming about?”

  “I don’t remember.” It was the truth. “What time is it?”

  “It’s midnight.”

  I stood up, found my pants and pulled them on. “I’ve got to go.”

  Outside, the Kensington Market air was crisp and cold. I stopped at a street corner and took a deep breath, and then another, and another. My hands were shaking. A homeless man wearing three coats staggered by sideways. Loud music pumped from a punk bar’s open door. I peered in as I passed: sullen forty-year-old men with mohawks perched at the bar nursing their pints. I flagged down a cab and headed for Tommy’s.

  Tommy’s club was hopping, jam-packed to the rafters with girls in shiny silver halter tops and black micro-miniskirts and guys with shirts open to their navels — gold chains and hairy chests. A drunk guy with slicked-back hair and leather pants stumbled into me and snarled. I was sick of this shit. I punched him in the throat and didn’t even stick around to watch him fall.

  Tonight Tommy wasn’t in his office. He was in the VIP booth overlooking the dance floor, a blonde on either side of him, a half-empty (or is it half-full?) bottle of Dom Perignon on the table. Tommy’s bodyguard — what was his name? Rocco? — waved me closer. Tommy spotted me and smiled.

  “Do my fucking eyes deceive me? Rocco, am I dreaming? Quick, somebody pinch me. Ow! You dizzy broad, not for real. Come on, Jack, have a seat. This is … what’s your name again, sweetheart?”

  “Elana.”


  Elana and her friend Sindi (“with an S !”): tonight they were models, but tomorrow it’d be back to the strip club.

  The music throbbed. Below us on the dance floor an ocean of humanity rose and fell. Tommy leaned in close to my ear. His breath smelled like rotting oranges. “I set up a meeting for you. Tomorrow afternoon. You tell that shit stain Vito to pay me my money or I’m going to fucking cut off his head and piss down his neck.”

  “Ah, diplomacy.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  Elana ran her fingertips along my arm. “I’m not wearing any panties. Want to see?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  She was telling the truth. Her pink slit winked out at me from beneath her miniskirt. “You want to go somewhere more private?”

  “Sorry, darlin’.” I grinned. “I can’t afford it.”

  A cab blasting bossa nova tunes picked me up and carried me toward Chinatown. I leaned forward. “Hey, turn it down.”

  “This is happy music. Happy music.”

  “Yeah? Turn it down.”

  Back home, instead of heading directly up to my office, I passed through Eddie’s restaurant, twisting sideways to avoid the lightning-quick waiters bearing huge trays of steamed dumplings and shredded pork. I ducked through a doorway at the back of the restaurant and walked through the kitchen. A skinny chef with a missing front tooth grinned at me and I grinned back. At the back of the kitchen a bored-looking teenager with spiky hair looked up from his comic book. “Yeah?”

  “I’m Jack. Eddie inside?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I told you already. My name’s Jack.”

  “Gambling?”

  “What?”

  The kid jerked his spiky head toward the closed door leading down to Eddie’s illegal casino. “Gambling?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Ten bucks.”

  I didn’t protest and I didn’t argue. I pulled a wad of bills from my pocket and peeled off a ten.

  Inside Eddie’s casino the air was choked with cigarette smoke. The tables were full. It was mostly Chinese men, but here and there were a few Westerners — old degenerate gamblers and a few young couples out for an illicit thrill. A young blond woman in giant sunglasses sat at one of the poker tables, a massive fortress of chips in front of her. There was a whole lotta gambling going on.

  Eddie bellied up to me, shook my hand, and grinned. He was wearing a black suit, sunglasses, and a skinny tie.

  “What’s the good word, Jack? You want a drink?”

  “Scotch. Put it in a big glass. No ice.”

  “One of those nights, eh?”

  “They’re all those nights.”

  Eddie turned, snapped his fingers, and pointed at me. Before I could blink, a tall glass full of Scotch was pressed into my hand. I said thanks but the waiter was already gone, swallowed up by the gambling crowd.

  I raised my glass. “Cheers.”

  The Scotch burned down my throat. Warmth spread from my stomach. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure, Jack. What’s up?”

  “Let’s go up to the roof.”

  On the roof the night was getting colder. The lights from the CN Tower winked down at us. Eddie sparked up a cigarette. I kicked back in my lawn chair and stretched my legs.

  “Christ, it feels good to sit down.”

  “Yeah.”

  Traffic roared and rumbled in the streets below. Music leaked from car windows, the dull idiot thud of too much bass. And then it was quiet once again.

  I set my glass down and stared up at the sky. The city lights had eaten all the stars. “I’ve got a meeting with Vito tomorrow.”

  “Little Vito?”

  “That’s the one. I’m going to need backup.” What did Suzanne say? No one works alone.

  “No problem.”

  “I’m going to need guys I can trust. Guys who are calm, cool, and collected. No hotheads. No slack-jaws. Not like Manga Boy you’ve got working the door tonight.”

  Eddie frowned. “That’s my nephew. He give you a hard time?”

  I grinned. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “He didn’t make you pay the cover, did he?”

  “Forget about it.”

