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  I climbed aboard. A woman with long black hair jiggled by, wearing nothing but skimpy red bikini bottoms. Grover, in a straw Panama hat and an all-white linen suit, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “My invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

  “This isn’t a Tough Guy party, Jack. This is a different kind of party. Tough Guy parties are so boring. Bunch of men sitting around some smoky bar knocking back beer and whisky, watching a scabby woman strip for crack. Guys just waiting to be insulted so they can go out back and beat the shit out of each other. Those parties always end the same way: either out in the woods digging a shallow grave or down by the docks with a weighted gym bag. That atmosphere is too tense. Sometimes you just want to have a good time, you know?”

  A naked man and a naked woman with all-over tans walked by hand in hand.

  “So what’s the deal, Grover? You’ve gone nudist?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Jack. These are Margarite’s friends. None of these people know who I am. I mean, who I was.” Grover chuckled. “They think I’m CIA.”

  In the hot tub, naked women shrieked and splashed. A plump woman laughed and rose from the steam, water trickling down her slick pink curves.

  I nodded at the hot tub women. “They seem nice.”

  “Margarite has friends all over the world. Swingers. You didn’t know? I admit it was a bit of a shock for me at first, but the bottom line is I love her and want to make her happy. It’s an interesting lifestyle, Jack. Have you ever thought about it?”

  I shrugged. “Never really had the time.”

  “Well, if you’re interested, tonight we’re short-staffed. There’s more ladies than men. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you wanted to join in.”

  I sipped my G&T and glanced back toward the hot tub women. “I didn’t come here to get laid.”

  “Right, right. Of course not. I know that look in your eye. You’re on a mission.”

  “Joey Economy is in the wind. I need to track him down.”

  “How about The Chief?”

  “The Chief would be perfect but he took a fucking powder. Soon as he heard Joey Economy was involved, The Chief turned tail and headed for the fucking hills.”

  Grover frowned. “That doesn’t sound like The Chief.”

  I shrugged.

  Grover leaned closer. “You didn’t hear it from me, but The Chief needs money. He’s been doing some heavy gambling. He’s in the hole for two hundred large. Maybe for the right price, you could lure him back.” He shook his head. “He should’ve given up the ponies when he gave up the booze. Ah, well … we all have our vices.” Grover grinned and slapped the ass of a passing brunette. She squealed and giggled and plopped down in his lap. Grover’s small hands ran up the length of her tanned and oiled legs.

  The party rolled on. The gin scorched my throat. With unsteady legs I stood and made my way toward the bathroom in Grover’s cabin. Inside the cabin, a nude blond woman was sitting on the bed. She smiled when she saw me and spread her long, tanned legs.

  “You like what you see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you come on over?”

  I thought of Suzanne, and I turned away.

  CHAPTER 21

  Grover told me where to find The Chief. He was in a dingy motel room complete with buzzing neon sign out front and fly-swarmed Dumpster out back. Right next to a liquor store and not far from an underpass where fifteen dollars could buy you a blowjob and a rock of crack.

  “Who the fuck is it?”

  “Jack.”

  Click-clack of the chain coming off. The door swung open into hell. Cigarette smoke, overflowing ashtrays, broken beer bottles, a hole punched in the wall. Spilled beer, half-eaten food, dead cockroaches. Broken lamp shattered on the floor. Water from the busted toilet seeping into the mouldy orange carpet.

  The Chief stood in the middle of the chaos wearing his leather jacket, with no shirt or pants. His boxer shorts were streaked with either blood or ketchup. “Jack! How the hell are ya?”

  I nodded toward the woman wearing matching black bra and panties stretched out across one of the double beds. “Is she okay?”

  “What?” The Chief whirled. “Is that bitch still here?” He marched over and gave the woman a shake. She mumbled something incoherent and swatted his hand away. The Chief turned. “She’s fine. Drank too much. Speaking of —” The Chief yanked a tall boy from its plastic collar and tossed it to me.

  My eyes narrowed. “I thought you quit.”

