“Sometimes.”
“There’s nothing like it, man. That feeling you get when you’re on the open road and you’re with your brothers, hundreds of ’em, stretching out as far as the eye can see, and the engines are growling and the sun is shining and the countryside is blurring by …” Walter smiled. “You can’t top it.”
“So why didn’t you patch over?”
The nurse came in with the wheelchair. Melody and I helped ease Walter into it. Melody glanced at me. “Can you push him? I’ll bring the car around.”
I pushed Walter down the hospital hallway. An orderly passed us, pushing a giant cart loaded with trays. Feeding time.
“Those guys that patched over … you know what they made them do?”
“No, what?”
“They had to burn their colours, man. All the Satan’s Blood jackets, hats, bandanas … they had to toss all their stuff into a burning oil drum. They didn’t have to get beaten in, though, and they got to keep their tattoos.” Walter rolled up his sleeve. There on his bicep was the classic bleeding Satan logo: trickles of blood pouring from Satan’s grinning mouth and eyes. The tattoo was done in jailhouse blue. I had seen similar tattoos when I was Inside. One guy on my cell block, Nestor, was a whiz with a modified tattoo needle made out of a ballpoint pen and parts of a sewing machine. Walter thrust out his jaw. “I wasn’t about to burn my colours, man. Not then and not now. Satan’s Blood for life.”
CHAPTER 20
The inside of Fisher’s station wagon smelled like coffee and cologne. One of my mom’s boyfriends had a car like this. His name was Jerry, and he was one of the nice ones. He would let me go “fishing” in the vinyl seats, wiggling my little hands into the spaces where coins had dropped out of Jerry’s pocket. I got to keep whatever I found. One time I found a stick of spearmint gum still wrapped in foil, and I got to keep that, too.
Fisher sipped his takeout coffee and twisted the dial on the ancient radio. Sweet soul music came trickling from the speakers. Ray Charles, “What’d I Say.” Classic. Fisher reached over and turned down the volume until the music was almost subliminal. “Your coffee all right?”
It was too sweet for me. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
“I wasn’t sure how you took it.”
I took a sip. “It’s fine.”
“All right, Jack. The way I figure it, Cassandra played fast and loose with Anton’s money, and when it came time to pay the piper, she skipped out on the bill. That sound about right?”
I frowned. The sugary coffee was hurting my teeth. “We were working on a payment plan, though. She came to me to help broker the deal.”
“Payment plan. Yeah, right. Six hundred grand at a dollar a day. She’d be fully paid off in only one thousand six hundred and forty-four years. Her descendants could leave that shit on Anton’s grave.”
“Not a dollar a day. We’re working it out. You were there at that meeting.”
“I’m not sure what meeting you were at because I remember that shit differently. Seemed like you were taking Cassandra away from Anton, and Anton didn’t like that shit.”
“Anton and Cassandra, that’s done. He needs to realize that.”
“It’s not done. She’s going to play again and she’s going to play for Anton.” Fisher took a big sip of his coffee, reached forward, and fired up the station wagon’s engine. The car coughed, then started up. “All we need from her is one last big game. Make all the money back and then she can waltz off into the sunset.”
Fisher cranked the wheel and the old brown car slid into traffic.
“One last game. What if she loses?”
“I don’t want to hear that glass-half-empty shit. Go into a game thinking you’re gonna lose, guess what, you’re gonna lose.” Fisher drove with his left hand, clutching the coffee in his right.
I was beginning to think that maybe Cassie would be better off if we didn’t find her. If she was safe, then maybe she should stay hidden, wherever she was. But then, if she was safe, then why hadn’t she phoned? Why wasn’t she picking up?
I took another sip of the too-sweet coffee and turned to Fisher. “Cassie’s hand. You know the story there?”
Fisher grunted. “Yeah, I know the story. You have to understand. Anton … he’s a volatile guy. Sometimes he goes too far.”
“He burned her.”
“They were in a hotel room. She was boiling water for tea. He was pissed that she was losing. He grabbed her hand and forced it down deep into the kettle.”
