Little Boy Blues

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “Holy shit, this could really be something big.”

  “Not that you’ve never told a lie before, but I want your word you won’t break any kind of story until we have Jimmy safe.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Now I wonder where Alvin is?”

  “Alvin? Are you crazy? I can’t get you all in here.”

  “Sure you can. Looking forward to it, P. J.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Iam not a fan of whizkids from high tech or of muckymucks from business or of angel investors, although Justice for Victims sure could use one. I was surrounded by a sea of self-interest and Harry Rosen suits. Rubbing shoulders and catching up, slapping backs. Or checking their Rolexes and striding purposefully for the parking lot. But no sign of Alvin.

  “What a shame. Alvin’s missing the new dawn of Canadian politics. Oh, well, maybe he’ll catch the next one.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best, Ms. MacPhee. Since you feel it might upset him to see this bully.”

  P. J. interrupted. “They’re almost set up for the interview. Let’s go in now.”

  I stepped inside the banquet room and glanced around. Television cameras were angled at the far end of the room as technicians plotted the best shots of the dais, where two leather chairs sat facing each other. Nicholas Southern was already sitting in the chair on the right, perfectly natural. He adjusted the perfect knot in his perfect pale blue silk tie. He was good-looking, I suppose, if you like young, blonde, trim, wealthy, would-be politicians with chiselled chins and styled hair. There’s nothing like a hundred and fifteen million in the bank to bring out the best in a fellow.

  As I watched, a tall broad-shouldered man headed for the second chair. None other than Honey Redmore’s tablemate from the D’Arcy McGee. He walked with a surprising amount of grace for such a big bruiser. A thin young woman with spiked black hair and black nails hovered over the two, dabbing the last touches of make-up to their faces. The chairs were positioned to lend the appearance of an intimate chat between friends, while at the same time giving the camera guys a fair shake.

  I followed P. J. and Mrs. Parnell along the side aisle to the second row, where P. J. had secured four reserved seats.

  “This will be something. Will Redmore comes from a small “l” liberal point of view, and he’s got killer instincts. He’ll go for the jugular. He’ll be hammering at Nick’s integrity. This is a make or break media event for us. The doors are closed now. I guess Alvin will miss it.”

  “This ‘Nick’ thing makes me tired. Whatever happened to ‘I’m stuck with this rightwing asshole and it’s going to ruin my summer’?”

  “You can’t hate Nick when you get to know him, Camilla. That doesn’t mean I buy all of his politics. But he’s turned out to be a decent person. Despite the money …”

  “Easy money.”

  “Who cares. It’s his, and he’s choosing to make a difference with it. He has integrity. I think he could end up presenting a real alternative to the existing right.”

  “And now you don’t want to see him chewed up by Redmore?”

  “Be serious. I’m a reporter. We live for blood. A ‘good news’ story is no story at all. Nick is making the choice to be a heavy duty political player. He’s got to be able to take the heat, or he’s toast. Either way, good story.”

  “I thought he’d already made it.”

  “Redmore’s the acid test. Watch the interview.”

  “I’m surprised Southern’s people don’t insist on a cushion or something so he doesn’t look so insignificant next to Redmore.”

  “Believe me, they thought about it. But they knew the press would find out and make him a laughingstock. Remember Dukakis in the U.S.?”

  “Would you make a laughingstock out of it?”

  “Yeah, I’d have to comment, whether I wanted to or not. My job is to find the soft underbelly. But I think they’re striving for a David and Goliath effect. I’ll comment on that.”

  “Good thinking. Looks like they got it.”

  “Just be quiet, and don’t cause any disruption. Promise?”

  Someone shushed us.

  “Of course. What would I gain?”

  “I know you. Even the very slightly improved Camilla is liable to make trouble.”

  “Trust me. I just want to take the measure of Will Redmore. Considering he may be responsible for three deaths, including his father’s.”

  “I want to hear more about that theory,” P. J. said. “Now turn off your cellphone. Right now.”

  Another shush.