  “Yeah … I did.” The Chief grinned. He was missing one of his front teeth. “But I’m back, baby!” He popped the top of another beer. MuchMusic was blaring from the TV speakers. The Chief shuffled over and turned it up.

  “THERE! NOW WE CAN TALK!”

  “WHAT?”

  “I SAID NOW WE CAN TALK!”

  I cocked my head. “Shhh! You hear that?”

  There it was again, unmistakable: a loud, angry knocking at the door.

  “What the fuck?” The Chief pushed through the empty bottles on the carpet like he was an icebreaker moving through the Arctic. He reached inside a pizza box sitting on the cigarette-scarred table and came up with a Glock 9mm.

  “Chief … be cool, baby. Be cool.”

  I stepped in front of The Chief and cracked open the door. A balding man with glasses and a white undershirt stood shivering outside the motel room. “Excuse me … could you turn your TV down, please?”

  I turned on my shit-eating grin. “Absolutely. Sorry about that.”

  “I’m presenting at a conference tomorrow and I really need my sleep.”

  “Hey, I know how it is. No problem. Sorry to have disturbed you.” Sorry whatever cheap-ass company you work for stashed you here at the No-Tell Motel.

  Behind me I heard The Chief muttering curses under his breath. I quickly closed the door on Conference Man: he blinked rapidly as the door slammed closed.

  The Chief waved his gun at the FIRE SAFETY sign stuck to the back of the motel room door. “Motherfucker … tell ME to be quiet.”

  “Chief … just let it go, man. Let it go.”

  The Chief turned and punched his fist right through the motel room wall. “HOW’S THAT? TOO FUCKING LOUD?”

  If this were a game show a gigantic buzzer would have been going off right about now. The rhinestone-suited host would bounce up and clap me on the back and say, “All right, Jack, your time is up!” Time’s up, all right. Time to get gone.

  “Take care of yourself, Chief.”

  “What?” The man turned his scarred face toward me. His lips were wet with saliva and beer. “You goin’ already? You just fucking got here. Come on, have a drink.”

  “Some other time.” I kept my eye on The Chief’s gun hand. Here’s something I’ve learned over the years: friends are friends, but drunks do stupid shit. I didn’t want the cleaning crew finding us in the morning, The Chief weeping over my body, a 9mm bullet hole sitting right between my eyes.

  “Fuck you, then.” The Chief turned his back. Stomach hollow, I slipped out the door into the cool night air.

  CHAPTER 22

  The pigeons outside my office were having an orgy. The fuckers would not stop cooing and flapping and beating their wings. I kept my eyes closed, lying on the couch, trying to sleep. Fucking pigeons. I cracked open one eye and gazed over at my desk full of knives. Filet of Sky Rat.

  A knock at the door. I shuffled over all bleary-eyed. “Yeah?”

  “Eddie.”

  I peeked through the peephole and sure enough, there was Eddie, standing in the hallway all by his lonesome. I opened up and he passed me his phone. “It’s Tommy.”

  I held the tiny phone up to my ear.

  “Jack! You madman. You fucking genius. The jockey came through.”

  Thoughts and words pushed through my sleep-addled brain. The jockey, the jockey … oh right, the jockey.

  Tommy continued: “Yep. That little fucker showed up at the club last night all ban
daged up like a fucking mummy. His little knees were knocking, he was shaking so bad. He apologized and paid me off.”

  “That’s great, Tommy.” I yawned, deep and long like a jungle cat.

  “You make any progress with our other friend?”

  “Joey?”

  “No, the fucking Tooth Fairy. Yeah Joey.”

  “He’s in the wind. I don’t have the manpower to track him down.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. That fucking guy has been running around too long. My father and him were buddies or something, but not me. There’s gonna be a reckoning, Jack. We’re gonna drag his headless fucking corpse through the streets.”

  I heard Tommy’s teeth grinding. “That’ll send a message to all the other stiffs and deadbeats. Fuck with me, you end up dead.”

  Jesus Christ, I thought. Didn’t anyone ever tutor this guy? Phone calls and death threats don’t mix. That’s the kind of shit that makes the cops get up on their tippy-toes and cheer.

  “You need me today, Tommy?”

