Grinder (4 page)

I bent down and loosened the rest of the ropes holding the boat to the dock. Once the boat was free, I pulled Pointy Shoes into a fireman's carry. I laughed to myself when I realized that holding a full-grown man on my shoulders and climbing a ladder onto a boat were close to effortless. I had healed in time.

I put Pointy Shoes in the bow and went to the wheel to fire up the diesel engine. The engine roared to life and let off a cloud of smoke that I secretly inhaled every day as though it were the scent of a rare rose. The exhaust gave me something that the clean sea air never could. As time went on the smell of man-made pollution was something I craved, something I welcomed like a secret devil.

The rumbling of the engine pushed the boat through the cloud of smoke and away from the wharf. The motion of the boat caused Pointy Shoes to stir. I aimed the boat straight out to sea and walked out to meet my new friend.

Before saying hello again, I took a nickel-plated .32 Smith & Wesson revolver from Pointy Shoes's waistband along with a wallet, keys, and a cell phone from his pockets. Pointy Shoes had a name: Johnny Romeo. The name told me everything. Someone had reached out to me. Someone who should have known better.

Johnny was too out of it to cause trouble, so I went back to the wheel and guided us through the rapidly dimming light to a spot on the water where I could barely make out the lights from the dock. I yelled to Johnny as soon as I cut the engine. “What does Paolo want? Payback?”

Johnny groaned in response. He had managed to pull himself up to a sitting position against the side of the boat. His synthetic shirt had a sharp angular bulge near his neck. The unnatural distension was surrounded by a growing wetness. Johnny had a compound fracture and probably a concussion from my knee. I picked up a bucket and got water from the bait tank. The fish inside swam happily when they realized I only wanted some of their real estate.

The salt water hit him, soaking his shirt and sending pain through the wound; he sobered instantly.

“What does Paolo want, Johnny?”

“He . . . he wants to see you.”

I was surprised at the answer, but I didn't dwell on it. “Why did he send you and your gun? Was that supposed to lead the way?”

“Fuck, I can't move my arm. Fuck, it hurts. I think I'm gonna be sick.”

I hit him with another bucket of fish water just to keep him in the here and now.

“Jesus, he . . . he just wanted me to find you and make sure you went to see him.”

“He here now? On the island?”

“He's back in Hamilton at the restaurant.” Johnny barely got his words out before he was sick all over himself.

“How were you going to make me go to him? Were you going to threaten me? Or were you going to force me with your shiny gun?”

Johnny looked away from me and the mess on his synthetic shirt. I read the body language and knew that he had already made a play. “What did you do, Johnny?”

He didn't answer me. He looked into my eyes and I saw that he was an errand boy. He was a hard young man who got cocky, wanted to impress his boss, and had ended up neck deep in trouble.

“You have to go meet the boss.”

“Or what, Johnny? What did you do?”

“Heh, I found you yesterday and before I came down to the wharf I had tea with the nice lady who you rent from. Me and her talked all about you. Her mysterious stranger, she calls you. Can you believe that shit? The mysterious stranger who always says hello and pays his rent on time.” He burped up some vomit after his last revelation.

“Where is she?”

“Don't worry about her, you got bigger problems. You need to get home.”

“Where is she?”

“Fuck you.”

I turned and walked back to the wheel. The diesel engine sputtered back to life, violently sending fumes in waves out over the water. I breathed the smoke in deep and felt it burn my nose as I exhaled. Each second I smelled the exhaust pulled away months of the atrophy that had set in from safe living and honest work. Almost at once, fishing with Jeff seemed years ago. I turned the boat around towards the docks and set the throttle to a slow chug. Johnny had managed to get to his feet, but the effort along with the compound fracture caused him to vomit and retch over the side. I retrieved the heavy black gaff Jeff and I used to hook the giant bluefin. The gaff was four feet long and heavy. Its hook was dulled with age, but it would still be sharp enough. The tool hung low in my hands as I walked back to Johnny who was still bent over the side of the boat.

Johnny had just finished another retch and shudder into the dark water. He turned his head in time to see me coming with the gaff in my hands. He tried to turn his body, but my left hand found the back of his neck. My hand held him in place, his chest forced against the railing. I hooked the gaff into his stomach and pulled hard towards me with my right hand. The hook moved through the synthetic shirt like it wasn't there and buried itself in Johnny's guts.