“Jesus.”
Fisher spun the wheel. The car veered right. “A few years back, Cassandra came to us for help. We helped her and then she started playing with Anton’s cash. At first it was great, but then her luck went south.” Fisher shot me a sideways glance. “I’m not excusing the man, but he was frustrated. Six hundred grand is no small change, man.”
My giant hands curled into fists. My knuckles were white and my nails were digging into my palms. “Fuck the money. You don’t treat a human being like that.” I wanted to find Anton and I wanted to hit him until he was dead. “Where’s Anton now?”
“Cool your jets, Jack. He shouldn’t have burned her, I agree. That shit was horrific. But put that shit out of your head. I know you can’t, but try. I got a line on Cassie.”
I stared at the big biker. Fisher looked straight ahead through the windshield. “Anton got a call the other night. This guy that used to work for us, Johnny Rapoli, he was calling to see how much Cassandra was worth to us.”
My fists tightened. They were bartering Cassie like a side of beef. Cassandra, the woman I once loved.
“He’s got her?”
“He didn’t say. He said he knows where she is.” Fisher grimaced. “He runs a dog-fighting ring out near Orangeville.” Fisher shook his head. “Those poor dogs, man.”
“Let’s go see Johnny.”
Fisher nodded. “Rapoli rolls heavy. You ready for that?”
I cracked my knuckles. “I’d like to phone a friend.”
CHAPTER 21
I met Grover in a French restaurant on Baldwin Street. He looked up and smiled as I came through the door. The little man was sitting, as always, with his back to the wall and with a clear view of the door. He was wearing a pale-yellow cardigan and granny-style half glasses that were perched on the tip of his nose. A Globe and Mail newspaper sat on the white tablecloth in front of him, and next to it was a glass of white wine. I gave him a nod and we shook hands. I sat down and pointed to the newspaper, which was folded open to the business section. “You looking for another line of work?”
Grover chuckled. “You know what they say: ‘You can rob more people with a pen than you can with a gun.’”
The server glided up to our table with a smile on her face. She had long black hair pulled into a ponytail and big silver hoop earrings. I blinked. She looked a lot like my ex, Suzanne. She was looking right at me. I stared back. Grover nudged my arm. “She said, ‘What do you want to drink?’”
“Oh. Uh, a coffee. Black. No sugar.”
The server slipped away. Grover took off his glasses and flipped the newspaper closed. “What’s up?”
I ran it down. Cassandra, Fisher, Walter. I kept my words jailhouse vague — the restaurant was busy, there were a lot of ears to overhear — but Grover knew what I was talking about. The little man whistled when I was done. “Damn, Jack. I’m always impressed by the way you can step in shit wherever you go.”
“What can I say? It’s a skill.”
The server returned with my coffee. I thanked her and took a sip, then watched as she moved away. I wondered what Suzanne was up to in Saskatoon. I hoped she was happy.
I glanced back at Grover. “I’ve got a line on who’s holding Cassandra. Johnny Rapoli.”
Grover shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Runs a dog-fighting ring up near Orangeville.”
Grover’s eyebrows shot up. “When are we going?”
“Tonight. Fisher’s coming with us
.”
Grover frowned. “I don’t trust him, Jack.”
“That’s because you’re smart.”
We left the restaurant and walked toward Grover’s car. We drove without talking. The suspension on Grover’s dark-green Lexus was so smooth that the car seemed to float along above the road. Quiet jazz trickled from the speakers. Grover smiled. “Next time I go down to Florida, you should come with me, Jack. Get out of the city for a while.”
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe.” Leaving the city. It sounded impossible.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love the city. But it’s important to step out every now and then. Clears your head. Gives you a fresh perspective.” Grover reached over and turned up the radio. “Listen to this. New John Coltrane. They thought these recordings were lost, but then they turned up. They released them just last year.”
I listened to the squawking horns. Lost and then found.
“Rapoli’s not going to give her up easily.”
“Thing is, Jack … it’s all in how you ask.”