  “Is the job over? No? Then I fucking need you today, and tomorrow, and the day after that until it’s done. You got that?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.

  I hung up and tossed the phone to Eddie. He sighed. “Another one for the lake?”

  “I’ll pay you back. How much?”

  Eddie shot me a lazy smile. “It’ll all be in your itemized bill at the end of the month.”

  I couldn’t get back to sleep. Fuck it, I’ll go run some errands. Pick up some toothpaste, new razors, soap. You never hear about tough guys buying groceries. Did Sam Spade send his secretary?

  Outside on the streets Chinatown was as busy as ever. The summertime stench of rotting garbage hung over everything. In the middle of Spadina a streetcar angrily slammed on its breaks and rattled its bell as an old Chinese man hobbled and weaved across the tracks. I’d never seen anyone get hit on these tracks, but it happened. I saw the aftermath once: streetcar at a standstill, paramedics loading a black body bag into the back of an ambulance.

  A long black car cut me off at the corner of Spadina and Sullivan. The passenger door swung open and a mean-faced man with lips thick as sausages beckoned me closer. “Get in.”

  “No thanks.” I smiled sweetly. “It’s such a beautiful day, I think I’ll walk.”

  The big man let loose a grunt. “I heard you were a joker.” The big man lifted his coat, letting me see the gun in his hand. “Get the fuck in or you die.”

  It took less than a second. In one fluid motion my hand darted into the car, snapped the gun out of the man’s hand (I heard the green-wood snap of the man’s wrist breaking), and hit him over the left eye. Head wounds bleed plenty; the man yowled, blinking back blood, holding on to his shattered wrist.

  “I said I’ll fucking walk.”

  Up front the driver was frantically fumbling, trying to get his own gun out of his side holster. I levelled Big Man’s pistol at him. “You really want to do that?”

  The driver panicked and gunned the motor. The car leapt ahead, passenger door slamming closed as the car screamed around the corner. I ran into an alley, wiped down the gun and ditched it.

  I’ve made a few enemies over the years. I like to think I’m a pretty decent guy, but I guess I just rub some people the wrong way. There’s plenty of folks cooling their heels in prison who wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for me. I’m sure some of them stay up at night, sharpening their claws and dreaming of revenge. Those guys in the car were no friends of mine. Were they sent by Joey Machine? Probably not. Too roundabout. I had a feeling Mr. Machine preferred the personal touch.

  Then it hit me with clarity and surety: those were Little Vito’s men. Tommy’s troubles had washed up on my doorstep.

  There’s a martial art called aikido. If you’ve ever seen a Steven Seagal movie, then you’ve seen it practised. Aikido is all about defence, using other people’s actions against them. It’s not about acting, it’s about reacting. Just like Bugs Bunny. Bugs Bunny doesn’t go out looking for people to fuck with. He just chills in his rabbit hole, snackin’ on carrots until someone tries to fuck with him. Then what happens? Elmer Fudd gets shot with his own gun. This is how I live. Send hate my way and I will deflect it back to you. However — and I think Steven Seagal and Bugs Bunny would agree with me on this point — sometimes the best defence is a good offence.

  I flipped open one of Eddie’s phones and punched in a number.

  Grover picked up. I could hear gulls in the background. I envisioned white fluffy towels, sunscreen, and bare breasts.

  “It’s Jack.”

  “The boating life’s growing on you, eh, Jack? You just can’t stay away.”

  “Forget the boat. Tell me something about Little Vito.”

  “I’ve heard a few things.”

  “I figured you had.”

  “Nothing I’d want to repeat over the phone, mind you.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Dinner.”

  One more call. “Hello?” Suzanne’s voice was warm and sweet like honey.

  “It’s me. Let’s reschedule.”

  The silence of Suzanne’s disappointment filled my ear.

  “Something’s come up. Business stuff. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Her voice was flat and far away. “Don’t get killed, okay?”

  “Will do.” That’s what I do every day. I wake up, do my job, and try not to get killed.