Johnny let out a scream on the desolate water, but the only person who could hear it didn't care. My left hand let go of Johnny's neck and found a metal-studded belt under his ruined shirt; I used it to propel Johnny over the side of the boat into the water. All of the noises Johnny made were eaten by the merciless ocean. I gripped the railing hard with one hand and held tight to the gaff towing Johnny's body through the water. I clenched my jaw shut and held tight as the veins in my forearm began to stand out. Johnny was dragged through the wake of the boat backwards by the gaff. The speed of the water and the weight of his body made sure that the hook wouldn't dislodge. I braced myself and held the gaff at an angle that allowed Johnny's head to stay above the water so he wouldn't die on me right away. His flailing arms and legs created a lot of drag, making his body feel as though it weighed a ton.

After a minute, I pulled Johnny up into the boat by the gaff. He coughed up sea water from his lungs and communicated his agony is low groans. He lay face down on the deck of the
Wendy
, impaled on the gaff. The hook was buried deep in his belly, making the wooden handle stand straight up in the air like a fence post. Johnny lay still while I caught my breath, watching the lights of the docks off in the distance. We were moving so slowly that it seemed the lights were no closer than when I had turned the boat around.

“See, Johnny, this is how we bring the big tuna in once we catch them. We drag them behind the boat until all of the fight in them is gone. Thing is, fish like the water so they can hold on for a long while even on the end of a hook. How long you think you can stay alive in the water on the end of a big hook? Think you're tougher than a fish?”

Johnny had no response for me. His back rose and fell as he took in shallow breaths letting me know he was still alive. “I want to know what you did to the old lady, Johnny. You keep me in the dark much longer and I'll show you how much a fish has to put up with. I'll drag you the rest of the way back so I can get a hold of the chainsaw they use on the dock. You saw them do that today, didn't you? It'll be much easier with you. I promise.”

Johnny's eyes fluttered and opened; his lips began to form a word over and over again. I put my hands on the gaff and pulled, lifting Johnny off the deck of the boat. If you ignored the hook in his belly, it would have looked as though he were levitating in a magic show.

“Trunk.” Johnny's lips finally found a voice two feet in the air.

“She's in the trunk, Johnny?”

“Trunk. No more. Trunk.” His voice was quiet and gravelly, but understandable.

The magic show continued as I pulled Johnny higher off the deck. I muscled him over the side as he continued to groan his new mantra, “No more. Trunk. No more.” His body splashed on the water and disappeared as the waves erased his existence. His hands stayed visible above the water in the boat lights, groping for something to hold on to — something that wasn't there. I breathed hard from the exertion and wiped my face with the arm of my shirt. It was then that I noticed my face. For a second time, my face had stretched into that grin I had shelved so long ago after leaving the city. It wasn't a sadist's smile; I took no pleasure in what I had done to Johnny. It was the smile of someone welcoming back an old friend. I knew then that Johnny was wrong — there was going to be more. Much more.

I used the bucket to wash the blood off the deck. After three buckets of water, no one would ever know about what took place on
Wendy
after her captain went home for the night. I pushed the engine of the clean ship harder and drove the boat fast through the waves, feeling each impact like a punch. I made it back to the dock in under ten minutes. I collected Johnny's belongings tucking his gun into the waistband under the front of my shirt — the back already taken by my knife. I pocketed his phone and wallet, but kept the car keys in hand. I left the boat keys in the ignition for Jeff to find and tied off on the dock before making my way to the parking lot.

There were only two cars left in the parking lot — mine and a black Lexus. I used Johnny's key fob to pop the trunk as I approached. Inside, I saw the body of my landlady bound with duct tape. Nellie lay still in the trunk, but her rapidly blinking eyes told me she was alive. Her eyes registered fear when they adjusted to the new light from the parking lot and saw me standing over her, and panic when she saw me pull my knife. I cut the tape on her hands and feet leaving her to handle the strip on her mouth.

“Mr. Wilson! There was a man. He grabbed me and tied me up. He said he was looking for you.”

I admired the steel in the old girl. She didn't cry. She kept her wits about her despite just being let out of a trunk.

“That man, he . . .”

“He's gone,” I said.

“You mean you . . . you . . .”

“I mean he's gone. Now let's get you home.”

I drove, and except for her directions, there was silence in the car. When I pulled into her driveway, I spoke up, putting an end to the quiet. “I'm sorry for what happened,” I said.

“Why did he do that to me?”

“He needed me to do something. He took you to make sure I would do it.”

“He was just so rough.”

“He wouldn't have hurt you,” I lied.

She paused and considered my lie before asking a question in a low voice. “What did he want?”

“It doesn't matter now,” I said, ending that line of questioning. The answer seemed to satisfy her, and she opened the car door with a shaky hand.