CHAPTER 22
Johnny Rapoli screamed as Grover broke another finger. That was the full five. In the background, Johnny’s dogs were barking. I stood by the doorway of Johnny’s shed. He had come down the driveway to meet us. When he saw Fisher’s motorcycle, he’d tried to run, but Fisher cut him off. I’d jumped out of Grover’s Lexus and tackled him to the ground.
Johnny glared at us. “You’re fucking dead. Do you know who I am?”
Grover hit Johnny with the butt of his gun. “You’re a fucking asshole who likes to hurt animals. Did I get that right?” Grover hit him again.
Johnny spat blood onto the floor. One of his teeth bounced on the concrete.
I stepped forward. “Where’s Cassandra, Johnny?”
“Don’t know any Cassandra.”
Grover hit him again. “Wrong answer.”
“Okay, okay. A buddy of mine, he’s got her.”
I slapped my burner phone on the wooden table in front of Johnny. “Call him up.”
Johnny Rapoli shook his head. “He’s not gonna pick up if he doesn’t know the number.”
“So use your phone.”
“I don’t have a cellphone.”
Grover blinked. “What are you, a caveman?”
Johnny jerked his head. “Land line’s in the house.”
Grover levelled the gun. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Our boots crunched through the gravel as he headed for the house. The dog kennel was behind the house to our left.
Johnny broke and ran.
“Shit!” Grover popped off a shot.
“Where’ d he go?”
Fisher whipped out his gun. He squinted in the darkness. “See, man, this is why we should do this shit in the daytime.”
I cocked my head. “Listen. You hear that?”
Fisher frowned. “All I hear are those poor goddamn dogs.”
Grover looked toward the kennel. “Wait. I hear it, too.”
Beneath the sound of the barking dogs, a woman was screaming.
I turned and ran for the kennel.
“Jack, wait!”
Gunfire pinged off the gravel. I kept running, heading into the gunfire, zigzagging toward the kennel.
Fisher threw himself down next to me. The old biker was panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. “Motherfuckin’ Charge of the Light Brigade. Gonna get us all killed.”
Fisher raised his gun. I caught his arm.
“There’s a woman in there with him. Maybe it’s Cassie. We can’t just fire blindly.”
Grover ran toward us, clutching his right hand. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I’m hit. That sonofabitch shot me.”
I tilted my chin. “Let me see.”
Grover took his left hand away. I leaned in close to see. Blood spilled from his right hand.
“Shit.”
Grover pulled out a handkerchief and winced as he wrapped it around his hand.
“Keep the pressure on.”
“I know, I know.” Grover’s mouth was a thin grim line. “Let’s get this motherfucker.”
We ran for the kennel. Fisher got there first and kicked down the door. We all ducked to the side as gunfire rattled out. Then we ran in.
Fisher got off the first shot. Johnny Rapoli spun around. Grover shot him again. Johnny dropped his gun. I stepped forward and kicked the gun, hard. The pistol skidded across the concrete floor and vanished into the shadows.
I ran past the cages. The dogs snarled and threw themselves against the bars. On the other side of the cages was a small storage room. There was a woman tied to a chair beneath a single bare bulb. She looked up. Cassandra. I knelt down and she burst out sobbing. “It’s okay,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t. “It’s okay.”
I pulled out my knife and cut Cassandra free. I helped her back past the cages. The dogs kept barking. Cassandra buried her face in my chest.
Fisher stepped forward and Cassie recoiled. “You’re safe,” I told her. “He’s not taking you back to Anton.”
The old biker nodded. “Not tonight.”
I turned back to Cassie. “Wait for us outside.”
“No.” Cassandra clutched me tightly. “I’m staying with you.”
“You don’t want to see this. Please. Go outside.”
She looked into my eyes. Then she nodded.
I watched her go, and then I turned and punched Johnny Rapoli as hard as I could. I hauled Johnny to his feet and tumbled him into an old wooden desk chair. The man sat there, slumped and bleeding, struggling for breath.
Grover stared at him. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to shoot people?”