  I hung up and pushed my way through the crowds, heading for one of those stores that sold everything. Out on the sidewalk a group of old Chinese ladies were arguing about multicoloured cheap plastic bowls. The bowls were stacked next to a bin full of flip-flops, and next to the flip-flops was a bin full of feather dusters. Down the street there was a man with a shaved head and a rumpled all-black outfit hunched down by the curb. I gave him the once-over. Trained assassin? The man was intently scratching symbols on the curbside bricks with a rock, ignoring the crowds swirling all around him. A crazy man, or a killer in disguise? I watched him more closely but he just kept scratching, carving protective symbols onto the street. No disguise. He was an actual Crazy Man.

  It was The Chief who taught me how to pull off “The Crazy Look.” We had been hired to shake down a bank exec, some real smooth Johnny who had gotten in over his head. He started with drugs and then moved on to women, one woman in particular: his coke dealer’s girlfriend. The coke dealer wasn’t happy, so he called up The Chief.

  We decided to stake out the bank from across the street. “Here,” The Chief said, opening his giant black duffle bag and pulling out a moth-eaten coat. “Put this on.”

  “Are you kidding?” I responded. “It’s hot as fuck out here.”

  The Chief grinned. “Exactly. If you look crazy and homeless, you might as well be invisible.”

  Sure enough, The Banker blew right past us. We trailed him for three blocks before we saw our opening. The Banker crossed the street and buzzed his way into an apartment building. The Chief caught the door before it closed.

  The Banker was there to see the coke dealer’s girlfriend. She was surprised to see us, but not as surprised as he was. “Keep an eye on her,” The Chief said as he led The Banker into the bathroom. We didn’t hear any screams, just muffled thumps. The girl started blabbing a blue streak: my boyfriend this and my boyfriend that.

  “Your boyfriend,” I told her, “isn’t very happy with you.”

  With that her eyes widened and her mouth slammed shut.

  The Chief came out of the bathroom with his hands wrapped in bloody towels. “Let’s go.”

  “What about her?”

  The Chief grinned. “Sister,” he said, “your boyfriend just sent you a message. Do you understand? If I were you, I’d get the fuck out of Dodge.”

  Outside, The Chief lit a cigarette. “Sad, isn’t it?”

  I scanned the street for cops. “What do you mean?”

  “She won’t leave. I bet you a thousand
bucks she’s on the phone with him right now, crying her eyes out and begging for forgiveness.”

  “What’ll happen to her?”

  The Chief flicked away his cigarette. “Nothing good. But if she doesn’t leave … not much we can do.” The Chief turned to me and grinned. “You did good in there, kid. Come on … I’ll buy you a beer.”

  The Scratcher kept scratching. I moved past the arguing Chinese ladies and into the store, stepping past piles of woks and giant jolly Buddhas. Toothpaste, razors, soap. Might as well throw in some deodorant while I’m here.

  I kept one eye on the street, but nothing happened on the walk home. Back in the building Eddie was bustling around his restaurant, barking orders. A man in a long white butcher’s jacket hustled past me carrying a whole dead pig on his back. Lunch.

  “Eddie, you going to be around for a while?”

  “All day, man. All goddamn day.”

  “All right. I’ll be in the office. No visitors, okay?”

  Eddie clapped my back. “You got it, Jack.”

  Inside the office I stashed my toiletries and poured the plant a water and myself a vodka. I raised my glass to the plant. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  Down the hatch. I had a few more hours before my dinner with Grover. I kicked off my shoes, curled up on the couch, and in seconds I was waltzing through dreamland.

  CHAPTER 23

  Turned out Little Vito was one vicious fuck. I mean, I figured this guy wasn’t Captain Kangaroo, but it’s one thing to think something and something else entirely to hear it out loud.

  Grover picked a restaurant on Queen East near Parliament, which surprised me. The neighbourhood was a little downscale for Grover’s tastes. Not far from here was Queen and Sherbourne, which used to be basically an open-air crack market until a guy got shot and the cops finally stepped in.

  Outside, a scabby woman with bird’s-nest hair lurched through a parking lot. Inside, it was all elegant lighting and dark, polished wood. Men in suits with no ties held hands across the table with their dates, smiling women with perfect hair.