“Goodbye, Mr. Wilson.”

I said goodbye, then drove to the rental house. Speed limits on the rural island roads were eighty kilometres an hour; I pushed the car to one forty. I needed to clear out before Nellie decided to call the cops about tonight's activities. I figured I had half an hour until the shock wore off, and five minutes after that until her sense of civic duty kicked in. The house had been mine for close to two years, but no one would be able to tell by looking at it. In the kitchen sink were the spoon, fork, and pot that I used for every meal. There were a few books and magazines in the small living room and a gym bag on the floor of the bedroom I slept in. I picked up the books as I walked through the living room and dropped them in the gym bag. Then I lifted the mattress and collected the even stacks of bills that were distributed across the expanse of the box spring.

I had spent little of the money on the island. The cash paid for food, rent, and incidentals, and could not be traced to me. I had worked hard to keep myself off the grid of the small town. There were only three people on the island who knew where to find me, until today. Now, Paolo knew where I lived making the house, and the island, as safe as a burning building. Worse, Jeff's wife, his business, everything he had was at risk too. They would become chess pieces in a madman's game if I didn't knock over the board. I loaded the bag with the rest of my belongings and stopped to use the bathroom. I scanned the house over one last time as I moved towards the door. In the kitchen, I pulled the house keys from my key ring and left them on the counter before walking out of the house for the last time.

In an hour I was at the bridge, in line to get off the island. The bridge was a provincially funded con. It had cost nothing to enter the province from New Brunswick, and $27.50 to leave. There was no way out that didn't involve a wallet. The government was still the best thief I knew. The visit from Johnny and getting swindled by the province ruined my second experience with the bridge.

I drove the Trans-Canada Highway through New Brunswick at 130 kilometres an hour. I wanted to drive straight through to Hamilton, but I knew the day's work combined with the evening's action would anesthetize me before I got out of the province. I had put two more hours between me and the bridge when Johnny's cell phone started to ring. I had left the phone and wallet out on the passenger seat, so I barely had to take my eyes off the road while I picked the phone up and debated answering the call. Paolo sent Johnny to me, and if Johnny didn't answer his phone it wouldn't take Paolo long to piece together what had gone down.

I opened the phone and answered, “Yeah?”

“Is everything set up?” It was Paolo's voice riding the digital signal from Hamilton to me in the car. “You hear me, Johnny? Did you do what I told you to do?”

“I told you not to come looking for me, Paolo.”

There was a ten-second pause before Paolo's voice crossed the country into my ear.
“Figlio,
I need to see you. I need your help.”

“I can't help you, Paolo. You said it yourself — I'm a crow. I turned on my own, remember.”

Just days before I drove to the island, I had been working for Paolo Donati — the man who ruled the Italian mob in Hamilton. I wasn't Italian, just some kind of mutt with ancestors all over parts of Europe. This made me automatically distrusted by every one of Paolo's crews. The distrust was intensified by my total lack of an identity. No one knew me so no one could vouch for me. I grew up invisible and worked with other invisible pros on all kinds of jobs. My only tie to anyone had been through blood. My uncle and I worked together; he provided the jobs through the contacts he had. Our last job was for Paolo, personally, off the books. My uncle ended up dead and I ended up unemployed. I was invisible, with no connections to any world, legal or otherwise. Paolo knew this and decided that he would use me personally for jobs he needed to distance himself from. I worked against Paolo's enemies whether they were Russians, the cops, or even his own people. No one who saw me would think I worked for a man like Paolo — a fact that made me even more useful. Over the years, I earned Paolo's trust, and eventually the hatred of everyone in his organization. Those who knew I existed saw me as an insult to everything their organization stood for. I wasn't family so I should never have been involved with jobs that should have been left to important made men. But Paolo was different from his underlings. He was unconventional as a leader, and as a result, he was more successful than any of his predecessors. He was educated and loved to muse about the nature of animals. He compared those around him to the beasts of the jungle, showing everyone how short the trip was from jungle to pavement. Better than his knowledge of animals and human nature was Paolo's understanding of the underworld he ruled. He knew how to use the mob and its rules, and more important, he knew how, and when, to circumvent them. He kept me in the fold, under wraps from his subordinates, because I did things that helped him maintain his position as king of the jungle. He believed he had me under control because I was alone and without support. He had no idea that I lived the way I had been trained. I was disconnected and solitary by choice because it made me untouchable. I was invulnerable so long as I controlled every situation by anticipating everyone's next moves. I stayed one step ahead of everyone, and survived in the most inhospitable environment. Everything I did was calculated and covert until my friendship with Steve challenged that.