  We sat back for a captivating half-hour and watched Will Redmore lay one verbal trap after another for Nicholas Southern. Southern managed to hold his own. I could see how P. J. might want to take sides. Southern was the underdog in this interview, although he handled himself with charm and grace under fire. Voters hate a sign of weakness. If I didn’t loathe everything Southern stood for, I might have felt sorry for him.

  Redmore was almost big enough to make two of the reedy Southern. Obviously, there was no love lost between them. It looked like Redmore would pick Southern’s delicate bones clean.

  For all my small-l liberal leanings, if I’d had to chose between these two turkeys, I would have lined up with Southern. Of course, I knew more than I should have about Redmore.

  It didn’t take a lot of watching to figure out that Redmore would be ruthless in getting whatever he wanted. His performance convinced me he was quite capable of setting up Jimmy Ferguson. The interview concluded with questions left unanswered, but that wasn’t one of them.

  We stood up and started to move to the side. I hugged the back wall in an out-of-the-way spot. It was time to get the second half of what I came for.

  “Get as many shots as you can, Mrs. P.” I said. “We can show them to Alvin later.”

  She raised her digital camera with the zoom lens. She did a nice swoop of the supporters just out of range of the television cameras and the hangers-on in the front row. Then she focused in on Will Redmore as he moved down the aisle.

  For one second, Will Redmore looked over. It gave me a spine-stiffening sense of how Nicholas Southern would have felt under that gaze.

  I turned on my cellphone. It rang immediately.

  “Where were you, Camilla?” Alvin shouted, when I answered. “I have him. I found Jimmy! Spotted him on Clarence Street. Just luck.”

  A wave of relief swept over me. My knees wobbled. So did my voice. “You found him? Is he all right?”

  “He’s scared. He’s hungry. He needs a bath. But he’ll be okay. Do you have the Buick?”

  “I do.”

  “We’re in the market, outside a coffee shop on Dalhousie near Cumberland.”

  “Call an ambulance. Get him to the hospital. Right now.”

  “He doesn’t want that.”

  “He needs to be seen by a doctor.”

  “Look, I’m not going to push him. You know about Jimmy. He wants to see the Gallery. If we don’t, it’s just going to add to his stress. We’ll have our little visit and then we’ll get him to a doctor.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense. After everything he’s been through? Doesn’t he want to rest? To see the family?”

  “Yeah. He wants all that. I told him about the Gallery in my postcards, and he wants to see it. And he couldn’t find it on his own. And he won’t settle down until he does. So I’m going to take him there, whether it sounds crazy or not. He’s pretty tired and he’s still jumpy. I’d feel better if we took him by car. Will you drive us?”

  “What about his medication?”

  “I had some on me. Everyone in my family’s carrying Jimmy’s medication. You know that.”

  “You’re sure it’s the best thing?”

  “Why not? You’ve been after me to go.”

  “Don’t be facetious. Mrs. P. and I will pick you up as soon as possible. In the meantime, can you try and find out what happened to him in Sydney?”

  “It’s still too upsetting f
or him. I’ll wait until his medication kicks in, Camilla. He’s safe now. We’ll get the story when the excitement dies down.”

  “You’re right. I’ve got to get a grip.”

  I hugged Mrs. P. and I hugged P. J. I hugged three complete strangers. I hugged a camera technician. I drew the line at hugging Nicholas Southern, but I did nod at him as he walked by. Which was something.

  “P. J,” I said, “they found him. They found Jimmy! You’ll never believe where we’re going now. Is that crazy or what? I’m so glad it’s over.”

  I noticed that, across the room, I had all of Will Redmore’s attention. His eyes fastened on us. Thank God I didn’t have to worry about that any more. Jimmy was safe at last.

  As we walked by Redmore, I said. “Remember me? I plan to be your undoing.”

  Hey. Sometimes it just feels right.

  • • •

  If you ever want to get out of a parking lot fast, don’t park your big honking Buick by the hotel door when half the new money in town is rolling its Jaguars and Mercedeses and Lexuses through the parking gates at half the speed of an old glacier.

  I left messages for Deveau and Mombourquette.