Grover raised his gun. Johnny thrust out his bloody hand. “Wait!”
Grover looked over at me. I nodded. “Do it.”
Grover pulled the trigger. In the close confines of the kennel, the gunshot was incredibly loud. All the dogs went nuts, barking and howling.
We left the kennel. Fisher reached for Cassie, but again she recoiled. I helped her limp along the gravel driveway toward the vehicles. With his left hand, Grover dug into his right pocket and fished out his car keys. “Here, Jack. You drive.”
Fisher strode past us and straddled his Harley. “Someone’s gonna have to tip off the cops. Otherwise all those poor dogs are going to starve to death in their cages.”
I stared back at the kennel. The dogs were still howling. “I’ll do it.” An anonymous call from a lonely roadside payphone.
I helped Cassie into the passenger seat of Grover’s Lexus. Grover climbed into the back seat and pulled a first aid kit out from under the seat. He stuffed gauze into the bloody hole in his hand. “Rip off some of this tape for me, would you, Jack?”
I ripped off a long piece of tape and passed it back. Grover taped up his hand.
I turned to Cassandra. She was slumped down in the passenger seat. “Are you hurt?”
She stared at me. Her eyes were blank. “Let’s just go.”
I nodded. Yeah. There was a doctor I knew in the city, someone who did work off the books for the right price. I put the car in drive and we headed down the driveway.
Cassandra screamed. Johnny Rapoli was standing in the driveway, blood pouring from his empty eye socket. Johnny staggered forward and raised his gun.
I stomped on the gas and slammed the Lexus into Johnny. The man vanished beneath the wheels. Then I threw the car into reverse. I felt the tires bump over Johnny Rapoli’s head. Cassandra screamed again. Tears were rolling down her dirty face. I slammed the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator. The tires spun on the gravel and then we rocketed forward. I caught a glimpse of the grey boards of the kennel in the side mirror. What was left of Johnny Rapoli lay jumbled in the driveway. His twisted body grew smaller and smaller in the rear-view as we headed back to the city.
CHAPTER 23
Grover and I sat in the waiting room of Doc Warner’s Yorkdale office. As underworld doctors go, she was one of the best.
Grover’s hand was covered with fresh gauze. He shook his head. “Jesus. How ’bout Johnny staggering around like that with a bullet in his brain? That was some real Walking Dead shit right there.”
I closed my eyes. I could still feel the thump of the car tires as they ran over Johnny’s head.
Doc Warner walked out of her operating room and snapped off her latex gloves.
“How is she, Doc?”
“Physically, she’s fine. A little dehydrated, but that’s an easy fix. Mentally, though …” The doc shrugged. “That’s a different story.”
Doc Warner turned to Grover and held up a tiny piece of mangled metal. “You want to keep the bullet?”
Grover grinned. “Sure, why not? I’ll turn it into a keychain or something.”
I walked over and knocked on the door of the operating room. Cassandra’s voice sounded muffled and small. “Come in.”
She was sitting on a small two-seater couch. I went over and sat down next to her. She turned away. “I’m an idiot, Jack.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“I got scared and I ran. I tried to phone you.”
“I know.”
“I checked in to a hotel and then I found a poker game.” Cassandra looked away. “Rapoli was there.” She turned back to me, eyes flashing. “I won that game, Jack. I beat them all. And then they wouldn’t let me leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
Cassandra stared straight ahead. “You ever get that feeling that the walls are closing in?”
I nodded. Cassandra continued. “A few years back, I was in a bad place. Anton helped me out.” Cassandra hung her head. “I didn’t know who he was. But now I do. He’s a real sack of crap. I had to get out of there.” She tugged down on her right sleeve, trying to cover up her burns. “Anton wouldn’t let me leave. He said he owned me, fair and square.” Cassandra burst out sobbing. I reached for her, but she pulled away. She took two deep, shuddering breaths. “I was an indentured servant. I had to pay him back. I had to go where he told me, play poker with who he told me to. At first it was okay. I was winning. The chips were stacking up. And then it all went south.”
Carve the Heart Page 10