Without any conscious effort, I had formed a bond with a local bar owner and his wife. Steve and Sandra were my friends — the only human contact I had. One of Paolo's men, Tommy Talarese, tried to destroy their lives, and in doing so set in motion a chain of events that rocked the underbelly of the city. Tommy Talarese wanted to show his kid how to collect protection like a man, after Steve had thrown Tommy's son out into the street. Tommy kidnapped Steve's wife, unleashing the bar owner like a wiry hurricane on the neighbourhood. Steve and I worked our way up the chain of local muscle to Tommy's front door. Many died getting Sandra back, including Tommy and his entire family.

I took the news to Paolo, attempting to spin the situation. Paolo, upon hearing the news, was already thinking of how to use the events to his advantage. That showed why Paolo held such a grip on the city: he would use anything to his advantage, even the death of one of his lieutenants. I convinced him of what he already decided for himself — that Tommy's death was best pinned on the city's other underworld organization, the Russians, rather than on a bartender. Paolo listened to me and did what he would have done anyway. He used Tommy's death to unite his crews to one purpose. Paolo struck out at the Russians, who were trying to take over everything Paolo had established. Paolo fired me and filed away what I did for later retribution. He told me I was a crow because they eat their own kind to protect themselves.

Less than a month later, Paolo brought me back into his employ. My second career with Paolo involved me only with his number two, Julian. I worked jobs that were more hush-hush than before and asked no questions. One of the jobs was stealing a bag from some computer nerds. The bag turned out to be full of Russian property. The Russians came after me, and I had no escape or backup from Paolo. Paolo was going to use what I stole to crush the Russians and he was going to let them kill me before he did it. The Russians were going to act as Paolo's payback for what I did to Tommy. Paolo was also using me to create confusion for the Russians, who had no idea who I worked for and no way to find out after I was dead. Once I figured out that Paolo hung me out to dry, I stole the bag back for the Russians, and they moved on the Italians first. The whole ordeal ended in blood with me in the middle. I saved Paolo's life, and told him I was out. He honoured the deal for almost two years.

“Figlio,
forget what I said. You and me are square. I need you for a job. The kind of thing you used to do. Please, it has to be you. I'll pay you whatever you ask, just meet with me.”

This was a new side of the man who had plotted to kill me. He seemed sincere in his desire to peacefully meet. He called me
figlio
, “son,” trying to rebuild our bond over the phone like a horrible telephone commercial. “If you need to see me so bad, why didn't you come yourself?”

“This is a delicate situation. Leaving would attract too much suspicion,” he said.

“Sending Johnny attracted suspicion,” I said. My voice was cold and flat, betraying nothing.

“Why? What did he do? Where is he? I told him how I wanted this done. Put him on.”

“Johnny crossed the line and he paid for it. You crossed the line too. I told you we were done. All you did today was force me to move.”

There was a heavy sigh that must have come from deep down inside Paolo fifteen hundred kilometres away. “I was wrong about what I said about you. You're not a crow. You're a lioness. You know what lionesses do,
figlio?
They protect their cubs. I sent Johnny to ask nicely, and what do you do? You overreact like a hungry cat.”

“The fancy punk kidnapped an old lady before he even met me. He wasn't here to talk.”

Paolo laughed in my ear. “Ah, you see, I'm right. You are a lioness. You protected your own from the jackals, didn't you? Johnny was overeager, probably angry. He knows what you did to Julian — everyone does.”

I crippled Julian before I left the city. He was Paolo's number two and a hero to all of the up-and-comers. He was a vicious dinosaur who made his bones crushing other people's. “Julian and I were bound to collide one day. People aren't mad we fought, just that I won.”

“They aren't mad,
figlio
; they hate you for it.”

“And you want me to come back to that because you think I'm some lion?”

“Not a lion,
figlio
, a lioness — the mother. This has nothing to do with you being less than a man. No, it's because you left two of your cubs back in my jungle. Those cubs are still here nestled in their bar. I keep them safe for you. Now I need you to do something for
my
cubs. I need to see you.”

“Give me a number,” I said. He did, and I spoke up. “I'll tell you where and when.” I closed the phone before he could argue.

I made it across the border into Quebec just as my eyelids started to get heavy. I found a motel off the highway and paid cash for what was left of the night.

I hit the mattress and all of the trouble I had sleeping over the past months didn't touch me in the lumpy bed. I slept and dreamed for the first time in ages. I dreamed of a city awash in violence and shadows. I dreamed of it and smiled.