  Eddie scowled, reached into his pocket, and passed me a ten-dollar bill.

  “I said forget it.”

  “Come on, Jack, take the money. I’ll talk to my nephew, straighten him out.” Eddie shook his head. “Kids today.”

  “Think about it, Eddie. Were we any different?”

  “I like to think so. But maybe not.”

  “So anyway, I don’t want him. I need some folks who can be discrete. Fade into the background. Stay out of sight until needed. That sort of thing. I probably won’t need them, but you never know.”

  “I’ve got you covered.”

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  Eddie grinned. “That’s what friends are for.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Eddie insisted on driving me to the meeting himself. Tommy told me the address and I had it locked in my brain. The meeting was happening in the St. Clair–Vaughan Road area. Neighbourhood bars, Portuguese grocery stores, and Italian restaurants sat side-by-side with Jamaican barbershops and take-out restaurants. “Where Rasta Meets Pasta.”

  Eddie pulled his town car up to the curb and peered out the window. “You sure this is the place?”

  We were in a residential neighbourhood surrounded by modest two-storey houses and carefully manicured lawns. A teenage girl walked by, being pulled along the sidewalk by a huge woolly dog. From somewhere down the street came the jingle of an ice cream truck.

  I scanned the street name and the address. “It’s the right address. Maybe Tommy fucked it up.”

  Eddie shook his head. “It’s going to be hard for my guys to hide around here, Jack.”

  A little light went off. “Yeah. Maybe that’s exactly what Vito was thinking.”

  “Or Tommy.”

  “You thinking ambush?”

  Eddie nodded. “I’m always thinking ambush.”

  “Okay. Let’s work this out. Worst case scenario, I walk into that house and it’s empty except for a rug on the floor. Someone steps up behind me, BAM BAM, two shots to the head. I go down, they wrap me in the rug, and carry my body out the back door.”

  Eddie grinned. “That’s worst case, all right.”

  “I don’t see any of Vito’s guys around. Do you?”

  Eddie craned his neck. “There’s a guy cutting his grass. Another guy polishing his car. And there on the corner is a telephone repair man. His rig looks real enough.”

  “Sometimes a telephone repair man is just a telephone repair man.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Where are your guys now?”

  “Two of them are at the coffee shop down the street. There’s one guy in the park up ahead. Two more in the video store around the block. They’re waiting for my word.”

  “They’re going to have to get closer.”

  “I know. It’s gonna be tough.”

  I sat back. “All right. Here’s what we do. We hang back. Tell your guys to cool their heels. You and I are going to sit right here and watch the house.”

  “You mind if I shut off the AC? I’m concerned about my carbon footprint.”

  Eddie shut off the AC and we rolled down the windows. Eddie watched the house while I scanned the street. Then we switched. No one went in, no one came out. After about ten minutes I was starting to sweat.

  “Fuck it — I’m going in.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Uh-uh. No you’re not. I’m going in alone.”

  “Come on, Jack. You might need me.”

  “That’s what your crew is for. Give ’em a call, tell ’em to head on down. You see this?” I held up the cellphone Eddie gave me a few days ago. “I’m calling you right now. What do they say in the movies? ‘We’ll keep an open channel.’ You hear anything alarming, you sen
d in the fucking cavalry.”

  “Just one question. When they frisk you and take away your phone, then what?”

  “It’s a phone. They’re not going to take away my phone.”

  Eddie smirked. “Jack, you really are clueless, aren’t you? That, my friend, is not just a phone. It’s a GPS, it’s a camera, it’s a computer.”

  “So you’re saying this meeting is pointless. Little Vito and I could just sit in different cafés and text each other threats. ‘U R ded d00d LOL.’ Is that it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. That’s it exactly.” Eddie snorted. “Come on, Jack. Of course they’re going to take your phone. Cut the lines of communication. Isn’t that the first thing that happens in a war?”

  I shook my head. “His war is with Tommy, not me.”

  “Does Little Vito know that?”

  “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

  I stepped out of the car into the bright sunlight. The air smelled like fresh grass and dryer sheets. Somewhere down the street a baby was crying.

  The curtains were drawn and the blinds were down. I knocked on the door and waited. My hand tensed around the knife in my pocket.

  A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck. The door opened, slowly.

  Standing in the doorway was a little old woman in a frilly yellow apron. She was brown and wrinkled like a walnut. “Yes? You have reservation?”

  “Uh … maybe. The name’s Jack. I’m here to see Vito.”

  The woman’s face brightened. “Vito! Come on in, come on in.”

  Inside I smelled cumin and onions and sizzling beef. I was standing in the middle of what looked like an old woman’s house: dried flowers in a vase in the hallway, religious knick-knacks lining the walls.

  “This way.”

  We stepped around the corner into what at one time might’ve been the living room. Now it was a dining room complete with three tiny tables. All the tables were empty except one near the wall: a huge man in a grey suit stood as I entered the room.

  “You must be Jack.” The big man smiled. “Come on in, take a load off. Rosie, how ’bout a couple of beers? Jack, I hope you like Mexican food. Rosie makes the best in the city.”