  “Such wonderful news,” Mrs. Parnell said when I hung up. “What a relief.”

  I handed her the phone. “Yeah. But Alvin will be having a bird because it’s taking us so long. Do you want to get him and tell him we’ll be there eventually?”

  She was already keying in the number. They chatted happily while I gave a few moguls the finger.

  • • •

  Jimmy looked bedraggled and smelled worse. Streaks of dust lined his handsome face. Even his hair had dust in it. He grinned at me when Alvin introduced us. Well, we all had goofy grins. Mrs. Parnell’s eyes seemed suspiciously wet. “We’ve been worried about you, Jimmy. You must have been scared after that fire. Where did you stay?” I asked, as he settled into the Buick.

  “Tell her, Jimmy,” Alvin said.

  Jimmy said, “Aw, come on, Allie.”

  “You’ll never guess where Jimmy slept the last two nights.”

  “Under a bridge,” Jimmy said, with some pride. “Some girls told me about it.”

  “That explains a lot,” I said.

  “There were lots of ducks. And even some swans. They let you feed them. You’d like that, Allie.”

  “Sure would, Jimmy.” Alvin’s voice was tight.

  “Are you okay now?” I said.

  “I am. It was scary, and I’m glad to see Allie. We’ll be safe here, won’t we?”

  “Yes. You can come back to my place or Mrs. Parnell’s. We’ll all make sure you’re okay. We’re glad Alvin found you.”

  “It was just luck,” Alvin said.

  “We’re lucky, aren’t we, Allie?”

  “Yeah, Jimmy. We’re lucky now.”

  “But I left my stuff under the bridge. Can we go get it afterwards?”

  “What stuff?” Alvin said.

  “What bridge?” I said.

  “Of course we can,” Mrs. Parnell said.

  Alvin pointed. “Look, Jimmy. There’s Gadzooks Gallery.”

  • • •

  There was a tow-away sign in front of the gallery. It probably didn’t bother most of the customers. I guess if you can afford those immense glass sculptures, your chauffeur could drop you off to browse and come when you snapped your fingers.

  I let the gang off in front of the door and found the first parking spot which was halfway up the hill. I was grumbling when I got out of the car. I passed a wizened panhandler shuffling up the incline.

  The panhandler gave us a dusty grin, showing at least four teeth. “I hope things get better for you, Missus,” he said.

  “You too.” I fished out a loonie from my pocket. Even though I prefer to give directly to the Food Bank or the Mission. Even though I knew the panhandler might just as easily head to the liquor store instead of the Loeb for fresh vegetables. I have a roof over my head and more food than I need, even if it is in cans. And I have to look at myself in the mirror. I was glad to get that good wish, even from a rumpled old stranger who had troubles of his own.

  I’d missed the expression on René’s face when the three dusketeers walked through the door of Gadzooks, but he hadn’t recovered his composure when I arrived. No wonder. Alvin still had tear-tracks down his cheeks. So did Mrs. Parnell. Who knows. Maybe I did too. It was quite obvious Jimmy had been living on the streets. A couple of clients escaped through the door.

  Jimmy turned around and around, touching every elaborate glass construction in the gallery. “This is so beautiful, Allie. Look at all the things.”

  “Sculptures, Jimmy. Glass sculptures.”

  “They’re beautiful, just like you said they were. Like magic.” He reached up to touch the spectacular outcroppings of a three-part sculpture that towered with spiked shards of glass.

  “Yes, they’re like magic.”

  “No wonder you said this would be the best job ever, Allie.”

  Alvin glanced my way. “Sorry, Camilla.”

  “Hey. I can handle it.”

  René didn’t look like he could handle it.

  “We want to thank you,” I said, “for your understanding as Alvin dealt with this incredible crisis with his brother.”

  “Is this the boy they were talking about on television and radio? I heard the appeal for information about your brother on television.” He leaned over and whispered to me. “Was another brother killed?”

  “That turned out to be a mistake. I want to apologize. But now everything has turned out well. Alvin’s been through hell, but he’ll snap right back and be in to work in no time.”

  René glanced at Alvin. If I read the expression on his face right, he didn’t think Alvin would ever get back to normal. I could see his point, but I knew better.

  “You can’t believe the resilience this young man has. I owe him my life. What more can an employer want or say? At any rate, he’ll be back on the job by Monday, I’m sure. We’ll be sure to mention where he works in any media coverage of Jimmy’s story, won’t we, Alvin?”

  I grinned at Jimmy, who had made his way to the very back of the gallery, smiling and touching, smiling and touching.

  “Lord thundering Jesus,” Alvin said.

  “Now, Alvin.” I wanted just enough warning in my tone to keep him suitably polite.

  “Look out!” Alvin grabbed at Jimmy.

  “Troops, hit the dirt and roll,” Mrs. Parnell yelled. “Cover your heads.”

  I turned to see the front end of Stan’s Buick flying towards the plate glass window. Only René stayed on his feet, gaping in disbelief. The rest of us hit the floor, rolling towards the side of the room.

  When the last shards of shattered glass tinkled on to the floor, we raised our heads and stared.

  It was too late for the splendid glass statues. Too late for the Buick. And, unless he was very lucky, it was too late for René Janveau.

  Twenty-Eight

  The ambulance carrying René had just shrieked out of sight, and I was picking glass out of my hair when Mombourquette showed up. He looked around Gadzooks and shook his head.

  “I guess you call this a crash course in Modern Art, eh?”

  “What a wit,” I said.

  Mombourquette was just warming up. He turned his beady eyes to the Buick. The front was in the middle of the Gallery, and the tail end just protruded through the window. “Remind me never to lend you my car.”

  “With all due respect, Lennie,I didn’t drive that car through the window.”

  “Why is it you two just can’t stay out of trouble?”

  “Stay out of trouble? We were visiting an art gallery. I fail to see how even you can construe that to be getting into trouble.”

  He pointed to the Buick. “Exhibit A.”

  “This is Alvin’s new place of employment,” I said sadly. Mombourquette flashed his incisors. “And already it’s trashed. That’s setting some new kind of record.”

/>   Ray Deveau appeared in what was left of the door, red-faced and out of breath. “What do you mean, some new kind of record?”

  “He doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I mean when you get these two together, you’re gonna have broken glass, cars crashing, gunshots, people getting killed, that sort of thing.”

  I said, “What a kidder. Come on, Mombourquette. There’s a café across the street. Let’s go get some cheese.”

  “I don’t know who’s worse, her or him,” Mombourquette said. “They’ve cost the taxpayer more than a few bucks, let me tell you. So what was this glass thing before Stan’s Buick ran through it?”

  “It was a Josef Weinburg,” Alvin said weakly from the floor. “Worth sixty thousand dollars.”

  “Really? Worth a bundle, was it? Maybe your new boss will have to dock your pay for the next while.”

  I couldn’t remember Mombourquette ever blaming Alvin for anything before. Usually I was the villain. Alvin deserves to be picked on from time to time, but this was definitely not one of the times.

  “Alvin was not to blame. Jimmy insisted on coming here. He was trying to do the best he could to keep Jimmy calm until his medicine kicked in.”

  “And this is the best he could do? So, Camilla, Ray tells me you’re causing trouble for him too.”

  Deveau said, “Knock it off, Lennie.”

  “Listen, enough of this crap, Leonard,” I said. “We have been victimized here. You guys should get off your butts and talk to Will Redmore. I don’t know how, but I know goddam well he’s behind this.”

  I picked up my cellphone and called P. J. to give him the same opinion.

  Alvin said, “Where’s Jimmy?”

  We raced to the door. We checked the street, looked behind the garbage cans in the alley, circled the block, called Jimmy’s name. Alvin ran frantically through the neighbouring streets, his ponytail swaying wildly.

  But Jimmy Ferguson was nowhere to be seen.

  • • •

  A half-hour later, there was still no sign of him. Mombourquette was unamused and Deveau was confused, P. J. was unavailable, and Vince Ferguson, when he finally showed up, was furious. He seemed to speak for the rest of the family who milled about, wailing.